Neither Rusty nor Alice Shannon had made any comment about the bruise on Andy’s cheek or the cut on his chin, but they must have seen them. Andy watched Alice rocking her baby boy in a cradle on the Shannon cabin’s open dog run, where a gentle breeze toyed with the corner of the infant’s blanket. Rusty and Andy sat on a hand-hewn bench against the log wall. Idly whittling on a stick and dropping thin shavings on the ground, Rusty said, “Old Shanty made that cradle. Said he built it to last for at least a dozen young’uns. Looks like me and Alice have got our work cut out for us.” He glanced up at her with a shy grin.
Smiling, Alice scolded gently, “Rusty! We don’t talk about such as that.”
The smile caused Andy a fresh ache, for it was like Bethel’s. He covered up by saying, “I’ve been too busy to go over and see about Shanty. How’s he doin’?”
Shanty was a black farmer who had inherited a small piece of land between Rusty’s place and the settlement.
Rusty said, “Pretty good, for his age. I go over and help him now and again when somethin’ heavy comes up. And to make sure old Fowler Gaskin doesn’t steal him blind. Shanty ain’t forgotten that he was once a slave. He won’t hardly speak up for himself against a white man. Not even a sorry reprobate like Fowler.”
Gaskin was another neighbor. Any time he dropped by a farm, it behooved the owner to count his chickens and inventory his toolshed. He believed in the adage that God helps those who help themselves, and he frequently helped himself to whatever was not nailed down.
Andy said, “Ain’t it about time Fowler died of old age?”
“I’ve been hopin’ a rattlesnake might bite him, but I suppose they recognize their kin.”
Frowning, Alice said, “He’s a nasty old man. He hates Rusty and me.”
Rusty explained, “He came borrowin’ one day when he knew I was gone. He thought Alice would be easy to buffalo, but she tickled his ribs with the muzzle of a shotgun. He ain’t been back.”
Andy said, “If you’d shot him, no jury around here would convict you.”
Rusty replied, “You never shoot a buzzard close to the house. It stinks too much.” He abruptly changed the subject. “Now that you’ve left the Brackett farm, what’re you goin’ to do, Andy?”
“I don’t know for sure. Been wantin’ to go back out to the hill country, get me a place and run some cattle. I’ve saved up a little from my Ranger wages and what I earned on the farm, but it’s not enough. I’ve thought about goin’ up to the rollin’ plains and seein’ if the Monahan family could use some help. Maybe in a year or two . . .”
“You’re welcome to stay here with us. I’ll pay you for your help. That cabin we built for you once is still in good shape. Been usin’ it for storage.”
Andy knew Rusty’s gesture was made out of kindness, not out of real need for help. “You’ve already got three mouths to feed. And there’ll be more as time goes by.”
Andy looked up at Alice. She said nothing, but he knew her need for that money was greater than his own. She had one baby, and there would be more. He said, “Thanks, Rusty, but I already owe you more than I could ever pay. You took me in and finished raisin’ me even when my own kin turned their backs on me for my Indian ways.”
“That’s why I want to help. I’ve got a lot invested in you.”
“I need to make my own way. Besides, I’m not like you. I can’t see spendin’ the rest of my life followin’ a plow. I’d be miserable at it, and I’d make everybody around me miserable. Especially Bethel. It’s better I leave her than to make her unhappy tryin’ to be somethin’ I’m not.”
“Everybody has got to find his own road. Looks like you’re meant to travel yours on horseback.”
Andy nodded. “I can’t help bein’ what I am.”
“Then live the way that fits you. There ain’t money enough in the world to pay for spendin’ your life at some-thin’ that makes you miserable.” Rusty paused in his whittling. “You heard Tom say he could use another deputy.”
“I appreciate his offer, but I need to get farther away, where I won’t keep runnin’ into Farley.”
“There’s always the Rangers.”
“I’ve thought about that. I remember some good times with them, but I also remember how much blood I saw. A little of it was mine.”
Rusty took a big slice from the stick he was whittling. “Well, if you ever need a place to come back to for a while, it’s here.”
Leading a pack mule, Andy rode to Shanty York’s. A lanky, baying hound greeted him a couple of hundred yards out and escorted him in, announcing him all the way. Andy found the old man taking his ease in an ancient rocking chair beneath a brush arbor beside his one-room cabin. Andy had helped build that cabin after a mob of night riders had burned the original, trying to drive Shanty off his land. Shanty shouted at the dog, “Fowler, hush up that noise.”
He was a small man, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his years. Though he addressed most white people as Mister, he had known Andy from the time he fell back into white hands after his years with the Comanches. Word by word, he had helped the lost and frightened boy to remember the native tongue he had almost forgotten.
“Andy! How do, boy,” Shanty said, walking out and extending a wrinkled hand. To him, Andy was still a boy, though he was far into his twenties. “Been a while since you come to see this old wore-out bag of bones.”
Andy said, “You know how it is for a farmer, always more to do than there’s hours in the day.”
Shanty studied Andy’s pack mule with a critical eye. “Looks like you’re fixin’ to travel.” He phrased it as a comment, but it was a question in disguise.
“Might be.”
The old man looked thin enough for the sun to shine through him. Andy said, “You don’t appear to’ve been eatin’ regular.”
“It was a long winter. Vittles got short. But I’ll be pickin’ stuff out of my garden patch pretty soon.”
Shanty led Andy back to the shade. He motioned toward the rocking chair, but Andy took a bench instead. The old man studied him quietly, as if he were reading everything that was on Andy’s mind. He said, “I’m just a wore-out farmer. Nobody ever comes to me for advice because if it was any good, I’d’ve took it myself and be better off.”
Andy realized that Shanty was hinting for him to ask. He said, “Your advice has always been good enough for me.”
“I been wonderin’ how long it’d be before you and Mr. Farley come to a partin’ of the ways. I hope there wasn’t no shootin’.”
Andy had not told him about their fight, but the bruise and cut spoke for themselves. Andy flexed a sore hand. “No shots fired. Just a little discussion.”
“You love that girl enough to fight for her?”
“I did. That’s how I came by these marks.”
Shanty became pensive. “I had me a girl once, when I was young back in slave times. Trouble was, the field boss wanted her, too. He was bigger than an ox and meaner than a boar hog, but I fought him just the same.”
“Whip him?”
“No, he gave me the beatin’ of my life. But my girl felt sorry for me, and we jumped over the broomstick together. We had us a good life till they sold her down the river.” Old memories brought sadness to his eyes. “Never seen her again, nor our child neither.”
Andy wished he had something comforting to say, but nothing came. Feeling that his visit had only served to stir up painful old feelings for Shanty, he turned down an invitation to stay. Shanty had little enough for himself, much less food to share. Andy gave as an excuse that he needed to get on into town. He took the road that veered off to the river. He had gone but a mile or so when he heard a sudden snorting and shuffling of tiny hooves just ahead. Brush crackled as half a dozen wild hogs broke out of its cover.
Once this had been prime country for a deer hunter, but most of the larger wildlife had been killed out or driven farther away as the area settled up. Feral hogs, descended from strays lost by early farmers, still ranged along the river, unmarked and unclaimed. People around here routinely killed them for meat, but this was something Shanty could not or would not do. He feared someone would claim ownership and put up a holler. A few among his neighbors still resented that he was a black landowner and felt he was not entitled to share in the land’s bounty. One was Fowler Gaskin.
Andy dropped the rope that led the pack animal. He drew his pistol and spurred his horse into a run, circling to get in front of the fleeing animals. He brought the horse to a quick stop, leaned down, and aimed almost point-blank at a fat shoat.
Squealing, it stumbled but did not fall immediately. It ran beneath Andy’s horse, setting it into a nervous frenzy and forcing Andy to pull hard on the reins. The wounded pig followed the others for several yards before it went down. When he brought his mount under control, Andy rode up close and put another bullet behind the pig’s ear to make certain.
The horse’s nervousness was compounded by the smell of blood and gunpowder. Andy waited until the other hogs had clattered off out of sight before he rode back to pick up the pack animal. He looked in all directions before he dismounted. Now and again wild hogs went on the offensive. They could do serious damage, especially boars with long tusks. He gutted the shoat, then lifted it up onto the pack animal. The mule resisted the new burden.
“Hold still, damn it,” Andy said as he tied the pig into place. “You’ll carry it if I have to kill you.”
He rode back to Shanty’s and reined up in front of a small smokehouse behind the cabin. He said, “Look what I found a little ways down the river.”
Shanty worried, “I hope it wasn’t wearin’ no mark. Somebody might come lookin’ for a piece of my hide.”
“No mark. If anybody asks you about it, tell them to come talk to me.”
Once they finished cutting up the shoat, Andy said, “Better nail your smokehouse door shut. Fowler Gaskin may come callin’.”
The hound whimpered and begged until Shanty fed him a strip of fat. Andy said, “Did I hear you call that dog Fowler?”
“They’s some resemblance. Fool dog is always nosin’ around where he’s got no business, and he’ll steal if you take your eyes off of him. If I had the heart to do it, I’d shoot him.”
“The dog. It’s the Lord’s business what happens to the man. I always pray for them that torments me. I pray that the Lord will turn Mr. Gaskin from his sinnin’ ways and help him find peace when he gets to heaven.”
“The sooner he leaves on that trip, the better. Except I doubt heaven is anxious to see him. He’s more apt to go the other direction.”
“The Lord must have some purpose for the wicked, or else he wouldn’t have made so many of them.” The dog showed continued interest in the pig. Shanty shooed it away, though it did not retreat far. “Late as it is, you’d just as well stay and share supper with me. After all, you brung the meat.”
The sun was already half-hidden behind timber to the west. Andy said, “I guess there’s no need ridin’ to town in the dark.”
Shanty smiled. “We’ll have us a time, talkin’ about the good old days.”
“They weren’t all good.”
“We don’t have to talk about the bad ones. They’s past and gone.”
“Not all of them.”
Andy saw no purpose in burdening Shanty with his problems, but the old man saw through his evasion. He said, “Maybe if you’d try again, you and that little woman could patch things up.”
“I didn’t say I was leavin’ her.”
“You got a powerful lot of stuff tied on that pack mule.”
“I’m not goin’ for good. At least, I don’t mean to be. I’ve just got to put some miles between me and Farley Brackett for a while. Else they’ll be huntin’ one of us down for a killin’.”
“Good Book says to turn the other cheek.”
“I tried that. I only got two.”
The cabin was too small for Andy to sleep on the floor, and he declined an offer of Shanty’s cot. He spread his blankets beneath the brush arbor, but he did not go to sleep at first. He kept seeing Bethel and hearing her voice. He was tempted to get up and go back to her. But he kept hearing and seeing Farley Brackett, too. And he kept feeling his hands cramp on the plow handles.
Sometime during the night the hound’s barking awakened him. Andy thought some varmint was probably after Shanty’s chickens, a fox maybe, or a coon. He lifted the pistol from the holster lying by his head. He discerned that the dog was near the chicken house, telling the news in full voice. In the moonlight Andy saw the outline of a man fumbling with the door that led in to the roosts. He doubted it was Shanty.
“What you doin’ out there?” he shouted.
Startled, the man froze for a second, then hunched over and set off in a run. His movement reminded Andy of a spider. Almost certain who it was, Andy squeezed off one shot into the air. In a moment he heard a horse galloping away. The direction told him he had identified the man correctly.
Shanty came out of the cabin barefoot and in his underwear. “What kind of a varmint was it, Andy?”
“A two-legged one by the name of Fowler Gaskin. Figured on havin’ him a chicken dinner.”
“I reckon his cupboard is most as empty as mine. He comes borrowin’ from time to time, in the dark. He’s got eyes like a cat.”
“Or a skunk.” Andy’s initial anger drained slowly as he contemplated the scare he had given the old scoundrel. “He’s liable to have to wash his britches when he gets home.”
Shanty said, “The only time his clothes gets washed is when he gets caught in the rain.”
Sheriff Tom Blessing listened with a poorly disguised smile as Andy told about the nocturnal prowler. “Sounds like Fowler, all right. Did he get away with anything?”
“I didn’t give him the chance.”
“Best I could do is charge him with trespass, and you’d have to prove it was really him. Even if he’d got away with a chicken, Shanty’d have to prove it was his. Nobody brands chickens.”
“Fowler could have plenty of meat without havin’ to steal it. He could go out and hunt wild hogs if he wasn’t too low-down lazy.”
“Shanty would say that the Lord puts people like Fowler here to test our religion, same as he gives us flies and ticks and scorpions.” Tom shrugged off the subject. “I hope you’ve come to ask me about that deputy job.”
“No. It’d be somethin’ to do for a while, but I need to get farther away.”
“It’d look tame compared to the time you spent with the Rangers, and it’d pay about as well. I’d be pleased for you to sleep in the jailhouse if you ain’t particular about the company.”
Andy was weakening. “Couldn’t be worse than Farley.”
Tom frowned. “You ain’t met my newest guest. Come and let me introduce you to Luther Cordell.”
The jail had only a few small cells, for this was mostly a law-abiding farm community. Hunched on the edge of a steel cot, Cordell reminded Andy of a large, shaggy bear. He looked like a tramp who might have hopped from a boxcar and tumbled down the grade. His shirt was dirty and frayed at the cuffs, one elbow out. His trousers were streaked with the grime of hard travel. His hair was tangled, and his face had not felt razor or comb in weeks. A dark beard obscured most of his facial features. However, Andy was drawn by the intensity of the man’s eyes. They were like large black buttons that seemed to look through Andy and focus beyond him.
Tom said, “You’d think a man that robs banks could dress better and get himself a haircut.”
Cordell’s voice was like a dry cowhide dragged over gravel. “Can’t afford to. I invested most of my money in whiskey and sweet-smellin’ women. What went with the rest of it, I don’t know. Just frittered it away, I suppose.”
Tom said, “When the Rangers come for you, the state’ll give you a haircut and a brand-new set of clothes.”
“That’ll be nice. It ain’t often anybody gives me anything without I persuade them first.”
“At the point of a gun?”
“That cuts down on conversation. Most people talk too much.” Cordell’s gaze drifted to Andy. “That’s a likely lookin’ young feller. What’s he in for?”
Tom said, “He’s an old friend of mine. I’m tryin’ to talk him into bein’ a deputy.”
“He couldn’t be sorrier than the one you’ve got. A lot of the time he snores so loud I can’t even talk to myself. You’d best get a better guard if you don’t want me to sneak out of here.”
Andy imagined how it would be to fight hand to hand with Cordell. The man must outweigh him by fifty pounds, most of it muscle and bone. Very little was fat. Cordell was larger than the sheriff and appeared solid as an oak.
Andy said, “I hope you didn’t have to fight with him, Tom.”
“No, caught him by blind luck. I rode out to talk to Fowler Gaskin about a complaint. Cordell and Fowler had emptied a bottle together and was both sleepin’ it off. Took him without a struggle.”
Cordell grumbled, “I’ve always been cursed by a streak of kindness. I felt sorry for that poor old man and shared my whiskey with him.”
Tom said, “We know that poor old man. He would’ve stole it off of you if he could. Folks around here quit feelin’ sorry for Fowler Gaskin a long time ago.”
“I’ll remember that the next time my kind streak starts actin’ up.” Cordell belched. “Damn beans. You need a new cook as much as you need a new deputy. Next jail I’m in, I hope it’ll serve better groceries.”
“I eat the same grub when I can’t go home.”
“You get paid for it.”
“Not enough. But at least this jail is new. Our old jail burned down.”
“I may set a match to this one, too, when I leave.”
Tom said, “You’re not goin’ anyplace, not till the Rangers come for you.”
“At least I like the company here. For a sheriff, you’re a pretty good feller.”
Tom led Andy back out of hearing range. He said, “I like Cordell in spite of myself. He’s more pleasure to talk to than most of the people I lock up in here. I just wish he wasn’t a bank robber.”
Tom himself was one of the most likable men Andy had ever known. He probably gave away half of his salary to people he saw in need.
Andy said, “Everybody has got some weakness. I guess Cordell’s is banks. But you don’t need me to help you guard him. An elephant couldn’t bust out of here. They built this jail stout enough to stand up under a Galveston hurricane.”
“He’s busted out of others. Got a reputation for bein’ hard to keep in a coop.” Tom rummaged in a desk drawer and brought out a badge. “I wish you’d take this.” He handed it to Andy. Tarnished, it said City of San Antonio. Andy figured the county was saving money by reusing what someone else had discarded.
“Sorry, Tom.” He handed back the badge.
Tom argued, “I’d see to it that the commissioners’ court treats you right when it comes to pay. I’ve got a little dirt on most of them.”
Andy said, “I appreciate the offer just the same.”
“I done it for me more than for you. I ain’t spent a night at the farm since I’ve had Cordell behind these bars. He talks pleasant, but I know he’s slippery.”
“Not too slippery for you to catch him.”
“He was drunk.”
A skinny young man with sleepy eyes walked through the door. He seemed momentarily startled at seeing the sheriff. “Tom. I wasn’t gone but just a minute. Thought I heard a noise and stepped out to see.”
Tom retorted, “That was your snorin’.” To Andy he said, “This is Speck Munson. Speck, meet Andy Pickard. I was just offerin’ him a job as a deputy.”
Munson’s thin face fell. “Does this mean I’m fired?”
“Not yet, but it means I’m thinkin’ about it, so watch you don’t aggravate me. Looks like Cordell’s slop jar needs emptyin’.”
Munson said a reluctant “Yes, sir” and fetched a set of keys from the sheriff’s desk. He walked to Cordell’s cell door.
Tom demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”
“You told me to empty the slop jar.”
“Not till you’ve handcuffed him. I’ve told you a dozen times. Make him slip his hands through the bars first.”
Cordell extended his arms, one hand on either side of a bar. Munson locked the handcuffs over his wrists, securing the prisoner to the cell door.
Tom muttered to Andy, “See the kind of help I been gettin’?”
“He’s not used to workin’ with men of Cordell’s caliber.”
“He just ain’t used to workin’.”
Andy watched Munson carry the jar, holding it at arm’s length and turning his head away from the smell. Munson complained, “Tom, we’re feedin’ him way too much.”
He returned in a while. He locked the cell door, then unlocked the handcuffs. Cordell faked a quick grab at him through the bars. Munson jumped as if a rattlesnake had struck. He dropped the cuffs.
Cordell’s black eyes danced with laughter. “Like to’ve got you that time.”
Munson was shaking as he laid the cuffs on Tom’s desk. Tom said, “He’s baitin’ you for fun, but maybe that’ll teach you to keep both eyes open. When he sees a real chance, he won’t be funnin’.”
Andy said, “When I was a Ranger, I used to study criminals and try to decide what makes them that way.”
“Ever figure it out?”
“Never did.”
“Some people are natural sons of bitches from the day they’re born. Others learn it along the way. As far as we know, Cordell has never killed anybody. He probably carried flowers home to his mama.”
Andy leaned against the bars across the aisle from Cordell and gave the man a long, silent study. Cordell stood it for a while, but Andy’s staring finally got to him. He asked, “What’s so interestin’?”
“You. I was wonderin’ what you’d look like with a shave and a haircut and the dirt washed off.”
Cordell grunted. “I’ve got a face that’d break a mirror. I keep it covered up with whiskers so as to not shock the public.”
Andy spent the night on a hard cot in an empty cell. It would have cost him four bits to sleep in the wagon yard, a privilege he denied himself but allowed for his horse and pack mule. Tom had a cot near the jail’s front door, but his sleepy eyes indicated that he had not slept much. He took out his pocket watch and frowned at it. “High time Speck was here to take over and let us go for some breakfast.”
It was a while before Speck Munson showed up at the door, carrying a tray with the prisoner’s morning meal.
Tom said, “I was about to send out a posse for you.”
“The rooster slept late.”
The smell of coffee made Andy realize he was hungry. “Still takin’ your meals across the street?”
Tom nodded. “When I have to stay in town of a night. Once I get Cordell off of my hands, I’m goin’ out to the farm and stayin’ for a week. I intend to debauch myself on my wife’s peach preserves.”
“Maybe it’s time you did retire. You could stay out there from now on.”
“Don’t think it ain’t been on my mind, but I don’t like leavin’ the office in Farley Brackett’s hands. I ain’t sure he’s the man for it.”
Andy could not argue that point.
The restaurant’s biscuits had been baked an hour or more already and kept in a warming oven long enough to dry them out. The eggs were burned along the edges, and the bacon had been fried to tastelessness. The kitchen badly needed a woman’s influence. Andy pitied Tom, having to put up with this day after day.
He had finished his eggs and was sipping his bitter black coffee when a farmer rushed into the restaurant. “Sheriff, somethin’ don’t look right over at the jailhouse.”
Tom was instantly on his feet. “What?”
“I seen a man go in the door. Another is waitin’ outside with some horses. Acts nervous, like he’s standin’ watch.”
Tom exclaimed, “Speck wasn’t supposed to let anybody in there.” He was out the door before Andy could free himself from the table. He started to run after Tom but realized he had left his pistol in his bedroll to avoid carrying it into the jail. He sprinted to the wagon yard, past a startled hostler, and found his saddle on a rack where he had left it. He jerked his rifle from its scabbard and set off in a fast trot.
He heard gunfire from inside the jail. Two men burst through the door. One he recognized instantly as Cordell. The other man snapped a quick shot at Andy, kicking up dust. Andy dropped to one knee and brought up the rifle. He sighted on Cordell, but a horseman hurried up, leading two riderless mounts. He moved in the way of Andy’s bullet and almost fell from the saddle before regaining his balance. Cordell shouted something Andy could not understand. The three set their mounts into a hard run, rounding the corner of the jail, putting it between themselves and Andy. He had no chance for another shot.
Holding his breath, Andy rushed into the jail. Speck Munson lay curled in a heap, an ugly bruise on the side of his head. In the center of the room, Tom was sprawled on his stomach, a pool of blood spreading around him. Calling his name in a choking voice, Andy grasped the sheriff’s shoulder and turned him over. A bullet had nicked the badge on its way in.
The wooden floor shook as other men came pounding into the room, shouting questions. Andy did not look up at them. Tears blinded him, burning his eyes.
“Damn it, Tom,” he murmured. “Damn it.”
The wagon-yard hostler said, “I’ll go for the doctor.”
Andy tried to get a grip on his surging emotions. “I’m goin’ after Cordell and whoever’s with him.”
Several men indicated they intended to join him. Andy said, “Anybody who wants to go with me, meet me at the wagon yard.”
He picked up his rifle and rushed out to saddle his horse.