[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (24 page)

Lige’s eyes burned. “You sayin’ I’m fixin’ to lose him?”

“I’d be lying if I told you he’s going to be fine. But he’s young and generally healthy. He’s got that much on his side. I would caution you against moving him for a few days.”

“This ain’t no place for him.” Lige gave Shanty an apologetic look.

“Sorry, but that’s the way I see it.”

The doctor beckoned Lige outside and said, “There’s not a kinder-hearted man in this county than Shanty York. You’re letting his color cancel out your better judgment.”

“I can’t overlook it, though. It’s the way I was raised.”

“It got a lot of good men killed during the big war. For this boy’s sake I hope you’ll put those notions aside. At least for a few days, until he’s stronger and better able to move.”

“Looks like I ain’t got much choice.”

Back inside, Lige found Scooter half-awake. He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. He told the doctor, “There’s people lookin’ for us. I’d rather we wasn’t found.”

“I knew who you were as soon as Shanty told me about you. Lawmen . over half of the state are on the hunt. The claim is that you two shot the sheriff over at Hopper’s Crossing.”

“But it ain’t true. It was the sheriff’s own deputy done the shootin’, and he shot my boy too.”

Lige could not tell whether Parsons believed or disbelieved him. That poker face gave nothing away.

The doctor shrugged. “It’s been a long time since anything good came out of that county. Almost any funeral over there could be considered community improvement. Do you know I am obliged by law to report any treatment I do on gunshot wounds?”

“I remember when private matters stayed private.”

“It seems that the government pokes its nose into just about everything these days. But I might get so busy that I don’t turn in my report for a while. People my age are apt to be forgetful at times.”

“What do I owe you, Doctor?”

A knowing smile crossed Parsons’s face. “Did you come by the money honestly?”

“Some folks might argue either way about that.”

“Just drop a couple of dollars in the plate the next time you go to church.”

“If Scooter comes out of this, I’ll let him do it.”

Lige and Shanty stood on the narrow front porch, watching the doctor’s buggy raise dust on the town road. Lige asked, “You a Bible-readin’ man?”

“I don’t read it, exactly, but I listen to the Word anytime I get the chance.”

“Do you reckon the Lord allows for a righteous killin’?”

“You thinkin’ about that deputy sheriff?”

“He does lay heavy on my mind.”

An hour past dark Big’un Hopper reluctantly rode into town with a volunteer posse of six men. Horses and riders were so weary that they seemed barely able to hold their heads up. It had been another hard day’s ride, and a futile one. Big’un had mistakenly thought it would be easy to track the fugitives and put so many holes in them that their bodies would not float.

His cousin Harp said, “It’s like angels lifted them up and carried them away. Or maybe it was the devil. Don’t seem like the angels would help them that killed Oscar Truscott.”

They had certainly not done anything to help Big’un. He had wanted to continue the chase if it killed half the horses, but the exhausted posse members had threatened to rebel. Even Harp had argued their side. If they couldn’t find the trail in the daylight, they sure as sin wouldn’t find it in the dark, he said.

Big’un knew they were right, though he had verbally chastised them and even threatened to beat up Cousin Wilbur, who had been a chronic bellyacher all his life. He knew the longer the fugitives remained at large, the less likely he was to find them. He hoped that Lige Tennyson’s wound was serious enough to make him go to ground somewhere. After that, the boy would be easy. Sure, some people would balk at shooting him, but Big’un had told everyone who would listen that the boy had participated in the killing of Oscar Truscott. Once a young wolf got the taste of blood, he argued, he was beyond taming. Best thing was to shoot him at the first opportunity.

So far as he could tell, no one had doubted his story. Not even a Landon had spoken out against him. But if Lige and his boy had a chance to tell their version often enough, doubts might begin to surface.

It must have been the devil’s doing that he had not been able to kill them at the farmhouse the way he had intended.

As the posse began to break up, Big’un declared loudly, “I’ll expect every one of you to be here and ready with fresh horses at first light. Bring enough grub to last you for three or four days.”

He heard a lot of groaning and knew that half of them would not show up. Things had come to a pretty pass when a man could no longer count on loyalty from his kin.

After the others pulled away, Harp said, “You never did like Oscar in the first place. Looks like we ought to be takin’ care of Jayce Landon instead of chasin’ over hell and half of Texas lookin’ for that old man and his boy. The truth be told, they done you a favor. They made you the sheriff.”

“You gettin’ cold feet, Harp?”

“No, but I’m gettin’ an awful sore butt. You have any idea how far we’ve ridden?”

“We’ll ride a thousand miles if we have to. Jayce ain’t goin’ nowhere. We’ll get around to him, but we’ve got this other business to finish first.”

Harp accepted, but not with any grace. “If you say so, but was I you, I’d be givin’ that Tennyson a medal.”

“You’ve got no sense of justice.”

Harp started to turn away but stopped, considering. “You sure you ain’t just makin’ a show for Oscar’s widow?”

Big’un exploded into rage. “What kind of a man do you think I am? She’s blood kin.”

“She’s good-lookin’. I ain’t seen nothin’ yet that would make you back away from a good-lookin’ woman.”

Big’un was tempted to lay the barrel of his new pistol against the side of Harp’s head. But Harp was a better tracker than Big’un. He needed him. Someday when all of this was over, he would teach Harp a whole new code of conduct.

As he rode by the darkened courthouse a familiar, gruff voice hailed him. Judge Hopper walked out and jerked his head in silent command. Big’un dismounted but had to hold on to his horse for a minute while his knees threatened to collapse from fatigue.

The judge’s voice was impatient. “I gather that you had no luck.”

“We had luck, all right. All bad.”

“This is the third day you’ve been out on the chase. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“It won’t be enough till we get them.”

“No tellin’ how far they’ve traveled by now. Everybody in town knows you and Oscar didn’t like one another. Some are beginnin’ to ask why you’ve let yourself become obsessed with this hunt.”

“I’ve got my reasons.”

“And I can guess what they are. But if enough other people start to guess the same thing, you’re liable to be in more trouble than you can handle.”

“You sayin’ I ought to quit the chase?”

“I’m sayin’ they’re probably in another jurisdiction by now. Let somebody else capture them.”

“I can’t. I’ve got to be the one that does it.”

The judge stared solemnly at him. “I’ve seen some smart men convicted in my court, all because they got in too much of a hurry and were careless enough to leave witnesses behind. Good night, nephew.”

Big’un watched his uncle walk away and become lost in the darkness. He gritted his teeth and slammed his palm against the seat of his saddle, startling the tired horse into jumping away from him.

At that moment he realized that his uncle had served notice in an oblique way. If Big’un got into trouble over Oscar Truscott, he was on his own. Judd Hopper’s court would be of no help.

Damn you, Lige Tennyson, he thought. This is all your fault.

Lige stood in the middle of Shanty’s garden, chopping weeds. He had been a little put off at first by the notion of doing chores for a black man, but it was better than sitting around fretting over Scooter’s still-raw wound. That little cabin seemed to shrink a bit more every day.

Shanty rode up from the river on his mule. Lige straightened and wiped sweat from his face onto his sleeve. “Find your hogs all right?”

“Not all of them. I got a notion Mr. Fowler Gaskin has been over this way.”

“Damn, but I hate a thief. Somebody ought to ride over to Mr. Gaskin’s and plant a load of buckshot where it’ll remind him what the Gospel says.”

“It won’t be me. Only reason I keep a shotgun is to kill varmints.”

“From what you’ve told me, Gaskin is the biggest varmint around here.”

“The Book says judge not if you don’t want to be judged your own self. Now and then I get tempted, but I can’t speak my mind free like if I was white.”

Lige had never given thought to the fact that blacks had to be extra careful in expressing themselves lest they anger those whites who would not hesitate to inflict punishment. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation had granted them freedom on paper. It had not freed them from the invisible chains.

Shanty asked, “You looked in on the boy?”

“A while ago. He was asleep. That’s what he needs the most, but I don’t know how much more he can get.”

“How come?”

“A couple of riders came by. I stayed in the cabin where they couldn’t see me. I couldn’t help thinkin’ they’re part of a posse, huntin’ me and my boy. We need to be movin’ along.”

“Scooter’s at a ticklish stage in his healin’. He oughtn’t to be on his feet, much less in a saddle.”

“If people keep comin’ by, we may not have no choice.”

“You’re all right if you stay inside. Most white folks who pass by here wouldn’t go in my cabin if you was to offer them twenty dollars.”

“I expect the reward on me is a lot more than twenty dollars.”

Shanty squinted against the sun, then lifted his hat to shade his eyes. “Looks to me like we’re fixin’ to have some more company, Mr. Lige.”

Lige took only a fleeting look. “Good thing you seen him. I didn’t.” Bending over as if that would make him less visible, he retreated to the cabin. Shanty tied the mule, then picked up the hoe and continued the work Lige had begun.

Long before he could see the man’s face, Shanty knew the visitor was Fowler Gaskin. Like Shanty, he rode a saddled mule, though a poor one that showed its ribs. Gaskin had a way of hunching over that identified him as far as a man could see him. Shanty forced a false smile. “How do, Mr. Gaskin.”

Gaskin took a look around before he replied. “Anybody here besides you?”

“Ain’t hardly anybody ever stops at my place.”

“You heard what happened?”

“Ain’t much to hear around this little old farm.”

Fowler sat up straighter, enjoying the feeling of importance that came from being the bearer of news. “Been a killin’ over yonder a ways. Seems like a man and a boy was wanted for robbin’ a bank, and when the sheriff went to arrest them they shot him.”

Shanty feigned surprise. “Wasn’t Tom Blessing, was it? I sure would miss Mr. Tom.”

“Naw, it was over the county line, by Hopper’s Crossin’. Been a reward posted. I wondered if you’ve seen anybody like that lately.”

“Ain’t seen hardly anybody at’all.”

“I could sure use that reward money.” Gaskin looked hard at Shanty. “I seen a couple of strange horses grazin’ out yonder a piece. Didn’t know you had any horses.”

Shanty began feeling nervous. He thought he saw suspicion in Gaskin’s eyes. “Ain’t mine. Strays followin’ the river, I expect.”

“If it was me, I wouldn’t let nobody’s strays be eatin’ up my grass.”

“Horses don’t know nothin’ about property lines. I figure somebody’ll come along and claim them.”

“Maybe so.” Gaskin looked toward the cabin as if he expected to see someone. “Mind if I stop at your well and get a drink?” Normally he never asked; he just took.

“Help yourself.” To refuse him would strengthen Gaskin’s suspicion. Shanty had never refused him anything. He could only hope that Lige remained inside and kept quiet. He went on with his hoeing, but his worried gaze remained fixed on Gaskin.

Gaskin brought up a bucket of water on the windlass but took no more than a sip before dropping the bucket back into the well. He gave the cabin a long study. When he rode away he changed direction and kept looking back over his shoulder.

When he felt that Gaskin could no longer see him, Shanty laid down the hoe and went to the cabin, half trotting, half hopping on his arthritic legs. Lige came out onto the narrow porch to meet him. “Anybody we need to worry about?”

“It’s past the worryin’ part. That was Mr. Fowler Gaskin, and he looked like a dog that just found a bone.”

Lige’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell him nothin’?”

“Didn’t have to. He seen your horses. I’m fair certain he figured it all out for hisself.”

“That old mule of his don’t look none too swift. I could catch up to him.” Lige’s eyes made Shanty feel cold.

Shanty said, “Ain’t you already got trouble enough?”

Lige sobered. “Then me and my boy have got to get away from here before he comes back and brings some others with him.”

“If you try to take Scooter very far, he ain’t goin’ to make it.”