[Texas Rangers 01] - The Buckskin Line (29 page)

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Soon Rusty was able to participate in routine patrols, short ones at first, then longer as he regained full use of his leg. Now and then the scouting trips turned up sign of Indian incursion, but it seemed more of a probing nature than any effort at full-scale invasion. A couple of times the scouts overtook the Indians and escorted them peacefully if not happily back across the river. More often, the Indians returned on their own before they were caught, usually with horses and mules and occasionally a few scalps. Once they reached the north side of the Red, they were in union territory and out of bounds for any official Texan pursuit. Unofficial civilian pursuit was something else, more often than not bringing retribution upon innocent reservation Indians who had nothing to do with the raids.

Though he deplored the punitive expeditions, the captain understood the fear and anger that prompted them. To most white men an Indian was an Indian, just as most Indians made no distinction between whites. He said, "Whatever it costs and whoever gets hurt, we can't let up our guard. If they ever get the notion they can come across the Red and do whatever they want to without fear of punishment, they'll he here in force."

The Indians were fully aware that the white man's war had crippled the frontier defense and that settlers along the western edge were highly vulnerable. That much was gleaned from conversations with captured Indian invaders given an armed escort back to the line. It was up to the minutemen companies to block hostile incursions to whatever extent they could, lest the dam break and the frontier be inundated by a Comanche flood.

Rusty and Tanner lagged behind Captain Whitfield and two other men in a small patrol scouting far south and east of Belknap. Rusty was half listening to Tanner tell with considerable glee about finding and moving a whiskey runner's stash to see what would happen. The runner accused a rival of theft, and the two men got into a fistfight of monumental proportions in a Fort Belknap dramshop.

"You ever see them Germans make sausage down on the Guadalupe?" Tanner asked. "Them two fought one another all the way across the floor and out into the road. Time they wore theirselves out, their faces looked like a batch of that raw sausage. I laughed 'til I was rollin' on the ground."

"It don't sound like somethin' to laugh about. What if they'd killed one another, and you'd been the cause of it?"

"The world would've been shed of two whiskey runners. All they're good for is to get the Indians liquored up and rarin' for a raid. There's no tellin' how many people have died on account of them, white and Indian both."

"Still, I wouldn't have wanted them on my conscience."

"Maybe your conscience is too sensitive for your own good. You ain't never had to kill anybody, have you? Even an Indian?"

"No, I haven't."

""Time you've done it to two or three that really need it, your conscience won't weigh you down near as much."

A movement to the south caught Rusty's eye. He saw a horseman spurring a sweat-lathered horse toward the patrol. The captain and the two other rangers had already seen and had stopped to wait. The oncoming rider waved his hat. He tried to shout, but he was too hoarse for his voice to carry far.

Tanner said, "I've seen that gent before."

Rusty recognized the man called Willingham, who had been with Caleb Dawkins the day the recuperating farmer visited the camp. The man reined his horse to a rough stop and stirred a small cloud of dust. He coughed, trying to coax his voice into use. "Darn but I'm glad to see you all. Minutemen, ain't you?"

The captain said, "We're scoutin' from Belknap. You look like you're totin' a load of trouble."

"Trouble enough." Willingham turned in the saddle and pointed in the direction from which he had come. "They raided the Dawkins farm last night. Set fire to a haystack and tried to burn the barn."

"Kill anybody?"

"Not that we know of. Wasn't because they didn't try."

"How many horses did they run off?"

"None that I know of. Ain't had time to take a count."

"Doesn't sound like the Comanches I know. Or the Kiowas either."

"Wasn't Indians atall. White men they was. Colonel says they're some of them conscript dodgers that skulk around in the timber out past the settlements. They was after the colonel personal. Searched the house lookin' for him. Scared Miz Dawkins half to death."

Rusty had a strong hunch. He pushed Alamo forward, facing Willingham. "Recognize anybody?"

"One of the boys said he thought he saw James Monahan among them. Colonel laid low and didn't see nobody, but he's dead certain it was Monahan led the raid."

Rusty had heard reports of petty thievery, blamed on men of the brush who hid out to avoid conscription officers and self-appointed hangmen like Dawkins. He had never seriously considered that James would allow himself to become a thief. But if the raid was aimed specifically at Dawkins, it took on a new and interesting complexion.

The captain told Willingham, "You lead the way. We'll borrow a fresh mount for you at the first farm we come to."

Willingham reined his horse around. "I've heard Colonel say some hard things about you rangers, but he'll be tickled to see you this time."

Rusty had noted that some people who railed at the law's interference in their own affairs were mightily pleased for it to show up when trouble arose.

The patrol spent much of the day in reaching the Dawkins farm. However strong the excitement had been the night before, the place looked calm enough now. Men were working in the fields and around the barn. Rusty saw a scorched area beside the wide barn door, and what had been a stack of hay was just windblown gray ashes.

The captain said, "I wonder how come they had to burn the haystack. Seems like a spiteful thing."

Willingham said, "They saw one of the boys run and hide himself in it. They thought he might be Colonel Dawkins, so they burned him out. Singed his whiskers but didn't hurt him."

If Caleb Dawkins was glad to see the scouts he kept his pleasure well concealed. He gave Rusty a moment's attention, then turned on the captain. "It is way past time for you-all to show up, after the trail's gone cold. You ought to've been here last night."

The captain's jaw hardened, but he remained painfully civil. "We can't be everywhere at once. There's a lot of country to cover and only a few of us to do it."

Dawkins repeated the story Willingham had told, with a few extra embellishments and a strong condemnation of James Monahan. "That boy is beating on the doors of hell, and if the law doesn't let him in, I will!"

"Willingham says they made a point of lookin' for you. How come they didn't find you?"

Dawkins glanced away, not meeting the corporal's probing gaze. "They didn't look everywhere."

Willingham had already divulged that Dawkins had taken cover beneath his porch.

The captain said, "At least nobody was killed."

"No thanks to James Monahan. You'd better bring him in. Better yet, kill him where you find him." Dawkins faced Rusty. "Lest somebody turn him loose again."

Pete Dawkins came into the house as the rangers were about to leave. "Papa, looks like we've come up short some horses after all."

Dawkins turned back to the captain. "Well, there you have it. The raid on the headquarters was meant to cover the theft of my horses."

Whitfield promised, "We'll look around and report back to you."

Rusty had no difficulty in finding the trail left by the retreating raiders. Its westward course was plain enough.

Whitfield had been circling in another direction. Finding nothing, he came to Rusty. "What did you find?"

Rusty pointed to the tracks. "No more horses than what they were ridin', the best I can see. If anybody stole the colonel's horses, it was a separate bunch and went off in another direction."

"It could have been like the colonel said. The raid on the headquarters was a diversion."

"Not to James Monahan it wasn't, if he was really here."

"These tracks lead toward the Monahan farm, don't they? I believe he was here."

Rusty could not argue the point. He believed it himself.

Whitfield sent Tanner and the Morris brothers to make a wider circle and look for tracks of stolen horses being driven away. With Rusty beside him, he delivered what information he had back to Dawkins, who waited in front of his house. He said, "We'll go talk to the Monahan family."

Dawkins grunted disapproval. "They won't tell you anything but lies. There won't be peace around here 'til that nest of unionist trash is cleaned out, from the old man down to the women and kids."

Giving in to fury, Rusty dismounted and drew back his fist. Dawkins stumbled backward, trying to avoid the blow he could see coming. The captain grabbed Rusty's arm and broke up the swing before it was completed. "Shannon, he's a wounded man."

"So am I. That makes us even."

Dawkins's cold stare said he was mentally measuring Rusty's neck for a rope.

Rusty declared, "You hurt them women and I'll kill you!"

The captain pulled Rusty away. "Let's go, Shannon. We're doin' no good here."

Rusty resisted leaving a worthy fight unfinished, but Tanner joined the captain in hustling him along to his horse. Tanner said, "Come on, redhead, before you get in trouble."

"The trouble's already here." But he reluctantly gave up the struggle and went along, looking back toward Dawkins.

Riding away, the captain said, "You have to try to put your personal feelin's aside and remember you represent the law."

"Can
you
always do that?"

"I don't go around hittin' people I don't like—unless I think it'll do them some good."

"It would've done
me
a lot of good."

"Maybe I ought to send you back to camp. If we get into a chase after James Monahan, you won't have your heart in it."

"I'll do my duty."

"I'll hold you to that."

Rusty dropped back to the rear. Tanner pulled in beside him. "Looks to me like your conscience is already weakenin' some. Would you really kill him, or are you just talkin'?"

"I hope we don't have to find out."

Rusty was not surprised that most of the horse tracks veered well to the north of the Monahan farm. James would be too cagy to incriminate his family. But the sharp-eyed captain found a single set of tracks that led toward the Monahans'.

Rusty welcomed the patrol's brief stop for a cold supper. Though the pain in his leg had lessened to a point that he was unaware of it most of the time, fatigue brought back enough that he could not ignore it. While they ate jerked beef and hard bread, the captain asked pointed questions about James. He knew Rusty once had James in custody and lost him. Rusty suspected that most of the rangers believed he had simply let James go. Few blamed him. If Dawkins had any friends in the ranger camp, they kept it a secret.

The captain said, "By the looks of things, Monahan may have thrown in with a bunch of men from the brush."

"I feel like he was just lookin' for revenge against Dawkins."

"We can't stand back and let a bunch of men just run wild. It's our job to catch them or run them plumb out of the country."

"Run them where?"

"A lot of union sympathizers and conscript dodgers have slipped off to Mexico. Others have gone up north to Colorado or out to California. Me, I've got no wish to see James Monahan dead. I'd just like to see him gone. I'd be inclined to look in another direction if I was satisfied he was leavin' the country."

"I'll tell his family that. They'll know a way to get word to him."

They would do it through Preacher Webb, but Rusty would not tell the captain. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt the minister.

Nearing the Monahan farm, Rusty saw Vince Purdy moving out from the house and into the dusk to meet the rangers. His stride was slow and careful. Autumn weather had summoned arthritis into his joints. Purdy's gaze settled on Rusty. "We figured on company," he said. "Didn't know you'd be amongst them."

"I go where they tell me to."

"You're lookin' a right smart better than the last time I seen you."

"I'm able to do a day's work."

"If your work includes catchin' James, he ain't here."

"Didn't figure he would be. But he's been here."

"You're the one sayin' that."

The captain spoke. "The tracks say it. He came by to let you-all know he failed again to kill Caleb Dawkins."

"Is that a fact?" Purdy had the look of an innocent child. He carefully avoided telling a lie; he simply withheld what he knew.

Clemmie Monahan emerged onto the porch. She stood with her arms folded, belligerently silent.

Geneva paused beside her mother, then came down the front steps. Clemmie called for her to come back, but Geneva walked toward Rusty. He stepped down from the saddle to meet her.

She halted a stride short and glanced back toward her mother. Her eyes misted. She reached out as if to touch him, then withdrew her hand. "James isn't here."

"I wasn't goin' to ask you." He looked regretfully at Clemmie, up on the porch. "I don't suppose she understood why I tried to take James to the ranger camp."

"She thought it was poor payment for what we did to help you."

"You feel that way, too?"

"I don't agree with you, but I can see why you felt like you did. You had your duty, and you looked at it the only way you could. Bein' family, we saw it the only way we could. I'm grateful you and James didn't come to shootin' one another."

"I couldn't have. I doubt he could either."

"He's still got his mind set on squarin' things with Dawkins."

"I can't blame him, but it's our job to keep him from it."

"What if it means havin' to kill him?"

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"It might."

Clemmie called from the porch, "Geneva, you come back here." Geneva did not move.

The captain rode up almost to the steps. He took off his hat to Clemmie. "Ma'am, we're lookin' for James Monahan."