They carried the prisoner to the Junction sheriff, who seemed none too thrilled at the present delivered by wagon to the door of his jail. He said, “Couldn’t you find some excuse to shoot him? The last time I had him in here, I had to burn sulphur to fumigate the place.”
Andy said, “He’s clean. We dumped him in the Llano River before we brought him in. Now, if you’ll write us a receipt for him . . .”
Riding back toward Fort McKavett, Andy said, “I don’t think Jasper’s brother would really have shot one of us.”
Daggett said, “Then again, he might. A man draws a gun on you, you’d better figure he means it.” His voice became accusatory. “I do believe you felt sorry for that two-bit night crawler.”
“I did, a little.”
“A soft heart can be a liability when you’re wearin’ a badge. Someday you’ll find your head tellin’ you to do one thing but your conscience tellin’ you to do another. While you’re arguin’ with yourself, you can get killed.”
“Is that what happened to your leg?”
Daggett’s face creased as he remembered. “I gave them every chance to surrender. Instead, they shot me. There’s nothin’ like the sight of your own blood to clear your mind.”
“So you shot them?”
“It was the sensible thing to do.”
Fort McKavett was no longer a military outpost. Many of its original buildings had been converted to civilian purposes. Others stood in ruins, their roofs and windows cannibalized for reuse elsewhere. Riding into the village at the edge of the San Saba River, Andy asked Daggett, “Mind if we stop off at the house before we go on into camp? I want to let Bethel know I’m back.”
Daggett gave him a questioning look. “This face of mine scares dogs and little kids. She’ll say I’m an example of what happens to a man who stays in the Rangers too long.”
Andy would admit that Daggett looked the worse for wear, but he did not intend to remain a Ranger as long as Daggett had. He said, “On the other hand, she can see that you’re still alive in spite of it all.”
“Only because of some people’s poor marksmanship.”
A little brown dog met them. Chickens fluttered and clucked in protest as the two riders disturbed their hunt for seeds and insects. Bethel stepped out onto the little porch to see what had stirred them up.
“Andy!” she shouted, trying to look displeased but unable to control a joyful smile. “I thought you’d left me for another woman.”
“I’ve thought about it,” Andy said, “but I haven’t found another one as good-lookin’.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Are you bringing home any new wounds that I’ll have to take care of?”
“Nary a one. There wasn’t a shot fired.”
Instead of coming to him as she sometimes did, she waited for him to go to her. She stared at Daggett, a question in her eyes. Andy supposed she felt shy in the presence of the stranger. He said, “This is Logan Daggett. He’s been transferred to our company.”
He tried in vain to read her reaction. Bethel was accomplished at concealing her opinions when she wanted to.
Daggett lifted his hat. “Ma’am.” His hard features seemed to soften as he gave her a long study. He appeared to want to say something more, but nothing came.
She said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Daggett. Won’t you come into the house? I’ll fix some coffee.”
Still staring at her, Daggett seemed to drift away into a moment of solemn reverie. Bestirring himself, he said, “That’d please me, ma’am, but it’s gettin’ late in the day. I’d best go in and report to the sergeant. Pickard, why don’t you stay the night here and report in time for mornin’ roll call?”
Andy was surprised by Daggett’s show of generosity. “You sure you don’t mind?”
Daggett turned back to Bethel. “A young lady like this needs a lot of lookin’ after. I doubt you’re livin’ up to the job.”
“She doesn’t complain.”
She said, “Oh yes I do, a lot.”
Daggett turned away. The packmule seemed confused but followed Daggett’s horse.
Andy dismounted and took Bethel into his arms.
She said, “I guess you caught your man?”
“There wasn’t much to it, once we found him.”
She turned and looked in the direction Daggett had taken. “How was Mr. Daggett to work with?”
“He didn’t load me down with a lot of idle talk, like Len Tanner would’ve. He can ride for miles and not say a word.”
“His eyes bother me, like something dark is hidden behind them.”
“He’s been through some hard times. He didn’t tell me much, and I didn’t ask him.”
“Is that the way you’ll look after being a Ranger a few more years?”
“I’ll quit before it comes to that.”
She frowned. “I wonder if you’ll ever quit.” She turned toward the door. “I’ll get supper started. Or are you anxious to get back to camp?”
“Like Daggett said, camp can wait till mornin’.”
Sergeant Ryker looked up from the table that served as a desk in the headquarters tent. He nodded as Andy walked in to report. He asked, “Had breakfast?”
“Yes, sir, before I left the house.”
“A better one than mine, I’d wager. Daggett told me how you-all got your man. It took you longer than I expected.”
“Jasper didn’t leave a lot of tracks. Even Daggett had trouble followin’ them.”
Ryker unfolded himself from behind the table and walked outside, looking around as if to assure himself that no one else was within earshot. “I want the truth, with no holdin’ back. What is your opinion of Logan Daggett?”
Andy disliked being pinned down to a judgment of a fellow officer. He said, “He’s a good tracker.”
“I already knew that. What about his attitude? Is he a complainer?”
Daggett had made a couple of negative remarks about the Ranger service, specifically the holders of the purse strings, but nothing stronger than Andy himself had said on occasion. “No, sir, he was determined to finish what we set out to do. As far as I could tell, that was the only thing on his mind.”
“How did he treat the prisoner?”
“He took pleasure in pickin’ buckshot out of Jasper’s butt, and listenin’ to Jasper howl. Fact is, I enjoyed it myself after the chase he put us through.”
Ryker mulled over what Andy had told him. “Takin’ everything into consideration, do you like him?”
Andy wished he had not been asked that question. He said, “I’m still tryin’ to make up my mind.”
“How would you feel if I was to send you off on another assignment with him?”
“I’d rather go with Len Tanner.”
“Tanner’s off runnin’ down a horse thief.”
“Whatever you say, then. You’re the sergeant.” Andy wondered how long he might be away this time.
Ryker said, “Daggett’s good at enforcin’ the law, but he’s got a reputation for goin’ off like a shotgun from time to time. You could be a stable influence.”
“I’m supposed to keep the lid on him?”
Ryker nodded. “But don’t look at this as a command. Consider it a challenge.”
Andy could not see much difference.
Ryker said, “You know Central Texas, don’t you?”
“I’ve spent time there.”
“A sheriff friend of mine is sittin’ on a keg of gunpowder. There’s been vigilance committee activity and some shootin’s. I’m volunteerin’ you and Daggett to go help him put an end to the troubles.”
“Any idea what’s behind it all?”
“It started with folks accusin’ one another of stealin’ cattle and horses. I’m more inclined to think it’s really about who’s goin’ to run that part of the country. There’s nothin’ like local politics to cause a fight. If I had my way, I’d put all the politicians on a boat at Galveston, sail it out into the Gulf, and sink it.”
“Feelin’ that way, how have you managed to keep bein’ a sergeant?”
“By knowin’ when to talk and when to bite my tongue.”
Andy kissed Bethel in the house. He felt awkward about doing it outside with Daggett watching. Daggett waited with the packmule, outfitted with enough grub to last more than a week. After that, they would have to buy more, but with a stern admonition to keep the cost down to the lowest possible figure. The headquarters office in Austin was suffering through one of its frequent spasms of acute frugality.
Bethel clung to his hand. “They didn’t give us much time,” she said.
“Ryker has promised me a few days off when we finish this job,” Andy told her. “I promise, we’ll camp together in the hills. We’ll even stake out the ground where we’ll build the house and the barn and corrals someday.”
“Someday never seems to get any closer.”
“While I’m gone, you could go back home and visit your brother Farley and his wife and the little one. It’s been a long time.”
“But I want to be here when you get back.”
“Think about it anyway.”
“Write to me as soon as you get things sized up and have some idea how long you may be gone.”
“You know I don’t write very good.”
“I’ve found that out. But try.”
He kissed her once more, then walked briskly through the door. The early morning sun hit him squarely in the eyes. It made tears start. “Ready?” he asked Daggett.
“Always ready.” Daggett tipped his hat to Bethel as she came out onto the porch. “I’ll bring him home soon as I can, ma’am.”
“But in one piece, please. Seems like half the time when he comes home he has a new bullet hole in him.”
“It’s the low class of criminals we have to deal with. Maybe someday we’ll have a better sort.” Daggett set off into a long trot, taking the lead. Andy followed, turning in the saddle to wave at Bethel. She watched, but she did not wave back. Her hands were clasped in front of her.
When they were well away from the house, Daggett slowed and let Andy catch up. Frowning, he said in a critical voice, “Maybe you don’t know what a good thing you’ve got. A pretty little miss like that don’t deserve to be left cryin’ while you ride away to the devil knows where.”
Defensively Andy said, “She wasn’t cryin’.”
“She was cryin’ inside. Every time you leave, she wonders if the next time she sees you will be at your buryin’.”
“Before we married, I warned her what it’d be like.”
“It’s one thing for her to hear it. It’s another to live with it.”
Andy was irritated by Daggett’s lecturing. “How do you know so much about a woman’s feelin’s?”
“I had a woman once, a lot like yours. God, what I’d give to go back and do right by her this time.”
“Can’t you?”
“Too late.” Daggett’s eyes were bleak. He spurred his horse. “Come on, we’ve got a far piece ahead of us.”
The trail at one point climbed up a layered limestone hill, strewn with loose rocks that could slip and cripple a horse. It followed along the top of a long hogback ridge. Andy could see for miles off either side across broad expanses of live oak trees and cedars, hackberries and other mixed timber, which in the far distance melded into a thin blue haze.
Daggett said, “It’s a lot different from the plains. Are you sure we haven’t strayed out of Texas?”
Andy said, “I think I’d know if we had. The air would feel different.”
“The Central Texas hills won’t be this big or this rocky, will they?”
Andy said, “Not quite. The Comanches stole me when I was a boy and kept me for a long time. They used to come down into this country to hunt, all the way from the Canadian River breaks.”
Daggett said, “The sergeant told me about your time with the Indians. As far as I’m concerned, the Indians can have this part of the country.”
Though settlers in recent years had thinned out the game, Andy and Daggett had frequently seen deer bound away into the sanctuary of heavy thickets. To Andy, they were a pleasant sight.
He said, “Bethel and me have bought us a piece of land in the Kerrville country. It’s got good grass and water, and game.”
“You ought to be there now instead of wanderin’ the country like a gypsy. You’re workin’ on other people’s problems when you ought to be takin’ care of your own.”
“You’ve been at this longer than I have. Why haven’t you quit?”
“Been at it so long that it’s easier to stay than to leave and start somethin’ new. But you’re young enough for just anything you set your mind to. Your wife talked like she’s patched up some bullet holes in you.”
“Several, but not all at one time.”
“You’re liable to get one she can’t patch. Widow’s black wouldn’t look good on her.”
“Bethel’s little, but she’s a strong woman.”
Daggett gave Andy a silent look that called him a fool.
They took their time, making about thirty miles a day, sparing their horses and the little Mexican packmule. Andy remembered the various counties: Mason, Kimble, San Saba, Lampasas . . .
Working his way down from a hill into a broad valley, he saw a man on horseback herding sheep toward a corral of cedar stakes tied so closely together that a rabbit might not wiggle through. A dog trotted alongside him, wagging its tail and acting pleased with itself as if it were doing the whole job alone.
Andy said, “We’d just as well start introducin’ ourselves to the folks.”
Daggett frowned. “If we have to shoot any of them, knowin’ them might make it harder on your conscience.”
“I’m hopin’ we won’t have to do that.”
“Sometimes you’ve got to shoot a few people before you can make things peaceful.”
The dog barked at the two riders and the packmule until its owner bade it to hush. It took a cautious stance behind the stockman’s horse, poised to run away at its first perception of threat.
Andy tried to present a pleasant smile. “Howdy. Are we on the right road to town?”
The sheepman was middle-aged, his stomach flat as a slab of bacon. A black pipe extended beyond several days’ growth of bristly gray whiskers. He considered a moment before he answered, carefully sizing up the visitors. He said, “There are better ones, but this’ll get you there.”
Andy said, “I’m Andy Pickard. This here is Logan Daggett. We’ll be glad to help you take the sheep the rest of the way in.”
“The dog and me, we’ve been doing it a long time. But you’re welcome to ride along with us to the house. Stay the night if you’re of a mind to.”
Andy said, “That’d be kind of you.”
“My pleasure. We don’t get much company out here. Most people regard me as a crazy old sheepherder and stay away. My name’s August Hawkins.”
Andy had encountered many sheepmen in his travels. As a rule he had found them to be smarter than those who criticized them, and better off financially. Sheep tended to be more profitable than cattle. Hawkins’s manner of speaking indicated that he had education.
He said, “I let them spread out to graze in the daytime, but I pen them at night. There are lots of four-legged varmints around here.”
“What about two-legged ones?”
“They’d rather steal cattle and horses. Sheep move too slowly. They can get a thief caught.” He stared at Andy, then at Daggett. “I’m trying to decide whether you two are laws or outlaws. Sometimes the difference is hard to see.”
“We’re Rangers,” Andy said. “We’ve been told there’s trouble in this part of the country.”
“I stay out here with my sheep. I try to keep far away from trouble that doesn’t concern me.”
It was the same eyes-averted attitude that Andy had observed in the Llano River thickets. He said, “Anything you might tell us wouldn’t go any farther than me and Daggett.”
“It won’t even go that far. I have nothing to tell you.” A ewe strayed away from the others, nibbling at low weeds. The dog paid no attention until the sheepman pointed a finger and shouted, “Dog, wake up and go bring her back!”
The dog sprinted out and nipped at the ewe. She ran to the others, not stopping until she had plunged in to the middle of the flock.
Andy said, “Hasn’t the dog got a name?”
“If I called him what he deserves, he would probably bite me.” Hawkins whistled the dog back to its place at his side. “I hope you don’t mind goat meat for supper.”
“Goat?”
“I don’t eat my sheep. I keep them for the wool. Goat tastes quite good when it’s prepared properly. My little old wife knows a dozen ways to cook it.”
Andy said, “Sounds fine.”
The sheepman turned to Daggett. “So far you haven’t said a word.”
The comment caught Daggett off guard. “All I know I learned by listenin’ while others talked.”
The corral gate was open. The sheep knew the routine, filing through in good order. Several lambs spooked at the shadow of the gate’s crossbar and leaped over it. Andy dismounted to close the gate, built solid so no predator could work its way through. Hawkins pointed to another pen. “You can turn your horses and the mule loose in there with mine. I’ll fork out some hay.”
A milk cow stood outside another pen, her calf eagerly awaiting her on the inside. Hawkins said, “I’ll milk first, then we’ll have supper.”
He led them to a log cabin. Smoke was rising from its chimney, and Andy caught the pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread.
Hawkins asked, “Does either of you speak Spanish? My wife Serafina doesn’t know much English.”
Andy had a smattering of it, though not enough for a deep discussion about philosophy. Daggett said he knew only manos arriba and adiós, hands up and good-bye.
Mrs. Hawkins was a busy, dark-faced little woman who might not weigh a hundred pounds. She smiled and chattered so rapidly that Andy could pick out only a word here and there. But he understood the food she placed on the table.
Hawkins said, “I hired her after my first wife died. She was a widow woman, washing clothes and cleaning other people’s houses. It didn’t look right, her living out here with me, so I married her. After all, I’m a churchgoing man. I go every month or two.”
Andy asked, “Any children?”
“Grown and gone in four different directions. I have grandchildren I’ve never seen and likely never will. So it’s just Serafina and me, the dog and the sheep. And this little piece of land.”
After the meal, the three men sat on the porch, enjoying the cool of early evening. Hawkins puffed on the old black pipe. He said, “I suppose Sheriff Seymour sent for you. I’m surprised he’d ask for Ranger help.”
Andy said, “He didn’t. We got a letter from somebody who didn’t sign his name.”
“Didn’t sign? That’s not surprising. Pete Seymour has a bull by the tail. That job has made him touchy as an old bear. You’ll need to handle him gently.”
Andy glanced at Daggett before saying, “We try to handle everybody gently.”
Hawkins said, “It got quiet around here for a while, but things have commenced happening again. A man was murdered last week.”
Andy straightened. “We didn’t know about that.”
“A rancher by the name of Callender. Somebody ambushed him in the door of his barn.”
“Any idea why?” Andy asked.
“Just a suspicion. He must’ve known something that somebody was afraid he’d tell.”
Daggett said grimly, “Sounds to me like the work of a mob.”
“Around here they are known as the regulators.” The sheepman paused to take a couple of draws on his pipe. “To begin with, we have old family enmities that should have been resolved long ago. On top of that we are up against changing times. New people come into the country, crowding the ones already here. I stay out of it. I bought my place free and clear, but much of the land still belongs to the state. Anyone can use it if he has the nerve to take and hold it.”
Andy said, “Things’ll be a lot more peaceful when the land is all bought up. Then there’ll be legal property lines.”
Daggett broke his silence. “But folks’ll start puttin’ up wire fences, and there won’t be open land anymore.” That thought appeared to depress him.
Hawkins said, “I plan to put a fence around mine. Already have the wire and posts ordered. It’ll keep other people’s cattle out and leave more grass for my sheep.”
Daggett said, “You may have a fight over it. I’ve seen it happen up in the Panhandle.”
Hawkins argued, “If the land belongs to me, free and clear, no one else has any say-so.”
Daggett shook his head. “If one owner fences his land, others’ll follow. Then the free range will be gone. You’d best test the temper of your neighbors before you dig that first posthole.”
Hawkins argued, “I’ve always gone out of my way to avoid a fight, ever since back in the sixties when I was dragged into a war that was none of my doing.”
Daggett leaned forward, his voice earnest. “If I was you I’d wait and let the big operators put up their fences first. If there’s to be fightin’, let them do it. In the long run they always win, and you’ll get a free ride.”
Hawkins mused, “I never asked for a free ride during the war. Were you in that fight, Daggett?”
“I was. I learned when to stick my head up and when to keep it down. I took other people’s mistakes to heart and tried not to make the same ones myself.”
Hawkins’s pipe had gone out. He tapped it against a post to knock the ashes from it, then refilled it with tobacco. He said, “I understand what you’re saying, but I won’t be letting others tell me what I can do on my own land. That’s part of what the war was all about.”
Andy pointed out, “The Confederacy lost.”
Hawkins smiled, a ring of tobacco smoke encircling his face. “What makes you think I was a Confederate?”
Two horsemen appeared from a row of brush to the east. One wore a long beard, gray except for a few dark strands. The other was like a younger version without the whiskers. Andy guessed they were father and son.
Hawkins stood up when the two were within hailing distance. “Welcome, Mr. McIntosh. Howdy, Jake. Traveling late, aren’t you?”
The old man reined up and slowly, stiffly dismounted. “Me and my boy, we’ve been out talkin’ to neighbors.” He stretched, flinching from arthritis pain. “These horses trot rougher than they used to. Must be some slippage in their breedin’.”
The younger man left the saddle with an easy grace and no sign of pain. The father gave him a look of envy.
Hawkins introduced Andy and Daggett but did not mention that they were Rangers. McIntosh acknowledged them without much interest, then asked Hawkins, “Had any trouble with Old Man Teal or his boys?”
Hawkins looked surprised. “Trouble? No. They came by here with a small herd one day and asked if they could water them in my creek. I told them to go ahead. The creek bed belongs to me, but the Lord puts the water in it.”
“They could’ve watered anywhere up or down the creek. Why do you suppose they picked your place?”
Hawkins shook his head. “It was handy, I guess. Never gave it much thought.”
“They were testin’ you. They were tryin’ to see how far you’d let them go. Next time they won’t stop with water. They’ll be turnin’ cattle loose on you. I heard talk in town that they’ve got a herd comin’ up from the brush country. They’ll need to put them someplace.”
“I’ve never had any trouble with the Teals. I’ve left them alone, and they haven’t bothered me.”
McIntosh scowled. “I’ve known Harper Teal for years. He’s an evil, greedy old man. Always was, and he’s raised them boys in his own likeness. They’d steal the shroud off of a dead man.”
Hawkins repeated, “They’ve never bothered me.”
“Not yet, maybe, but mind what I’ve told you. All us neighbors have got to stick together. First sign of trouble, you come to us. Me and my boys’ll throw in with you.”
Hawkins said, “If any trouble comes, I’ll go to the sheriff.”
“Pete Seymour?” McIntosh scoffed. “He couldn’t even protect a prisoner in his own jail.”
McIntosh remounted even more slowly than he had gotten down, groaning as he settled into the saddle. “I rode too many mean broncs when I was Jake’s age, and wrestled too many snuffy cattle. Now they’ve come back to haunt me. Be glad you’re a sheepman, Hawkins. They don’t fight you.”
Hawkins smiled. “I have scars all over my back from rams that knocked me down and ran over me.”
Andy watched the two ride away. He said, “It sounds like that letter writer knew what he was talkin’ about.”
Hawkins shook his head. “Old Man McIntosh has a wrong notion about the Teals. They’re redheaded and bound together with barbed wire and rawhide, but they’ve never given me reason to be afraid of them.”
“Maybe they’re fixin’ to.”
“It’s all in Old Man McIntosh’s mind. He and Harper Teal have hated each other so long they probably don’t even remember what started it.”
Daggett said, “Once we get the lay of the land, we may have to knock some heads together.”
Andy asked, “What did he mean, that the sheriff couldn’t protect a prisoner?”
Hawkins said, “A year or so ago, Pete caught the leader of a ring of horse and cattle thieves. Some masked men forced their way into the jail and shot him in his cell. Caused a considerable ruckus, but it slowed down the thievery for a while. It’s started up again lately.”
Daggett nodded approval. “There’s times when some vigilantes can help move the law along.”
Hawkins said, “The prisoner was Old Harper Teal’s son-in-law.”
Andy said, “The Teals were part of the ring?”
“I never wanted to believe that. I like them in spite of their rough edges. And that Teal girl . . . it was hard to understand her marrying somebody like Vincent Skeen in the first place. But she was a country girl and hadn’t seen much of the world. I guess his good looks and smooth talk got the best of her.”
“Do you figure the McIntoshes shot him?”
“It stands to reason, they or some of their friends and kin. Skeen was a snake, and nobody blamed them much. Pete didn’t break his back trying to arrest anybody.” Hawkins arose. “Would you like a little drink to settle your supper?”
Andy and Daggett rolled out their blankets on the barn floor. Lying on his back, Andy said, “Hawkins seems like a good old man.”
Daggett snorted. “He ain’t that much older than I am. Anyway, the best old man I ever knew took a shot at me once. I haven’t trusted a good old man since.”
Next morning, on the way to town, Andy heard something crashing through the brush. He reined up to listen. A large brindle bull burst out of the scrub timber and onto the wagon trail in a hard run. Before Andy could shout “Look out!” it smashed into Daggett’s mount and sent it tumbling. Daggett shouted in surprise, then in pain. His wounded right leg was pinned beneath the struggling horse. The bull shook itself and went running off down the trail, hooves clattering on the rocks.
A horseman broke from the brush, a rope in his hand. He pulled hard on the reins as he saw Daggett on the ground. He took a quick look at the fleeing bull, then swung from the saddle. Daggett’s horse was thrashing about, trying to regain its feet. The stranger grabbed it about the neck and took a firm hold on its head. “Whoa now,” he said in a quiet voice. “Be still.” To Daggett he said, “Can you wiggle out from under him before I let him up?”
Daggett grimaced, straining hard. He wheezed, “See if you can raise him just a little more.” Grunting, the stranger managed, and Daggett crawled backward until his leg was free. He tried to push to his feet but fell. Andy, on the ground now, caught him under the arms and dragged him far enough that the horse would not step on him in its struggle to get up.
Andy said, “I hope that leg’s not broke.”
Daggett’s voice was laced with pain. “You hope? It’s not yours. It’s mine.” He bent forward and carefully felt of the leg, starting above the knee and working down. “I think it’s still in one piece.” Blood seeped from a long tear in the pant’s leg. “Busted that bullet wound open again just when I thought I was about to be shed of it.”
With his pocketknife Andy ripped the pant’s leg open to get a better look. Daggett sucked in a sharp breath and said, “That was a good pair of pants.”
“You can buy another pair and bill it as groceries.” Even the most honest of Rangers might use such a subterfuge to get around the state’s penny-pinchers.
The stranger knelt beside Daggett and examined the reopened hole in his leg. He asked, “Got any whiskey with you?”
Daggett said, “The state don’t pay for whiskey.”
The stranger said, “Then we’d better bind the leg up tight anyway, to stop the bleedin’.” He took out a pocketknife and cut off part of Daggett’s pant’s leg. He used it for wrapping.
The first thing Andy noticed about the stranger was his size. Probably thirty-something, he was as large as Daggett, all muscle and bone. His hair was a rusty red, his jaw square, the mouth broad. A scar on his left cheek showed through several days’ growth of reddish whiskers. Andy would have to rate him as one of the least handsome men he had seen in a while. Not quite ugly, perhaps, but close enough to it.
The man said, “I didn’t mean to run that bull over you. I didn’t even know you was there. I’ve been tryin’ for a month to get a loop over that old rascal’s horns.”
Andy wondered if the stranger’s horse was stout enough to handle the bull’s weight on the opposite end of a rope, especially if the animal was on the fight.
The stranger said, “I was goin’ to throw him down and turn him into a steer. We’re ashamed to put the family brand on the sorry calves he sires.”
Andy asked, “What family is that?”
“The Teals. I’m Bud Teal.”
Andy remembered the name. Ethan McIntosh had had much to say about the Teals, none of it good. Andy said, “I’m Andy Pickard. This here is Logan Daggett.”
Teal said, “Seems like I’ve heard the name Daggett. Ranger, ain’t you?”
Daggett’s voice was strained. “Almost ever since I was weaned.”
Teal examined Andy’s horse, feeling of its legs, running his hand along the chest, then the flanks. “He don’t seem to be hurt none, just a little spooked. Let’s get you on your feet and make sure you’re able to stand.”
Grittily Daggett said, “I can stand. I can walk. I can even ride if you and Pickard will give me a lift up.”
Teal said, “I’ll take you to our house. We’ll get that wound cleaned and wrapped proper. Wouldn’t want you to have blood poisonin’ on account of me and that sorry bull.”
Andy had mixed feelings about accepting Teal’s offer. It was generous, and Daggett’s injury needed attention. On the other hand, if the Teals turned out to be antagonists here as McIntosh charged, any favors accepted now might compromise the Rangers later.
Teal did not give Andy long to consider the dilemma. He helped Daggett into the saddle. Andy asked, “How far to the house?”
Teal said, “Just a hop, skip, and a jump. It’s closer than town.”
Andy decided there might be some advantage in gaining knowledge about the Teals on their home ground. He would give the McIntoshes a look-see later.
The frightened packmule had run fifty yards before stopping. Andy brought it back. He gave Daggett a quick study and asked, “Are you sure you’re up to ridin’?”
“I don’t see any choice. I can’t stay here like this.”
“You’re turnin’ as white as milk.”
Daggett held his right leg straight, the foot out of the stirrup. He was suffering from shock, Andy realized. Shock could knock the legs out from under the strongest of men.
Teal gave Daggett a look of concern and said, “Sooner we start, the sooner we get there.” He set out in the lead. Daggett rode in one wheel rut. Andy stayed even with him in the other, ready to lend a hand if he started to fall from the saddle. But Daggett seemed determined not to show weakness. He stubbornly sat straight and kept a firm hold on the reins, his jaw rigid. He avoided touching the horn, which might be taken as a sign of vulnerability.
Teal looked back with concern from time to time. He asked, “You Rangers just passin’ through the country?”
Andy said, “We haven’t decided.”
“Did Ethan McIntosh ask for you?”
“What makes you say that?”
Teal said, “We’ve been expectin’ him to do some such of a thing.”
Andy evaded the question. He said, “We were on our way to consult with the sheriff.”
“Pete Seymour?” Teal sighed. “He ought to be runnin’ a ranch instead of wearin’ a badge. His boots ain’t big enough anymore for the job he’s got.”
“How so?”
Teal said, “He’s gettin’ old, and he can’t see very good. He ain’t made a move against the McIntoshes. Been a killin’ lately that nobody’s answered for. Been a few fistfights over one thing and another, and a drunken shootin’ scrape where nobody got hurt. You can bet that if worse trouble comes, you won’t need to look any farther than the McIntosh bunch.”
Andy noted that Teal was saying essentially the same thing about the McIntoshes that Ethan McIntosh had said about the Teals.
Andy said, “We heard that a mob murdered your brother-in-law while he was in jail.”
Teal frowned. “In our family we don’t talk about him anymore. He wasn’t no Teal.” He moved ahead, making it clear that the subject was closed.
Andy had not seen many signs of real prosperity in these hills, and he found few at the Teals’ ranch headquarters. The main house was of rough lumber, not painted. A log bunkhouse stood off to one side. The barns were built in much the same way. The corrals were of tied-together posts set upright, their bases sunk in the ground. Most of the structures were of natural materials taken close at hand. Only the main house appeared to represent a cash investment, and even it was short of ornamentation. Andy saw no gingerbread trim.
This was pretty much what his own place would look like someday when he left the Rangers and set out upon the life of a stockman, he thought. It would be spare, at least in the beginning, but it would be his—his and Bethel’s.
Teal led them directly to the frame house. Dismounting, he tied his horse to a post and turned to help Andy lift Daggett down from the saddle. He said, “My sister wasn’t much at pickin’ a husband, but she’s pretty good at fixin’ up folks hurt handlin’ wild cattle and rough horses. Not to say that our horses are really bad. You’d just best not go to sleep in the saddle. They’ll wake you up.”
The house had a generous porch that helped offset its overall plainness. Teal said, “Let’s set him in the rockin’ chair out here. In case there’s any leakage, I expect Carrie would rather it wasn’t in the house.”
Andy asked, “Who’s Carrie?”
“My sister. She was named Carolina, after the state where our mother came from, but everybody just calls her Carrie. None of us has ever been to Carolina.”
Andy wondered if Teal’s sister would look anything like him. Whatever Bud Teal had inherited from his forebears, good looks were not among them.
Blood had soaked through the rough binding, but it appeared dry. The bleeding had stopped. Andy remained on the porch with Daggett while Bud went inside. He heard voices from within the house. Shortly he saw the dark outline of a woman coming down a hallway that divided the house into two segments. Her stride was firm and determined. She came out onto the porch, a tallish woman of thirty or so, slender to the point of being skinny. She held a bottle in one hand, a bundle of white cloth in the other. She stared a moment at Andy before Bud directed her attention to Daggett.
He said, “The big feller is the one that’s hurt.”
Her appearance took Andy by surprise. He had expected her to be plain, even homely, like her brother. Instead, her features were pleasant, her large eyes the dark brown of coffee beans. Her hair bore a hint of red. In a country where men outnumbered women by a considerable margin, Andy wondered why somebody had not put an end to her widowhood.
Shaking her head in reproach, she untied the cut-off pant’s leg that Bud had wrapped around the wound. She asked him, “Was this the best thing you could find?”
Bud said, “In a pinch, you use what you’ve got.”
She said, “This looks like an old gunshot wound.”
Daggett did not reply, so Andy said, “It is. It just got busted open again.”
She poured a cloudy-looking liquid from the bottle directly into the wound. Daggett stiffened as if she had set him afire, but through strong will he made no sound except a faint whistling as he sucked air between his teeth.
The woman said, “I’ll give you one thing: most men would holler to high heaven.” She glanced at her brother. “Bud did, the last time I used this stuff on him.”
Bud protested, “I didn’t, either.”
Tears came into Daggett’s eyes. He turned his head and quickly blinked them away. The woman cleaned the wound with a piece of cloth, then bound his leg. She said, “This is going to be awful sore. You won’t be chasing any bulls for a few days.”
“I wasn’t chasin’ this one,” Daggett wheezed. “I was tryin’ to get out of his way.”
Teal told his sister, “These two men are Rangers.”
Her eyebrows raised a little. She said to Daggett, “Only two of you? I thought you traveled in bunches.”
Daggett was still struggling with the burn. Andy said, “Only when the trouble is big enough. We don’t know yet how big it is here.”
Bud said, “I’ll bet Old Man McIntosh sent for you.”
Andy said, “Somebody wrote us a letter but forgot to sign his name. We were on our way to see the sheriff.”
Carrie’s voice snapped, “The sheriff. Pete Seymour can’t find his butt with both hands.”
Bud took up for the lawman. “Pete’s all right. It’s just that people are pullin’ at him from all sides. And he’s gettin’ a little old.”
She said, “He wasn’t much help when we needed him.”
“He never claimed to be no Pinkerton detective.”
“No,” she replied sharply, “and he’s sure as hell not.” She picked up the bottle of disinfectant and started for the door. She stopped to tell the Rangers, “You-all are staying for supper.” It was not a question; it was a command.
Andy said, “We wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
She nodded toward Daggett. “You already have. A little more won’t make any difference.” She was halfway through the door when she stopped again. “In case you wonder about it, any beef you eat at our table is our own.”
Andy was taken aback by her forceful attitude. He stared after her until she disappeared into the back of the house. He asked Teal, “Did we say anything to make her believe we thought otherwise?”
Teal said, “No, but lots of people have. She gets touchy as hell about it. Feels like everybody is against us.”
“Some, like the McIntoshes and them that follow Old Man Ethan and his boys. But we’ve got friends, too. Sometimes our side wins the elections, sometimes the McIntosh side does. It makes a difference who sets the taxes.”
“Tax rates are supposed to be the same for everybody.”
“Depends on who counts the cattle. Some count ours twice but can’t find half of the McIntoshes’.”
So, Andy thought, it comes down to money, as most quarrels do.
He saw movement at the barn, five horsemen riding into a corral and dismounting. Bud said, “It’s Pa and the boys. They’ve been ridin’ the line, keepin’ our cattle pushed back onto our own ground.”
Andy asked, “If it’s state land, what difference does it make?”
“We’re taxpayers. What belongs to the state belongs to us. Ain’t that right?”
That was one way to look at it, Andy thought, but anyone who wanted to squat on state land could make the same argument. It left much room for disagreement and, ultimately, violence.
He found it easy to pick out the Teals. The father and the other two sons bore a close resemblance to Bud. They were sturdy, muscular men whose confident stride bespoke a certainty that they could whip the world. And like Bud, they were some of the homeliest men Andy had ever seen. The sons’ hair was a darkish red, the father’s a mix of red and gray. The older man spat a stream of tobacco juice, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His beard was streaked with dark stains. He gave his full attention to Andy and Daggett. Andy saw no welcome in his eyes.
Stopping just short of the porch, Harper Teal looked at the fresh bandage on Daggett’s leg. “Who shot you?” he asked.
Bud said, “That old brindle bull ran over him.”
“That bull’s a stray. He don’t belong to us. We’ve got no obligation.”
“I feel like we do. It happened on our place.”
The older man’s eyes were sharp with criticism. “Bud, I told you to get rid of that beast.”
“I was right on his tail when he ran into this Ranger. I had to stop and help, so the bull got away.”
“Ranger or not, you ought to never leave a job half done.” Teal’s gaze cut back to Daggett. “If you’re nosin’ around for a payoff, like most of the badge toters I ever knew, you ain’t findin’ it here.”
Teal’s rough manner stirred Andy to defensive anger. “We don’t take bribes. We’ll even pay for your daughter wrappin’ his leg, if you figure we owe you.”
“Keep your money in your pocket. Us Teals don’t take payment for small favors, and any favors we do for a Ranger are goin’ to be small ones.”
Daggett angrily jerked his head at Andy. “Let’s be goin’. We’ve been here too long already.”
Andy was dubious. “You’re not in shape to ride.”
“If I can’t ride, I’ll walk. If I can’t walk, I’ll crawl.”
Bud moved between his father and Daggett. He said, “No use in you-all leavin’ here mad. Pa talks rough, but he don’t mean half of it. You-all stay for supper, at least. Maybe you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.”
Andy said, “He’s talkin’ sense. We’ll stay for supper.”
Daggett flinched in response to a surge of pain. Reconsidering, he said to Bud, “As long as you-all don’t expect any special favors. If we find you breakin’ the law, we’ll treat you the same as everybody else.”
Bud assured him, “The only laws we’ve ever broke were those we disagreed with.”
Daggett said, “I don’t agree with all of them myself.”
The older man’s bushy eyebrows were still mostly red. They nearly joined in a frown as he said, “Bud, you invited them, so you look after them. I don’t remember a time that the law ever brought me good news.” He started into the house, then stopped. Muttering something about womenfolks’ rules, he wiped his feet on a sack lying by the door.
Bud introduced his brothers, Cecil and Lanny. Their attitude was much like their father’s. They nodded but did not offer to shake hands.
Bud said, “Daggett, you can’t go around wearin’ pants with one leg cut off. I’ll find an extra pair for you.”
Daggett said stiffly, “I’ll pay you for them.”
Bud turned to Andy in frustration. “I’m tryin’ to act civil. What’s the matter with him?”
Andy started to say but didn’t, He’s thinking he might have to shoot you someday.