[Texas Rangers 02] - Badger Boy (29 page)

Pete growled, "I don't take bossin' from no nigger."

The lieutenant snapped, "Then you'll take it from me. Move out, like he says, or I'll shoot you myself."

Scully was usually a follower, but he started first.

Pete said defiantly, "You ain't hanged me yet. My old daddy's got influence. Ain't no jury around here will ever convict me for killin' a nigger."

The lieutenant said, "It won't be a local jury. You killed a soldier, so you will be tried by a military court."

Clearly, Pete had not considered that possibility. He looked as if the officer had struck him with a club. Scully slumped lower in his saddle.

Rusty felt a glow of satisfaction. "Pete's not worth the price of the rope that hangs him. But I'd be glad to make the investment."

"'The government will provide the rope."

"I haven't seen many soldiers yet, but they tell me you-all are spreadin' out across the state."

"As rapidly as we can. It's our job to begin the Reconstruction of this country and to keep the peace no matter how many we have to shoot."

Rusty nodded in the direction of the sergeant. "Are all your soldiers black?"

"A lot of them."

"Then peace may not be easily kept. Black soldiers will be like a red flag to some folks."

"I'm afraid that's the idea, though I am not proud of it. The powers that be are determined to humiliate the defeated rebels. One way is to place former slaves in a position of authority over them."

"They'll get a bunch of soldiers killed."

"The shameful part is that the officials don't care. No price is too high, so long as someone else has to pay it."

"You know who'll pay the most. The blacks."

"Yes, just as they carried the burden of slavery."

The Monahan farm broke into view. Pete Dawkins became agitated. "You ain't goin' to let them Monahans at me, are you? They're crazy ... James and that hateful old woman. They'd kill me and not bat an eyelash."

Preacher Webb's face reddened. "You'll not speak ill of Clemmie Monahan in my presence."

"Put a curse on me, why don't you?"

"I am a minister. I do not practice witchcraft. Any curse that's on you, you've put it there yourself."

With a lifetime of help from Colonel Caleb Dawkins, Rusty thought.

The lieutenant said, "No one is going to kill you, Dawkins, not until the duly appointed time. Then it will be the army's responsibility."

Andy waited until the lieutenant and the two troopers were out of hearing. He whispered, "Those soldiers, they Shanty kin?"

Rusty realized the boy had seen few if any blacks. "I'd hardly think so."

"Same tribe, look like."

* * *

All the way up from Rusty's farm, Geneva had weighed heavily upon his mind. She had carried him to the extremes of high anticipation, then of dread. Hearing about her husband's injury had only complicated his feelings. He wondered how well she was coping with what must seem an overabundance of bad luck.

He hoped his own hurt had healed enough that he could look at her without falling apart inside.

Andy was being stoic, but Rusty could see in his weary eyes that his leg pained him, that only willpower kept him in the saddle.

The lieutenant said, "I've been trying to draw your boy into conversation. He doesn't talk much, does he?"

"The trip's worn him out. He needs a few days of rest before he goes on."

"Goes on to where?"

"Back to his folks." Rusty hoped Ames would be satisfied enough to stop asking questions. He seemed to be, for he fell quiet. He looked even wearier than Andy. The wound in his shoulder was wearing him down.

Vince Purdy, the grandfather, was the first person Rusty saw. Working in the garden, he paused and leaned on his hoe, staring at the incoming riders. Rusty's attention went to Josie Monahan, picking tomatoes and holding them in her apron. She hurried to the new log house.

"Mama! We got company comin'!" She emptied the tomatoes into a basket on the dog run, then turned to watch the visitors' approach. "I see Preacher Webb. And Rusty Shannon. Looks like soldiers with them."

Clemmie Monahan stepped out past the dog run, shading her eyes with one hand. She beamed at sight of the minister and gave Rusty a tentative nod. The smile died as she recognized the two prisoners. Reining Alamo to a stop, Rusty heard her declare, "They'll not bring Pete Dawkins into this house!"

Webb dismounted and embraced her. "Pete's a prisoner. He can't hurt anybody."

"But I may hurt
him
. Put him in the barn out yonder, or the shed. Even the root cellar. But not in this house where I've got to look at him."

The lieutenant gave her a weak salute. "We'll not trouble you with him more than we have to, ma'am. We'll keep him out of your sight."

Clemmie stepped into the yard. Her agitation over Pete turned to solicitude for Ames. "You're hurt. Come on into the house and we'll see what we can do for you."

"I'm obliged, ma'am, but first I have to see to my men, and to my prisoners."

Rusty climbed down. "I'll help your troopers, Lieutenant. You go with Clemmie ... Miz Monahan."

Clemmie put her arms around Webb again. "It's good to see you, Warren. Come on in. Josie, go unsaddle Warren's horse for him."

Josie's eyes shone as she stared at Rusty. The glow was infectious. The resemblance to her older sister grew stronger each time he saw her.

Clemmie noticed Andy still sitting on his horse. "Get down, boy, and come in." She asked Webb, "Who is he?"

"His name's Andy Pickard. I'll explain about him later."

Clemmie called again, "Come on down, Andy."

Andy seemed shy. "Rusty, I stay with you."

Rusty saw that the attention made the boy nervous. "You can help me unpack the mule, but be careful about that leg." He helped Andy to the ground. He shouted to Clemmie, "We'll be comin' along directly."

As he turned, he found Josie standing in front of him, blocking his way. She asked eagerly, "You stayin' awhile?"

"It all depends."

"You can stay for a hundred years as far as I'm concerned. I was afraid you'd forget about us."

"You know I could never forget the Monahans."

"Does that include me?"

"You're a Monahan."

"But I'm
Josie
Monahan. I'm not Geneva."

He thought he knew where the conversation was going, and he tried to head it off. "I hear Geneva's husband got in the way of a bullet again."

"He's laid up over in the old house."

"How bad is he hurt?"

"He's in considerable pain, but he'll heal."

"And Geneva?"

"She's in pain too, for him."

"A bad piece of luck for both of them."

"But they've got the baby. That makes up for a lot. Geneva had a boy, you know."

"Nobody told me."

Rusty was not sure what he ought to feel. Geneva was a mother now. That put her even further beyond his reach. He had known of her pregnancy since last spring, yet he had never accommodated to the hurt, the feeling of loss. He had tried to put it aside and not deal with it. Now, one way or another, he
had
to deal with it.

Josie said, "You'll want to see the baby. It's beautiful."

"That's no big surprise. It has a beautiful mother."

"And a good-lookin' daddy. It takes two, you know."

"They get along well together, Geneva and Evan?"

"He worships the ground she walks on. And he should. After all, she's my sister. I'll want my husband to worship the ground I walk on, someday."

Unexpectedly he felt like smiling. "Then you'd better be careful where you step. There's been horses by here."

Sergeant Bailey asked Rusty, "You know a safe place where we can hold these prisoners for the night? I expect the lieutenant will want to travel on come mornin'."

Rusty pointed toward a shed. "Ought to be a couple of good stout posts you can tie them to. It may not be comfortable."

"They ain't got no comfort comin' to them." Bailey prodded Pete with the rifle.

Pete complained, "You wouldn't tie me to a post, would you? I wouldn't be able to sleep at-all."

Bailey was not impressed. "You'll soon be gettin' all the sleep you ever need. Come on, Private Cotter. I'll let you do the tyin'."

Josie said Evan and her brother James had come across Pete and Scully driving off some of their horses. In the gunfight that followed, Evan had taken a bullet in his arm. Another bullet had creased James's leg. "Didn't hurt him much. It was just enough to make him good and mad. He'd have followed Pete and Scully all the way to hell if he hadn't had to take care of Evan. Lieutenant Ames came along with his patrol and took over the chase."

"Knowin' James, I expect he's still mad."

"Mad enough that we'd better keep him away from Pete Dawkins."

"Pete has spilled it for good now, killin' a soldier. Old Colonel Dawkins is liable to take this mighty hard."

Bitterness crept into Josie's voice. "He's got it comin' to him for the grief he's caused this family. But the word is that he disowned Pete. Drove him off of the place with a black-snake whip."

"You've got to feel a little sorry for the colonel, all by himself now on that big farm."

"The word we're hearin' is that it won't be his much longer. The Federals are layin' taxes on him that he can't pay. They've got it in for him because he preached so strong for the Confederacy and rode roughshod over everybody who didn't agree with him."

"Sounds like some people are still fightin' the war."

"In some ways, I'm afraid the war's barely started. Texas is in for a lot of grief."

* * *

Andy's limp was so severe that Rusty told him to sit down. The boy slumped on a wagon tongue, his eyes dull and weary.

We ought to've waited another week before we started, Rusty thought.

He turned the horses loose and fed them. Beneath the shed he found Pete and Scully sitting on the bare ground, their arms behind their backs and tied to two sturdy-looking posts.

Pete complained, "This ain't no way to treat a white man."

Rusty grunted. "It's no way to treat any man. But then, you're not much of one."

Sergeant Bailey's eyes crackled with hatred. "Pity his mama didn't take him out the day he was born and drown him like a sack of kittens. Private Wilkes was a good soldier. Didn't deserve to get shot in the back. Lieutenant didn't deserve a hole in his shoulder, neither. And all for a no-account like this."

It struck Rusty that Pete had better keep still, or he might be in more danger from Sergeant Bailey than from any of the Monahans.

James Monahan strode into the shed, his face clouded for a storm as he sought out Pete Dawkins. He towered over the bound prisoner. "Pete, I ought to cut your throat right where you're sittin'."

Pete's eyes went wide in fear.

Sergeant Bailey said sternly, "He's the army's business now. You dassn't touch him."

James fumed. "I know, and I won't. But I'd like to." He stuck his finger in Pete's face. "I hope they send out invitations to your hangin'. I'd ride five hundred miles bareback to watch it." He strode angrily back toward the house.

Rusty said, "Andy, we'd just as well go, too."

The boy pushed himself up from his place on the wagon tongue. Rusty was disturbed to notice that the braids had slipped from beneath Andy's hat and lay on his shoulders.

Bailey noticed, too. "I've seen some light-skinned Indians. Is this boy half Choctaw or somethin'?"

Andy took offense. He thrust out his chest. "Not Choctaw, Comanche."

The sergeant's suspicions rushed to the surface. "You ain't fixin' to sell him or make a servant out of him, or somethin' like that, I hope. Lieutenant Ames, he wouldn't stand still for nothin' of that kind."

Rusty saw it was too late to put the cork back in the bottle. "Andy's white, but the Comanches raised him. He wants to go back to them. I'm helpin' him get there."

Andy nodded, silently vouching for Rusty. The sergeant still seemed to have reservations.

Rusty said, "I'd sooner you didn't say anything to the lieutenant."

"There ain't nothin' slow about Lieutenant Ames. He sees things for hisself."

"We've been afraid the army might try to take Andy and send him to a reservation, or maybe an orphanage ... somethin' like that."

Bailey looked intently at the boy. "Long as this is what he really wants ..."

Andy nodded. "I want to go home."

"Then I don't see where the army's got any business messin' around with him. And I don't think Lieutenant Ames would either."

The other soldier listened but never spoke. Rusty judged that he had come out of slavery, where no one had asked his opinion or even considered that he might have one. Whatever suited Sergeant Bailey would suit him, too.

Pete Dawkins was not so compliant. "Damn anybody who'd send a white boy back to the Indians. Ain't you got no pride in you, Shannon?"

"You're a horse thief and a hangman. I don't see where you've got any call to talk to me about pride. Even your old daddy's ashamed of you."

"My old daddy might be wrong about a lot of things, but he was right about the Confederacy. Now we got Yankee soldiers overrunnin' the country, makin' white folks take orders from niggers. It's a hell of a world the Monahans and all you Union-lovin' scalawags have took us into."

Bailey knelt beside Pete, malice in his eyes. "I wonder, did Cotter get them ropes tight enough? I think I'll take another hitch on them."

Pete cursed. "You damned black crow, you're cuttin' off my blood."

"Be glad I ain't cuttin' off nothin' else. I am sore tempted."

* * *

Rusty had to walk by the old log house to get to the newer one where most of the family lived. Andy limped along beside him. Geneva stood in the open dog run. Rusty stopped in mid-stride, looking at her. All the old pain returned for a moment, all the burning inside. He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. "Howdy, Geneva. You're lookin' real fine."

She really did, he thought. He was not just paying an empty compliment.