[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (19 page)

Scooter did not understand about the wind. It was coming out of the south. He could tell that without having to ask anybody.

Lige said, “Ain’t no place better than a barbershop or a livery stable to find out what’s goin’ on in a town. I want to learn more about that feud and be sure who to talk to about offerin’ my services.”

Scooter seemed resigned to being left alone. “I’ll keep out of sight, like before.”

“I’m sorry, son, but once we get up into the territory, there won’t be no need for you to hide anymore. There won’t be no Texas law up there. We’ll ride together, proud as two peacocks in the sunshine.”

Lige sought out the livery barn first. The stable hand met him at the open doors of the barn.

“Want to put your horse up for the night?”

“I won’t be stayin’ that long, but I’d like him to have a bucket of oats. He’s been rode a long ways, and he’s kind of drawed.”

“So are you,” the stable hand said. “If you’re hungry there’s a pretty good eatin’ place up the street yonder, toward the courthouse. How far have you come? Where’d you start from?”

“Over east.” That was the opposite of the truth, but somebody toting a badge might come along and ask questions of the liveryman.

Lige figured he had come to the right place. This man looked like a talker, and Lige had come to listen.

Lige was fairly sure he recognized Big’un Hopper as the deputy sheriff walked out of the jailhouse. He had the stableman’s description and his own memory of the lawman who visited the Ranger camp on the San Saba. Hopper was one of the largest men Lige had ever seen. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, a present from an angry Ranger, the stableman had said. Lige approached him warily, for he could not be sure how seriously Hopper took his responsibilities as a lawman.

“I expect you’d be Big’un Hopper.”

From Lige’s viewpoint the deputy towered like the cupola atop the courthouse. He outweighed Lige by at least a hundred pounds. Big’un took a belligerent stance. “I don’t know you. Give me a reason why I ought to even talk to you.”

“I think I could be of service.”

“I don’t need no ditches dug nor fields plowed, and we generally got a prisoner or two to sweep out the jailhouse.”

“Them things ain’t my specialty anyway. I do most of my work with this.” He dropped a hand to the butt of his pistol. “I hear you Hoppers have got enemies.”

Hopper showed a flicker of cautious interest. “Even if we do, what business is it of yours?”

“I could handle them for you at so much per head. All you’d have to do would be to point them out. I’d lay them out. Wouldn’t be nothin’ the law could hang on your family because I ain’t no kin to any of you.”

Hopper’s interest grew. “Let’s go in the jailhouse yonder and talk about it.”

The thought of entering a jail gave Lige a chill. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather we went someplace else. Someplace where nobody would see or hear us.”

Hopper pointed to a small frame building with peeling red paint. “The blacksmith is shoein’ horses out of town. His shop is private enough if you don’t mind a horse or two.”

The place smelled of iron and burned coal. Lige walked through it, checking the horse stalls, then peering out the back door to be sure no one was near enough to overhear the conversation.

Hopper asked, “Sayin’ I was to agree to somethin’, how do I know you could do the job? You don’t look like no notorious gunfighter to me. I don’t even know your name.”

“For now, just call me Bill Smith.”

Hopper seemed amused. “Smith? We’ve entertained a lot of your kinfolks in that jail yonder, one time and another.”

“If I was to tell you my real name you’d recognize it. But I don’t think I ought to, seein’ that badge you’re wearin’.”

“This badge ain’t tattooed on my skin. I know when to look the other way.” Hopper’s face twisted in a minute’s silent study. “I’ll give you a chance, but I don’t want you seen with me or any other Hoppers. I don’t want folks to make any connection.”

“I don’t care to have too many people see me anyway. I expect there’s a reward out. They might get notions.”

“I know an old farmhouse nobody is livin’ in. You can stay there. When I’ve got somethin’ lined up, I’ll come and talk to you.”

“I’ll be needin’ some supplies for me and my boy.”

“Boy?” Hopper’s eyebrows went up.

“My son. He’s travelin’ with me.”

For a moment Hopper seemed to reconsider. “That’s an extra witness. It’s a complication I hadn’t figured for.” A calculating light came into his eyes. “Travelin’ with a boy. Seems to me I’ve seen a flier.” He snapped his fingers. “Timson. Wanted for bank robbery.”

Lige corrected him. “Tennyson. At least you know a little about my reputation.”

Hopper smiled as if he had just drawn four aces. “I believe you’ll work out perfect.” He drew some bills from his pocket. “This ought to tide you over for a week or two. Now here’s how you get out to the place.” He squatted on his heels and drew a map in the sandy floor.

Hopper left the shop first. Lige waited a bit so no casual observer was likely to realize they had been together. He moved to the shop door, then took two fast steps backward into the shadows. Surprise quickened his pulse. He could hardly believe what he saw: the two Rangers named Rusty and Andy and a third man who limped along, hunched over as if hurt.

Involuntarily he held his breath until the burning in his lungs forced him to expel it.

How in the hell could they have tracked us so far?

He felt trapped. He had been confident he had shaken off pursuit. Now here were these damned Rangers, so close he could hit them with a rock. He retreated to the back of the shop, where the shadows were darkest, and watched as the three passed the front door. He barely dared breathe. For a fleeting moment he entertained the notion of shooting them while they weren’t looking. With a little luck he might get all three before they had time to realize what was happening.

But he dismissed the idea. Back-shooting had never been his style. Anyway, chances were that at least one would survive long enough to put a bullet in him. What would Scooter do then? The boy would be lost if his father failed to show up. Lige gradually calmed and tried to think rationally.

There was no question of staying in town to buy supplies. He had to get out of this place as quickly as he could without letting the Rangers see him. Perhaps they were not after him in the first place. Perhaps something else had brought them here, far from their camp on the San Saba. If that was the case, they would not be expecting to see him. He intended to make certain they did not.

He had tied his horse behind the bank. He did not know why he had chosen that spot except that something in his nature always seemed to draw him to banks. He eased back to the front door so he could watch the Rangers. He saw them enter the livery stable and disappear into its darkness. He went out through the back door of the blacksmith shop and hurried to his horse. He left town in a slow trot to avoid attracting attention. He looked over his shoulder until Hopper’s Crossing was well behind him, then set his horse into a lope.

It was a point of pride for Lige that his son watched his surroundings closely. He seemed to see everything that went on around him. Scooter walked out a little way to meet his father.

“Thought you was fixin’ to get a haircut.”

“Changed my mind. Didn’t get supplies, either. I saw a couple of your Ranger friends, Andy and Rusty.”

Scooter’s eyes opened wide. “They after us?”

“Could be, or maybe we’ve just fallen into a run of bad luck. I didn’t stay around to ask them.”

“What’ll we do, Pa?”

“We’ll ride back to that last town and buy what we need. Then we’ll go to a farm a feller told me about. He said it’s a good place to stay out of sight till I’m called on to do a job.”

The farmhouse was about as Big’un had described it, no better and no worse. It appeared not to have had permanent tenants for several years. Broken shingles on the roof would let water leak into the house when rain fell. A front window-pane was broken.

Scooter eyed the place with misgivings. “It’ll take a week to clean this place up.”

“We may not be here a week. At least this place is mostly in the open. We can see anybody who comes this way.”

“You lookin’ for somebody to come after us?”

“With the Rangers, you never know.”

But Lige was worried not only about the Rangers. He did not entirely trust Big’un Hopper. The odds were that the man had been on the level about hiring him for a job. But after all, he was a deputy sheriff. He had recognized Lige and remembered he was wanted for bank robbery. Perhaps he was simply setting Lige up so he could claim the reward, if any was offered.

Well, Lige Tennyson had not lived this long by trusting to luck. He had learned long ago that those who keep a hole card and watch out for themselves are usually the luckiest.

“We’ll fool them. They’ll expect us to be in the house. But we’ll camp in the barn back yonder. If the wrong people come, we can ride out the back and be in the timber before they know what happened.”

Andy thought the doctor was going to slam the door in their faces when he saw Farley Brackett. He stood with hands pressed against the jamb on both sides, blocking the doorway. He was a little graybearded man with rolled-up sleeves and an apron stained by old I blood specks that never washed out. He looked as if he had just smelled a skunk.

He said, “Last time I treated that man he cussed me like a mule skinner. If he’s not dying, take him to somebody else.”

Andy said, “His wound is tryin’ to heal, but we don’t like the color around the edges. We’d take it as a favor if you’d look at him.”

Reluctantly the doctor drew back from the door. “First cussword I hear out of him, I’ll put a twitch on his nose the way I’d do an unruly horse.”

Farley growled, “I told you he’s just a horse doctor.”

Andy said, “Be watchful what you say. He might decide he needs to cut on you, and I’ll bet he could make it hurt.”

The doctor said, “Your damned right I can. How did this disagreeable son of a bitch ever get to be a Ranger?”

Andy decided it might be wise to let Farley answer that for himself, but Farley had nothing to say except, “Let’s get on with it.”

He took off his shirt and shed the long underwear from his arms and shoulders. The doctor peered closely at the healing wound, then poked it with the tip of his finger. Farley shouted, and the doctor grinned.

“A little angry around the edges,” he said, “but it’s coming along. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Farley said, “Of course you wouldn’t. It ain’t yours.”

Andy asked, “Do you think he can ride?”

“He can if he’s willing to put up with a lot of hurt and the risk of bleeding again. If it was me I’d wait a few days before I started off on any long trip back to wherever it is you-all come from.”

Farley pulled up his underwear and put on his shirt. He moved gingerly, trying to minimize the pain.

Andy asked, “What do we owe you, Doctor?”

“I’ve got a special deal for Rangers since it’s their duty to protect us even if they have to shoot us to do it. My services are free the first time. After that it’s regular rates. A man dumb enough to get shot a second time doesn’t deserve any favors from me.”

“Thanks. Maybe we can send you some payin’ customers.”

“You already have, the night you two knuckleheads faced that mob in front of an empty jailhouse.”

Andy tried to help Farley down the front step, but Farley motioned irritably for him to back off. “Don’t treat me like I’m crippled. If whoever shot me is watchin’, I want him to know that he didn’t do but half a job.”

“What if he tries to finish it?”

“I’m hopin’ he does. I’d like to return the favor.”

Rusty had not gone with them to the doctor’s house. He had talked little during the time they had been in Hopper’s Crossing. His gaze was often vacant, his thoughts seemingly far away. His concern over Farley’s wound had been that of one Ranger for another, not one of personal friendship. His relationship with Farley had been uneasy since the time Farley’s transgressions against Reconstruction authorities had brought trouble to Rusty’s door.

He was brushing his horse when Andy and Farley entered the stable. He gave Farley only a fleeting glance, and he asked no questions. “I’m thinkin’ about goin’ on back to the San Saba,” he said. “The captain’s probably wonderin’ what’s become of us.”

Andy said, “The doctor says it might be better if Farley doesn’t ride just yet.”

“He stands a good chance of gettin’ shot again in this place. If he doesn’t want to go stay with his mother and sister, he can batch at my farm till he’s healed up better. I doubt that the Hoppers would want him bad enough to hunt him down over there.”

Farley said, “I’m in no hurry to leave here. I want to see Big’un get what’s comin’ to him.”

Rusty gave him a grim look. “Suit yourself, but it’s time me and Andy was leavin’.”

Farley lay down on a steel cot the liveryman had dragged out for him. “If the captain complains, tell him he can fire me.”