[Texas Rangers 05] - Texas Vendetta (6 page)

“Not enough to break an egg, hardly. Looks like there was just one strip of heavy stuff, and it hit you the hardest of anybody. Missed Shanty’s place altogether.”

Rusty was gratified to hear that. “I may have to move in with Shanty this winter. What about Fowler Gaskin?”

Blessing shook his head. “I haven’t been over there yet, but it doesn’t look like the hail went that far.”

Rusty felt regret. If Providence was even half-fair, Fowler’s place should have been beaten into nothing but a puddle of mud.

Blessing said, “Preacher Webb always claimed everything happens for a reason. Said no matter how cold and cloudy the day, the sun is still shinin’ someplace. Maybe you can replant.”

“Garden stuff, maybe, but it’s too late for corn. I won’t be puttin’ away any fresh money for a while.”

Blessing faced the cabin. “Looks like your roofs got beat real bad. Want me to have a load of shingles sent out from town?”

“Can’t afford to buy what I can make for myself. I’ve got plenty of timber down on the river. Tell you what you can do, though: see if you can find me a job.”

“I’ll try, but I’m afraid there’s not much to choose from around here. Times are slow.”

Rusty had not inventoried his toolshed in a while. He found his saw was missing. So were the froe and mallet he used to split shingles the time he had helped rebuild Shanty’s burned cabin. He was certain he had brought them home after that job was done.

He knew where he was most likely to find them, at Fowler Gaskin’s. That scoundrel had a habit of borrowing without asking. Stealing, most people would call it, for he brought nothing back except under duress. Rusty had never liked going to Gaskin’s place, but he had already decided to raise Cain with the old heathen over his abuse of Shanty. He hitched his team to the wagon. The tools would be unhandy to carry home on horseback. He had no way of knowing what-all of his property he might find, things he had not yet missed.

For years Gaskin’s cabin had leaned to one side, away from the prevailing winds. Logs had been propped at an angle against it to keep it from falling over. Trash and debris littered the premises around it. Gaskin sat on a bench in the shade at the front of the cabin, a jug within easy reach on the ground. He was rail-thin, his skin sallow. His ragged beard was mostly gray, laced with rusty streaks left by tobacco juice dribbling down his chin. He squinted bleary eyes in an effort to bring Rusty into focus.

“What the hell you doin’ here?” he demanded. “I ran you off of this place, didn’t I?”

Rusty climbed down from the wagon. “You’ve never run me anyplace that I didn’t want to go. I believe you’ve got some tools that belong to me.”

“No such of a thing. Ain’t nothin’ of yours here.” Gaskin arose on wobbly legs, then dropped back onto the bench. “You’ve got no cause to come accusin’ me. I’ll sic my dogs on you.”

Gaskin’s two dogs had barked once, then had slunk away at the wagon’s approach. They had much in common with their master.

Rusty did not wait to hear any more of Gaskin’s protests. He walked out to a half-collapsed shed and began to dig through tools and implements piled there in a heap. He found his froe and mallet. They bore the initials RS, which he had burned onto the wooden handles with a steel rod heated to a red glow. He also found his timber saw and a sledgehammer that belonged to him. He carried them back and placed them in the bed of the wagon.

Gaskin protested, “You got no right to carry a man’s tools away. I’m liable to need them.”

“Not unless you can get somebody else to use them for you. It’s too bad you don’t have four hands, Fowler. You could steal twice as much.”

Gaskin stood up again, bracing one hand against his cabin. Rusty thought it was a toss-up as to which might fall first. Gaskin said, “You come on my land, you steal my tools, then you insult me to my face. If I wasn’t old and sick I’d whup you good and proper.”

“Speakin’ of bein’ old, you’ve been playin’ on Shanty’s sympathy when the truth is that you’re younger and stronger than he is. I’m tellin’ you to stop it or else.”

“Or else what? You goin’ to hit a poor old man?”

Rusty clenched his fists. “I might. I sure as hell might.”

He climbed into the wagon and clucked the team into motion. Gaskin followed in short, shaky steps, shouting his opinion of Rusty and all his ancestors. The dogs came out from hiding and barked from a safe distance.

Gaskin had only a small field, for planting required work. But his corn stood tall, the stalks rustling in the wind. The hail did not seem to have touched him.

Rusty looked up and said, “Lord, next time You send us a storm, I hope You have a better sense of direction.”

Reaching home, he carried the tools down to the river. With an ax he cut a deep notch in a tree in the direction he wanted it to fall, then used the saw. When the tree was down, he sawed it into shingle lengths. He dropped several trees before he thought he had enough. Then he began splitting off shingles.

In a couple of days he had a supply of them piled behind the cabin. He was on the roof, removing damaged ones when he saw a wagon and several riders approaching on horseback. He recognized Shanty on his mule. Tom Blessing loped ahead, one of his brothers spurring along behind.

Blessing shouted, “Got a bunch of your neighbors here. We can’t do anything about the crop you lost, but we’ve come to help you put your roofs back on.”

Rusty’s dark mood lifted. It was a custom in rural Texas communities that neighbors work together. If a man was sick or hurt, his friends came to do whatever work was necessary. If hard luck befell him, the neighbors pitched in to set things as nearly right as possible. No one could guess when his own time might come.

Rusty climbed down the ladder and walked out to greet the visitors, shaking hands with each in his turn.

Blessing smiled broadly. “You need some good news after all that’s happened to you. I saw Andy. He’ll be by to visit you in a few days.”

Rusty grinned. That was good news. “His arm wasn’t broke, was it? He’s written me just one letter since he’s been in the Rangers, and it took up only half a page.”

“He looked healthy to me. Him and Farley Brackett delivered a prisoner to me and had another they were fixin’ to take a little farther. Said he’d see you before he heads back to the Ranger camp.”

Rusty’s grin faded. “He was with Farley Brackett?”

“I know him and Farley don’t gee-haw too good, but I suppose he had no choice. A young man needs to learn how to take orders so he’ll know how to give them when his time comes.”

Rusty said, “Farley wakes up every mornin’ with a dark cloud over his head. And he’s got a wild hair in him that pops out every now and then.”

“Andy can think for himself. It’s good for him to learn how to get along with all kinds of people. Even somebody like Farley.”

Two women rode on the wagon seat, the younger one driving. The older of the pair was Tom Blessing’s wife. Rusty had to look a second time before he realized the other was Bethel Brackett, Farley Brackett’s sister.

Mrs. Blessing said, “Bethel and me are goin’ to fix dinner for the workin’ crew. Mind helpin’ us carry some vittles into your kitchen? Looks to me like you need a good square meal.”

“Been livin’ on my own cookin’, such as it is.”

“What you need here is a woman.” Mrs. Blessing quickly had second thoughts about what she had said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’.”

Rusty’s momentary cheer left him. He forced a thin smile, though he did not feel it. “Been a while since I lost Josie. I think I’ve pretty well got over it.”

He had not. He did not know if he ever would.

He turned toward Bethel. He remembered that Andy had shown a considerable interest in her once. Rusty had long wondered how a girl so pleasant-looking could have a brother like Farley. If he did not know her mother to be a woman of stern moral standards, he might wonder if the two had the same father.

He said, “Welcome, Bethel. Been a long time since that day you came here with your daddy, bringin’ me a sorrel horse.”

“The horse you gave to Andy.” She smiled. “Have you heard anything from Andy lately?”

“Andy’s not much for writin’ letters.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

He suspected the sheriff had not told her Andy was due soon for a short visit. That meant she probably did not know Farley was with him. Perhaps Blessing had a good reason for not telling her. It might be that Farley had said he did not plan to visit his mother and sister. In that case it was just as well they did not know. Farley had caused them pain enough over the years.

Mrs. Blessing followed Rusty into the kitchen with a sack of flour. She looked back to be sure the girl was not within hearing. “Bethel has turned into a right pretty young lady, don’t you think?”

Rusty sensed where she was heading. “But too young for me, and I’m sure I’m too old to interest her. She’s more Andy’s age.”

“But Andy’s not here. You are.”

“I’m just not ready to be thinkin’ in that direction.”

“If not Bethel, then how about Alice Monahan? Alice is a sweet girl. She was a godsend to me when I was sick for so long. And she is a sister to Josie, or was.”

Rusty had been in love with two of the Monahan sisters, Geneva and Josie. He had lost them both. He would not allow himself to consider another. “Looks like the Lord intends for me to be an old bachelor.”

“It’s not for us to say what the Lord intends, but I can’t believe He wants you to spend your life alone.”

Rusty was grateful for an interruption by Tom Blessing. “Rusty, let’s get started on that roof.”

Tearing out old shingles, placing new ones where they had been, Rusty told Blessing, “Thanks. You came in at just the right time.”

“I know. When my wife takes a notion about somethin’, she’s like a cold-jawed horse. There’s no turnin’ her back. I just let her play it out to the end of the string.” He frowned. “But you know, she’s right. That hail didn’t leave you much reason to stay around here till plantin’ time comes again. If I was you I’d take a ride up to the Monahan farm. Alice might surprise you.”

“I’m not lookin’ for surprises. Unless you can surprise me with a good job.”

“I’ve asked around. Haven’t found anything.”

Rusty felt the bleak mood settling over him again. “It’s liable to be a long fall and winter.”

The trip had not made Jayce Landon any less of a puzzle to Andy. In comparison to Bransford, who had been left in Tom Blessing’s custody, Landon still looked as if he might be a preacher, or at least a law-abiding storekeeper. But Andy had a sore place on the back of his head from Landon’s attack. And Landon had laid in wait to shoot a man. Bransford had never done that so far as Andy knew.

Farley Brackett said, “Don’t waste sympathy on him. He’s got blood on his hands.”

“How about the state policemen you killed?”

Farley said, “They was lookin’ at me. They could’ve shot me as easy as I shot them.”

“Do they ever keep you awake at night?”

“Dead is dead. They don’t come back.”

Andy did not like the look of five horsemen riding to meet them from the direction of Hopper’s Crossing. He tensed, and again he wished Rusty Shannon were there. “What do you think, Farley?”

“I think damn it. I hoped this wouldn’t happen.” Farley reached across to recheck Landon’s handcuffs and the rawhide strip that bound them to the saddlehorn. “Take a good look at them, Jayce. Are they friends of yours, or enemies?”

For the first time since the trip began, a smile creased Landon’s face. “Some of my kin and a couple of my neighbors. They won’t like it, seein’ me shackled like a runaway slave.”

“They’ll like it even less if they try and turn you loose because I’ll shoot you dead. Badger Boy, you better draw your weapon.”

Andy already had. He was not surprised about being met on the road. Tom Blessing had warned that the word had gone out ahead and that it was wise to be prepared for anything.

Thirty feet from the approaching horsemen, Farley stopped. He placed the muzzle of his pistol behind Landon’s ear. “You men had better put aside any foolish notions. The only way you’ll get this prisoner away from us is if he’s dead. And some of you will ride to perdition with him.”

Andy’s mouth went dry as he tried to read the men’s intentions.

One rider pushed his horse a little past the others. His facial features resembled Jayce’s so much that Andy guessed they might be brothers. Dick Landon must have come from a large family. “Now, Ranger, we just come to make sure he gets to town alive. The Hoppers would like to see that he don’t.”

Farley said, “And they’ll have their way if you make a move to help him. I want all of you to turn around and ride out ahead of us. Way ahead of us.”

The men argued among themselves. Farley brought the conversation to a close by cocking back the hammer. Jayce gasped. Andy held his breath.

Jayce said, “You-all better do what he says, Walter. This Ranger is one mean son of a bitch.”

The man called Walter jerked his head as a signal for the rest to comply. He said, “Don’t you let your finger get nervous, Ranger. If somethin’ happens to Jayce, you’ll be dead two seconds after he is.”