Renegades (3 page)

It appeared that Wedge might have argued the matter further, but at that moment the women came out of the house onto the porch. The light was behind them and shone on their hair. Wedge took his hat off and nodded politely to them, saying, “Ladies. After a long day on the trail, you are sure a sight for sore eyes, if I may be so bold as to say so.”

“You may,” Pegeen Tolliver told him with a smile. “Hello, Captain. Will you and your men be staying to supper?”

“That sounds mighty nice, ma'am, but we're on the trail of some badmen—”

“You can't follow a trail very well at night,” Tolliver put in. “Join us for supper, Captain. Your men can eat in the bunkhouse with the hands.”

Wedge chuckled. “That Chinaman who cooks for you probably won't be very happy about having that many extra mouths to feed.”

“He'll survive. There's plenty of room for your men to bunk in the barn, too, and we'll find a bed for you in the house.”

The captain returned his black Stetson to his head. “I'm much obliged, Tolliver, and on behalf of my men, I accept.” He turned and said to his troop of Rangers, “Light for a spell, boys. We're spending the night here on the Rocking T.”

A grin creased Tolliver's leathery face. “I'd like to see Almanzar's nighthawks come a-raidin' now, with a couple dozen Rangers on the place! They'd get a mighty warm welcome if they did!”

The Rangers dismounted and tended to their mounts, unsaddling the horses and turning them into one of the corrals by the barns. Frank had already noticed that the buckboard was gone, and when he asked about Stormy, Tolliver told him that some of the hands had cared for the Appaloosa when the team was unhitched.

“No offense, but I'll look in on him myself,” Frank said.

Tolliver nodded. “Don't blame you a bit. That's a fine horse, and if he was mine, I'd want to be sure that he was properly taken care of, too.”

Frank walked out to the barns, trailed by Dog, and one of the ranch hands directed him to the stall where Stormy was. Having assured himself that the Appaloosa had been rubbed down and had plenty of grain and water, Frank headed back to the house.

Before he got there, a big work wagon rattled into the yard, pulled by a team of heavy draft horses. Darrell Forrest and Nick Holmes were on the wagon seat, with Darrell handling the reins. Three punchers on horseback trailed the wagon.

Frank recalled Tolliver's orders to his sons-in-law to go out and recover the bodies of the outlaws who had been killed. Even though the last of the twilight had faded, enough illumination came from the doors and windows of the ranch house for Frank to be able to see that the uncovered back of the wagon was empty.

“What happened?” he asked as he stepped up to the wagon when Darrell had brought it to a stop in front of the house.

“Those bodies weren't there,” Darrell said.

That answer took Frank by surprise. He had checked each of the fallen men himself and was certain they had all been dead, including the one who had died while Frank was looking at him. None of them could have gotten up and moseyed off by themselves.

“Pa!” Nick called as he and Darrell climbed down from the wagon.

Tolliver hustled out of the house, along with Ben and Captain Wedge. “What is it?” he asked. His eyes widened as he looked at the empty wagon. “Where the hell are those outlaw carcasses?”

“You'll have to tell us, Pa,” Darrell replied grimly. “We drove pert near all the way to San Rosa looking for them, just in case you were a little off target about where they fell, and there's no sign of them anywhere up and down the road!”

Tolliver pounded his right fist into his left palm. “The rest of the skunks came back for 'em!” he said. “That's the only explanation that makes any sense. That damn Almanzar! He must've give orders that if any of his gunnies bit the dust, the rest were to recover the bodies, so they couldn't be traced back to him!”

A frown creased Frank's forehead. Tolliver's theory certainly wasn't impossible, but it struck Frank as a little far-fetched and a good example of Tolliver's determination to blame everything on Almanzar, whether there was any proof for it or not.

On the other hand,
somebody
had spirited those bodies away, and there must have been a reason for it. The most likely explanation was that the rest of the gang had returned for their fallen comrades. Why was a question that Frank couldn't answer at the moment.

His curiosity was aroused, however, and this mystery made him even more inclined to remain in the area until it had been cleared up.

“I was hoping to get a look at those bodies,” Wedge said. “Thought there might be some of them I'd recognize.”

“We can ride out in the mornin' and I'll show you where the fight happened,” Tolliver offered. “Maybe you can pick up the trail of the rest o' the gang.”

Wedge nodded, frowning in thought.

The ranch hands took care of the wagon and the team, while Frank, Wedge, and the members of the Tolliver family went inside. As Frank hung up his hat he smelled delicious aromas in the air, to go along with the lingering fragrance of the coffee from earlier.

The women had done quite a job on short notice, perhaps helped out by that Chinese cook Wedge had mentioned. The long hardwood table in the dining room was loaded down with platters of food. Frank saw fried chicken, ham, boiled potatoes, corn on the cob, black-eyed peas, yams, greens, and biscuits. The sight and smell of the food made him acutely aware that it had been a long time since he had eaten lunch, and that had been just a few pieces of jerky gnawed while he was in the saddle. Everyone moved to the table. Tolliver held a chair for Pegeen while Darrell and Nick did likewise for their wives. Roanne didn't have a husband here, though, so being the gentleman he was, Frank moved to perform the gesture for her. Unfortunately, Captain Wedge had had the same idea and started forward, and there was an awkward moment when both men hesitated. Then Wedge stepped back slightly and gave a half wave, indicating to Frank that he should go ahead.

“Thank you,” Roanne said graciously as Frank slid the chair under her while she sat down. She looked up at him and added, “Why don't you sit here beside me, Mr. Morgan?”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Frank said with a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

“You don't have to call me ma'am,” she said as he settled down on the chair next to her.

“Well, I haven't heard your last name. . . .”

“That's right, you haven't. It's Williamson.”

“I'll call you Miss Williamson, then.”

She didn't correct him on the “Miss” part, leading Frank to think that he was probably right about her having never been married. But she did say, “Why don't you just call me Roanne?”

“All right. That's a mighty pretty name.” Frank didn't add that it went with a mighty pretty lady. He didn't want to be too forward, considering that he had only met her an hour or so earlier. But from the way she smiled, he figured that she got the idea.

“We'll say grace,” Tolliver announced gruffly. Frank bowed his head, as did everyone else at the table, and the rancher continued. “Heavenly Father, thank you for this food and all the other blessin's you've bestowed on us. We ask that you watch over us and protect us from the trials and travails o' this world and help us follow your teachin's, so's we'll be prepared for the next world. And if it pleases you, cast your wrath down on any no-good skunks from below the border—”

“Cecil!” Pegeen hissed.

Tolliver drew a deep breath. “Anyway, Lord, bless us and keep us under your watchful eye. Amen.”

“Amen,” Frank and the others murmured. He tried not to grin as he saw that Pegeen was still glaring at her husband for daring to intrude his own personal grudges into the prayer.

Everyone dug in, passing around the platters of food and eating heartily. Despite the near-tragedy that had occurred earlier in the day, there was a considerable amount of talk and laughter. Frank knew that a similar scene, albeit probably more raucous and profane, would be going on in the bunkhouse as the rest of the Ranger troop broke bread with the Rocking T ranch hands.

Wedge was seated across the table from Frank. The captain said to him, “Not meaning to pry, Morgan, but what brings you to the border country?”

“I'm just drifting, Captain.”

“Hence the name by which some people know you?”

Frank shrugged. “I've always been a mite fiddle-footed by inclination, and circumstances have often been such that it was best to ride on.”

“You mean that you've run into a lot of trouble over the years because of your reputation.” Wedge's words were a statement, not a question.

“As a lawman, you must know there are a lot of hotheads who fancy themselves as fast guns.”

“And you probably bump up against them just about everywhere you go.”

“It happens more often than I'd like,” Frank answered flatly.

“You could hang up your gun,” Wedge suggested.

Nick Holmes joined the conversation by saying, “You can't be serious, Captain. If Mr. Morgan did that, he'd probably be dead within a week. There must be dozens of men who'd try to come after him if word ever got out that he'd put away his gun.”

“Probably more like hundreds,” Ben added.

Frank would have preferred that the conversation hadn't taken this turn, but since it had, he wasn't going to duck the issue. “It wouldn't be safe,” he agreed. “I've made more than my share of enemies.”

“The West is settling down,” Wedge argued. “There's law and order now.”

Tolliver snorted. “I didn't see any out on the road this afternoon when those gunnies were doin' their best to ventilate us!”

Wedge flushed, and Frank thought Tolliver had touched a sore spot. “The Rangers can't be everywhere at once,” Wedge said, “and it's my judgment that the Black Scorpion and his gang represent the biggest threat around here, not Don Felipe Almanzar. And I'm still not convinced it wasn't the Scorpion's gang that jumped you.”

“I'm convinced,” Tolliver snapped. “That's all I need to know.”

Pegeen eased into the fray. “Gentlemen, please,” she said. “Let's just enjoy our supper and leave the wrangling until later.”

Wedge inclined his head toward her and said graciously, “You're absolutely right, Mrs. Tolliver. This meal is delicious.”

No more was said about Don Felipe Almanzar or the Black Scorpion. The topic shifted to the political situation across the border in Mexico. El Presidente, Porfirio Diaz, had ruled the country for a decade now, after an earlier stint in power as well, and he ran things with an iron fist, enforcing his will by means of his tight control over the Mexican army. But despite—or perhaps because of—Diaz's heavy hand, there was always a certain level of unrest in the country. And the farther away from the capital of Mexico City, the weaker Diaz's control over the population. In northern Mexico, across the Rio Grande from Texas, a frontier police force known as Rurales were in charge, although Diaz sometimes sent in troops from the regular army to quiet things down if too much trouble began cropping up. One thing could be said for Mexican politics: It was always colorful and never boring.

Frank didn't have much interest in any politics, however, having learned from experience that most men who would seek political jobs weren't qualified to hold them. Many were long-winded gasbags with fewer scruples than a coyote. Diaz might be a ruthless dictator, Frank thought, but at least he was more honest about it, ruling with guns rather than slick words and smiles that hid nothing but lies.

When the meal was finished, the men went into the parlor for the brandy and cigars Tolliver had mentioned earlier. The air turned blue with tobacco smoke. Several times during the evening, Frank noticed Captain Wedge giving him an intense, slit-eyed look. He didn't know if Wedge harbored some resentment toward him because he had helped Roanne with her chair, or if the Ranger was just naturally wary because of Frank's reputation as a gunfighter.

Frank had no real interest in winning Wedge's approval. He was what he was, and if that bothered Wedge, it was just too bad. And if the captain was jealous, that was unfortunate, too. Frank wasn't going to pretend that he didn't enjoy Roanne Williamson's company.

After a while the air grew too thick with smoke for Frank's taste. He stood up and said, “I believe I'll walk out to the barn and check on my horse once more before it's time to turn in.”

“Go right ahead,” Tolliver told him. “You might ought to keep an eye open, though. You never know who might be lurkin' around. Some of Almanzar's men might try to sneak in and raise some hell. Might even be a stray Comanche or two still around.”

Frank doubted that. The backbone of Comanche resistance had been broken years earlier at the Battle of Palo Duro Canyon, up in the Panhandle. Indian trouble since then had been sporadic and isolated, mostly occurring in far west Texas where some bronco Apaches still raided across the border from time to time.

With the smoldering butt of a cigar still clenched in his teeth, Frank left the house and strolled toward the barn. On the way he dropped the cigar butt in the dirt and ground it out with his boot heel.

Dog had been waiting on the porch, along with the little dog called Dobie. Both of them walked out to the barn with Frank. They seemed to have become good friends. Dobie jumped up and nipped at Dog's ears every now and then, but the big cur tolerantly ignored the smaller dog.

The bunkhouse was lit up, and Frank heard guitar and fiddle music coming merrily from inside the long structure. The Rangers and the ranch hands were getting along well, from the sound of it.

He went into the barn, where a single lantern was burning with its wick turned low, and looked into Stormy's stall. The Appaloosa seemed fine and nuzzled his nose against Frank's shoulder. Frank scratched the horse's ears for a few moments, talking softly to him, and then turned to go.

He stopped short, his hand moving instinctively toward his gun, when he saw the shadowy figure looming in the doorway of the barn.