[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (12 page)

Rusty was sympathetic but offered little comfort. “If his mind is set, the only thing apt to stop him would be the court. You know a good judge?”

“I don’t even know a bad judge. Well, Judd Hopper. I just know that kid was on the road to hell before me and some of the others took him by the scruff of the neck. We may not be able to rescue him the next time.”

“Maybe Tennyson has decided to walk a straight line. I’ve known men that slipped once but never did it again.”

“An old horse doesn’t change his color. I’ve got a bad feelin’ way down in my gut.”

Though he knew it was unlikely, Andy could not shake a suspicion that Tennyson might steal their horses and make off with them in the dark. He dozed fitfully, never falling into deep sleep.

Tennyson snored all night.

Frying bacon for breakfast, Rusty noticed the droop of Andy’s shoulders. “It won’t help for you to lay awake frettin’. If the boy’s daddy wants him there’s not much you can do.”

“Maybe the captain can.”

Andy studied Scooter’s father as they rode. It had long seemed to him that there should be something in a criminal face that marked it as different. He could find nothing unusual in Tennyson’s unless it was the restless eyes, constantly searching. He had seen the same characteristic in frontiersmen used to being in Indian country, ever on the lookout for danger. Watchfulness was not necessarily a sign of a criminal mind.

Tennyson asked many questions about his son. “I’ll bet he’s growed up to be a man, almost. It’s hard to picture him that way. Last time I seen him he stood about waist-high to a tumbleweed.”

Andy looked for any sign of hope. “You may not know him, and he may not know you. You might’ve grown too far apart to fit back together again.”

“Give us a little time. Blood will always tell.”

Blood. That was what Andy worried about. Lige Tennyson’s blood ran in Scooter’s veins. It was an outlaw strain.

Andy said, “Scooter’s come a long way. Sergeant Holloway’s been schoolin’ him in readin’ and writin’ and figures. It’d be a shame to take him away from that.”

“I studied a few books while I was boardin’ with the state, and I was always pretty good at figurin’ up sums. I’ll teach him all I know.”

That was the problem, Andy thought. Lige knew too many of the wrong things.

They rode into camp at midafternoon and reined up in front of the headquarters tent. Sergeant Holloway stepped out, his turkey-tracked eyes pinched against the sunshine. Holloway gave Tennyson a glance, then turned to Andy and Rusty. “Rusty Shannon! It’s good to see you back. You figurin’ to stay awhile?”

“If you-all will have me.”

Holloway asked Andy, “Where’s Farley? Don’t tell me he decided to resign.” He looked a bit hopeful.

“Farley got shot up a little. I left him with his family till he heals up enough to ride.”

Andy was about to give Holloway the details when the captain emerged from his tent. He acknowledged Rusty and told him he would be glad to have him sign up for whatever period Rusty might choose. Then he diverted his attention to Andy. “I received a wire saying you and Brackett delivered your prisoners all right.”

“Delivered and signed for. But Jayce Landon didn’t stay a prisoner for long.”

“So I understand.”

Andy explained about Jayce’s escape from jail. He omitted his belief that Jayce’s wife had slipped him the derringer, for she was in enough trouble with the local law. She didn’t need the Rangers hounding her as well.

Dick Landon came up in time to hear most of it. He smiled broadly as he listened to the account of his brother’s flight. “I figured he’d get away if he had even a ghost of a chance.”

“Got away slicker than wagon grease. My guess is that he put the county line behind him as fast as his horse could run. He left a bunch of disappointed Hoppers, not to mention the county judge.”

“Judd Hopper!” Dick spat the name as if it were a wad of bitter tobacco. “The old son of a bitch has stolen half of the county.”

Andy said, “Sheriff Truscott seemed like a decent sort, considerin’ what-all he’s got to deal with.”

“But he’s got Judd Hopper’s leash around his neck.”

Tennyson listened intently, saying nothing as his eyes cut from Andy to Dick to the captain.

The captain impatiently changed the subject. “Tell me again how Brackett got wounded. The wire was much too sketchy.”

Andy repeated the account. The captain asked, “And you’re sure you shot whoever did it?”

“I saw him fall and grab his leg.”

The thought seemed to please the captain. “There’s nothing so stupid as a feud, and Texas seems to be suffering an epidemic of them. The trouble isn’t over just because you-all managed to ride away. It may follow you out here.”

That thought was not new to Andy. “Any shots we fired were in self-defense, plain and simple.”

The captain said, “From what I know of that county, the court belongs to the Hoppers. If they take a notion you’ve thrown in with the Landons, your testimony in court wouldn’t be worth a Continental.” His face indicated concern. “I’ll need you to write a full report at your first convenience. Perhaps I can get it to Austin ahead of any protests from the judge or the sheriff.”

The captain turned his attention to the visitor. “You say your name is Lige Tennyson? Somehow that has a familiar ring.”

Tennyson shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry to say that too many people used to know my name. Five years down at the state hotel has taught me that the outlaw road is all uphill, through flint rocks and cactus. But I’ve wrestled with the devil, and I’ve finally pinned him to the floor.”

“Well and good, but what brings you to this camp?”

“I’ve come to claim my son. He’s the boy called Scooter.”

The captain’s brow wrinkled. He gave Tennyson a more intense scrutiny. “I believe I see a family resemblance.”

“The Tennyson blood has always showed out strong. Ain’t goin’ to be no trouble about me takin’ my boy, is there?”

“I’ll have to satisfy myself that it’s the right thing to do. I’ll want to see what the boy says.”

“He’s his daddy’s son. He’ll want to go.”

“That I shall determine for myself. Follow me, Mr. Tennyson.” The captain strode toward the cook tent. Tennyson took long steps to catch up with him. Andy trailed along. Rusty stayed behind, talking to Holloway.

The black cook looked up from his Dutch ovens, puzzled by the crowd converging on him. “Howdy, Captain. A little early for supper. Got coffee ready, though.”

“We’re looking for Scooter.”

“He’s out draggin’ up firewood. Ought to be back right soon.” Bo’s forehead creased with worry. “He ain’t got in no trouble, has he?”

“No trouble. His father has come to see him.”

Bo seemed at a loss for words. He started to extend his hand but reconsidered and drew it back. He would not expect a white stranger to shake with him. “You’re Scooter’s daddy?” His voice hinted at the same misgivings Andy felt. “You and him been away from one another a long time.”

“Too long, but I’m fixin’ to make it up.”

Bo looked at the captain and at Andy, a silent pleading in his eyes. “I hope you ain’t fixin’ to take him away. That boy’s been a right smart of help to me.”

Instead of replying to Bo, Tennyson turned to the captain. “You got him takin’ orders from a nigger?”

The captain stiffened. “He listens to all of us. That’s how a boy learns.”

“Not a boy of mine. I want him growin’ up proud and strong. He’s got no business playin’ servant to anybody, least of all a nigger.”

The captain’s face flushed as he struggled for an answer. Andy knotted his fists.

They were distracted by a scraping sound. Scooter approached on horseback, dragging several long, dead tree branches at the end of a rawhide rope. He brought them up even with a remnant of woodpile and jumped to the ground. He retrieved the rope and coiled it. “That ought to last a couple of days, Bo. You want me to chop it up?”

Bo’s eyes were troubled. He did not answer.

Tennyson said, “You’re through doin’ chores around here, son.”

Scooter noticed the visitor for the first time. He blinked in confusion.

Tennyson bent down. “Don’t you recognize your old daddy?”

Scooter appeared at first to disbelieve what his eyes told him. “Pa?”

“Son, I’ve come to fetch you away from this place. It’s time me and you was partners again.” He opened his arms.

Scooter hesitated another moment, then accepted his father’s hug. “Pa, I didn’t know who you was.”

“Five years make a lot of changes in a man. But not as many as in a boy.” He pushed his son off to arm’s length and gave him a long study. “You’ve growed a sight bigger than I expected. You’re might near a man.”

“Might near.”

“Have you missed me?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“There was times I wondered too, but you’ll see a lot of me from now on. We’ve got places to go and things to do.”

“Where we goin’?”

“We’ll talk about that. How long before you’re ready?”

Scooter looked to the officer for an answer. “Is it all right with you, Captain?”

The captain was slow to answer. “Son, you’re free to do whatever you want to. Just be sure you know your mind.”

“This is my daddy.” Scooter looked at Bo. “You’re always talkin’ about Scripture. Don’t it say in the Book that I’m supposed to obey my daddy?”

The cook’s words came reluctantly. “It ain’t for me to tell you what you should do. All I know is that you’ve been a changed young’un since you’ve been with us.”

Scooter turned back to his father. “These Rangers have treated me real good.”

Tennyson said, “But they ain’t your kin. Blood is what matters most in this world.”

Scooter pondered his dilemma, his freckled face twisting. “I guess I belong with my daddy.”

The captain nodded gravely. “If that’s your choice.”

Andy protested, “Scooter, you were ridin’ with outlaws when we found you. You don’t want to be doin’ that again.”

“I’ll be ridin’ with my daddy.”

Andy wanted to grab the boy and shake him until he changed his mind, but he could not bring himself to lay a hand on Scooter. He said, “You’re makin’ a mistake.”

The captain said, “Leave him alone, Pickard. I told him the choice was his.”

“But he’s makin’ the wrong one.”

Tennyson said, “Keepin’ a boy away from his kin is like cuttin’ off the roots to a tree. It ain’t right. He needs to know who he is and who his people are.”

Scooter asked, “We don’t have to leave today, do we?”

Bo put in, “Stay a little longer and I’ll fix this boy a supper like he ain’t never had before.”

Tennyson considered. “Supper? Sounds all right to me. My horse is about give out anyway.”

Andy had found that tired horses were always a logical excuse for inaction.

Rusty had come up by then. Taking him aside Andy told him, “Maybe this’ll give me time to talk Scooter out of the notion.”

Rusty frowned. “Careful. If you push him into a decision he comes to regret, he’ll resent you the rest of his life.”

“If he makes the wrong decision, he’ll resent me for not advisin’ him better.”

Rusty shrugged. “Looks like you’re rimfired either way you go.”

Bo joined them. He seemed unable to conceive of the boy going away. He said, “When he first come here I felt like skinnin’ him alive. But us all workin’ together, we’ve made a pretty good kid out of him. Maybe he’ll still decide not to go with his daddy.”

Andy said glumly, “Maybe. But if my real daddy was to show up, I guess I’d want to go with him. Kin is kin.”

“There’s a difference. Your real daddy was a peaceful farmer, so they say. He wasn’t no outlaw.”

Andy noticed that Tennyson sought out Dick Landon and talked with him at length. Later, when he had a chance, Andy asked Dick what Tennyson had been so interested in.

Dick said, “He asked a lot of questions. Told me he heard talk in the pen about the fight between the Landons and the Hoppers. I told him I’ve been tryin’ to stay out of it, but it’s hard when so many people are tryin’ to hunt down my brother.”

“Maybe Jayce has got to Mexico by now.”

“I doubt he’d go there without Flora. No, he’ll stay close enough to keep in touch with her and the rest of the family.”

“Then he’s always in danger of bein’ found.”

Dick’s face darkened. “Them that find him, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

Andy had expected trouble to come sooner or later from Sheriff Oscar Truscott or at least his deputy, Big’un Hopper. He had not expected the county judge to show up at the Ranger camp in a buggy, sided by Big’un and another Hopper on horseback. Andy remembered Big’un calling this one Harp. The family resemblance was strong.

Judge Hopper looked to be in the final stages of dyspepsia. He stopped at the headquarters tent first, conferring awhile with the captain. The captain in turn sent for Andy.

The captain’s face was sober, but Andy could sense anger simmering beneath the surface. “Private Pickard, Judge Hopper has made grave charges against you and Private Brackett.”

Andy stood straight and defiant. “We expected somebody would.” He wondered why Sheriff Truscott had not come instead of the judge. He had sensed almost from the first that friction existed between the sheriff and his in-laws.

Big’un poked a thick finger toward Andy’s face. “This man and his partner contrived for a prisoner to escape.”

The captain maintained a stern attitude. “And how did they do that? Private Pickard brought me a signed release certifying that the prisoner had been delivered into the sheriff’s hands. All further responsibility was the sheriff’s.”

Big’un said, “They claimed they’d searched him, but he had a gun on him. He forced the jailer to turn him aloose.”

Andy said, “Didn’t you or the sheriff search him too before he went into the jail?”

“We took you-all’s word.”

“I distinctly remember seein’ you feel of Jayce’s pockets.”

“He must’ve had it someplace else. In his boot, maybe. We trusted you Rangers to be sure he didn’t carry any weapon when you turned him over to us.”

“He didn’t.” Andy was gratified that the Hoppers evidently had not figured out something that seemed obvious to him: Flora Landon had slipped her husband the derringer. He did not want to make their job easier or the woman’s life harder than it already was.