[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (16 page)

They went into the cabin and cooked a meager dinner. Andy noticed that Josie’s photograph was missing from the mantel. Rusty must have carried it with him, though Andy had not seen him looking at it. He probably did that in private. Grief was taking a long time to heal.

Done with the meal, Rusty said, “Let’s get on to town. Stoppin’ here is like visitin’ a graveyard.”

They came upon Shanty’s cabin. At Rusty’s call, Shanty came out grinning. “Mr. Rusty, Andy. You-all ain’t already quit bein’ Rangers, have you?”

Rusty introduced him to Sergeant Holloway. “We’ve been trailin’ a bank robber. He’s got a boy travelin’ with him. Anybody like that passed this way the last day or two?”

“Not as I noticed. I see most folks that come along this road. Anyway, what would a bank robber want with me? I don’t have nothin’ anybody’d want to steal.”

“This one might’ve given you money.”

“Then he sure ain’t been by, because there ain’t nobody given me nothin’.”

Holloway grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ve played out our string. Tennyson may not stop till he gets halfway across Louisiana.”

Andy clenched a fist in frustration. “You mean we’re turnin’ back?”

“I’ll wire the captain and ask him what he wants us to do.”

Andy said, “As long as we’re this close, don’t you think we ought to go by the Brackett place and see about Farley? He may be healed up enough to go back to camp.”

“You and Rusty can do that while I stay in town and wait for the captain’s answer.”

Andy had a bitter taste in his mouth. He had far rather be taking Scooter back to camp, but he might have to settle for Farley Brackett.

At least he would see Bethel for a little while.

Scooter sat nervously on his horse half a length behind his father’s while Lige quietly studied the town that lay before them. He had seen Lige count his money last night and frown.

Lige said, “Can’t tell from here if this place is big enough to have a bank. Only way to know is to ride in and see.”

Scooter asked, “How many times we got to do this, Pa?”

Lige turned to study him. “You’re shakin’, boy. Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of. Your old daddy knows what he’s doin’.”

“So do the Rangers. How do you know there ain’t a bunch of them waitin’ for us?”

Lige’s eyes narrowed. “I can tell you ain’t cut out for this business. That’s why we need to travel on up to the territory and get us that farm as soon as we can. But we got to have money first, don’t you see?”

“Most people don’t get it this way.”

“Everybody has got to find out what he’s good at. I’m good at the bankin’ business. Now come on, let’s see what this place has to offer.” His spurs jingled against his horse’s sides. Scooter hesitated, then followed, his eyes searching for something to be afraid of. There was plenty, most of it imaginary.

They rode down the length of the short street. Lige slumped in disappointment. “This burg ain’t big enough to support a bank. I’d settle for a good general store, but the only one I see don’t look very prosperous. I wonder when the hard times are goin’ to be over with.”

“Seems like it’s been hard times ever since I can remember.”

“That’s on account of the war. It’s been more than ten years, but Texas ain’t got over it. Times was flush before the Yankees started all that trouble. There was money enough for anybody who had the nerve to go and get what was due him. I can remember when I had so much gold that I had to have a packhorse to carry it.”

“What went with it, Pa?”

“Money’s like water. It dribbles out between your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold on to it. And who knew those good times were fixin’ to end? We thought they’d go on and on.”

They turned and rode back up the street the way they had come. Lige’s attention was fixed on the general store. It was a square-fronted frame building innocent of paint. Farming tools and wooden barrels were displayed on the plank sidewalk, against the wall. A sign in the window advertised chewing tobacco and prickly bitters. Lige said, “I wonder what day it is. Used to be that Saturday was when all the farmers came to town. A good general store would have a lot of cash on hand.”

“I think it’s Wednesday, Pa. Or Tuesday.”

“We can’t wait around for Saturday. When you can’t have all you want, you settle for what you can get.” He dismounted in front of the store, stretching his arms and back. Scooter had heard him complain about rheumatism.

Lige handed over his reins. “Hold them. I’ll go see to business. Stay awake, because when I come out I’ll be lookin’ to travel.”

Scooter accepted reluctantly. “I’ll be right here.”

Lige patted him on the leg. “You’re a good boy. You’ve got the makin’s of a good man.”

If you don’t get me killed, Scooter thought.

A large man with a black mustache and a dark expression blocked Lige’s entry into the store. He held up a hand that looked as big as a hindquarter of beef. The other hand rested upon the butt of a pistol high on his hip. “Just a minute, stranger. I need to know your name.”

Scooter saw a small silver badge on the man’s vest. A chill went all the way to his toes.

“My name?” Lige seemed momentarily taken aback. “What for?”

“I’m a deputy sheriff. We got a wire tellin’ us to look out for a man and a boy that robbed a bank out west someplace. You’ve got a boy with you.”

“My son,” Lige said. “What do you mean, you got a wire?”

“Ain’t you heard about the telegraph?”

“I’ve heard tell, but I never knew it’d come to a little place like this.”

“They’re gettin’ it just about everywhere. There ain’t a horse alive that can outrun it. Now what’s your name and what you doin’ here?”

Scooter searched Lige’s face for a clue about what his father might do. He wondered if he might shoot this deputy the way he had shot Johnny Morris at the bank in Kerrville. He froze in dread.

Lige tried running a bluff. “My name’s Simon Good. That’s my boy Willy. We’re just poor farmers passin’ through on our way to help my baby sister over in Colorado County. Her husband is laid up with a broken leg and can’t work his field.”

Scooter realized his father was drawing on the experience of the farm couple with whom they had spent a night.

The deputy demanded, “You got any papers to prove you’re who you say you are?”

“What would I carry papers for? Ain’t got but little money, either. If we’d robbed a bank, don’t you think we’d be carryin’ a lot of money? You can search us. If you find more than twenty dollars you can keep it.”

The deputy had developed a deep and doubting frown. He approached Scooter. “Is that right, kid? Is your name Willy Good?”

Scooter could not bring himself to speak. He could only nod.

The deputy asked, “Is the boy slow-minded that he can’t talk?”

Lige said, “He’s hardly ever got off of the farm. Ain’t used to town. It’s natural that he’d get a little scared when a sheriff starts askin’ him questions. It never happened to him before.”

The deputy softened. “Didn’t mean to upset you, son. Just doin’ my duty, is all. You and your daddy have got honest faces. It’s plain to see that you ain’t the bank robbers they’re lookin’ for. Besides, their name is Tennyson, not Good.”

Lige blinked at the sound of his name, then shook his head. “What would bank robbers come into a little town like this for?”

“Right enough. We ain’t even got a bank.”

“This town’d probably starve a banker to death. All right if we go on about our business?”

“As long as it ain’t bank robbery.” The deputy laughed at his own joke. No one else did.

The lawman walked on, ambling toward an ugly stone courthouse that stood two stories tall at the end of the street. It had a cupola with a clock that either was not running or was off by several hours. It was a poor town, Scooter thought, that couldn’t afford to fix a clock.

Lige watched the deputy. “Damn. They already know my name. Makes me want to cut down every telegraph line I come across.”

“Maybe we ought to forget that road stake and go straight to the Cherokee nation.”

“We can’t go there broke.” Lige considered for a minute before going into the store. To Scooter’s surprise he was not in a hurry when he came out. Lige bit a chaw from a plug of tobacco he had just bought.

Scooter said, “You didn’t do any business?”

“One look and I could tell there wouldn’t be enough money in the till to make it worth the risk. We’d have that deputy on our tail before we could clear town. Probably the sheriff too, and no tellin’ how many townfolk. We’ll have to give up the luxuries and get by on what we’ve got till we get to where they’re havin’ that feud. Our luck will change there, you just wait.”

Scooter tried to recall what luxuries they had had. Off-hand, he could not remember any.

When they reached the edge of town he said, “I’m a Jonah to you, Pa.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You heard him. They’re lookin’ for a man and a boy travelin’ together. If you was by yourself, they wouldn’t look at you twice. The next place we come to, they might not be as easy to fool as that deputy was.”

“We ain’t splittin’ up, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. We already been apart way too long. Anyhow, where would you go?”

“Back to the Ranger camp. They’re good to me there.”

“They wouldn’t be good to you no more. They know you was with me in Kerrville. Like as not they’d send you to one of them reformatories and keep you there till you’re old enough to shave. I’ve heard stories. They’d feed you bread and water and put the whip to you every day.”

Scooter shuddered.

Lige said, “We’ll take roundance on the towns from now on till we get to where we’re goin’. Me and you are stickin’ together. Father and son, like it was before I went off to work for the governor.”

One of the Bracketts’ black field hands sighted the two Rangers’ approach and went running to the main house ahead of them. His frantic manner said he was on his way to give warning.

Rusty took that as a sign of trouble. “He acts like he’s afraid of somethin’.”

“Probably didn’t recognize us.”

The sight of strangers would not ordinarily arouse fear on the Brackett farm, though memories lingered of times during Reconstruction when Farley was having difficulties with carpetbag authorities. Seeing the visitors before the visitors saw him had been the difference between life and death.

“Got any hunches, Andy?” Though Rusty on occasion had played down Andy’s hunches, he was aware that they proved correct often enough to be disturbing. It was as if Andy had some supernatural power, though Rusty had not brought himself to accept that premise.

Andy said, “Maybe Farley has threatened to peel the hide off of him if he lets somebody come without lettin’ him know.”

“That sounds like Farley.”

Bethel stood on the porch, arms folded in an attitude of defiance until she recognized Andy and Rusty. She hurried down to meet them, her eyes anxious. “Lord, I’ve prayed for you-all to come.”

Andy’s pulse quickened. “Trouble?”

“Two days ago. A deputy sheriff showed up looking for Flora Landon.”

“Did he find her?”

“Yes. He dragged her away, him and five others. He took Farley too. Wouldn’t listen to us trying to tell him he was still too hurt to ride.”

A large bruise darkened her cheekbone. Andy demanded, “Who did that to you?”

“The deputy, when I tried to hold on to Farley. He was a big fellow. Pushed Mother off of the porch too. She’s stove up so badly she can barely walk.”

Andy’s face heated. “That’d be Big’un Hopper. What about the old man, Flora’s daddy?”

“He was out in the field. They missed him. He slipped away as soon as the posse was gone. Probably went to tell Jayce Landon.”

Andy dismounted for a closer look at Bethel. He touched her cheek. “Are you sure you’re all right? Nothin’ worse than that bruise?”

She reached up and pressed her hand against his. “Nothing that won’t heal. Except I’m still mad enough to chop that big deputy into little chunks and feed him to the hogs. I’m worried about what they might be doing to my brother. They accused him of helping with the jailbreak.”

“Big’un has accused me too, but he’s a liar. He knows me and Farley had nothin’ to do with that.”

“Just the same, I’m afraid. They treated Farley rough. They knew he was wounded, but they didn’t care. That deputy seemed to take pleasure in hurtin’ him.”

Andy’s antipathy for Farley Brackett mattered little now. Farley was a fellow Ranger. “What’re we goin’ to do about it, Rusty?”

“By rights that’s a decision the captain ought to make, or at least the sergeant.”

“They’re not here. So what would you do if you had to make the decision?”

Rusty said, “The Rangers have always taken care of their own.”

“The longer we wait, the more time they’ve got to torment Farley. And Flora Landon.”

Rusty had one reservation. “Don’t forget that the law over there would like to jail you too.”

“Just let Big’un try. He’ll see hell from the bottom side.”

Bethel agreed to send a field hand to town to find the sergeant and advise him that Andy and Rusty had proceeded on their own volition. She asked, “Do you know how you’re going to handle this?”