[Texas Rangers 02] - Badger Boy (11 page)

R
usty felt as if a mule had kicked him in the belly. He sank into the nearest chair. "Geneva's married?"

Clemmie sensed the depth of Rusty's shock. Her voice was sympathetic. "A man named Evan Gifford. She said she wrote and told you."

"I never got the letter."

She pulled a chair up nearby and faced him, taking one of his hands. "I wish I'd known. I'd've found an easier way to tell you."

"There isn't any easy way." He could not meet her gaze. He looked down at the rough floor. He lost his voice for a minute. He swallowed hard to get it back. "I hope he's a good man."

"You can take comfort in that. He is."

Both girls spoke at the same time. "He sure is," they agreed. Rusty got the impression that either would have been happy to have married him.

Too bad one of them hadn't.

Clemmie said, "Evan took a Union bullet in his chest. They sent him home to die, only when he got there he found he didn't have a home anymore. He showed up here with one foot in the grave. We cared for him the best we knew how."

"Sounds like you done right good." For the moment, he wished they had not.

"When he was able, he commenced helpin' around the place. That corn and that feed you see growin' out yonder, he done a big part of the plantin', along with Daddy Vince. Branded your calves for you, too."

Rusty turned so they could not see the anguish in his face. His long-nourished dreams were slipping away from him. He was powerless to grab them and bring them back. He looked through the open door. "I see Vince out yonder, ridin' a mule in from the field."

"It's early for him to be quittin'. Probably saw you-all and thought he'd better come to the house. Visitors mean trouble, oftener than not."

One in particular, he thought, by the name of Evan Gifford. "You-all've had trouble?"

"No Indians lately, but there's been horse thieves. There's them that represent the army and give you worthless paper for them. Then there's them that don't bother with paper, they just run off whatever they can find."

"At least the army shouldn't bother you anymore. I imagine it's breakin' up fast."

"There's enough of them others, though. And there's already been soldiers cut loose afoot and hungry, tryin' to scavenge a livin' wherever they can. You can't expect them to stay hungry without puttin' up a struggle. The law is apt to be scarce, so everybody'll pretty much have to take care of theirselves."

"Who
is
the law around here these days?"

"The regular sheriff went off to the army, so folks elected a man by the name of Tom Blessing. Know him?"

"Tom Blessing." The name brought memories that would have been pleasant were he not still in shock over Geneva. "He was a friend of Daddy Mike's. And he was the man who first put me into the rangers."

Clemmie's eyebrows went up. "You're grateful to him for that?"

"It was the best thing that ever happened to me." He saw Vince Purdy nearing the barn. That gave him an excuse to get out of the cabin. Perhaps in the open air he could clear his head and get a grip on his feelings. "I'll go meet Vince and set his mind at ease."

Purdy rode the plow mule, carrying the long reins coiled in one hand. He was taller than his daughter Clemmie but built along the same spare lines. His work-toughened hands seemed too large for the rest of him. Every year of his long life was etched deeply in lines that spider-webbed his thin, weathered face.

He grasped Rusty's hand with bone-crunching strength that belied his age. "You home for good?"

"For better or for worse." Rusty figured he had already heard the worst. He motioned toward the field. "The crops look good."

"Rains've been fair enough, and we've watered them with a goodly amount of sweat. You ought to have a good harvest."

"Not me. You. You-all planted and worked the fields. Whatever comes off of them rightly belongs to you."

"With the war ended, I figured we'd soon be goin' back up to our own place."

"I don't see any need to hurry. At least you'd ought to stay here 'til the fields are cut."

"We've got fields up yonder, too. Evan and Geneva can't handle all that work by theirselves."

Evan and Geneva. Hearing the names spoken together jolted Rusty anew. "Maybe James will be able to help them, now that he's free to travel."

Purdy's eyes brightened. "You've seen him?"

Rusty told him of their brief encounter in the brush men's camp. "I expect that camp broke up fast."

Some of Purdy's years seemed to have lifted from his thin shoulders. Humming, he began removing the mule's harness. "James comin' home ... Everything's fixin' to be fine from now on out."

Rusty leaned against a fence and turned away with his eyes closed. They burned as if he had rubbed pepper into them. "Yeah, fine from now on."

* * *

Rusty talked Captain Whitfield into staying a few days and resting before he finished his trip. His hip gave him pain enough that he was amenable to the idea. Clemmie and the girls seemed to enjoy waiting on him. Rusty rode with Tanner around the farm, searching beyond his own boundaries for cattle bearing his brand. He rough-counted about fifty head, double what Daddy Mike had owned and what had been here when Rusty rode off to join the rangers.

Tanner said, "Looks like the folks taken good care of things for you."

"I never had a moment's hesitation. I knew what they'd done with their own."

"I'm sorry that girl let you down."

Rusty was immediately defensive on Geneva's behalf. "She didn't let me down. She hadn't made me any promise and didn't owe me nothin'. From what Clemmie says, she didn't even know if I was still alive. None of my letters ever got here."

He brought up the subject of the calves at the supper table, thanking Vince Purdy for branding them.

Purdy said, "Couldn't've done it by myself. Evan helped me, and Preacher Webb pitched in every time he came by." He glanced up at Clemmie. "Which has been right often."

Clemmie suppressed a smile.

Purdy said, "The girls helped a right smart, too. They're both good hands whether it's with a cow or a plow."

Rusty thanked them. Josie said, "It's the least we could do. You gave us a place to go, away from Caleb Dawkins and his men."

Clemmie said sharply, "We've agreed never to mention that man's name in this house. What a scorchin' he's got comin' when the devil gets his turn."

Purdy said, "It ain't no big thing, holdin' on to cattle. Nobody wants them much anyway. Not unless it's a milk cow. Our old Spot's been missin' for over a month. Somebody's probably milkin' her right now, and I'll bet it ain't no Comanche Indian."

Rusty said, "I think I remember her. Mostly white with brown spots, and a stub horn on the left ... no, the right side?"

"That's her. I've hunted high and low. It's like she fell in a big hole and covered herself up."

"You talked to all the folks around us?"

"Nobody's seen her."

Rusty had a suspicion, but he would not voice it, not yet. "I've been neglectful," he said. "I ain't made a circle yet to visit my neighbors. I don't even know if they're all still around."

Clemmie's face wrinkled. "There's one that's been around a lot more than I would've liked."

Rusty thought he knew. "Sounds like Fowler Gaskin."

Gaskin had lived just a few miles from the Shannons for years, to their continual misfortune.

Clemmie said, "That old sneak has got it in his mind that I ought to be in the market for a new husband. If there wasn't but one man left alive on the face of God's earth and it was him, I wouldn't let him within smellin' distance of me. And I can smell him a long way."

Gaskin had been a thorn in Daddy Mike's side, always borrowing without asking, never bringing anything back, always looking to ride instead of walk if he could manage it at someone else's expense. Clemmie said, "You ever see a pig that would wiggle in with other litters and steal milk from every sow in the pen? That's Fowler Gaskin."

Vince Purdy scowled at mention of the name. "I've had to threaten to wallop him with a singletree to make him leave Clemmie alone."

Clemmie might be well into middle age, but to her father she was still a young girl who needed protection. Though she might not weigh enough to sink in deep water, Rusty suspected she could swing a mean singletree herself if the need arose.

Rusty said, "I'll go talk to Fowler. Me and Tanner."

The last time he had seen the Gaskin cabin, part of it had been damaged by a windstorm. Repairs had been done in a makeshift manner, but now the whole cabin leaned to the south and seemed in danger of collapse.

Tanner observed, "He's propped a log against the eaves. That's the only thing holdin' it up. That and the south wind."

"He'd rather bleed than sweat. Never do for himself what he can wheedle someone else into doin' for him. Never buy anything if he can borrow it. And never remember to take back anything he borrows."

"You mean like a milk cow?"

"I'd not be surprised."

Gaskin's droop-tailed hound announced the horsemen. Gaskin stepped out through the cabin's sagging door and stood slouched in front, a long rifle in his hand. Rusty wondered idly who he had "borrowed" it from. Gaskin reminded Rusty of a scarecrow, gaunt, bent-shouldered, his tangled beard a mixture of black and gray, streaked with tobacco juice that had dribbled down his chin. His red-rimmed eyes were far from friendly.

"Rusty Shannon. Back, are you?"

It was not much to say after such a long time, but in Gaskin's case Rusty was not interested in extended conversation. "Back. I see you're still here."

It would have been too much to ask of good fortune to find that Gaskin had left the country. "I think you met Len Tanner a time or two."

Gaskin hardly looked away from Rusty. "You a ranger now, or a soldier?"

"Neither one. Our company disbanded."

"Just as well. I never seen the rangers stop an Indian raid yet, not 'til after the damage was done."

Rusty felt the burning of resentment. The rangers had turned back a number of attempted raids before they were able to materialize. Nobody other than the rangers themselves knew it had happened. "You still livin' here by yourself?"

Gaskin's voice broke into a whine. "You know I am. Them two good boys of mine gave up their lives fightin' for the Confederacy."

Rusty knew better. The Gaskin boys had been absent without leave and were killed in a New Orleans bawdy house fight. He was not sure Fowler Gaskin was aware of that. If he truly believed his sons had died on the battlefield, it was just as well to leave him that illusion. If he was lying to save humiliation, Rusty saw no point in picking the scab from an old sore.

"I don't suppose you've seen anything of a milk cow that belongs to the Monahan family?"

"They done asked me about that cow. I'll tell you the same as I told them. If I ever see the old hussy, I'll give her a whack on the rump and send her home."

Rusty heard a sound he had not encountered in a long time, the bleating of lambs. "You got sheep?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with sheep," Gaskin said defensively. "Confederate money ain't worth nothin', but you can always swap wool for somethin' you need. Them's dogie lambs in that pen. Lost their mamas."

Rusty's faint suspicions began to take on larger dimensions. "What you feedin' them?"

"Whatever I've got. Lambs ain't choosy."

Rusty and Tanner rode down to the pen, Gaskin following suspiciously. Rusty saw half a dozen lambs. He asked Tanner, "You know anything about sheep?"

"Not much. Just that they don't smell good, is all."

Rusty would guess these lambs were two or three months old, all in excellent flesh. Whatever they had been fed, they were thriving. Over in the corner of the pen was a stanchion large enough for a cow.

Sheep manure came in small pellets. Scattered around the pen were large patties, some of them fresh.

Rusty said to Gaskin, "You must have some awful big sheep."

Gaskin looked nervous. "They're big enough."

The cabin was within easy water-carrying distance of the river, which was fringed with heavy timber and thick underbrush. Rusty saw cow tracks leading off in that direction. He saw hoof tracks as well.

He told Gaskin, "Since you don't know anything about that cow, we'll be movin' along."

"You-all come back sometime." The tone of Gaskin's voice said that he hoped they never would.

Rusty and Tanner circled around and came into the timber downriver, where Gaskin was unlikely to see them. They rode along the edge of the water, back in the direction of the cabin. If they found what Rusty expected, it would not be far from the pens. Fowler Gaskin was not likely to walk any farther than necessary.

He found the spotted cow staked on a long rope that allowed her room to graze and to reach the water. She gave the horsemen a docile bovine stare as Rusty dismounted and looked her over. Examining her udder, he noted that the teats showed small tooth marks.

"Just about lamb size," he muttered. He assumed that Gaskin had been staking the cow out of sight and leading her up to the pen for the dogie lambs to suckle.

Tanner said, "I'll bet that old heifer put up a fight the first time or two he put them lambs on her."

"Probably thought they were the funniest-lookin' calves she ever saw. That's what the stanchion was for, so he could tie her up good and tight 'til she got used to the lambs."

The rope was attached to a strong sapling. Rusty untied it, coiled it, and got back on the horse. The cow followed him as he put Alamo up the riverbank and across a narrow strip of pasture.

At the front of the cabin he hollered for Gaskin. The old man came out, his jaw slack with disappointment as he saw the cow.

Tanner shouted, "Look what we found down yonder. She somehow got a rope around her neck and tied it to a tree."

Whatever Gaskin was trying to say, it caught in his throat.

Rusty said, "It's about time them lambs were weaned onto grass, don't you think?"