Andy Pickard had often considered leaving the Texas Rangers. His young wife, Bethel, had been urging him to take up the more stable life of a stockman, or even a storekeeper—anything that would keep him close to home. Now he almost wished he had given in to her, for his sergeant had assigned him to hunt down a lowly sneak thief. Not only that, but he was sending a stranger with Andy in the search.
It seemed a waste of two Rangers’ time to trail after the likes of Jasper Biggs when murderers and horse thieves roamed the land. But Sergeant Ryker had wearied of hearing complaints about the man’s petty larceny. He said, “We need to slam the cell door on this chicken-stealin’ tramp. I’m sendin’ Logan Daggett with you. Do you know him?”
“Never met him,” Andy said without enthusiasm, “but I’ve heard of him. I reckon everybody has.”
Daggett had a long record with the Rangers, not all of it positive. Stories indicated that he had a short fuse and was given to sudden violence. He considered consequences later, if at all.
By contrast, Andy liked to think things through before jumping into deep water, weighing the costs against the gain. After giving most of his youth to Ranger service, he felt he was due a little extra consideration. He said, “It’d suit me better to ride with somebody I know, like Len Tanner.”
His comment appeared to annoy the sergeant. He was used to a quick “Yes, sir,” when he gave an order. “I’ve sent Tanner off on another job. Daggett just got into camp last night, so he’s available.”
Andy said, “They say he’s too quick to go on the fight.”
Ryker’s narrowed eyes hinted at sarcasm. “And you’ve sometimes been a little slow about it. I figure you should be a good team, makin’ up for each other’s weaknesses.”
In Andy’s view, Jasper Biggs was a two-bit night-prowling scavenger. He said, “This looks like a job for some deputy sheriff to do in his spare time. It shouldn’t take two of us. I could handle it by myself, easy.”
“If you could locate him. But he’s at home down in those Llano River oak and cedar thickets. Logan is a good tracker, and I’ve seen that you’re not.”
Andy admitted, “There’s things I do better.”
“Most of Logan’s service has been up on the plains. Lately he got into an unpleasant incident at Tascosa. Took a bullet in his leg. They transferred him down here so he wouldn’t take another in the back.”
An unpleasant incident. That did not bode well, Andy thought. He wondered what Daggett had done, but he would not ask. “Which of us will be in charge?”
“He’s older than you, and been a Ranger longer. But I hope you’ll gee-haw together so that the question of command won’t come up.”
Andy thought of Bethel. This might be the time to quit, as she had long wanted. She would fret about him the whole time he was gone. Anyway, this seemed too piddling a mission for someone with his record of service. Maybe it was a sign that they were gradually edging him out. The state’s money counters were always trying to cut expenses.
Ryker recognized Andy’s reluctance. He said, “This’ll give your bride a chance to rest. She probably gets more sleep when she has her bed to herself.”
Andy’s face warmed. What went on between him and Bethel was personal. They had bought a modest parcel of land on the Guadalupe River near Kerrville, and she had been pressing him to build a house on it so they could be together all the time. But he wanted to give her something better than a one-room shack. He wanted a livestock operation large enough to provide her a comfortable living. He was managing to bank some of his Ranger wages and an occasional reward, but the process of accumulation was slower than he liked.
He doubted there would be much, if any, reward for Biggs. The man’s crimes were more nuisance than hardship for his victims, though Ryker said he had recently been discovered burglarizing a farmhouse at night. He had struck the owner with a chunk of stove wood before escaping into the dark.
“It’s the first time I’ve heard of him resortin’ to violence,” the sergeant said. “It may mean he’s gone a little crazy. Hermits like him are usually halfway down that hill anyhow. We’ve got to bring him in before he hurts somebody real bad.”
That put a different complexion on the situation. Andy had assumed Biggs was simply lazy, though he probably worked harder at his minor thievery than if he had a conventional job, and gained less for his efforts. Even other men of the outlaw stripe looked down on him for his limited ambition.
Andy was headquartered in a company tent camp on the San Saba River near Fort McKavett. He spent his off time, limited though it was, with Bethel in a small frame house he rented at the edge of the village. She heard his horse and came out to stand on the front step, a wisp of a woman still in her mid-twenties. The wind tugged gently at her brown hair and ruffled the apron tied around her narrow waist. Looking at her after an absence took his breath away. Leaving her was always difficult.
She had developed an uncanny knack of reading his mind. With a slight tone of impatience she asked, “How long will you be gone this time?”
That was a question he could seldom answer with certainty. Some assignments were short. Others dragged on and on. He said, “No longer than I have to. I’d be obliged for somethin’ to eat before I report back to camp.” He paused, striving for his most persuasive voice. “No tellin’ when I’ll get another meal that’s half as good as what you fix.”
Despite herself, she allowed a tiny smile to escape. She still reacted warmly to compliments. “Tie up your horse, and I’ll see what scraps I can find in the kitchen.” She tiptoed, inviting a kiss.
While bustling about the small iron stove, she asked, “Who are they sending you after this time? Is he somebody I should worry about?”
He said, “He’s a grubby, low-life thief who lives like a coyote down in the thickets. They claim he’s too much of a coward to be dangerous.”
“They say it’s the cowards you have to watch the most. They come at you when you’re not looking.”
He said, “I always watch out for myself.” He started to add that it was not in his plan for her to become a widow, but he left the thought unspoken. It might cause her to worry more, knowing that such a notion had even crossed his mind.
She baked biscuits, fried a thick slice of ham, and heated beans left over from yesterday. He could hardly take his eyes from her while she worked. Mentally he cursed Biggs for causing him to leave. But if not for Biggs, he would be going out to hunt for someone else. The desk-bound accountants in Austin could not abide seeing a Ranger idle.
Finished eating, he carried his plate and utensils to a tin pan on top of the cabinet. There, not entirely by accident, he bumped against Bethel as she put away the leftover biscuits. He folded his arms around her tiny waist. “I don’t want to go,” he said.
She smiled. “Then stay a while. Tell them your horse broke the bridle reins and ran away.”
“He’s too well trained. He never does that.”
“I could run him off.”
“He’d come right back.”
Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Then just lie to them a little.”
He tightened his hold and kissed her. “I can do that.”
Andy rode back into Ranger camp in time for supper. He found Ryker waiting, standing beside a dark-skinned, muscular man whose full mustache was mostly dark but speckled with gray. Logan Daggett stood half a head taller than Andy, and broader across the shoulders.
Ryker asked, “Did you leave her happy?”
Andy said, “I tried to.”
Ryker introduced him to Daggett, then said, “Andy’s got him a young wife. It’s hard to juggle Ranger duty with a new marriage. You’re not married, are you?”
Daggett answered solemnly, “Was once.” It was clear that he did not intend to expand on that statement, and Ryker did not press the question.
Daggett asked Andy, “This man Biggs, do you know him?”
“Saw him one time, is all.”
Biggs had been picked up in a Ranger sweep through the oak and cedar thickets along the Llano River and its tributaries. Like a little fish tossed back into the water, he was accorded scant notice compared to men whose names were written in the Rangers’ fugitive books for serious breaches of the law. He was released with a strong suggestion that he henceforth seek honest employment, and in some distant state. He had not, of course.
Andy said, “The last I heard, he was livin’ in the brush.” The thickets were a haven for men who sought solitude.
Daggett said, “I hate that brushy country. Always makes me feel closed in. I like the open plains, where a man don’t feel like he’s bein’ smothered to death.”
As they saddled fresh horses, Andy noticed that Daggett had a pronounced limp. The Ranger swore under his breath as he put his weight on the right leg and lifted his left foot to the stirrup. The wound was still giving him pain.
Andy asked him, “Are you sure you’re up to the ride?”
Daggett reacted negatively to the question. He said, “Never show them any weakness, or they’ll come and get you.”
They set out southeastward on a wagon road that led toward the town of Junction on the Llano River. A Ranger packmule followed as it had been trained to do. Daggett hardly spoke. Andy wondered what was going on behind those hooded eyes, but Daggett gave him no clue. Andy introduced him to the Kimble County sheriff. The lawman was mildly amused by their mission. He said, “Biggs is just a triflin’ no-account footpad. I’m surprised they’d waste your time with him.”
Andy said, “A chigger bite is triflin’, too, but after a while it itches to where you’ve got to scratch it.”
Daggett said grimly, “A little bug needs squashin’ same as a big one.”
The sheriff said, “There’s not a chicken roost or a smokehouse in three counties that’s safe from Biggs. They tell me he’s got several places back in the brush where he holes up. He changes dens oftener than he changes clothes.”
Daggett declared, “Even a coyote leaves tracks.”
“Most people figure Biggs’s petty pilferin’ is a normal cost of livin’ in these hills, like property taxes. I just had a complaint from a goat rancher down close to Pegleg Crossin’. You might start from there.”
Andy said, “Biggs is stealin’ goats now? Sounds like he’s comin’ up in the world.”
“He takes a kid goat now and then to eat. Mostly he lives off of the land. There’s hogs runnin’ free in the thickets, and wild turkeys and such. He’ll break into a store occasionally. One thing he never steals is soap. Last time I had him in jail, it took two days to air out the place.”
Andy glanced at Daggett. “Sounds like we just have to follow our noses.”
Daggett gave no hint of a smile.
The sheriff drew a rough map of the roads and trails he knew about but cautioned, “Some people who live down there are careful not to invite company. If they have to cross a road, they’ll stop and wipe out their tracks. Was I you, I’d watch my back.”
Andy said, “Sounds like the whole bunch deserve to be in jail.”
Daggett added, “Or dead.”
The sheriff frowned. “Maybe so, but we have to respect people’s rights. We can’t allow the law to be worse than the outlaw.”
Daggett said, “An outlaw ought to not have any rights.”
A buildup of clouds suggested rain. Though experience told Andy that was unlikely, he did not want to camp in the open. He asked the sheriff, “Be all right if we sleep in the jail tonight? The Austin money counters hate to pay for a cot in the wagon yard, much less for a room in a hotel.”
“Sure, if you don’t mind wakin’ up with a sore back. Pick whatever cell you want. One bed is about as hard as another.”
The jail held two prisoners. Daggett gave each of them a critical study through the bars. “What’re they in for?” he asked.
The sheriff shrugged. “Nothin’ serious. They took on too much brave-maker last night. They’re still too red-eyed to be turned loose. They might get run over by a freight wagon or somethin’.”
Daggett said without sympathy, “A man ought to have better control of himself.”
The sheriff’s admonition about the hard bed proved to be no exaggeration. Andy awakened with an ache in his shoulders. He worked his arms until the tension eased.
If Daggett felt any pain, he accepted it stoically, without conversation. He walked in circles a few minutes until his leg gained stability and his limp became less severe.
A deputy brought breakfast for the two Rangers and the prisoners, who seemed more than ready to put something in their stomachs besides cheap whiskey. The sheriff watched Andy finish his coffee. He asked, “Are you-all sure you wouldn’t like for me to send a deputy with you, one who knows the country?”
Andy said, “Thanks, but I’ve been in those thickets before. I don’t think Biggs will be much of a problem, once we find him.”
“That’s the catch . . . findin’ him.”
Andy doubted that they would be lucky enough simply to stumble upon a man who had a dozen hiding places. They would have to ask questions of people who had no reason to want to help a peace officer, and try to read more into their words than they intended to let slip.
Daggett finished his breakfast quickly and headed toward the door without saying anything. Andy still had eggs on his plate, but he said reluctantly, “I’m comin’.” He held on to a biscuit as they went out to retrieve their horses. It irritated him to be rushed unnecessarily. Five minutes one way or the other was unlikely to make much difference. But he gathered that patience was not one of Daggett’s strong points.
Making it into a bit of a contest, he saddled up in a hurry. He was determined to be on horseback before Daggett. The sheriff’s deputy tied a pack on their little Mexican mule, which followed dutifully as the Rangers rode out through the open corral gate. It had been trained well.
Daggett said, “Since you’ve been in the thickets before, I’ll let you lead the way.”
Let me? Andy bristled at the older man’s assumption of authority. He tried not to let his resentment show. They had to work together.
Late in the morning they stopped at the small ranch of a man who had never shown up on the fugitive lists and had always been cooperative with law enforcement officers, up to a point. The rancher wore no gun, which in itself said something about his effort to maintain neutrality. He said, “Jasper Biggs? No, ain’t seen him lately, but I missed a ham out of my smokehouse a few nights ago. I figure he’s been around. Lost a layin’ hen, too, right off of the nest.”
Andy asked, “Are you sure it wasn’t a coyote that got the chicken?”
“Not unless a coyote has learned to wear boots.”
“Do you know whichaway he went?”
“I made it a point not to follow his tracks. I figure a chicken or a ham now and again are a cheap price to pay for peace with my neighbors. Even a lunkhead like Jasper has got a few friends.”
Daggett’s voice was critical. “If enough honest people would speak up on the side of the law, things would change.”
The rancher said, “Maybe, but I wouldn’t want to stand on a platform wavin’ the flag and find that I was out there all by myself. A man could get hurt.”
The rancher invited the Rangers to stay for dinner. Seeing that Daggett wanted to move on, Andy perversely said, “We’d be tickled to break bread with you.” Unlike Daggett, he took no offense over the rancher’s attitude. He understood the man’s thinking.
After the meal, the rancher picked his teeth while he watched Andy tighten his cinch. He said, “I can’t afford to tell you Rangers anything straight out, but if I was to give you advice, I’d tell you to travel east. You won’t have the afternoon sun in your eyes.”
“Much obliged,” Andy said. The rancher had just told him more than he had expected to hear. “That’s just where we’d intended to go.”
Andy assumed that any tracks Biggs left would have disappeared by now. He was not tracker enough to have followed them anyway. But Daggett looked around for a minute and announced, “He went off yonderway.” He pointed eastward.
“Are you sure?”
“His trail is plain enough. Can’t you see it?”
Andy did not want to admit that he had not, and still couldn’t. But Sergeant Ryker had mentioned that Daggett was a good tracker. Maybe he would be useful enough to offset his dour manner.
Andy said, “I’ll bet his hideout is somewhere around here. I doubt he’d walk far to steal one chicken.”
Daggett shook his head. “You can’t be sure with people like that. They think different from us normal folks.”
The trail faded out, leaving Daggett frustrated and discussing Biggs’s antecedents under his breath. The Rangers came after a while to a wagon road and a ramshackle country store, half hidden by live-oak timber. Andy knew the place. The structure was of rough-sawed lumber, never painted. Cedar bark still clung to a hitching post in front. One saddled horse stood switching flies. A couple more horses lazed in a corral out back, shaded by a large oak.
Andy sensed that he and Daggett had been seen before they dismounted and tied their mounts. The little packmule had followed without need of a lead rope and drew up close to Andy’s horse. Instinctively Andy felt for the badge he customarily wore. It was inside his shirt pocket. He had thought it prudent not to flash it around among strangers in this environment. If Daggett had a badge, Andy had not seen it. Rangers still had to provide their own, so no two were exactly alike.
A bearded man came outside, gave the Rangers a quick nod, and untied his horse. He was gone before Andy had time for a good look at him. His furtive manner suggested that he might be found in the fugitive book. But that would wait for another time. He was not Jasper Biggs.
The proprietor was a lanky, middle-aged man with a scar beneath one eye and two or three days’ growth of salt-and-pepper whiskers. He wiped his hands on a faded flour-sack apron and said, “My name’s Smith, and I run this place. How can I serve you gentlemen?” He waved his hand toward a plain pine bar at one end of the dark room. Bottles, lined in a row, were reflected in a cracked mirror on the wall.
Andy said, “I would’ve bet that your name would be Smith.” It probably had not always been. “Nothin’ to drink, thanks. We might take a small slab of bacon if you’ve got any for sale.”
“Anything I’ve got here is for sale. Anything at all.”
A girl showed herself at a door that led into a room in the back. She asked, “Did you call for me, Mr. Smith?”
The storekeeper said, “Ain’t you done with the washin’ yet, Annylee? You’d better get it hung out on the line if you want it to dry before dark.” He turned back to Andy, “Seems to me I’ve seen you before. Ranger, ain’t you?”
Andy was mildly surprised that the man remembered, but most people on the shady side of the law had a memory for peace officers’ faces. Through a dirty window he could see the girl hanging a tablecloth on a thin rope line. He realized that the cloth was a signal to all comers that lawmen were on the premises. He said, “You’ve got good recall.”
“It pays in this part of the country. Every time one of you fellers comes around, business falls off faster than Annylee’s drawers. Lookin’ for somebody?”
“Jasper Biggs.”
“Jasper? What’s he done bad enough to interest the Rangers?”
“Just stayed around too long. Is he a customer of yours?”
The storekeeper’s brow wrinkled. It was hard to tell whether he was frowning or enjoying a bitter joke of his own. “Customers come in the daylight, and they pay cash. Jasper comes when everybody’s asleep. He seldom pays for anything except an occasional tussle with Annylee when he can steal the money someplace.”
“Looks to me like you’d be glad to have him gone.”
“So would most other people. But givin’ him up to the law . . . that’s inethical.” The merchant turned toward a counter. “Was you really wantin’ that bacon, or was you just passin’ the time of day while you look around?”
“We don’t really need it.”
“I didn’t figure you did. Lawmen drop in on me every so often to nose about, and most of them don’t buy a damned thing.”
“Maybe you’re not sellin’ what we’re lookin’ for.”
“If I did, somebody would burn this store down, with me in it. Have you-all about finished what you came here for?”
Andy could recognize an invitation to leave. He looked to Daggett, who had not said a word. “I reckon.” More than likely a customer or two waited out in the brush. “You can take that tablecloth down from the line.”
For the first time, Andy noticed a box at the end of the counter. It had a wooden frame and was covered with metal screen. As he moved near, he heard the unmistakable rattle of a snake. He involuntarily took a step backward.
The storekeeper said, “Everybody needs a pet around the place. That’s mine. Ain’t he fat?”
Hesitantly Andy stepped closer, confident the snake could not escape through the mesh. “What do you feed him?”
“Mice. There’s aplenty of them around here. You can reach in and pet him if you’re of a mind to.”
“He might not take kindly to a stranger.”
The proprietor pointed, his finger near the box. The snake lifted itself partway from its coil, its mouth open, its tongue darting. “I put a ten-dollar gold piece in that cage. It belongs to anybody with guts enough to reach in there and get it. I charge people a dollar apiece to try.”
“Anybody ever do it?”
“Been a good many paid the dollar, but they always jerk their hand out as soon as the snake moves.”
“Anybody ever get bit?”
“One. He eats his dinner left-handed now.”
Andy and Daggett walked out to untie their horses. Daggett remarked, “Looks to me like that snake has got relatives around here, walkin’ on two legs.”
Andy asked, “Meanin’ the storekeeper?”
“I thought I heard him rattle.”
The girl stood at the back corner of the store, crooking a finger. Andy led his horse to where she waited, anxiously watching the door. She said in a hoarse voice, “You say you’re lookin’ for Jasper?”
“We’d be pleased to locate him.”
She pointed eastward. “He’s got a little throwed-together shack out yonderway. It’s in the middle of a thicket and hard to see.”
“How come you’re willin’ to give him away?”
“I don’t want to be seein’ him no more. I can tolerate the other men who come around here, but Jasper smells bad.”
“Mr. Smith might not like you tellin’ us this.”
“He won’t do nothin’, not as long as I’m bringin’ in money.” Looking at the back door again, she asked hopefully, “Reckon there’s any reward for Jasper?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I just thought . . . well, it’ll be nice to be rid of him.” She quickly disappeared into the back of the store.
Daggett said, “The storekeeper is a rattlesnake, usin’ a girl like that. I’ve got half a mind to go back in there and whittle on him.”
“He’s not the man they sent us for.”
“He’d be no man at all when I got through with him.”
Finding Biggs’s hiding place sounded simple, but it was not. Andy and Daggett rode a tiring switchback pattern through the brush for two days without finding anything more than sharp thorns and biting insects. He thought Biggs must have hide like leather to maneuver around in this tangle of hostile growth, especially afoot. Nobody remembered that he ever had a horse.
They camped near a small spring where water bubbled from between layers of moss-covered limestone. Daggett built a fire while Andy unpacked the mule. He surprised Andy by saying, “Ain’t much like home, is it?”
Andy shrugged. “It’s a livin’.”
“A man can make a better livin’ bein’ a sheriff. In some counties, even bein’ a deputy.”
“It costs money to run for election. Anyway, my home county has already got a good sheriff, name of Rusty Shannon. I couldn’t go back and run against him. He’s the best friend I’ve got.”
“If I had my life to live over, I’d be somethin’ besides a Ranger. Long days on horseback, poor food or none at all. As often as not, when you finally catch your man, a slick-talkin’ lawyer gets him turned loose. You wake up one mornin’ achin’ all over and realize that half of what you’ve done with your life has gone for nothin’. Makes you wish you’d shot all the sons of bitches when you had the chance.”
It was the longest declaration Andy had heard Daggett make. He considered a reply but did not offer one. He had heard some of the same argument from Bethel. Still, he could not concede that much of his life’s work had been for naught. He had helped put some bad men behind bars or under the ground, and the country was the better for it.
Daggett rubbed the wounded leg, his face creased with pain.
Andy said, “Maybe you got back on it too soon. They ought to’ve let you rest longer.”
“I can stand just about anything except bein’ idle. It gives a man too much time to think. I was ready and rarin’ to get back to work.” Daggett poured the first cup of coffee for himself and sat back to savor it. He said, “Sergeant Ryker tells me you’ve got a pretty young wife. You ought to be with her tonight instead of out here in the middle of nothin’ with a shaggy old misfit like me.”
Andy said, “You’re not shaggy.” He realized it would have been better to have said nothing at all. Tired, he rolled up in his blanket soon after they finished their meager supper. The soothing sound of spring water tumbling down the rocky creek bank helped him drift off to sleep.
A curse awakened him as first daylight erased the stars. In long underwear and barefoot, Daggett surveyed the scattered contents of the mule’s pack. He said grittily, “We’ve been robbed. Somebody got off with our bacon, our coffee, and our sugar.”
Andy had not heard a thing all night. He blinked, trying to absorb what Daggett was saying. He glanced around worriedly until he saw that the horses and the mule remained where they had been picketed. He asked, “You reckon it was Biggs?”
“A bigger thief would’ve took the horses too. Camp cookin’ is bad enough, but to have to eat it without coffee to wash it down, or sugar to sweeten it . . .” Daggett cursed Biggs’s father, his mother, and all his brothers and sisters, if he had any.
Andy offered, “Maybe he left some tracks.”
“I already found them. Let’s break camp and get on his trail. Maybe we can catch him before he uses up all the coffee.”
Andy could sometimes see the tracks, but in the main he relied on Daggett’s keen eyes to lead them. The horsemen moved in a ragged pattern through the thickets of cedar and oak and several types of scrub brush. After a couple of hours of starting, stopping, backtracking, they stirred a hawk from its nest. It flew up and began circling overhead, screeching a warning that they were encroaching on its territory.
Andy said, “She’s probably hatchin’ some eggs.”
Daggett asked, “Ever been hungry enough to eat a hawk egg?”
Andy shook his head. “Not as I remember.”
“I have. I was better off hungry.”
Shortly Daggett raised his hand, signaling to stop. He pointed silently at a small, crude structure constructed of tree branches, the top covered by a dirty, stained canvas. Part shack, part tent, a miserable excuse for shelter, it was well hidden within a thicket. Andy saw a shallow fire pit ringed with rocks, dark with ash and charred remnants of wood. Approaching carefully, he found a skillet lying upon still-warm coals. Two strips of bacon were burned to tiny curls of black.
Andy whispered, “Looks like he left in a hurry.”
“That damned hawk.”
“Biggs is afoot. He ought not to be hard to catch.”
Daggett seemed enlivened by the near encounter. He dismounted and peered inside the shack. “Gone. You circle to the left. I’ll go to the right. Don’t take any chances. If he shows fight, shoot him.”
Andy might shoot a murderer, or even a horse thief, but not a man whose bite was more like a mosquito’s than a snake’s. “In the leg, maybe.”
“Don’t give him a better chance than he would give you.”
Andy made his circle and met Daggett on the far side. The older Ranger’s questioning eyes told Andy that he had not seen anything either. Daggett said, “I found one solitary track.”
Andy said, “He must’ve lit out like a rabbit, or holed up like one. He could be layin’ out there watchin’ us right now.” The thought made him uneasy, though he knew within reason that Biggs was unlikely to fight unless cornered. Andy had not heard of his ever firing on anyone.
Daggett said, “Right now I’d give my right arm for some coffee. Let’s ride back to his den.”
“Hadn’t we ought to go right after him?”
“He’s on foot. If we can find a trail, we’ll catch up to him. If we can’t . . . he’ll turn up someplace. He left his grub behind. He’ll be hungry again before long.”
Andy put up no more argument. “I’m a little hungry myself.”
He looked inside the tiny shelter. It was barely large enough to accommodate one man and his meager belongings. Dirty blankets lay ruffled on a pad of dry grass. Andy did not touch them. He suspected that they contained fleas. Coyotes always had them, so it stood to reason that a man who lived like a coyote would have them too. He said, “I’ve seen dogs that wouldn’t live in a place like this.”
“If Biggs was normal, he wouldn’t either. But none of them outlaws are normal. They all got a twisted brain.”
“Any ideas?”
Daggett grunted. “You said you’re hungry. I am, too, so we’ll fix somethin’ to eat. It’s our own grub.”
They found little food. Biggs had used up most of it. As for coffee, only a few beans remained. Grumbling about the waste, Daggett led out, searching the ground for sign. He picked up the trail easily at first, for Biggs had left in too much of a hurry to cover his tracks. But after a time Daggett drew up in frustration. “How can somebody so dumb be so damned smart?”
Andy said, “Sometimes nature shorts us one way but makes up for it someplace else. At least we’ve got a notion of his general direction.”
They rode slowly, watching for some indication of Biggs’s passage. Dusk caught them still empty-handed.
Regretfully, Daggett said, “Let’s turn back and make camp on that creek we just crossed.”
Andy had nothing better to offer. They would have water, if nothing else. He said, “I’m beginnin’ to think we’ve been sent on a fool’s errand.”
Daggett said, “Maybe not. Catch a man while he’s still a small crook and lock him away for good. He’ll never get to be a big one.”
“But they will let him out. You know how it is with lawyers.”
Shadows from the firelight cut deep furrows in Daggett’s face. “There’s no appeal from the graveyard.”
“There couldn’t be much satisfaction in shootin’ a miserable thief like Biggs.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Andy was awakened by a shot. He threw his blanket aside and reached for his pistol. Then he saw Daggett limping into camp, carrying a shotgun and holding a wild turkey at arm’s length.
“Breakfast,” Daggett said.
The bird had been been shot in the head. “Fancy shootin’,” Andy said.
Daggett shrugged. “I cheated. I shot it off of the roost.”
They slow-cooked the turkey on two spits above the coals. Andy tore into his half as soon as it was done. “Tastes good.”
“Needs salt,” Daggett replied. “I reckon we’d better go back to Smith’s store and get some more supplies. That Biggs damn near cleaned us out.”
Evidently they were seen before they got there, for a tablecloth was already flapping on the line as they rode up. Daggett noted it without comment. Andy felt of it. “Dry,” he said. “Probably dry when they hung it out here.”
Daggett grunted. “If honest folks would work together like the outlaws do, this would be a better country.”
It took a moment for Andy’s eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the cramped and crowded store. It smelled of whiskey and leather and kerosene. He saw proprietor Smith slouched in a wooden chair, a bandaged leg stretched out straight, the foot resting upon a pillow atop a three-legged milking stool. Annylee stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Smith shouted angrily, “About time you damned Rangers got here! You always show up when nobody wants you, but you’re never around when somebody needs you.”
Andy said, “You didn’t exactly roll out a red carpet for us the last time.”
He saw that the lid of the snake box was open, the box empty.
The storekeeper cursed. “That damned Biggs. Snuck in here durin’ the night and got my gold piece.”
Andy asked, “In spite of the snake?”
“He dumped the snake out, grabbed the coin and ran. Now the rattler’s loose somewhere in the store and madder than all hell.”
Andy could not suppress a smile. “Looks like he might’ve taken some of that anger out on you.”
“It ain’t a bit funny. My leg’s swole up bigger than a mesquite stump.”
Daggett offered no sympathy. He said, “We’ve got to have some groceries.”
Smith growled, “You’ll have to get them for yourself. I can’t walk, and I ain’t lettin’ Annylee risk gettin’ snakebit reachin’ into them cabinets. She’s got to take care of me.”
Andy suspected that she had been carrying most of the workload around here for a long time. He said, “Maybe now you’ll be more inclined to tell us which way Biggs went.”
“Annylee can show you. I’ll tell you one thing: if you catch up to him, you won’t find him settin’ down. He won’t be settin’ down for a long time.”
“How come?”
“I let him have a dose of buckshot where it would do the most good. He squalled like a panther.”
Andy said, “You could’ve killed him.”
“I doubt anybody would’ve cried. Except him.”
Andy and Daggett gathered what they needed. Annylee added up the bill. Andy had to correct her on the total. He was not a fast reader, but he had an aptitude with figures. She watched while they put the groceries on the mule. She lifted her foot and placed it on a fence rail, causing her skirt to slide back and expose part of her leg. She suggested, “If you fellers ain’t in a big hurry, I don’t expect that Mr. Smith needs me for a while.”
Andy grinned at her boldness. “All we need is for you to show us which way Biggs went when he left here.”
She took them to a set of footprints that led eastward into the brush. She said, “If anybody was to ask, me and Mr. Smith didn’t tell you nothin’.”
Daggett gave her a look that surprised Andy. It seemed to suggest pity. The big Ranger brought a large silver coin from his pocket and handed it to her. He said, “We wouldn’t want the day to be a total loss to you.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I’m savin’ my money. Someday when I have enough, I’m goin’ to leave here and go to some big city, like maybe San Antonio. I’ll bet the livin’ is easy there.”
For her, Andy suspected, life would never be easy anywhere.
Riding away, Daggett looked back once. Regretfully he said, “It appears to me that the country’s goin’ downhill like a runaway train. People have got no morals anymore.”
“They were already sayin’ that back in Bible times.”
“There was avengin’ angels in those days, ready to smite the transgressors. What this country needs is some avengin’ angels.”
“Do you know any?”
“They’ll come, when the time is right. Who knows? Maybe we’re them.” Daggett went quiet, focusing his attention on Biggs’s tracks.
They almost missed seeing the makeshift shelter. It was given away only by yellowed leaves where a few tree branches had been broken off in an effort to hide the entrance. Daggett drew his rifle and stepped down behind his horse. Andy followed his example.
Daggett shouted, “Jasper Biggs! Texas Rangers! Come out with your hands up.”
The answer was more plaintive wail than discernible words. Daggett repeated his order.
A weak voice replied from within the shelter, “I can’t move. I’m dyin’.”
Daggett and Andy exchanged glances. Daggett said quietly, “Be ready to shoot if he as much as wiggles.”
Daggett bent at the waist and rushed through the narrow opening. Andy was one step behind him, hands tightly gripping his rifle.
Biggs lay facedown on a dirty blanket, a rail-thin man in clothes too large for him. The back of his shirt and the seat of his filthy trousers were spotted with blood and buckshot holes. Andy was instantly aware of a dank odor and knew it came from Biggs himself. The Junction sheriff had mentioned his aversion to soap.
Daggett said, “High price to pay for a ten-dollar gold piece.”
Biggs turned his face upward. Ragged whiskers failed to hide his sunken cheeks and his rheumy gray eyes. He whimpered, “I think that old miser killed me. I feel like that buckshot has worked plumb through to my heart.”
Andy said, “From the looks of your britches, that’s not where most of it went. We’d better get your shirt off and your pants down.”
Panic came into Biggs’s voice. “What you fixin’ to do?”
Andy said, “If it’s as bad as it looks from here, we’ve got to dig all that shot out of you. Else it may go into blood poisonin’, or even gangrene.”
“You goin’ to use a knife?”
Biggs began to weep. He cried out in pain as Andy helped remove his shirt and pull down his long underwear and trousers. “Oh, God, I think I’m about to die.”
The corners of the tall Ranger’s mustache lifted in pleasure. He said, “The wages of sin.”
Andy said, “He must’ve got some distance away before the shot hit him. They don’t look to’ve gone very deep.”
“Deep enough to kill him if they don’t come out.” Daggett winked. “But we’ll do our best to save you, Jasper.”
Andy fetched water and washed Biggs’s back and rump of dried blood so he and Daggett could see more clearly what they were doing. Daggett said, “You hold him down while I pick a while. He’s apt to flounce around a right smart.” He took out his pocketknife.
Andy suggested, “Might be a good idea to sterilize that blade in a fire first.”
“Good idea. You start one. Now, Jasper, you just lay real still and get yourself ready. This is goin’ to hurt like hell. I hope you’re man enough to take it.”
Biggs moaned and prayed that God would let him die quickly.
Each tiny probe of the blade point prompted a whimper. Most of the shot popped out easily. Daggett wiped sweat onto his sleeve and said, “Here, Andy, you finish it. All this blood is makin’ me sick at my stomach.” Actually, little fresh blood appeared. The damage was near the surface, and minor.
Daggett said, “Jasper, if you live, and if you ever get out of jail, I hope you’ll remember this and repent your heathen ways. Get yourself an honest job and enjoy the untroubled sleep of a righteous man.”
Checking to be certain he had missed no buckshot, Andy said, “He’s not goin’ to ride a horse for a while.”
Daggett said, “Hear that, Jasper? You may never ride again, or maybe even walk. You may have to spend the rest of your days standin’ up or layin’ on your stomach. Mighty poor way for a man to finish out his time, but you brought it on yourself.”
Biggs’s thin shoulders heaved with silent weeping.
Outside, Daggett asked Andy, “Know a ranch around here where we can borrow a wagon?”
“I think so.” Andy frowned. “You spread it on pretty thick.”
“Meant to. A jury is liable to take pity on such a sorry-lookin’ specimen and let him get away light. The more scared he was and the more he hurt, the better he’ll remember this day when he thinks about liftin’ his hand to mischief again.”
“I used to know an old preacher named Webb. He’d say you’ve got a devious mind.”
“I believe in due punishment, even if I have to deal it out myself.”
Andy sat on the rumbling wagon, holding the reins, his horse tied behind. Daggett was on horseback. They were nearing the outskirts of Junction when a horseman shouted and galloped up from behind. He was a large man, about the match of Daggett. Eyes ablaze with hostility, he demanded, “What’ve you done to my brother?”
Andy saw little physical resemblance between this big man and Jasper Biggs except that both had squinty eyes. He had always distrusted squinty-eyed people. Irritated, he said, “We’ve done nothin’ but pick a pound of buckshot out of him. Now we’re haulin’ him to jail.”
“Who shot him? You?”
“Not us.” Andy did not elaborate, though he doubted it would be hard for the man to find out. Likely as not, the storekeeper was bragging about it to everybody who would listen.
The brother said, “He don’t belong in jail. He was always kind of simple. He don’t know right from wrong.”
“He needs to learn. Maybe some jail time will teach him.”
“No jail. You’re fixin’ to turn that wagon around. I’m takin’ him home where I can watch over him.”
Andy saw danger in the brother’s eyes. He said, “You haven’t watched over him very good up to now.”
“Just the same, I’m takin’ him.”
The man’s hand dropped to the butt of the weapon on his hip, but Daggett was faster. The Ranger swung the barrel of his pistol at the man’s head. The stranger’s hat sailed away as he slumped in the saddle, then slid off. He lay in a quivering heap on the ground.
Daggett said, “The conversation was gettin’ tedious.”
Biggs whined, “You son of a bitch, you could’ve killed my brother.”
“That I could. Might yet if he don’t lay still.”
Andy’s heart raced. He said to Daggett, “You really would, wouldn’t you?”
Daggett’s face was grim. “I never draw a gun without I’m prepared to use it.” He looked down into the bed of the wagon. “Do you hear me, Jasper?”
Biggs only grunted.
Andy said, “I heard you. I don’t know what to think about it.”
“No thinkin’ needed. Just know that I’m serious. Now you’d better catch and tie his horse. He’ll be lookin’ for it when he wakes up.”