[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (25 page)

Lige’s eyes showed fear. “I’m willin’ to take my chances, but my boy …” The fear turned to anguish. “Ain’t there no place safe for him?”

“The jail.”

Lige stared as if he could not believe what he heard. “Jail?”

“Sheriff Tom Blessing’s jail. Mr. Tom ain’t goin’ to let nobody touch Scooter or do him any hurt.”

“My boy don’t belong in jail. He ain’t done nothin’. I’ll admit I done the bank robbery like they said, but that was me, not him. He done his best to talk me out of it.”

“I believe you, and I’ll bet Mr. Tom will too. He’ll see that Scooter gets the right doctorin’. He’ll also see that nobody does him harm.”

Lige wrestled with his doubts. “I’ve spent the biggest part of my life tryin’ to stay out of jail. Puttin’ that boy into one on purpose goes against everything I believe in.”

“It’ll be the savin’ of him.”

“You’re probably right, bad as I hate to think so. But if I go with him I’ll have gray whiskers down to my knees before I get out. If they don’t hang me.”

“I can take him. It’d be easier for you to keep hidin’ out if you don’t have the boy on your hands.”

Lige nodded reluctantly. “I wouldn’t go far. I’d want to be where I could sort of keep an eye on things.”

Shanty considered. “Mr. Rusty’s place. Him bein’ a Ranger, I doubt as they’d do much lookin’ around there. You could camp in the timber down on the river. If there was any news I could come and tell you.”

Lige looked as if it would not take much to make him cry. “Ain’t been but a little while since I got my boy back. It’s a mean thing to think about us bein’ apart again.”

Shanty could only shrug. For this, he had no answer.

Scooter was too weak to get on his horse without help, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain as his father lifted him into the saddle. Shanty said, “We’ll stay in the timber as much as we can. It’s a longer trip that way, but maybe we won’t run into anybody.”

Scooter’s voice was almost too weak to be heard. “I’ll be all right. Where are we goin’?”

Lige and Shanty had decided not to tell him until they had to. They knew he would resist the plan to separate him from his father. Shanty said, “To some good folks that’ll take care of you.”

It was dark by the time they reached the edge of town. Lige became agitated when he saw that a number of people were out on the street. “Why ain’t they at home?” he demanded. “Even chickens know to go to roost come night.”

Shanty said, “Maybe you better not go no further.”

Lige turned to his son. “Shanty’s takin’ you on in. I’m goin’ to have to quit you here.”

Scooter was dismayed. “You’re not stayin’ with me?”

“It’s for the best this way. But I ain’t goin’ far. Anything happens, I’ll be here in a jiffy.” He hugged his son, then looked away quickly, blinking. He cleared his throat and turned to Shanty. “I ain’t never had much use for your people. Always thought they was shiftless and sticky-fingered. But you’ve done mighty fine by me and my boy. If there’s ever anything you need …” He did not finish. He rode off into the darkness without looking back.

Scooter called after him, but his voice was soft and did not carry far.

Shanty said, “Hush, boy, you don’t want the wrong people to hear you.” He waited a minute, watching and listening. “Looks like there ain’t nobody comin’. Let’s go before somebody sees us.”

“Where we goin’?”

“Told you while ago, to some good people who’ll watch out for you.”

As soon as he saw the jail, Scooter sensed the plan. He tried to turn his horse around, but Shanty caught the reins. “Hold on, boy. It’s all right.”

“You turnin’ me in to the law?”

“Sheriff Tom Blessing ain’t goin’ to hurt you, and he ain’t goin’ to let nobody else do it. You can’t keep runnin’, the shape you’re in.”

“They’ll try to make me tell where my daddy is at.”

“You don’t know, so you can’t tell them much. Let me help you down. I’ll take care of your horse later.”

Though Scooter was not heavy, he was almost too much for Shanty. The old man sank halfway to his knees before setting the boy on the ground. “Hold on to me,” he said. “I won’t let you fall.”

Shanty knocked on the door, then rubbed his knuckles, arthritis making them ache. In a minute someone opened the door slowly and cautiously. The muzzle of a pistol showed first. Then Andy Pickard poked a lamp out into the darkness.

“Shanty? What you doin’ out this time of the night?”

“Brought you somebody.”

Andy shouted, “Scooter!” He opened the door wide, looking past Shanty and the boy. “Got his daddy with you?”

“Just the boy. He’s hurt.”

Andy laid the lamp on the floor, then picked Scooter up and carried him inside. He laid him on a cot. “Better bar that door behind us, Shanty. Some folks from Hopper’s Crossing have been hangin’ around, lookin’ for a chance to bust in.”

“Nobody knew I was bringin’ the boy here.”

“It’s not Scooter they’ve been after, not here at the jail.” He explained that Jayce Landon was safely lodged in a cell.

Shanty said, “They’re huntin’ Scooter too. He witnessed a shootin’.”

“So I’ve heard. They’ve got word out all over the country. They say his daddy murdered Sheriff Truscott.”

“Scooter and his daddy tell it different. They say the sheriff’s own deputy done it, then throwed the blame on Mr. Lige and the boy.”

Andy absorbed that as he looked down at the youngster. “How’d Scooter get shot?”

“That deputy. He tried to kill the both of them so they couldn’t tell what he’d done.”

“Sounds like Big’un Hopper.”

Scooter rasped, “That’s him. That’s what Pa called him.”

Andy frowned. “If it was anybody else I’d find it hard to believe. But with Big’un, I’m not surprised at anything.” He turned away. “I better go wake up Tom. He’s been stayin’ in the jail ever since we brought Jayce over here. Sleeps with one eye open.”

Shanty said, “Come mornin’ we better fetch the doctor. He treated the boy once, but he sure needs lookin’ at again.”

Andy blinked. “The doctor’s already seen Scooter?”

“Once, out at my place.”

“He didn’t come and tell us about it.”

Shanty headed off a smile. “I guess he ain’t found the time. Doctors get awful busy.”

“In some localities more than others.”

Tom lay on a cot in an empty cell. He was already half awake when Andy went in to fetch him. He said, “I heard the door. I didn’t hear any fight, so I supposed it wasn’t any of the Hopper bunch bustin’ in.”

Andy explained about Scooter and his version of Truscott’s death.

Tom said, “From what you-all have told me about this Big’un, maybe the boy’s tellin’ it straight. But we can’t pass judgment. That’s for a court to do.”

“True enough, but we’ve got to give the boy protection.”

“Sounds to me like he needed protection from his father.”

“That’s what I tried to tell the captain when he let Lige Tennyson take Scooter away with him.”

“Where do you reckon the old man is now?”

“No tellin’.”

“No matter. Our main job right now is to see that the Hoppers don’t get to Jayce before he’s had a chance to stand trial. If they want Lige Tennyson, they’ll have to find him theirselves.”

“From what Scooter and Shanty say, Big’un’s liable to want Scooter as much as he wants Jayce.”

“Let him come and try. Ain’t nobody gettin’ into my jail unless I put him there. Do you suppose anybody saw Shanty bring the boy in?”

“I think somebody is watchin’ everything we do.”

Big’un Hopper was so tired that when he tried to pull the saddle and blanket from his horse’s back he dropped them. He expelled a long breath and reached down, then straightened, pressing his hand against his back in a futile effort to ease the pain.

He muttered to himself, “The hell with it. Let them lay.” He slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears and watched the animal turn toward the water trough. He was eager for a drink himself. It would be a mix of coffee and whiskey, light on the coffee.

Carrying a lantern, Harp walked out to the corral. “It’s been dark for two hours. I thought you never was goin’ to give it up and come in.”

The words were not exactly critical, but Big’un took them that way. Most of his kin had been walking the long way around him the last few days, afraid he might bite their heads off. Or worse, badger them into joining his posse to hunt for Lige Tennyson and his brat. He said, “If the rest of you won’t go with me, I’ll keep goin’ by myself. I won’t quit till I get them.”

Harp hung the lantern on a nail. “You can quit huntin’ for the boy, at least. We know where he’s at.”

Big’un stiffened. “Keep talkin’.”

“He’s over yonder in Tom Blessing’s jailhouse.”

Big’un swore. “How do you know?”

“You recollect that you put Cousin Bim to watchin’ the jail so we’d know if they tried to smuggle Jayce out of there? He seen an old darky bring the boy in.”

“How did he know it was the right boy?”

“He hung around close and listened to the talk. It was the Tennyson kid, all right, and he was wounded.”

“Who would’ve wounded him?”

“I reckon you did. We found blood on the porch, remember? You thought you had shot the old man, but it looks like you hit the boy instead.”

It took Big’un a minute to absorb that. He had aimed at Lige, but hitting a target from a running horse was always highly chancy. Until he saw the bloodstains he had not thought he’d hit anyone. “Anybody see anything of the boy’s daddy?”

“No, but it ain’t likely he’d go far without knowin’ his son was goin’ to be all right. I figure he’s hidin’ close by.” Harp’s voice dropped. “And he’s apt to be killin’ mad. Was I you I’d be keepin’ four walls around me and no windows. That broad back of yours makes a good target.”

Big’un shivered at the thought of a bullet smashing between his shoulder blades, severing his spine and setting him afire. It could happen if Tennyson was the crack shot he had claimed to be.

Harp said, “If we could just figure some way to smoke him out …” Big’un said, “You told me an old darky brought the boy in. Know who he was?”

“Bim never heard his name, but I’ve been thinkin’ about that old man Gaskin. He said he had a notion where Tennyson and the boy was at. Wondered how much we’d pay for the information and if we’d let him have some of it in advance.”

“I remember. Everybody said he was just a lyin’ old drunk always lookin’ to get money without havin’ to work for it. I gave him a cussin’ and sent him on his way.”

“Maybe you cussed him too soon. It just come to me that he said he thought they was hidin’ out with a darky. Could’ve been the same one that brought the boy to town.”

Big’un felt as if Harp had struck him. “You knew that and still you stood by and let me run Gaskin off?”

“Thinkin’ ain’t exactly my long suit. I leave most of that to you.”

“Reckon you could find out where Gaskin lives? I’d get him to take us to that darky.”

“He oughtn’t to be hard to find. He’s got a reputation.”

“Then get at it. And next time somebody offers information, don’t be so quick to run him off.”

Fowler Gaskin’s place looked about as Big’un expected. “I never could understand how some people can live in a pig sty. He ain’t crippled, is he?”

Harp said, “From what I heard, the only thing crippled about him is his ambition.”

Gaskin’s garden was badly in need of attention. Big’un indulged in a moment’s revulsion at the many signs of neglect. Not seeing the old man, he hollered in the direction of the leaning cabin, “Gaskin, come out here.” In a lower voice he added, “Before the whole thing falls down around you.”

Gaskin ventured as far as the doorway, peering at the visitors through pinched eyes. “Who’s that hollerin’?”

“Come out here. I want to talk to you.”

Gaskin reached back inside the door and brought out a shotgun. Big’un tensed, wondering if the old reprobate had the guts to fire it. Gaskin said, “I remember you. You talked awful mean to me. I got no business with you now.”

Big’un pushed his horse forward and wrested the shotgun from Gaskin’s weak and trembling hands. “Yes, you do. You said you knew where we could find Lige Tennyson.”

“I said I thought I knew, and you cussed me out like I was a nigger. I don’t let nobody treat me thataway.”

Big’un asked, “How much would it take to make you change your mind?”

Gaskin’s anger subsided. “A sight more than I asked you the last time.” “How do we know Tennyson is still there?”

“You don’t. But if he’s gone, I’ll cut the price to half.”

Big’un reached down and grabbed a handful of Gaskin’s shirt. He yanked the old man up against the horse. “You greedy old robber, I’ll pay you what I figure the information is worth, and not a dollar more.”

Gaskin cried, “You wouldn’t treat me thisaway if my boys was still here. They died fightin’ for the South.”

“That war is over, old man. We’ve got a new one now.” He gave Gaskin a push that almost made him fall backward. “Go saddle your horse. You’re takin’ us to that darky.”

Gaskin whined, “I ain’t got a horse. All I got is a pokey old mule.”