[Texas Rangers 01] - The Buckskin Line (24 page)

"Someplace else, is all I know. It's none of my business where he's at."

"As a representative of the law, every lawbreaker should be your business."

Rusty looked at the young men again. Pete appeared suddenly apprehensive. The other could not meet Rusty's eyes. The more Rusty considered it, the more he was convinced that the colonel did not know about the horse stealing.

Rusty said, "I suppose if you had a lawbreaker in your midst, you'd turn him in?"

"Unless it was a Yankee law."

"I don't suppose there's any Texas law against runnin' off Indian horses?"

The puzzlement in Dawkins's eyes indicated that he was indeed ignorant about the thieves in his midst. "Are you saying one of us steals Indian horses?"

Rusty saw nothing to be gained by telling him. "I'm just usin' that as an example. Everybody's got laws they don't like and don't pay any attention to. Even you, I suspect."

"Not I, sir. The law is the law. I abide by it, and I insist that others do the same."

Lon Monahan came in from the field, riding a bareback mule with most of the harness still on him. He rode up close enough to have reached out and punched Dawkins on the nose had he intended to. He looked as if he might be considering it. "'y God, Dawkins, I've ordered you off of this place more than once. What do you want this time?"

As before, Monahan's quick anger was in marked contrast to the cold calm in Dawkins's look and manner.

"The same as before. We're looking for your son James. He has been declared a deserter."

"How can he desert somethin' he never joined in the first place?"

"He deserted his duty."

"His duty as
you
see it. He saw it different. You're not welcome here, Dawkins, you nor any of them scalawags with you. I'm tellin' you to leave."

"When we're ready." Dawkins looked across the field, where Billy was dragging a cotton sack. "How old is that boy yonder?"

Monahan's defiance began giving way to uneasiness. "He ain't barely sixteen. Too young for you to be takin' him."

"
You
say he's sixteen. I say he looks older."

"He ain't. We've got his birth date wrote down in our Bible."

"The hand of man can make even a Bible lie." Dawkins began to rein his horse around. "Let's go take a look at him, boys. I say he looks eighteen."

Monahan stepped inside the barn and immediately came out again, carrying a rifle. He aimed it at Dawkins's broad chest. "Touch my boy and I'll kill you!"

For a fleeting moment Dawkins lost his composure. Murder flared in his eyes and made Rusty wish for his own rifle. But the moment passed and Dawkins appeared calm again, at least outwardly. It was just as well, for Lon had the upper hand.

Dawkins drew himself up into a military attitude of full attention. "We are representatives of the conscription committee, duly appointed. You are interfering with the performance of our duties."

"It ain't your duty to take an underage boy against his family's will. Now I'm givin' you a chance to git, and don't be comin' back."

Dawkins lowered his deep voice. "You'll see us again."

"If so, it'll be the same way I see you now, over the barrel of this gun." Monahan's hands were steady, but as soon as Dawkins and the men with him turned away, his hands began to tremble.

The point rider lagged, looking back as if he wanted to say something, but he thought better of it and followed Dawkins.

Rusty had forgotten his pain. It came back to him in a rush, for in his concentration on Monahan and Dawkins he had let some of his weight rest on the wounded leg. He lifted it and rubbed his hand gingerly over the bandage as if that would ease the throbbing. "I thought sure as hell you were fixin' to shoot him."

"I was. The Lord stayed my hand."

"He'll be back."

"I know. And before I'll let him have Billy, I
will
shoot him, 'y God." Monahan's face was grim. "Damn that Dawkins for a hypocrite. He's out roundin' up other men's sons for the army, but he pays the government to keep his own at home."

Rusty appreciated the irony of the situation. While Dawkins lectured gravely about law and order, his own son was stealing Indian horses without the old man knowing it.

Watching Dawkins's retreat, Rusty feared for a minute that the man was going to cut back into the field and make for Billy. Dawkins paused once, as if considering it.

Monahan raised the rifle. "He's still in range, and he knows it."

Dawkins resumed his retreat. Monahan lowered the rifle, relieved. He said, "I'm goin' out and fetch Billy."

He climbed back onto the mule and cut straight across the field, making no effort to spare the unharvested cotton from trampling. Watching, Rusty saw signs of argument between Monahan and his son, though he could not hear the voices. Presently Billy followed his father out of the field, carrying the half-filled sack on his shoulder. He resumed his argument at the barn. "But everybody around here knows I'm only sixteen."

"To Dawkins you're as old as he wants you to be. It ain't you he's really after, but he'll use you to get even with me and James. So you've got to go, son. You've got to go now, because there's no tellin' when he's apt to come back for you." Monahan turned to his father-in-law, who had come up from the house to watch in silence. He carried a shotgun, ready to support his son-in-law if the incident had built to violence. "I'd appreciate it if you'd go tell Clemmie and Geneva to fix up a big sack of grub for Billy. And roll up a couple of blankets. Soon as it's dark, he'll be ridin' out."

Billy's grandfather nodded, his thin face sad. "Just like with James. I don't know what Clemmie's goin' to say."

"Ain't much she can say. It's got to be done or we'll lose the boy sure enough." Monahan turned to Rusty. "As a ranger, maybe you ought not to see none of this. It might go hard with you if the authorities decide you could've stopped it and didn't."

Rusty shrugged. "I'm all crippled up, and my pistol is in my saddlebag where I can't get ahold of it. I couldn't stop it if I wanted to."

Monahan grunted. "You'd better tell them you wanted to, though. Tell them I held a gun on you, if it helps any." He swung the muzzle of the rifle around to point at Rusty a moment, then turned it away. "Now it won't be a lie." Monahan climbed back onto the mule. "I'll go out and see what horses I can find. Billy's got to have a good one."

"Give him Alamo if you want to. He's got a lot of endurance. He just doesn't like guns much."

"I don't think that'll he necessary. But I'll always be grateful that you offered."

The sun seemed reluctant to set, and dusk seemed hours about settling in. Rusty and Clemmie's father stood on the dog run, watching. The old man said, "I wouldn't put it past Dawkins to be hidin' out yonder, spyin' on this place. He's bound to suspect we'll be slippin' Billy away."

Rusty could hear Lon and Clemmie Monahan in the kitchen, giving Billy advice. Clemmie said, "I just wish Preacher Webb was here. He'd know just where James is at, so Billy could find him."

On leaving, James had promised to stay in touch with Webb. Webb could quietly pass James's letters on to the family, whose own mail was almost certainly being watched. The authorities would have no reason to suspect the minister.

When the sky had turned full dark, the family blew out the lamp in the kitchen, throwing the cabin into darkness. Lon Monahan led a saddled horse up from the barn. "You'd best be on your way before the moon rises. You can travel many a mile before sunup."

Billy reluctantly shook hands with Rusty, his father, and his grandfather, and hugged his mother and sisters. Lon Monahan gave him a small leather pouch. "This is good Yankee money we've kept hidden away."

The youngster accepted it tearfully. "Maybe with luck I can bring it all back."

Clemmie said, "Don't trust only to luck. Keep talkin' to the Lord. We'll be prayin' with you."

"I'll be back," Billy said, and he disappeared into the darkness. The women cried.

Lon Monahan laid his heavy hand on Rusty's shoulder. Tightly he said, "Remember, if anybody asks you, you tried to stop him."

"I'm a poor liar."

"Then don't say anything. We'll lie for you."

The women went back into the dark kitchen, shoulders heavily burdened with sadness. Lon Monahan remained outside, stuffing his pipe, puffing harder than normal. Clemmie's father leaned against the corner where the logs joined together at right angles. He kept his grief to himself, though his bony shoulders trembled.

Rusty, not wanting to intrude on their mourning, hobbled out into the packed yard, leaning heavily on the crutch. He looked toward the black horizon, where the moon was just beginning to rise. Soon it would be in full brilliance. The early stars were out. It struck him that moonlit nights were the favorite time for Comanche raids. But Indians were a minor concern at the moment. A much larger and all-consuming war had taken precedence.

He heard a faint commotion somewhere to the west, in the direction Billy had taken. It lasted but a moment, and afterward he was not certain he had heard anything. He made his way back to the dog run and found Lon Monahan with the pipe in one hand, the other hand behind his ear.

"Did you hear somethin', Rusty?"

"I thought I did, but I'm not sure." He had seen some of the Monahan horses wander down that way to graze just before sundown. A couple of them might have had a brief biting and kicking fight.

Clemmie's father said he had heard nothing. "Half the time anymore, I can't hear it thunder."

Monahan paced the dog run, debating with himself, then said, "I'm goin' to saddle up and ride down that way. Got to be sure nothin' has happened to Billy."

It was Monahan's custom to keep a night horse penned so someone could ride out each morning before breakfast and bring in the work stock. In a few minutes Rusty heard Lon ride by and saw his dark form at some distance in the moonlight. Lon soon faded from view.

Rusty said, "It probably wasn't anything. A couple of horses fightin', or maybe a cow and calf spooked by a coyote."

The old man said, "You're probably right," but his voice carried no conviction. "Can't help worryin' that the boy has run into trouble."

After a time Clemmie came out onto the dog run. "Where's Lon?"

Rusty considered lying to her, for he saw no reason to upset her needlessly. But her father did not give him a chance. "He saddled up and rode off. Thought he heard somethin' out yonder."

Clemmie caught a short breath. "Heard what?"

Rusty said, "We don't know. Probably nothin'. He'll likely come back pretty soon."

But he did not. Rusty guessed that an hour passed, and more. Clemmie came out onto the dog run several times. The last couple of times Geneva was with her. At last she said, "I've got a dreadful feelin' somethin's happened." She started walking westward. Geneva ran to catch her, clutching her arm.

"No, Mother. No! What if somethin' is out there? Indians, maybe."

"I've got to see about Lon and Billy." Clemmie pulled away from her daughter.

Rusty heard something too far out to see. "Mrs. Monahan, wait. I think I hear a horse. Lon's comin' back."

"Thank the Lord." She returned to the cabin, Geneva beside her, holding her arm again.

"See, Mother. It wasn't anything."

Rusty began to see the shape of a horse and rider. By the time they were within fifty yards of the cabin he could tell that this was not Lon Monahan, nor was it Billy.

The horseman reined up a few feet in front of the family. He seemed reluctant to dismount. Rusty hobbled up closer to see his face. He recognized the horse thief who had ridden point for the Indian remuda. The youth tried twice to speak before he managed to bring up anything intelligible. "Miz Monahan, I ... I don't know how to tell you ..

Rusty moved up close enough that he could have reached out and pulled him down from the horse. "Tell them what?" When the young man seemed unable to speak, Rusty grabbed him by the knee and shook hard. "Damn it, man, tell them."

"It wasn't none of my doin'. I didn't want them to do it, but Colonel Dawkins, he ... he said it had to be done. And he done it."

Rusty felt as if he had been showered with ice-cold water. He shouted, "Did what?"

"He hung Mr. Monahan. And the boy, too. Down yonder by the river."

Geneva screamed. Clemmie wilted. Her father caught her as she started to slump to the ground.

Rusty could not speak. He leaned over Clemmie, who lay weeping, and Geneva, who knelt by her mother's side. The old man kept whispering, "God help them. God help them."

A little late for God to intervene now
, Rusty thought. He turned to the young horse thief, who had not dismounted and showed no inclination to do so. "Wasn't there anybody who could've stopped it?"

"Nobody stops Colonel Dawkins. When he makes up his mind, there'd better not be anybody standin' in his way."

"So you didn't even try."

"Well, I told him we ought to wait, that we ought to take them to the sheriff. He cussed me for a coward and said if I didn't have the stomach for it, I ought to leave and not ever cone back. So I left."

Aching inside, Rusty felt like weeping with the women, but he faced a duty that was more important. "We can't just leave them out there. Would you fetch in the mules and help me hitch them to the wagon?"

The young man bowed his head. "That's the least I can do."

Rusty had to be helped up onto the wagon seat, but once he was there, the pain subsided. He felt he was able to drive the mules. Clemmie's father sat beside him, his head down. Clemmie cried hysterically, fighting to climb up into the wagon. Her father talked her down, and Geneva held her as the wagon pulled away, leaving the women behind. Rusty rubbed a sleeve across his burning eyes.

The horse thief, who said his name was Smith, rode beside the wagon, pointing the way.

"If we run into Captain Dawkins, I'm leavin'. I'm lightin' a shuck anyway, soon as I help you bring these poor fellers in. I've got no use for a country that goes around hangin' people for not thinkin' the way they're supposed to. Like all them folks over at Gainesville."