[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (23 page)

“You’d better admire her from a distance. She’d shoot you in a minute if it would save her husband.”

“I’d call that gumption.”

So far as Andy could tell, Rusty had shown no interest in Flora as a woman. He saw her only as a complication in his effort to guard Jayce, to keep him from escaping and at the same time to protect him from his Hopper enemies. Rusty seemed too tied up in his grief over Josie Monahan to involve himself with another woman. Andy’s subtle and sometimes not so subtle efforts to arouse his interest in Josie’s sister Alice had bumped against a stone wall of resistance.

Every time Andy went to the cells he felt Jayce’s eyes watching him, calculating, ready to seize any opportunity for a break. Tom Blessing did not allow Flora direct contact with her husband. She did her visiting from a cell ten feet away from Jayce’s. She could not even hand him tobacco. Either Tom or Rusty would examine it first, then pass it to Jayce.

Anyone who took a meal tray to Jayce had to leave his pistol in the front office and slide the tray through a wide slot in the cell door. Before anyone entered the cell to empty the slop jar or sweep out, Jayce had first to shove his arms out with a bar between them and submit to being handcuffed.

Andy said, “Tom’s carryin’ things to an extreme.”

Rusty replied, “By the time you put in as many years as he has, you’ll know not to get careless with the likes of Jayce Landon. He’ll grab any chance, and he’ll be willin’ to kill anybody who stands in his way. So would Flora, I’m thinkin’.”

Andy found it hard to imagine Flora killing anyone, even to save Jayce. But he took care not to get close enough that she might grab his pistol.

Farley Brackett’s arrival took Andy by surprise. His face was bruised and swollen, cut in half a dozen places. He attempted to dismount by himself but fell to hands and knees. His startled horse jerked free and ran several yards before turning to look back.

Andy rushed to help. Though he had never liked the dour Ranger, he felt outrage at seeing him so badly battered. He lifted Farley to his feet and held him to keep him from falling again. He said, “You look like you’ve been drug at the end of a rope.”

Farley’s lips were swollen and cut. His speech was distorted. “Where’s Rusty? Got to see Rusty.”

“He’s inside. Hang on to me. I’ll get you there.”

Farley had difficulty in keeping his legs under him. With Andy’s support he labored up the step and through the door. Rusty sat at Tom’s desk, writing a report for the captain. Tom lay napping on a cot, one arm over his face to shield his eyes from the light. He had stood watch for half the previous night. Awakening, he pushed up onto his elbow. “What in the world …”

Rusty strode across the room to help. Tom arose from the cot and motioned for them to place Farley on it.

Rusty demanded, “Who did this to you?”

Farley cursed under his breath as he stretched out on the cot. “Big’un. Who else? There’s hell to pay over at Hopper’s Crossing. The Hoppers are tied up in a manhunt. But when they get done with that they’ll be comin’ for Jayce.”

Rusty said, “They know where we brought him?”

“They do now. Big’un had him a set of brass knuckles. I didn’t have the strength to give him much of a fight.”

“Nobody could blame you for tellin’ him.”

“I didn’t tell him nothin’, but the little feller that runs the livery stable spilled it all. He had heard you-all talk enough that he knew you brought Jayce over here.”

“So you figure Big’un will be comin’ after him?”

“As sure as New Year’s follows Christmas. I ought to’ve killed him when I had the chance. I will yet.”

“Better not. Remember, he’s a deputy sheriff.”

Farley cautiously ran his fingers over some of the angry cuts on his face. “Worse than that. He’s the actin’ sheriff now by order of Judge Hopper.”

Farley explained about Truscott’s murder. “Accordin’ to Big’un, it was old man Tennyson and his boy that done it. He put out an order to kill them both on sight.”

Andy felt his heart sink. “Scooter?”

“Big’un said him and the sheriff went out to make an arrest. The old man and his boy shot it out with them.”

Andy declared, “Scooter wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“It don’t matter whether he did or not. Big’un put out the word to take no chances, to shoot the both of them on sight.”

Andy felt a chill. “He must be lyin’.”

“Like as not, but most of Hopper’s Crossing believes him. They’re huntin’ high and low, like a pack of coyotes. I wouldn’t bet a Confederate dollar on the daddy or the boy either one livin’ to get away.”

Andy turned to Rusty in anguish. “We’ve got to do somethin’.”

“Lige Tennyson picked his own road.”

“I doubt that Scooter had any say in the matter.”

“We wouldn’t have any idea where to look for them. Anyway, it’s our assignment to guard Jayce.”

For the moment Andy hated Jayce Landon and Lige Tennyson both. Most of all he hated Big’un Hopper, responsible for their having to guard Jayce and for the shoot-to-kill admonition that put Scooter in jeopardy

Flora called from the back room. “You-all come and let me out of this cell.”

Farley pushed up onto his elbows. “You-all got that good woman under arrest?”

Rusty said, “We’re tryin’ to make sure she stays good.” He explained the conditions under which she was allowed to visit her husband. “She passed a gun to him once. We don’t want her doin’ it again.”

Farley eased. “I didn’t know anybody figured that out besides me.”

Andy said, “You think you’re the only one around here that’s got any brains?”

Tom released Flora from her cell and followed her out into the office. The sight of Farley’s battered face stirred her to indignation. “I don’t suppose he fell off of a horse.”

Farley said, “It wasn’t a horse that done this to me. It was a jackass.”

“Turn Jayce loose for a few days, and I promise you Big’un won’t trouble anybody again.”

Rusty said, “I’m sore tempted, but how could we know Jayce wouldn’t head south for Mexico?”

“You could hold me here in his place. He’d turn himself in again like he did before.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Jayce knows Tom Blessing wouldn’t mistreat you like Big’un did. And Tom couldn’t hold you for long since there’s no charges against you.”

She argued, “No tellin’ who-all Big’un is liable to stomp on before he’s through. What Hopper’s Crossing needs is a few funerals, startin’ with Big’un and his uncle Judd. Give Jayce a chance and he’ll see to it.”

Farley said, “Once I get my strength back, I’d be glad to see to it myself.”

Scooter swayed from one side to the other in the saddle. Lige said, “Stay awake, son. You don’t want to fall and start the bleedin’ again. It’s taken too long to get it stopped in the first place.”

But he realized Scooter was not simply falling asleep. Fevering, he teetered along the brink of unconsciousness.

“I’ve got to find help for you, and damned soon.”

Because the bullet had passed through, he had hoped his son would be able to keep riding until they put a lot more distance behind them. But instead of starting the healing process, the wound was getting uglier, and Scooter’s fever was rising. Lige’s hopes for escape had all but vanished. At first he had circled around a few farmhouses, fearing word had gone out that he had killed the sheriff. Now that he made up his mind to accept the risk, he had ridden for miles without seeing a house.

He had only a general idea where he and Scooter were. He hoped they had crossed into another county, where Big’un would have less influence. He had started north, hoping to throw off or at least delay pursuit, then had turned westward where there would be fewer settlements, fewer people to witness their flight. That, however, complicated his search for someone to help Scooter. He had given up the notion of riding only in the dark of night. He traveled boldly in the daylight.

At last he saw a small cabin. Smoke drifted from the chimney. “Hold on, son. Maybe these folks can help you.”

He heard the sound of an ax, then saw an old black man chopping wood behind the cabin. Disappointment left a sour taste in his mouth. “Damned little help we’ll get here.”

The old man straightened and leaned on the ax while he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes in an effort to wipe away the sweat and sharpen his vision. Then he came limping out to meet Lige and the boy. “That young’un looks to be in a bad way.”

“He’s in need of help. Any white folks livin’ close by?”

“Not close enough by the looks of him. There’s the Shannon place over yonderway, but nobody’s home. And there’s Old Man Fowler Gaskin. You wouldn’t take a stray dog to him.”

“What about town?”

“It’s a right smart of a ways. Too far for the boy to keep ridin’ horseback, I’m afraid, and I ain’t got a wagon. Bring him in the house. I’ll see if there’s somethin’ I can do for him.”

Lige had always considered it gospel truth that black folks were supposed to be subservient. He took the old man’s blackness as an indication that the cabin was probably filthy and infested with vermin. The thought of taking Scooter in there repelled him. Yet he saw no choice.

He said, “I’m goin’ to need hot water to clean him up.”

“That won’t take long. I got plenty of firewood, and there’s water in the well.”

The cabin’s single room was bedroom and kitchen all together. Lige was pleasantly surprised to see that the place was clean. He asked, “You got a woman, I suppose?”

“Never had no chance to get married.”

“The place looks too neat not to have a woman in it.”

“I used to belong to Mr. Isaac York. When he was sober he was particular about keepin’ the place up. He wasn’t sober much, but I got in the habit of sweepin’ and scrubbin’ for the times when he was.”

Lige gave the cot a doubting look. He distrusted it but was in no position to be choosy. He gently placed Scooter on the top blanket and pulled down the bloody trousers. Sight of the wound made him sick to his stomach. “How about that hot water?”

“It’ll be comin’ in a minute. What happened to this boy?”

“It’s best you don’t know. Then you can’t tell them anything.”

“He’s been shot, that’s plain to see. And I’m guessin’ you’re the ones the Rangers told me about.”

Lige’s nerves tightened. “The Rangers? What did they tell you?”

“Told me about a man and a boy that robbed a bank out west someplace. I got no money in a bank here or anywheres else, so it don’t scrape no skin off of my nose.”

Defensively Lige said, “The boy had nothin’ to do with it.”

“It don’t seem likely he would, him bein’ so young.”

“How often do the Rangers come by here?”

“Ain’t seen one in a while. Rusty Shannon was the last to come by.”

The name jarred Lige. “Rusty?”

“He’s the neighbor I was tellin’ you about. A hailstorm beat down his crops, so he’s gone back to Rangerin’ ’til spring-plantin’ time.”

Lige thought of his ride with Shannon and Andy to the San Saba River camp, where he’d picked up Scooter. The Ranger had seemed to be a man of dark moods. “I’ve met Shannon. He didn’t have a whole lot to say.”

“Hard times been doggin’ his steps like a hungry wolf. He was all set on marryin’, but his woman got shot and killed. He’s a booger against men that breaks the law.”

“And boys too?”

“He’s got a soft spot for hard-luck boys. I mind the time he caught a white boy ridin’ with the Comanches. They had stole him when he was little. Rusty taken him in and treated him like a brother. First time I seen Andy he was about the size of your boy here. Turned into a fine young man.”

“Andy? Would his last name be Pickard?”

“Sure would.”

“He was kind to my boy, Scooter.”

“I ain’t surprised. It would be his way of payin’ back for what-all Rusty done to help him.”

Lige tried washing away the blood, but his stomach turned over. He had seen lots of bloodshed in his day, but this time was different. This was his son.

The black man offered, “I’ll clean him up for you.” He took the wet cloth, rinsed it, and began washing around the wound. “This looks bad. I wisht I had whiskey to pour in that bullet hole.”

Lige thought he could use some whiskey himself. “We need to cauterize that wound. Else it’s apt to go to gangrene.”

The black man’s face twisted. “Old Shanty couldn’t do that to this boy. I know how much it hurts. One time Mr. Isaac got drunk and taken a notion that I ought to be branded like he branded his critters. It was a long time before I could sit in a chair.”

“I’m his daddy. It’s my place to do it. You got a butcher knife I can heat?”

Reluctantly Shanty fetched a knife from his crude cabinet. “I’ll hold him for you, but I’m shuttin’ my eyes.”

Scooter had been unconscious. He awakened screaming at the touch of the hot blade. With tears in his eyes Lige kept pressing against the wound until the smell of burning flesh became too much for him. He rushed out of the cabin and threw up.

He reentered after a few minutes. Shanty said, “The boy’s unconscious again. He ain’t feelin’ nothin’. I rubbed some hog lard over the burn.”

“Is there a doctor in town that we can trust?”

“Folks around here swear by Dr. Parsons.”

“I’d be obliged if you would fetch him.”

“Like as not I’ll run into Sheriff Tom Blessing. What will I say?”

“I don’t see why you’d have to say anything.”

Shanty considered. “I never was no great shakes at lyin’. Folks see through me in a minute. But maybe Mr. Tom won’t ask me nothin’.”

“I hope not. Folks have already accused me of shootin’ one sheriff. No tellin’ how high they’d hang me if it was two.”

The doctor spent an hour with Scooter. Lige watched him intently, looking for some sign of what he was thinking, but Parsons had the blank expression of an expert poker player. When Lige could stand the strain no longer, he demanded, “What’s his chances?”

The doctor’s eyes made a silent accusation. “They’d be better if somebody competent had seen him sooner. He lost a lot of blood, and what he didn’t lose is in some danger of blood poisoning.”