[Texas Rangers 03] - The Way of the Coyote (11 page)

Andy said, "Yep, but he ain't here."

Looking closer, he realized he had seen this man the night the riders had come to challenge Shanty. He remembered the scar. Rusty had said his name was Farley Brackett. Andy immediately felt a rising antagonism.

Brackett said, "I don't need Shannon noway. I just need one of his horses." He looked at Andy's. "That one will do."

Andy took a tight grip on the reins. "Not this one. I can see how you've treated yours."

"Couldn't help it. I've got Federal soldiers comin' behind me. And the state police."

"Anyway, I been ridin' mine, and he's tired. He wouldn't carry you far."

Shanty lifted his hat to arm's length, shading his eyes. "I don't see nobody back there."

The fugitive seemed irritated that Shanty made so bold as to speak to him. "They're comin', and they're hell-bent to stretch my neck."

Though Andy had seen little of the state police, they had been the topic of much conversation. Most people seemed to regard them more as an oppressive arm of the Federal military than as an independent law enforcement body like the old-time rangers had been.

Shanty said, "Even if you was to have a fresh horse, you look mighty tuckered yourself. Best you lay low and let them go on by."

The man acted as if he had not heard. He was probably not used to listening to black people's opinions. Andy didn't like the man, but he figured anyone who had aroused the state police and the Federal troops must have redeeming qualities.

He pondered the advisability of the question, then asked, "You kill somebody?"

"Best you-all don't know what I done. Just give me a fresh horse."

Shanty said, "I seen a blue roan down on the river awhile ago. Ought to be easy caught."

Brackett looked to Andy for confirmation, not trusting Shanty. Andy said, "I don't know what Rusty would say."

Brackett declared, "It don't matter what he says. I need me a horse." He looked back for evidence of pursuit. "Them Yankees will ask if you've seen me."

Andy said, "If we don't watch you leave, we can't tell them whichaway you went."

The man looked suspiciously at Shanty. "You won't let this nigger tell them?"

"Shanty and me'll both he too busy to see where you go."

Brackett remounted and soon disappeared amid the trees and low brush that screened the river from view.

Andy said, "Maybe you shouldn't have mentioned that roan. Looks to me like Rusty's lost a horse."

Shanty smiled wickedly. "You know that roan ain't much account. He may not even outrun them Yankees. Mr. Rusty's been talkin' about swappin' him off."

Andy shaded his eyes. "I see the soldiers now, just like he said. I don't know if I can lie to them." Beyond a little creative boasting of their exploits in battle, Comanches had taken pride in veracity.

"Ain't hard to tell a lie if you set your mind to it. From the time I was a young'un I learned how to bow my head and make a big grin and tell folks what they wanted to hear. Had to, else somebody was apt to take a quirt to me.

Andy saw a fleeting resentment in Shanty's eyes, reflecting a lifetime of suppressed reaction to neglect and mistreatment. It troubled him to realize that despite his concern for the Comanche viewpoint he had never fully considered Shanty's.

Shanty said, "If you don't want to lie, ain't no reason you have to for Farley Brackett. Whatever trouble he's in, he got in it by hisself. You don't owe him nothin'."

Andy wrestled with his conscience. "I don't owe the soldiers nothin' either."

It occurred to him that if he and Shanty remained where they were some sharp-eyed trooper might notice the fugitive's tracks leading toward the river. He said, "Let's walk over to the corral and wait."

As he expected, the soldiers veered toward the corral, missing the garden and whatever trail the scar-faced Brackett might have left.

Blue-coated troopers had always made Andy uneasy. He remembered warrior accounts of fights with them before the conflict between North and South. Since returning to Texas after the war the soldiers seemed not to bother much about Indians, even when the Indians came raiding. They appeared more interested in complicating life for those Texans who had supported the South.

Though Rusty had never borne arms against the Union, the soldiers and Federal officials treated him as if he had. That added to Andy's mistrust.

Shanty spoke softly and with confidence. "Stand easy. They ain't apt to do nothin' to a boy of your age, nor to a gentleman of color."

"I ain't afraid of them. Me and half a dozen Comanche warriors could whip the whole damned bunch."

"The rebs thought thataway, too."

The troopers were black, their officer white. Andy recognized from his insignia that he was a lieutenant. Two other white men were in civilian clothes. Andy assumed they were state policemen. He was almost certain he had seen them somewhere. One had a pinned-up sleeve.

The officer raised his hand, signaling the soldiers to stop. He gave Shanty a quick, dismissive glance, shifting his attention to Andy. He demanded, "Whose farm is this?"

The superior attitude tempted Andy to tell the officer to go to hell. He deferred to better judgment. "It belongs to Rusty Shannon."

The civilians showed surprise at the name. One leaned forward in the saddle. "Shannon, you say? Him that used to be a ranger?"

"He was. But not anymore."

The man smiled. "Well, I'll be damned. I had no idea what part of the country he was in." The smile was cold.

Andy suddenly remembered when he and Rusty had made a fast departure from the Monahan farm to avoid a potentially violent showdown with two men named Oldham. This was Clyde Oldham. The man with one arm was the brother everybody called Buddy-Boy. Andy's skin prickled.

The lieutenant stared hard at Andy, first at his braided hair, then his moccasins. "What kind of a Hottentot do you call yourself?"

"My name's Andy Pickard. I ain't no Hottentot, whatever that is."

"One might think at first glance that you had escaped from the reservation."

A black sergeant pushed forward. "I've heard talk in town, sir. This young man was raised by the Comanches."

'The officer sniffed. "He does not appear to have left them far behind. Where is this Rusty Shannon?"

Andy's face warmed. He felt no inclination to answer.

Shanty broke the silence. "He's out huntin' for horses, sir. I expect he'll be comin' along directly."

The lieutenant gave Shanty a closer study than before. "I take it that you work here, boy."

"Can't get a lot of work out of an old man like me, but I live here."

"Does Shannon pay you?"

"Well, no sir, but you see—"

"Boy, don't you know slavery is forbidden anymore? You need not work for anyone unless you are paid for it."

Andy could not hold his anger. "Night riders burned Shanty out of his own place, and there wasn't none of you yellow-legs anywhere in sight."

"Young man, you are addressing an officer of the United States Army."

Shanty whispered, "Careful. Soldiers been known to carry people away, and some never was heard from again."

"I ain't afraid of no soldiers." He dismissed any thought of telling the truth about Farley Brackett.

The officer frowned darkly. "I can see that you are too young to have served in the rebel army, but that kind of attitude got your elders into a war they could only lose."

Andy clenched his fists. "Not my
Comanche
elders. They whipped you bluecoats every time they met you."

The officer turned to the sergeant. "You say you've heard about this lad. I take it Shannon is not his father."

"Way I heard it, the boy's folks got killed by Indians. I don't 'spect him and Shannon is blood kin."

The lieutenant nodded as he looked back at Andy. "So Shannon uses you for free labor, just like this poor darkey. We'll look into that. But right now we have more pressing business. We are on the trail of a fugitive. If you'd seen him, I don't suppose you'd tell us?"

Angry, Andy wanted to say he had not, but the reply seemed to swell in his throat. It would not come out.

Shanty feigned innocence. "What sort of a man you talkin' about?"

The civilian spoke up. "His name is Farley Brackett. He shot a state policeman."

Because the fugitive was a son of Jeremiah Brackett and had once tried to do Shanty harm, Shanty had no real cause to lie for him. But he said, "A feller come by awhile ago, ridin' like there was Indians after him."

"Heading west?"

Shanty hesitated. Andy quickly said, "He was when we seen him." That was a half truth. Brackett had been traveling west when he first appeared.

The officer accepted the statement. "Then we'll be on our way. Don't forget to tell Shannon we'll be back to have some words with him."

Clyde Oldham leaned forward in the saddle. "Tell Shannon that the Oldham brothers have got some words for him, too. He'll remember us."

The lieutenant said, "Shannon can wait. Right now we have to try to catch Brackett."

Oldham turned in the saddle as the others started away. "Me and Buddy'll be back. That is a promise."

Andy watched the soldiers and the Oldhams move off.

Trouble in his eyes, Shanty asked, "Who are these Oldhams? What they got to do with Mr. Rusty?"

"Seems like they had bad trouble a long time ago. Now they know where Rusty lives."

Shanty worried, "Maybe we made the trouble worse, lettin' them soldiers go in the wrong direction."

"Maybe so. I've got no reason to like Farley Brackett, and you have every right to hate his guts."

"Hate just burns a hole in your belly. Like that Farley. Folks say the war turned him ornerier than a badger in a trap. He was probably cocked and primed to shoot that state policeman."

"I kind of wish now I'd told the soldiers the truth. Lyin' don't set well on my stomach."

"You didn't lie, exactly. You just didn't tell them all of it. Other people's quarrels are best left alone. Most of us got troubles enough of our own."

Once the soldiers were well gone, Brackett emerged from the timber by the river. He was riding the blue roan. As before, he spoke to Andy and paid no attention to Shanty. "I'm obliged to you for sendin' the soldiers on their way. And I'm obliged for the horse trade." The scar-edged eye twitched.

Andy said, "Don't thank us 'til you've rode that roan awhile." He frowned. "Just curiosity, but how come you to shoot a state policeman?"

"It needed doin', and I didn't see nobody else fixin' to."

"You'd best not tarry long. The soldiers'll figure out pretty soon that they're draggin' an empty sack."

Brackett said, "If you happen to see my old daddy, tell him that snotty policeman ain't goin' to be messin' with him no more."

The soldiers and the Oldhams had ridden westward. Brackett rode southward, quickly disappearing. That puzzled Andy a little. "I figured he'd go north. There wouldn't be as many people up that way to tell the soldiers where he went."

Shanty said, "Don't matter. People south of here ain't tellin' the soldiers nothin' neither. Especially since it was a state policeman he shot. Them old rebels lost the war, but they didn't lose none of their will."

A
ndy had just finished milking when Rusty came in about sundown, leading a bay horse on a rawhide rope. It was the horse Farley Brackett had been riding. Andy and Shanty met him at the corral.

Rusty seemed puzzled. "Found him down by the river. You-all know anything about him?"

Andy saw that Shanty was waiting for him to give the answer. He said, "Farley Brackett came by awhile ago in a hurry to make a swap. He took that blue roan. Looks to me like you got the best end of the trade."

"Not hardly." Rusty turned the horse around. "Look at the brand on his hip."

It was a US. Andy slumped. "Army horse. I didn't notice that." He glanced at Shanty, who shook his head. Shanty could not read, so the brand might have meant nothing to him even if he had seen it.

Rusty asked, "What was Farley doin' with an army horse?"

Reluctantly Andy explained about the shooting of a state policeman.

Rusty said, "And you lied to the soldiers?"

"Not exactly. Just sort of."

Shanty offered, "I'll lead that horse back down to the river and hide him to where them soldiers won't see him."

Rusty looked westward. "Good idea, but it's too late. They're already comin'.

Andy could see the horsemen approaching. He said, "One more thing you better know before they get here. The Oldham brothers are with them."

Rusty's face fell. He said something under his breath, then, "Bad luck. I was hopin' they'd never find out where I live."

"What's more, they're state policemen."

Rusty expelled a long, painful breath. "That gives them authority to do just about anything they want to."

Horses and men looked whipped down and subdued. Questions were unnecessary. Andy wondered how far west they had ridden before they accepted the fact that Brackett had given them the slip. He understood why Federal soldiers had managed so little success in trailing Indians. Anyone with watchful eyes could have seen the fugitive's tracks leading down toward the river, then turning about and heading south.

The army sometimes employed friendly Indians such as the Tonkawas to do its trailing, but there had been no Indian with the lieutenant's detail.

Rusty raised one hand in a civil but less than enthusiastic greeting. The lieutenant's gaze fastened immediately upon the bay horse.

Rusty said, "I found him down on the river. Looks like the man you were after left him and took one of mine."

The lieutenant cast a suspicious eye in Andy's direction. "How could he do that without somebody seeing him?"

Rusty said, "By swappin' in the timber, out of sight from up here."

The lieutenant was suspicious to the point of belligerency. He pointed a finger at Andy. "You and that darkey claimed the fugitive rode by here and went west."

Andy fumbled for words. "That ain't exactly what we said. He was ridin' west when we first seen him. We didn't say whichaway he went after that."