[Texas Rangers 06] - Jericho's Road (7 page)

Len said, “There’s a chance these people bought the cattle in good faith from somebody else who brought them across the river. Anyway, the Mexicans they belonged to may have made up the loss already, swimmin’ Texas cattle back in the other direction.”

Farley said, “Sounds like everybody breaks even.”

“
Not everybody. There’s losers, and they’re generally the little fellers. Besides, it’s bigger than just cattle. People get killed.”

A swing rider approached. He had a sober bearing that indicated he might be the boss. He said, “I hope you-all ain’t Rangers.”

Andy said, “Why? What difference would it make?”

The drover spat. “The Rangers gave me trouble over the Mexicos in this herd. I had to pull strings in high places.”

Farley said, “We’re Rangers, but we ain’t been given any orders yet. It’s no hide off of our butt if you take these cattle to Timbuktu.”

The trail man said, “Kansas is far enough. Time we get there they’ll all be talkin’ American.”

The Rangers pulled away from the herd to get out of the dust. It struck Andy as curious that more than half the horsemen appeared to be Mexican. He said, “If these cattle were stolen from south of the river, the Mexicans with this outfit are robbin’ their own countrymen.”

Len said, “Some don’t feel like they owe Mexico nothin’, or Texas either. Santy Anna stabbed them in the back. After preachin’ that his soldiers ought to be proud to die for Mexico, he gave away Texas to save his own hide. They don’t see that anything is wrong if they can get away with it. That includes shootin’ a Texas Ranger or a Mexican
rurale.
It’s open season on anybody who gets in their way.”

“
Some of these drovers are gringos.”

“
Thieves don’t pay much attention to each other’s color as long as they’re all fillin’ their pockets. Afterwards they may try to cut each other’s throats. Why, just last spring …” He started retelling a story he had already told twice on this trip.

Farley dropped back a hundred yards.

Len dismounted in front of an abandoned adobe house. He rubbed his mount’s right foreleg. “Feels to me like my horse is comin’ up lame.”

Andy looked to the west, where the sun cast a rosy glow through low-hanging clouds. “He may just be gettin’ tired. It’s time we stopped for the day and gave the horses a rest.”

Farley argued, “We’ve got an hour of daylight left.”

Andy said, “You want Len to have to walk and lead his horse?”

“
It wouldn’t hurt him none. Might make him tired enough to quit talkin’.”

Len said, “You go right on ahead if you want to. I ain’t goin’ to ruin a good horse.”

Andy said, “I’m stayin’ with Len.”

Farley seemed about to argue the point but gave in. “You two need lookin’ after. Anyway, they ain’t goin’ to pay us extra for reportin’ in early.”

Andy saw a well beside the house and led his black horse over to examine it. Looking down into the water, he saw no sign that it harbored any drowned rats or other small animals. Though the house appeared not to have been occupied in a long time, the windlass had a reasonably new rope. It was probably a gift from someone who passed this way often. Andy turned the handle and brought up a bucket of water. He poured it into a small wooden trough and brought up a second bucket so there would be enough for his horse. He cupped his hands and tentatively tasted the water to be sure it was good before he drank his fill.

Len started to walk through the door but stopped abruptly and stepped back. Andy heard a buzzing sound that he recognized instantly as a rattlesnake’s warning. Len said, “I believe I’ll sleep outdoors tonight.” He handed his reins to Andy. “But I’ll make sure this gentleman doesn’t come out huntin’ for me.” As soon as Andy had led his and Len’s horses away, Len shot the snake.

Holstering the pistol, he said, “Welcome to South Texas, where everything scratches, stings, or bites.”

They searched around for sign of more snakes, then hobbled the horses. Andy built a small fire in a rock-lined hole that travelers had used before him. He let the fire burn down to red coals, then set a coffeepot on top of them.

He said, “Indians would make supper out of that snake. It tastes a little like chicken.”

Len grimaced. “Help yourself. I’ve been hungry lots of times. I’ve eaten mesquite beans and jackrabbit. I’ve eaten horse and mule meat, but I ain’t never been hungry enough to eat a rattler.” He went on to describe at length a couple of times when he was desperate enough that he almost ate the tops from his boots.

Muttering to himself about liars and those who listened to them, Farley went out to gather some dry wood. He came back and dropped several dead mesquite limbs near the fire. “Riders comin’,” he said. He went to his saddle lying on the ground and pulled his rifle from its scabbard.

Andy followed his lead by drawing his pistol. He counted seven horsemen, one a smooth-faced boy of fourteen or fifteen. The others were older and had not felt a razor in at least a couple of weeks, nor water either except to drink.

Farley said with some relief, “At least they’re Americans.”

Len’s right hand rested on the butt of his pistol. “That don’t guarantee nothin’. They may not like the law, so we better not tell them we’re Rangers. They’ve got us outnumbered.”

The riders stopped a respectful distance from the Rangers’ camp. One rode forward with his right hand raised in a sign of peace. He slouched in the saddle. “Howdy. Looks like you-all have made yourselves to home.”

Farley did not offer a welcome. “You got any quarrel with that?”

The rider shook his head. His whiskers were coal black, a sharp contrast to the washed-out gray of his eyes. “None at’all. We’re just travelers like yourselves, lookin’ to water our horses before we ride on a ways more.”

Farley said, “The water’s free for everybody.”

The man said, “We come upon a bunch of Meskins back yonder. They eyed us like coyotes that found a mess of quail. I’ve got a hunch they been trailin’, waitin’ to hit us in the night when we’re asleep. It’d ease our minds if we could camp with you-all.”

Andy saw doubt in Len’s and Farley’s eyes.

The visitor said, “The more there is of us, the safer we’ll all be.”

Farley was slow to lower his rifle. “Maybe. What say you-all camp over on the other side of the house?”

The man waved his arm, and the other six rode in closer. He said, “My name is Burt Hatton. Me and the boys here, we just delivered a herd to San Antonio. There’s people that’d gladly shoot us for the money them cattle brought. Failin’ that, they’d at least try to take our horses.”

Andy did not like the looks of the men. They reminded him of a wolf pack circling a small buffalo herd and looking to bring down a calf.

Len was uncharacteristically silent. As the men moved away, he said, “Andy, you look like you smelled a skunk.”

“
It’s just a feelin’ I’ve got.”

“
Me too. Seems to me like I’ve seen that hombre before. With all the whiskers it’s hard to be sure.”

The drovers made camp on the opposite side of the adobe ruin. Once their horses were unsaddled and hobbled, Hatton walked back over to the Rangers’ campfire. He asked, “You-all headed for the border?”

Len was usually the first to speak, but he kept his silence. His badge remained in his pocket.

Farley said, “We thought we’d go down there and take a look around.”

“
I hope you’ve been told what kind of country you’re gettin’ into.”

“
We’ve got a pretty fair notion.”

“
You’ll find more Meskins than white people. Damned shame, seein’ as this country is supposed to be American. We’ve chased a lot of them across the river, but they keep birthin’ more and more of them here. Seems like they’re bound and determined to outbreed us. A white man has got to keep his guns strapped on all the time.”

Andy was a little disturbed by Hatton’s tone. “If a man owns his land, how can you run him off of it?”

“
They’ll sell out when you put the proposition to them right. A Meskin gets real agreeable if you stick a pistol up against his ear and cock the hammer back. Especially if you can bribe a couple of Rangers to stand behind you.”

Andy saw anger rising in Len’s eyes. He had seldom seen Len yield to ill humor. Len turned away from the campfire. “I’m goin’ to see about the horses.”

Andy followed him. He kept his voice low. “A Ranger wouldn’t ever do that. Would he?”

Len frowned. “There’s some that might. They think the border country would be a lot better off if all the Mexicans was moved to the other side.”

“
That’s what they did to the Indians. They pushed them all north of the Red River.” Resentment stirred when he thought about his Comanche friends forced into exile on a cramped reservation away from their former range. Yet he realized it had been the only way to curtail their raiding.

Len said, “The law says you can’t put people off of their property, but some gringos ignore the law. They tell the Mexicans they can either leave or die. More often than not they sell out for whatever they can get. It usually ain’t much.”

“
I wouldn’t be a party to such as that.”

“
Me and you, we’re just privates. We’ve got no say. If a sergeant says ‘Fire,’ all we can do is ask what at.” Len looked worriedly back toward camp. “I’d swear that Hatton looks familiar.”

“
Maybe he’s in your fugitive book.”

Rangers carried a book with handwritten descriptions of fugitives. They consulted it often and kept it as up to date as possible. They took special pleasure in marking off a fugitive as captured or killed.

Len said, “Might be. I’ll read it after a while when that bunch can’t see me.”

Andy returned to the campfire. He heard Hatton talking to Farley about border outlaws. “There’s one in particular you better be on the
cuidado
for. Guadalupe Chavez has got a big ranch over yonder, stocked with good Texas cattle his bunch has stole. Used to have considerable land on this side of the river too, but Jericho Jackson ran him off of it.”

Andy asked, “Who’s Jericho Jackson?”

Hatton seemed surprised that Andy did not know. “Just about the biggest man on the Texas side of the border these days. Took over a large part of what Chavez claimed north of the river. He ain’t a man to be crossed, not even by the likes of Guadalupe Chavez. They’re blood enemies.”

Andy said, “This Chavez, what kind of man is he?”

“
A real bad hombre. His pistoleros come across the river lookin’ for somethin’ to steal and gringos to kill. He tells his people that someday he’ll fly the Mexican flag again over everything from the Rio Grande to San Antonio.”

Len said, “I hear that Jericho Jackson ain’t no angel either. It’s like he built a wall around his ranch and don’t let anybody in that ain’t an outlaw like he is.”

Andy said, “I remember Preacher Webb talkin’ about a place called Jericho. It had walls, but they fell down.”

Len nodded. “That was on account of a soldier called Joshua, but I ain’t met anybody around here by that name.”

Hatton’s eyes flashed in irritation. “I wouldn’t go talkin’ against Jericho. It can get a man hurt.” He pushed to his feet. “Maybe the boys have got supper fixed.” He stalked away.

Farley turned on Len. “What did you provoke him for? He was tellin’ us things we need to know.”

“
I remember where I’ve seen him before. He was with a bunch we caught drivin’ stolen horses. We got most of the horses back, but the ones they rode was faster than ours. We suspected they was workin’ for Jericho Jackson, but it’s hard to get anything on him. People like Hatton do his dirty work for him.”

Farley chewed on what Len said. “You reckon there’s paper out on Hatton?”

Len grunted. “There ought to be. I’d wager that the cattle they delivered to San Antonio still had Rio Grande mud on them. We better stand guard duty tonight, or we’re liable to find ourselves dead in the mornin’. Or at least afoot. Notice the way he kept lookin’ at our horses?”

Farley said, “I figured since the men was all white that we had no need to worry.”

“
White, Mexican, down in this country there’s meanness enough to go around.”

Andy asked, “So what do we do?”

Len made a wry smile. “What would your Comanche brothers do if they smelled Apaches?”

“
They’d sleep with their eyes open and a war club in their hands.”

Len said, “We’ll do better than that. After good dark we’ll move our horses, then we’ll keep watch.”

Andy half expected Farley to put up an argument because the idea was Len’s, but he didn’t. They made a show of stringing a rope between two trees and tying their horses and the pack mule to it. Before moonrise they quietly led the animals farther out into the brush and retied the picket line. They returned to camp but remained in the shadows beyond the campfire’s dying light.

After a time Andy felt himself dozing off. Farley punched him with his elbow. He whispered, “Rub a little tobacco in your eyes. That’ll keep you awake.”