[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (3 page)

Thus the principal Ranger mission had shifted from Indian fighting to domestic law enforcement, to chasing murderers and thieves and border-jumping bandits, to breaking up feuds that broke out occasionally among a prideful, independent people hardened to violence and easily stirred to deadly force.

Protocol demanded that Andy and Farley deliver their report and their prisoner to the captain before they did anything else. Bransford cast anxious eyes at the camp as if he expected someone to step out of a tent and gun him down. He sweated more than the summer heat called for.

Several Rangers emerged from the tents or from under the shady trees to observe the three men coming in. Bransford’s expression became even bleaker.

Andy said, “They won’t shoot you in the middle of camp, not without you give them reason to.”

Farley had transferred to Bransford most of the blame for his injury. “Even if they did, who’s to tell? One Ranger ain’t goin’ to call down the law on another. We’re decent people.”

Bransford cast a fearful glance at him. He had probably expected a bullet in the back all the way from the Leach farm. Andy had said nothing to disabuse him of the notion, hoping fear would have a positive effect on his behavior.

Len Tanner’s clothes were always too large for him except for the trouser legs. They were a little short. The lanky Ranger walked up and stared at the prisoner. “This the gink that goes around robbin’ farmers?”

Andy said, “That’s the charge, but he ain’t been tried yet.”

Farley studied Bransford like a hungry wolf eyeing an orphaned calf. “He’s guilty, all right. You can tell by lookin’ at him.”

Andy said, “If that was the case, we wouldn’t need judges and juries.”

“Far as I’m concerned, we don’t. If we shot them where we find them we’d save a lot of bother.”

Sergeant Bill Holloway ducked to step out of the headquarters tent, then straightened his tall frame. He squinted against the sun. Deep turkey tracks pinched around bleached blue eyes. “I see you got your man.”

Farley took offense. “We wasn’t sent out there to not get him. We’ve come to turn him over to the captain.”

“I’ll take charge of him. Captain’s busy right now.”

Andy could hear the captain’s angry voice through the canvas. Holloway jerked his head as a signal for the men to move away from the headquarters tent. He followed them far enough that they could no longer hear the voice.

He said, “Captain doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s bawlin’ a man out. Dick Landon put away too much bad whiskey last night over at Fort McKavett. Got into a cuss fight and tried to bend the barrel of his six-shooter over a citizen’s skull. Lucky it was one of them hardheaded Dutchmen.”

It was a seldom-discussed fact of Ranger life that isolation, boredom, and frustration led some men to drink heavily when off duty, and occasionally even on duty. This could result in unjustified confrontations with civilians unlucky enough to get crossways with them. Those men who became a frequent problem to their commanders were likely to be discharged quietly and encouraged to move on lest they taint the reputation of the service.

Landon had caused disturbances before. The captain had kept him on because he was a good Ranger when sober, bold when the occasion called for it, a crack shot with pistol or rifle. Drunk, he tended to create trouble where there had been none. It was said he came from a fighting family.

Farley grumbled, “Dick ought to never drink. Whiskey makes him mean.”

Andy said, “Some people don’t need whiskey for that.”

Farley gave him a cold stare. “If you mean me, I don’t go huntin’ trouble. But if it comes, I don’t run.”

Farley had gone out of his way during Reconstruction times to antagonize the state police, who were easily aroused. But Andy saw no point in pressing the issue. Farley would never concede defeat.

Farley said, “I never shot a man that didn’t need killin’. The only regrets I’ve got are over some I ought’ve shot but didn’t.”

Holloway said, “I reckon Dick had reason enough to get drunk. He helped bring his own brother in yesterday on a murder charge.”

Puzzled, Andy asked, “How could he do that?”

“He’s a Ranger. Dick joined to get away from a feud back in his home county. Seems like his brother Jayce killed a man on the other side and came out hopin’ for Dick to give him protection.”

“Instead, he brought him in?”

“Rangers do their duty or they quit.”

“I don’t know if I could do what Dick did.”

“I think you would if the chips were down.” Holloway led them around the cook tent and pointed. “We’ll take your man down there.”

The camp had no jail. For temporary confinement, prisoners were handcuffed to a chain locked around the thick trunk of a pecan tree a few steps up from the river. Most were removed to a regular jail as soon as possible.

Holloway said, “We’ll throw your man in with Jayce Landon.”

Landon sat on the ground, one arm locked to a sturdy chain. A big man, he stared resentfully at the officers and did not attempt to stand up. Andy untied a leather thong that had secured Bransford’s handcuffs to the horn of his saddle. “Get down.”

Bransford’s legs were wobbly. Andy unlocked one side of the cuffs. He was aware that Farley watched closely, a hand on the butt of his pistol in case Bransford decided to make a break. Andy relocked the open cuff around the chain. This allowed movement up and down the chain but not away from it. Bransford tugged at the chain and found it heavy. “I’ve seen dogs treated better than this.”

Farley said, “Dogs don’t go around shootin’ the taxpayers.”

Holloway intervened. “There’s no need to taunt the prisoner. Farley, you and Private Pickard go get yourselves some grub. I can hear your bellies growlin’ all the way over here.”

Bransford asked, “What about me? I’m starved half to death.”

Holloway had no patience for complaining prisoners. “You’ll eat when we’re good and ready to feed you. Till then an empty belly will help you contemplate your sins.” He walked off with Farley toward the mess tent. Andy remained a minute, studying Jayce Landon. His face bore a striking resemblance to that of his Ranger brother. At a little distance he might mistake Jayce for Dick.

Andy had been trying to discern if there was any way to recognize a criminal on sight. So far he had not come upon any common denominator. Bransford looked the part, at least as Andy visualized the outlaw type. He would have taken Landon for a preacher. Or perhaps a Ranger.

Bransford looked up at the open sky. “What if it comes a rain? We’ll drown out here.”

Andy had not observed a decent cloud in two weeks. “You can climb the tree and drag the chain with you.”

Bransford groused until his fellow prisoner turned on him irritably. “Don’t go rilin’ them up or we won’t get any supper. Some of these Rangers would throw their own brother in jail and lose the key.”

Bransford shivered involuntarily. “That Farley Brackett kept starin’ at me like I had a target painted on my back.”

Landon showed no sympathy. “You’re lucky if jail is all you’re facin’. I’m lookin’ at a rope. Gettin’ shot might be the better way out.” The prisoner rubbed his raw knuckles. Evidently his capture had not been without incident.

The black cook grinned at the Rangers as they approached. Andy grinned back in anticipation. He had rather eat Bo’s high-rising sourdough biscuits than cobbler pie. Bo could make sowbelly seem like beefsteak. Somebody had been out hunting, so Bo was able to fry up some venison backstrap to go with Andy’s and Farley’s red beans. Andy believed in the Comanche adage that one should eat all he could hold when he could get it because it might be a while before he had it again.

Farley, for all his complaining nature, was normally a hearty eater. Today he nibbled tentatively at what Bo offered. By that, Andy knew he still had a considerable headache.

Bransford was lucky he had not been shot.

A towheaded boy brought a blackened coffeepot. He gave a glad shout at the sight of Andy sitting there. “Hey, Andy, did you get your man?”

“We always get our man.” That was a shameful stretch of the truth, but the boy had begun taking pride in his loose association with the Ranger company. Andy wanted to encourage that feeling, for Scooter Tennyson had been headed down the slippery road to an outlaw life when the Rangers took him in.

Andy held out his empty tin cup. “You been stayin’ out of trouble?”

The boy glanced at the black cook. “I ain’t been allowed time enough to get in trouble. Give a darky a chance to give orders to a white man and he’ll work him to death.” He smiled at the cook to indicate he did not really mean it.

The cook smiled back, but his dark eyes showed he knew Scooter did mean it. “You finish washin’ them dishes, boy, then fetch me up some firewood. After that you can go fishin’ if you’re of a mind to.”

Scooter’s mother was dead. His father was in the penitentiary. The boy had been riding with some of his father’s outlaw friends until the Rangers captured him. Finding no relatives, they had more or less adopted him to steer him away from a pathway already blazed for him by his father. Andy had taken a special interest because of parallels with his own boyhood experience.

Scooter had been skinny and hungry-eyed when the Rangers first found him. He was filling out now, putting on weight. Andy said, “Looks like Bo’s cookin’ is good for you.”

“I just wisht he didn’t make me work so hard for it.”

The boy was earning his keep by doing light chores around the kitchen tent and fetching wood, nothing that would cause him undue strain.

In a severe voice Farley said, “Work’ll make a better man of you. Maybe you won’t follow your daddy into the pen.”

Stung, the boy took the coffeepot back to the fire.

Andy frowned. “You didn’t have to say that.”

“It’s the truth. That kid was far gone before you got ahold of him. It’ll be a wonder on earth if he doesn’t wind up lookin’ out through the bars just like his daddy.”

“It doesn’t have to happen that way if we give him a chance.”

“You give him a chance. I ain’t got the time or the patience.”

The captain came along soon after Andy and Farley finished eating. Andy wanted to ask if he had discharged Dick Landon, but he knew it was not his business. He would know in due time.

The captain had regained his composure after dressing down the wayward Ranger. He said, “You-all did a good job.”

Farley shrugged, then paid for it as pain stabbed him. “It’s what we get paid so high for.”

“Did you have much trouble?”

Farley did not answer, so Andy put in, “Not with the prisoner.” He was tempted to tell about Leach’s woman but chose not to rub salt into Farley’s wound.

The captain bent to look at Farley’s face. “You look like you tangled with a wildcat.”

Farley looked into Andy’s eyes with a silent warning. “Horse fell with me.”

The captain studied him thoughtfully. “At least it didn’t cripple you. I have another job for you and Private Pickard.”

Farley went defensive. “To do what?”

“You two will deliver the prisoners back east to where they’re wanted.”

Farley was not pleased. “Handlin’ two prisoners is a big responsibility. I’d rather take somebody older. This young’un is green as grass.”

“Pickard is young, but he’s not inexperienced. You were with him when he took an arrow wound.”

“Delivered by one of his redskinned cousins. Gettin’ wounded ain’t no accomplishment. Anybody can do it.”

“You two are the only men I can spare. If you don’t feel that you can go, I will regretfully accept your resignation.”

Farley glared at Andy. “I can put up with him if I have to.”

Andy asked, “Where are we takin’ the prisoners?”

“Southeast Texas. You’ll deliver Bransford to the sheriff of Colorado County. Jayce Landon is wanted over the other side of Columbus. It seems an old feud has fired up again.” The captain looked back to see if anyone could hear. “Dick helped bring his brother in, then went off on a drinking binge.”

Andy said, “I can see why he would.”

“Discipline has to be maintained or everything comes apart.”

Andy studied the chained prisoners. “It’s hard to figure people. Bransford looks like a hard case, but Landon looks like he ought to be preachin’ Sunday services.”

The captain shook his head. “You can’t judge by appearances. Sometimes the men who seem the meekest and mildest have the bloodiest hands. And I’ve seen some ugly-looking preachers.”

Andy saw a bright spot in the assignment. “If we take Bransford to Colorado County, I’ll have a chance to stop by Rusty Shannon’s farm.” He looked at Farley. “And you could visit your mother and sister.”

Farley grunted. “They don’t want to see me. I brought too much grief down on them.”

Andy was strongly conscious of family ties, having none of his own. He could not understand anyone rejecting family or being rejected by them. “That was a long time ago.”

“Not long enough.” Farley turned away. “If you’re done with us, Captain, I’ll go see after my horse.”

“You’re dismissed.” Watching Farley retreat, the captain said, “He ought to be a sergeant by now, but he has a dark streak in him that confounds me. What’s this about his mother and sister not wanting to see him?”

The memory still made anger rise in Andy. “It was back in the time of the state police. They mistook his daddy for Farley and killed him. Wounded his mother so bad she almost died. Farley figures his family blames him for all the trouble they had.”

“Do they?”

“I doubt they do anymore. They know the war twisted him up inside.”

“He’s unpredictable, even a little dangerous. In some ways that makes him an effective Ranger. It also makes him risky to be around.”

“He’s like a bear I saw on a chain. Even when he acts quiet, he’s liable to turn on you and bite your arm off.”

“It’s obvious I can’t send Dick Landon on this mission. It would put him in an impossible situation. So it’s up to you and Farley.”

Andy shrugged. “At least I’ll have a chance to see Rusty.”

The captain nodded. “Tell Shannon that anytime he wants to be a Ranger again, he just needs to let me know. He’s welcome in this company.”