[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (13 page)

Big’un declared, “One of them Rangers wounded a cousin of mine. Took a chunk out of his leg. He’ll never walk straight again.”

Andy retorted, “The way most of them were liquored up that night, he wasn’t walkin’ very straight before.”

The captain frowned at Andy, a quiet signal for him to tread lightly.

The judge looked up the row of tents. “Where is that other Ranger, the one named Brackett? Why is he not out here?”

Andy did not answer. He decided that was for the captain to do if he so chose.

The captain said, “He is recuperating from a wound some of your people inflicted upon him.”

“I asked you where he is.”

“And I have chosen not to say. Any business you have with him, you can take up with me.” The captain’s firm stance made it plain that he did not intend to tell more than he already had.

Big’un broke in, “We understand you’ve got a man here by the name of Landon.”

The captain said, “Yes. Private Dick Landon.”

“Do you know he’s a brother to the fugitive?”

“I do, but I’ve kept Private Landon here in camp or on assignment nearby You cannot implicate him in this fiasco.”

“He didn’t have to be there. I’m bettin’ that him and Pickard and Brackett were in cahoots. And I’m bettin’ he knows where his brother is at. He may even be hidin’ him somewhere close to this camp.” Big’un’s voice rose as he spoke.

The judge said, “I have sworn out a warrant for the arrest of Pickard and Brackett and your Ranger Landon. I intend to bring them before the grand jury.” He removed some papers from his vest pocket.

The captain planted his feet a little farther apart. “You are out of your jurisdiction.” Nevertheless, he gave the documents a cursory inspection. His voice edged toward the sarcastic. “Signed by Judge Judd Hopper. I wonder why the Hopper name does not surprise me.”

“I was duly elected by the voters of the county. Those papers are as legal as if they were signed by Sam Houston himself.”

The captain handed back the documents. “I cannot accept these. I do not know if the signature is genuine.”

“I just told you.”

“I do not know if you are genuine. You have shown me no documentation to prove you are who you say you are.”

Big’un said, “You can see my badge.”

“Any half-sober silversmith can counterfeit a badge. The men you seek are Rangers under my command, duly sworn. You will not have them unless I receive direct orders from the adjutant general.”

Big’un said, “He’s way to hell over in Austin.”

“Probably, if he is not away on an inspection tour somewhere across the state. I suggest you go to Austin and wait for him.”

Big’un started to turn his horse away but paused to curse the captain. “We ain’t done yet. You’ll be wishin’ you’d never heard of us Hoppers.”

The captain said, “I already do. Leave this camp, or I shall place you under arrest for disturbing the peace. I may come up with another charge or two if I set my mind to it.”

Andy watched the judge’s face flush a deep red. He thought Hopper might be in some danger of bursting a blood vessel. Big’un gave the judge a cautionary look. “Better ease off, Uncle. You know what the doctor told you about them conniption fits.” He turned his eyes to the captain. “Looks to me like he needs a drink.”

“We don’t keep liquor in camp.”

“Some water, then.”

The captain offered no sympathy. “There’s a whole riverful of it down yonder.”

Big’un and the judge rode down toward the river. Harp followed a length behind. He had never spoken. Andy surmised that he simply rode in his kinsmen’s shadow.

Sweating heavily, Andy said, “Thanks, Captain. I was afraid you might give them what they asked for.”

“The Rangers stand by their own.”

“Those Hoppers are a hard bunch. From what I heard, so are the Landons. Dick is an exception.”

“Perhaps. Given sufficient provocation, there is no telling what any man might do, including yourself. I gather you have had no experience with a real Texas family feud.”

“Not like this one.”

“They can be vicious. They can draw in an entire community, including people who are no blood kin. Back in the time of the republic, two groups known as the Regulators and the Moderators went to war against one another. It took Sam Houston and the Texas army to stop the bloodshed.”

“I’ve heard about that one.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to stay neutral, but we have to. It’s our job to keep the peace, even if we have to kill some people to do it.”

“Big’un Hopper is a determined man, and so is the judge. Do you think they’ll just turn around and go back?”

“I’ll see that they do. I’ll send Len Tanner as an escort to see the three of them safe from Indian attack the first forty or fifty miles.”

“There hasn’t been an Indian attack around here in years.”

The captain smiled thinly. “And we want to keep it that way.”

Andy thought by the time the Hoppers listened to a one-sided conversation from Len for fifty miles, they would not want to come back. He could talk the ears off a dead mule.

The Ranger company had given Scooter an unclaimed fourteen-year-old horse recovered from a thief, along with an old saddle and a bridle acquired the same way. He had been as proud as if the rig were brand-new and the horse a three-year-old. He rode beside his father, who had not told him their destination but had set out after breakfast in an eastward direction.

A squirrel chattered at them from the limb of a pecan tree. Lige said, “There’s supper.” He drew his pistol and fired. The squirrel toppled, its head gone.

Scooter whistled. “Man! I never even seen a Ranger shoot like that.”

“It ain’t nothin’ you can’t learn to do. Just got to set your mind to it. I’ll learn you.”

Lige motioned, and Scooter dismounted to retrieve the squirrel. Lige said, “Keep watchin’ for another. We can have us a regular feast as good as what that darky’s been fixin’.”

“Ain’t many can cook like Bo.”

Lige frowned. “Them Rangers had no business lettin’ you do chores for the likes of him. You’re white, and don’t you ever forget it.”

“Bein’ black ain’t Bo’s fault. He’s good people.”

“As long as he knows his place.”

At dusk they sat before a campfire, watching two squirrels broiling on the ends of long sticks. Scooter said, “Been a long time since we camped together. So long I can barely remember it.”

“We’ll do it a lot more. We’re partners, me and you.” Lige leaned forward for a look at the squirrels. “I done a lot of campin’ when I was younger. Bet you didn’t know I lived for a few years up in the Cherokee nation.”

“With the Indians?”

“They was good Indians.”

“I didn’t know there was any good ones. Comanches come awful close to killin’ me once. I hid out to where they couldn’t find me, but they sure tried. They come so close I swear I could smell their breath.”

“The Cherokees are a different breed. I had me some good friends amongst them, and we cut some real shines together. Of course I was a sight younger then.” Lige mused for a while, staring into the fire. “I got it in mind to go back up to the nation and find me a Cherokee wife. They each got a head right to some land. Me and you could get us a good little farm that way.”

“You’d marry an Indian just to get some land?”

“It ain’t easy for a poor man to get ahold of good land these days. Besides, there’s other advantages to bein’ married. Me and your mama had a pretty good life together. I miss her.”

“I don’t know how I’d take to havin’ an Indian mother. I’d keep thinkin’ about them Comanches wantin’ to scalp me. I’d wonder if she had the same notion.”

“Them Cherokees live like white people. Got their own government. Even got their own newspaper.”

“Still, I don’t know as I’d like it. I might not go with you up there.”

“You’ll go where I say.” Tennyson’s face clouded with anger that came quickly and faded the same way. “The Good Book says to honor your father.”

“You’ve read the Good Book?”

“Parts of it.”

“You believe everything it says?”

“The parts I agree with. I heard a lot of preachin’ while I was back yonder workin’ for the governor. So we’ll follow the Book, and you’ll go where I go.”

Scooter had forgotten how mercurial his father’s moods could be. He remembered how hard his father could slap him with an open hand, then hug him tenderly. He decided to step with caution. “And where’ll that be?”

“Back where that feud is goin’ on. I talked to Dick Landon, and I watched that judge and the deputies. I figure a man good with a gun ought to be able to hire out to one side or the other for high dollars. That’d set us up fine for goin’ to the Cherokee nation. But first we need us a little road stake.”

“Road stake?”

“Travelin’ money. There’s a nice little bank over in Kerrville. I think I could talk them into makin’ us a loan.”

Scooter did not hide his misgivings. “When you say loan, you’re really thinkin’ robbery.”

“Robbery is an ugly word. Borrowin’ touches softer on the ear.”

“I doubt as the Rangers would see the difference.”

“You’re not with the Rangers anymore. It’s time you quit worryin’ about what they think.”

“I was with Arliss and Brewster and another feller when they held up the bank in Brownwood. Scared me near as bad as them Comanches did.”

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of when you know what you’re doin’. Watch me and learn. Every boy needs to master more than one trade.”

The Rangers had told Scooter that Kerrville and several other towns in the hill country had a strong German influence. They explained that in the years before the war, many groups of Europeans—German, Polish, Alsatian, Irish—had immigrated into Texas, usually settling into enclaves among their own kind, where they felt comfortable.

All he knew about Germans was that they talked differently from most people though they looked like just about everybody else. He wondered if the men in the bank would understand Lige’s words. But of course they would understand his meaning. Everybody knew what a gun meant when they looked at it from the front end.

He was sure Andy and Bo and everybody else back in camp would be furious at him and Lige both. But he knew he could not talk his father out of the notion. Lige was better at talking than at listening.

Lige gave the bank several minutes’ scrutiny. “I was in there six or seven years ago. Doubt it’s changed much.”

“You’ve robbed it before?”

“I looked at it as a loan. Never intended to keep the money permanent. I always figured on payin’ it back someday when I could. Just ain’t been able to. Besides, it ain’t right, some people havin’ so much money and some not havin’ none. What the government ought to do is take up all the money in the country and divide it equal. When you look at it that way, all I’m doin’ is seein’ that we get our share. That’s what democracy is all about.”

Scooter saw three horses tied in front of the bank. He wondered if their riders would stand idle while Lige single-handedly robbed the place. “Hadn’t you better go in and look things over first, Pa?”

“They might recognize me from last time. Best thing is to get straight to business. Now you stay in the saddle and hold my horse. I’m liable to be in kind of a hurry when I come out.”

Hands shaking, Scooter took the reins his father handed him. “What if things go wrong and you don’t come out?”

“Then run like hell. The penitentiary ain’t no place for a growin’ boy.” Lige turned away, carrying his saddlebags over one arm.

Scooter’s stomach churned. He tried to ease the tension by pretending that his father was only teasing him, that he actually intended to negotiate a legitimate loan. The fantasy faded like a wisp of smoke. The truth was as solid and forbidding as that stone bank building.

A friendly voice called, causing him to freeze. “Howdy, Scooter. What you doin’ so far from camp?”

He turned, trembling. Ranger Johnny Morris walked toward him. Scooter stammered, trying for some kind of answer. He remembered that the captain had sent Johnny on a mission of some kind a few days ago.

“I’m with my pa,” Scooter managed. “He came and got me.”

“Your pa? I thought he was in …” Johnny broke off. “Where’s your pa now?”

“He went in the bank.”

“The bank!” Johnny turned on his heel, drawing his pistol as he ran. He barely had time to enter the front door before Scooter heard a shot from inside.

Lige rushed out, a smoking pistol in one hand, the saddlebags slung over the other arm. He tossed the bags to Scooter and grabbed the reins from Scooter’s hand. “Hang on to them bags. Hold them tight.”

He swung into the saddle and fired a shot through the open bank door. Someone stepped quickly back out of sight.

Lige shouted, “Let’s go. This town ain’t got no friendlier.”

Scooter was too frightened to talk until they had cleared the outskirts of town. They galloped eastward alongside the rock-strewn Guadalupe River and its tall cypress trees. Looking back, he could see no one in pursuit, but he reasoned that they would soon be coming. “I hope you didn’t kill somebody.”