[Texas Rangers 02] - Badger Boy (7 page)

"I'll tell him."

The sergeant motioned for the men to move out.

Tanner said, "I'm only sorry that we'll miss seein' the big explosion."

"What explosion?"

"The lieutenant when he finds that we slipped out of his hands. He's liable to swell up like a toad and bust wide open."

Rusty watched the departing riders, then cast a glance back over his shoulder toward the river. He felt uncomfortably exposed out here in the open. A prickly feeling ran along his spine.

"I've got a notion somebody's watchin' us. We'd best be travelin', too."

"You lead, and I'll foller."

L
en Tanner was unusually quiet. Most of the time the lanky ranger had much more to say than Rusty thought necessary. He would ramble aimlessly, sometimes stopping in the middle of a sentence and jumping to a totally unrelated subject. That he was quiet now indicated he felt as conflicted as Rusty about their sudden leave-taking.

After one of the long silences Rusty asked, "Wonderin' if you did the right thing, comin' with me?"

"I'm
always
wonderin' if I've done the right thing. I've been known once or twice to make a mistake."

"I can't imagine when that was."

"What'll we do when we get to that farm of yours?"

"We'll plow and plant, and keep our eyes peeled for conscript officers."

"You still got the Monahan family livin' on your place?"

"Been a long time since I heard from them, but they're still there as far as I know ... Mother Clemmie and Geneva, and the two younger girls. And Clemmie's old daddy, Vince Purdy."

"It's a damned shame what Caleb Dawkins done to Lon Monahan and his boy Billy ... takin' them out and hangin' them like horse thieves, and for no reason except they didn't want Texas to leave the Union. There was lots of people agreed with them."

"And some of them died for it."

The memory was still bitter as quinine. Rusty tried to keep it pushed back into the darkest corner of his mind, but sometimes it intruded, ugly and mean. Farmer Lon Monahan had been too vocal for his own good, persisting in voicing unpopular political opinions at a time when Confederate zealots like Colonel Caleb Dawkins made such expressions potentially lethal. Rusty had helped cut the bodies of Lon and his son Billy from the tree where they had been lynched. An older Monahan son, James, had fled to the West, beyond reach of Dawkins and his night-riding patriots.

Too late to save the Monahans, the extreme fanaticism had diminished as the war's casualty lists had grown and its hardships had spread disillusionment to the outermost reaches of the Confederacy.

Tanner smiled. "That Geneva's a pretty little slip of a girl. If you hadn't already put a claim on her, I'd do it myself. How long since you heard from her?"

"Got a letter a year or so ago. There was probably more that never reached me. No tellin' what went with our mail."

"At least you'll be seein' her pretty soon."

"If she's still on the farm where I left her and her folks." Because he had not heard from her in so long, he could imagine all manner of misfortunes that might have befallen the surviving Monahans.

Tanner said, "Wish I had a girl waitin' for me. I never knew how to act around women, or what to say."

"It's hard to picture you not havin' somethin' to say."

"Always seemed like when I opened my mouth the wrong words came out. By the time I knew what I ought to've said, the girl would be gone."

"I was awkward around Geneva 'til we got used to one another. After that, things just seemed to come natural."

Tanner considered awhile, then asked, "Did you and her ever ..." He left the question unfinished.

Rusty's face warmed. "She ain't that kind."

Tanner looked sheepish. "I was only wonderin' if you ever talked about marry'n."

"Oh. Well, it was understood, sort of. I never felt like I ought to ask her as long as the war was on."

"Maybe you should've. Things can change when you're gone for a long time."

Rusty fell silent, trying not to think about the violent deaths of Lon and Billy. He preferred to recall Geneva, to bring her image alive in his mind. He tried to hear the music of her voice and see her as he had first seen her long ago.

Tanner's edgy tone shook him back to sober reality. "I thought we was all by ourselves."

Rusty jerked to attention. His skin prickled as five horsemen pushed out of a thicket. One cradled a rifle across his left arm.

Tanner pulled on the reins. "At least they ain't Comanches."

"Just the same, they don't look like they've come to bid us welcome." Dismounting, Rusty slipped his rifle from its scabbard. He stood behind his horse to shield himself. Holding the weapon ready across his saddle, he watched the oncoming riders.

Tanner followed his example, eyes tense but not afraid. Tanner was seldom afraid of anything he could see. "Brush men?"

"I don't know who else would be so far out this way." Rusty did not like the riders' somber expressions. The black-bearded man carrying the rifle pushed a little past the others. He gave first Tanner and then Rusty a hasty appraisal that brought no friendliness into his sharp black eyes. He leaned forward, focusing a fierce suspicion on Rusty.

"Who are you men, and what's your business?"

If these had been Comanches, Rusty would have no doubt about their intentions. The fight would already be under way instead of hanging in the air like electricity before a storm.

"Name's Shannon ... Rusty Shannon. This here's Len Tanner. We're headed for my farm."

"Ain't no farms out this way."

"Mine is down on the Colorado River."

"You're a long ways from home. How come you so far west?"

The other riders were unshaven, which added to their formidable appearance. None had a heard as black as the leader's, however. Rusty sized them up as probable army deserters, conscription dodgers, or simply fugitives from the law for various and sundry crimes. "We didn't come to cause trouble. We had no idea there was anybody around."

One man spoke hopefully, "They got honest faces, Oldham. They don't look like conscript officers."

"Now, Barlow, you know you can't tell what a conscript officer looks like. They don't wear a uniform, most of them." Oldham cut his sharp gaze back to Rusty. "Maybe you're rangers."

Another rider pulled a paint horse up beside the leader and gave Rusty and Tanner an accusing study. His eyes reminded Rusty of a wolf's. He was a youth of eighteen or nineteen, his uneven whiskers patchy, soft, and light in color. "They
are
rangers, big brother. I seen both of them over at Fort Belknap."

The paint had gotch ears, a sign it had probably belonged to Comanches at one time. Rusty could only guess how this youngster came by it.

Tanner admitted, "We
was
rangers. They was fixin' to drag us into the army, so we taken French leave. Like most of you, I'd judge."

"That don't hold no water with me, Clyde," the youth said to Oldham.

"Me neither, little brother."

The one called Barlow said, "It could be the truth. Lately the army's been grabbin' everybody that ain't missin' an arm or a leg, right down to boys and old men."

Clyde Oldham objected, "Then again, these could be spies, sent to find us and bring the army."

The youngster declared, "Only safe thing is to shoot them." He seemed eager to start.

Barlow pressed, "What if they ain't spies?"

Oldham scowled. "Then we've made a mistake. Too bad, but I never heard nobody claim that war is fair. Half the time it's the wrong people that get killed."

Rusty saw agreement in the other men's faces, all but Barlow's. He leaned his rifle across the saddle and drew a bead on Oldham's broad chest. He tried to keep his voice calm. "We're liable to take more killin' than you'll want to do."

Barlow raised a hand, his palm out. "Let's don't nobody do nothin' hasty. If you say you ain't rangers anymore, I say we ought to take your word ... for now. How about you two comin' along with us?"

"We've got plans of our own."

The Oldhams and two others cautiously moved up a little, trying to form a semicircle that would prevent escape. Rusty pivoted the rifle barrel from Clyde Oldham to his younger brother. "You-all stop where you're at."

Tanner whispered, "There ain't but five, two for me and two for you. We can share the other one."

Rusty thought it would be a poor consolation to die knowing they had won the fight. "We don't want to kill anybody."

Barlow said, "We don't either." He seemed to be speaking to his friends more than to Rusty and Tanner. "We came here to stay out of the war. Ain't no point in startin' one of our own."

The younger Oldham looked to the men on either side of him. He echoed Tanner. "Ain't but two of them. You-all afraid?"

Clyde Oldham cautioned, "You'd better be, little brother. You've got a rifle aimed right at your belly."

"Well, I ain't afraid." The youth's eyes gave away his intention just before he brought up a pistol and pointed it toward Rusty.

Rusty muttered, "Oh hell!" and triggered the rifle. Through the smoke he saw young Oldham jerk back as if kicked by a mule. In reflex the youth fired his pistol. The paint staggered and fell, dumping Oldham on the ground. He had shot his own horse.

Tanner shouted, "Don't anybody make a bad move. I still got a load in this gun."

Clyde Oldham left the saddle quickly and knelt over his younger brother. "Buddy!" he cried. The dying horse was kicking. Oldham dragged the youth away from the flailing hooves.

The other three men stared as if they could not believe what they saw. Tanner said, "You-all throw them guns to one side before you get off of your horses." They complied.

Rusty was momentarily in shock. He had acted by instinct. He had not had time even to take good aim. Now he saw the blood and knew it was of his own doing. He felt sick.

Tanner calmly told him, "We're still deep in the woods. You better reload that rifle or draw your pistol."

"I hope I didn't kill that kid."

"If you didn't, you taught him a hell of a lesson." Tanner moved slowly from behind his horse, keeping his rifle trained in the direction of the brush men. Clyde Oldham had laid his rifle on the ground. Tanner tossed it away and did the same with the pistol the younger Oldham had dropped. He leaned over the fallen youth, then looked up at Rusty.

"You hit him in the arm. It's a hell of a mess."

Rusty gathered his wits and reloaded his rifle. Oldham had ripped his brother's sleeve to expose the wound. The arm was shattered. The youth groaned, his face draining white in shock.

Oldham cried, "He'll bleed to death."

Rusty handed his rifle to Tanner. "Not if I can help it." He wrapped his neckerchief above the wound as a tourniquet. He twisted it tightly until the blood slowed. Anger began to rise. "Damn it to hell, I didn't want this. But he was fixin' to shoot me."

Oldham showed no sign that he had heard, or if he heard, that it made any difference. "Little brother, don't you go and die on me. Don't do it, I say...'

The only answer was a deep groan.

Rusty managed to choke the blood flow down to a trickle. "I don't suppose anybody in your camp claims to be a doctor?"

Barlow said, "'There's a preacher comes to see us now and again, but he ain't there right now."

"A preacher?" Rusty felt a sudden hope. "Would his name be Webb?"

"'That's him. You know him?"

"From as far back as I can remember."

The more he looked at young Oldham's smashed arm, the more he despaired of saving it. At this point he would not wager two bits that the youth would even survive. "Ain't much more we can do for him out here. You-all better get him back to your camp."

Clyde Oldham looked up, hatred in his eves. "You think we'll just let the two of you ride away?"

"That's all we wanted in the first place. The rest of this was your own doin'."

Tanner stepped between the men and the weapons they had tossed away. "You can come back later to fetch these."

Rusty heard horses and looked up. Six or eight riders came loping out of the thicket toward them. His heart sagged, and for a moment he felt defeated. Then he recognized the man riding in the lead. Hope began a tentative revival.

Tanner raised his rifle. Rusty motioned for him to lower it. "James Monahan is with them."

Tanner hesitated. "Last time you and him met, you didn't part real friendly."

"He's the best hope we've got. We can't fight our way past all that bunch."

James brought his mount to a rough stop, raising a small cloud of dust. "We heard shootin'. What the hell happened here?"

Barlow jerked his head toward Rusty. "It was Buddy Oldham's fault. He tried to shoot this ranger."

James recognized Rusty. His reaction was less than cordial. "Damn it, Rusty Shannon, can't you go anywhere without takin' trouble with you?" James examined the wounded arm and looked up at Rusty, his eyes critical. "If you had to shoot him, couldn't you just crease him a little?"

Rusty knew it would be poor politics to say he had aimed at the heart. "I didn't want to shoot him at all. He gave me no choice."

James turned on Clyde Oldham, his voice severe. "You're his big brother. Looks like you could've kept him jugged and stoppered."

"He's always had a mind of his own."

"Damned pity he never used it much." James looked up at the men who had ridden with him. "Let's get him to camp and see what more we can do. Mack, we'll put him on your horse. You can ride behind the saddle and hold him on." He faced Rusty again. "Did you have to shoot Buddy's horse, too?"

"He did it himself."

James nodded. "That don't come as any big surprise." He helped Clyde Oldham and Barlow lift the half-conscious boy into the saddle. The man named Mack sat behind the cantle, one arm holding Buddy in place. James jerked his head at Rusty and Tanner. "You-all come and go with us."

Rusty saw no choice. "We're keepin' our guns."

"Be careful whichaway you point them."