Andy was only vaguely familiar with Tom’s office, but he remembered seeing the sheriff put the keys in the desk’s bottom drawer. He placed Gaskin in an inside cell that had no window through which anyone could see him from outside. He considered it unlikely that Cordell posed any real threat to Gaskin so long as he was locked in. If Cordell wanted to break into the jail, that would be fine with Andy. It would save having to go out and hunt for him.
Only one other prisoner was in jail. He had become too rowdy on moonshine and raised a ruckus in the street. Tom would probably have turned him loose by now were he able. Andy decided to release him so he would have one less problem. The bleary-eyed farmhand shuffled to the office, dragging his feet. Andy gave him back his personal belongings, but the prisoner kept waiting expectantly. He said, “Sheriff Tom always gave me a dollar or two to help me on my way.”
He had claimed he slept through the jailbreak and Tom’s being shot. That had been an obvious lie. He simply did not want to become involved in any repercussions. Andy said, “I’ll help you on your way, all right. With a swift kick.”
“Just thought I’d ask.” The man left, but not in good grace. Andy shouted an admonition that he not be found drunk in this town again anytime soon.
He did not want to leave the jail untended so long as Gaskin was in it. He did not even risk crossing the street to order supper at the restaurant. Biscuits Vanderpool took it upon himself to walk over and ask what Andy would like to have. Andy chose beefsteak, gravy, biscuits, and coffee. “As for Fowler Gaskin,” he said, “anything you can scrape up will be better than what he’s used to.”
Gaskin hollered from his cell, “By God, I’m a taxpayer, and I deserve a good supper.”
Andy doubted that Gaskin had ever coughed up enough taxes to pay for a pot of beans. “All right, bring him whatever you bring me, but we’re not goin’ to fatten him up at county expense.”
Rusty came to the jail after Vanderpool returned. They visited about the weather and crop prospects but avoided discussing what lay heaviest on their minds. They quickly ran out of talk, and Rusty left to look in again on Tom.
Andy lay on the same hard bunk that Tom had pointed him to. The front door was locked and reinforced by a heavy bar. Only dynamite would break it down. Andy did not sleep much, partly because of Gaskin’s snoring and partly because his mind would not shut down. He kept seeing Tom in his uneasy dreams.
He had just finished eating the breakfast the restaurant operator had brought over when Speck Munson walked in. His head was bandaged, and he looked to be in pain. He said, “I’m reportin’ for work, if I’m still hired.”
“I guess you’re hired until somebody tells you otherwise. If you’re worried about it, you could ask the judge.”
“Long as he doesn’t tell me otherwise, I won’t bring it up.” Speck looked ashamed. “I suppose everybody blames me for what happened.”
They probably did, but Andy thought the young man looked miserable enough already. Perhaps the experience had taught him something. “I suppose it happened so fast that you didn’t have time to do anything.”
Munson nodded, wincing as the movement brought pain. “I barely seen the man that hit me. He was a badlookin’ one, and big as a barn.”
“How do you know if you barely saw him?”
“It don’t take long to see mean, and he was mean to the bone.”
“Did you hear Cordell call him by name?”
“I thought he said milk, but that ain’t no name.”
Munson collapsed into a chair. Andy knew that in his condition he could not be trusted with responsibility. He said, “Maybe you’d better go home and get some more rest.”
“Better if I stay here and make a hand. Maybe the judge won’t fire me if he sees me at work.” Before long Speck was asleep in the chair.
He was probably still feeling effects of the sedative the doctor had administered. Andy hoped Judge Tompkins would not walk in and see Speck in this condition, but that hope fell by the wayside. Speck was the first thing Tompkins saw as he walked through the door. He said, “Doesn’t that boy do anything but sleep?”
Defensively Andy said, “It’s the doctor’s pills, I think.”
“He never was right for this job. I had Tom hire him because the boy needed a regular paycheck. But it wouldn’t be right to fire him so soon after he’s been injured in the line of duty. I’ll wait until he’s well.”
“He’ll still need a paycheck.”
“A plow is more fitting for him than a badge. I’ll give him a job on my farm. Have you seen Farley Brackett yet?”
The name made Andy frown. “He hasn’t been in.”
“He’s due. And I got a wire back from Austin. They’re taking your Ranger application under advisement, so you’ll have to remain a deputy for a while.”
It was a disappointment, but Andy shrugged it off.
The judge said, “A Ranger was on his way here to pick up Cordell and take him back to Galveston. Maybe he can stay and help you. If you have to cross over the county line, you can let him make the official arrest.”
“Did they say who they sent?”
“No name. Till we hear about your reinstatement, you should keep the deputy’s badge.”
“I never had one.”
The judge rummaged in a desk drawer and came up with the same San Antonio city badge that Tom had offered. He gave it a quick glance and said, “It’s the man behind it that counts. Nobody is going to read the inscription anyway. Especially if you are holding a gun on him.”
The judge turned toward the door. “I’m going over to see about Tom. Want to go with me?”
“I sure do.” Andy awakened Speck and told him to keep the door locked. Then Andy and Tompkins walked to the doctor’s house. The doctor’s wife met them at the door. Her grim expression told them what neither wanted to ask. Andy heard Mrs. Blessing sobbing in the back room. He and the judge exchanged worried glances. The doctor met them, shaking his gray head.
“I am sorry. Tom just passed.”
Mrs. Blessing sat in a chair against Tom’s bed, one arm lying across her husband’s still form. Alice stood over her, trying to comfort her but unable to speak. Rusty stood on the other side of the bed, looking as if he had been kicked in the stomach. “Tom’s gone,” he said.
Andy could not reply. He turned away and crushed his hat in his hands.
Farley Brackett was waiting outside the jail when Andy and the judge returned, both badly shaken. Obeying orders, Munson had refused to let him in. Farley grumbled to the judge, “If I was the sheriff, the first thing I’d do would be to fire that dumb kid.”
The judge said, “He just did what I told him to.” He gave Farley the news about Tom. Farley’s peevish expression shifted quickly to one of exaggerated sadness. He said, “That sure is too bad. We’ll miss old Tom.”
Andy suspected Farley was not grieving all that much. Tom’s passing gave him a better chance to take over this office permanently in the special election that was certain to come.
Speck was up and giving the jail a listless sweeping that left no visible effect. He went off by himself and cried when told about Tom.
Tompkins administered the oath to Farley. Farley said, “Judge, I promise you I’ll get the skunk that shot Tom. We all owe a big debt to that good man for the years he’s served the citizens of this county.”
Andy did not comment. He knew that anything he said would be bitter. Tom was not yet an hour dead, and Farley was already settling into his job.
Farley had noticed Andy’s badge. He said, “I gather that I’m in charge now. Andy’s got to take orders from me, right?”
The judge was momentarily surprised by the antagonistic looks that passed between Andy and Farley. He had known nothing of their conflict. He considered for a moment. “Yes, but I would expect that authority to be used judiciously.” He paused, then sprang one more surprise on Farley. “Pickard’s deputy status is only temporary. I have asked that he be reinstated as a Ranger. When that happens, I would consider his authority to be paramount.”
Farley’s face fell.
Speck had listened in puzzlement. He understood nothing of this. He asked, “What do you fellers think we ought to do now?”
Andy answered quickly, before Farley had a chance to consider. “I think the sheriff should stay and watch the jail in case Cordell tries to get at Fowler Gaskin and make him tell where he hid the money. Farley’ll need help, so you’d better stay with him, Speck. Cordell has probably already been to Fowler’s place huntin’ for his money, but I’ll go out there in case he’s still hangin’ around, waitin’ for Fowler.”
The judge voiced approval, leaving Farley no room for argument.
Farley complained, “I don’t even know what Cordell looks like.”
Andy said, “Speck can tell you. He saw a lot of him while he was in this jail.”
Speck said, “I’d like to see him back in here again. I’d keep him in leg-irons and make him empty his own slop jar.”
Andy saw that Cordell had already made a thorough search of Gaskin’s cabin. The place looked even more chaotic than he had seen it before. Pots, pans, and plates were scattered across the floor, the shelves emptied. The cot and the woodbox were turned upside down. Several stones had been chiseled out of the fireplace. The wooden floor had been pried up in several places.
He recognized the possibility that Cordell had found the money and fled with it. In that case he was probably already out of the county. But Andy thought it equally possible that Cordell had not found it. Though lazy and shiftless, Gaskin was crafty as a coyote. He was unlikely to have hidden his treasure where it would easily be found. More probably he had secreted it so well that a searcher would have to make a pact with the devil to find it.
Cordell seemed the man to make such a pact.
After a perfunctory search around the outside of the cabin, Andy reasoned that Cordell had done it before him. Any further searching would be a waste of time. He decided to return to town.
At the jail, Farley looked him over with critical eyes. “You don’t look to be packin’ any money, so I don’t reckon you found it. And Cordell has given you the slip. Ain’t no tellin’ where he’s got to by now.”
Arguing with Farley would only get Andy’s blood stirred up. Instead, he agreed. “He tore Fowler’s cabin half to pieces. I don’t know if he found the money or not.”
“You didn’t trail him?”
“You know I’m not much good at trackin’.”
“That’s the gospel truth. All those years with the Comanches, and you didn’t learn a damned thing.”
Andy turned to Speck. “Has Fowler given you any trouble?”
“Cussed me up one side and down the other is all. Keeps sayin’ he didn’t steal anything and he don’t belong in here.”
“Bad as I hate to say so, he’s probably right. All we’ve got on Fowler is that he was drunk and disorderly. We can’t even prove it was bank money he was spendin’. The judge’ll probably tell us to turn him loose in the mornin’.”
Farley said, “That’s too bad. It’s warmed my heart, seein’ that old sneak sittin’ behind the bars.”
Andy was tempted to comment about Farley’s warm heart but passed up the opportunity. “You can sit up tonight and watch him if you want to. Me and Speck can use the sleep.”
Andy heard Gaskin’s raspy voice calling his name. The old man’s knotted hands clasped the bars so tightly that the knuckles were white. He demanded, “You been out to my place?”
“Just came back.”
Andy decided the old sneak needed something to worry about. “Somebody tore your cabin to pieces and dug holes everywhere.”
Gaskin’s face fell. “You ain’t lyin’? He dug all around?”
“You could plant a garden.”
For a moment Andy thought Gaskin was going to cry. He sank back onto his bunk and buried his face in his hands. “That money is rightfully mine. I found it.”
“Finders don’t always get to be keepers. At least you were rich for a little while.” Andy turned away from the cell, leaving Gaskin to ponder the fickle nature of fate.
Gaskin called after him, “Maybe he gave up and left.”
“Maybe.”
Farley muttered, “Soon as we turn him loose, he’ll high-tail it home to see if the money’s still where he hid it.”
Andy said, “I doubt that it is. Cordell has likely got it and gone.” He did not entirely believe that, but he did not want Farley to second-guess a half-baked idea he had been toying with.
Farley said, “You enjoy torturin’ the old man. Must be the Indian in you, Badger Boy.”
Speck didn’t get it. “What’s this about Indians? There ain’t no Indians around here anymore. Are there?”
Farley said, “Get Andy to tell you the story of his life. But not where I’ve got to listen to it.”
Gaskin ate but little supper and only dabbled at his breakfast the next morning. He trembled with anxiety. “Ain’t you-all ever goin’ to let me out of here?” he demanded.
Andy said, “I’ll talk to the judge when he gets to his office.”
“Tell him I’m figurin’ on suin’ the county for false arrest. Time my lawyer gets through wringin’ you-all out, I’m liable to own the courthouse.”
Andy knew Gaskin had no lawyer. He had dodged lawyers and courthouses all his life. They meant nothing to him but aggravation.
Andy said, “Better eat your breakfast. If the judge turns you loose, you’ll have to survive on your own cookin’.” It was a wonder the old man had not poisoned himself years ago.
The judge reluctantly agreed that they had little reason to hold the prisoner. “My preference would be to let him sit there and rot, but we can’t keep feeding him at the county’s expense. If he would just commit a murder or something else worthwhile, we could turn him over to the state.”
Andy carried the ring of keys to Gaskin’s cell. “Gather up your stuff, Fowler. You’ll find your mule at the wagon yard.”
“I ain’t payin’ no feed bill. I didn’t tell you-all to put him up over there.”
“Just go, Fowler.”
Andy stood at the door and watched Gaskin hurrying across the square on wobbly legs. Farley moved up beside Andy and growled, “Once I’m full sheriff, there’ll be some changes made. I’d let that old scoundrel stay in jail till he put roots down through the floor.”
“That wouldn’t be accordin’ to law.”
“Some law you’ve got to make up as you go along.”
Farley went back into the office and began rummaging in the drawers of Tom’s desk. He found a sheaf of Wanted notices and began to study them. He smiled to himself. Andy guessed he was imaginging himself catching all those criminals single-handed.
Andy remained in the doorway until he saw Gaskin riding up the street, quirting his rawboned mule. The mule flinched at the sting but did not pick up the pace. Gaskin disappeared on the wagon trail that led off in the general direction of his farm. Andy looked back to make sure Farley was not watching him, then walked to the wagon yard and saddled his bay horse. He did not want Farley going along, for one man stood a good chance of staying out of Gaskin’s sight. Two men would double the likelihood of his spotting whoever followed. Andy hung back out of sight, sure where the old man was going. He did not close the distance between them until he neared Gaskin’s shack. He stopped in a stand of trees where he could watch without being seen.
Gaskin was still applying the quirt with little effect. The old mule had no speed left. Gaskin was so eager that he jumped off a hundred feet short of his cabin and ran the rest of the way in the wobbly gait dictated by his stiff joints. He attacked the woodpile in back, hurling firewood aside. He picked up a shovel that was lying nearby and drove its point into the ground where the wood had been. He was so engrossed in his frantic digging that he did not see Andy ride up behind him. Andy watched him drop to his knees. With a glad shout, Gaskin pulled a set of saddlebags out of the hole. He opened them anxiously and yelped again in joy.
Andy dismounted and walked up unnoticed until he said, “I’ll take those, Fowler.”
Gaskin turned so quickly that he almost fell. He clutched the saddlebags to his thin chest. His eyes were desperate. “These are mine. I found them, and they’re mine.”
“You know that money was taken from a bank. It’s got to go back.”
“Like hell.” Gaskin turned to run. Andy grappled with him, trying to wrest the bags from his hands. He jerked them loose but was off balance and stumbled. With a curse, Gaskin picked up a large chunk of wood and struck Andy across the head. Andy’s hat sailed away. His knees buckled as Gaskin yanked the bags from his hands and shouted in triumph.
A gravelly voice said, “Don’t be in such a hurry, old man. That’s my property you’ve got your grubby hands on.”
On his knees, Andy looked up through a painful haze. The black-bearded Cordell seemed to sway back and forth. The pistol in his hand looked like a cannon. Gaskin froze, clutching the bags as if they were a baby.
Cordell said, “I’d let you-all fight it out, but I’m afraid one or both of you might get killed. Naturally they’d blame me. They always do.” He extended his free hand to Gaskin. “Gimme.”
Gaskin backed away, frantically holding on to the bags. Cordell touched the muzzle of his pistol to the old man’s Adam’s apple. “I said gimme.”
Gaskin yielded them up and went to his knees, sobbing. “They’re mine. You got no right.”
“Go rob your own bank. Any fool can do it. Just show them a gun to let them know you’re serious, and they’ll empty out the vault.” Cordell turned to Andy, relieving him of the pistol on his hip. Andy had been too stunned to draw it. “I remember you from the jailhouse. I don’t remember you wearin’ a badge then.”
Andy’s head throbbed. “Damn you, you killed one of the best men that ever lived.”
“Wasn’t me. The man that done it has took off to Mexico or someplace. Mexico looks pretty good to me, too, now.” Cordell balanced the saddlebags over his free arm. “Let me have that cartridge belt. And just so you don’t get a notion to follow too quick, I’m takin’ your horse and that mule yonder. You-all stay put and don’t get in another fight. I won’t be here to bust it up.”
Cordell mounted a horse he had tied at the side of the cabin and rode up beside Andy’s, taking the reins. “I don’t want to be accused of horse thievin’. I ain’t that low. I’ll leave your horse and mule down the trail a ways.” He rode southward. The lagging mule limited his speed, pulling back on the reins and stubbornly refusing to move beyond a trot.
Andy said grittily, “If I was him, I’d shoot that mule.”
Gaskin said, “If I had my shotgun, I’d shoot you.”
Andy ran his hand across the place where Gaskin had struck him. It burned. He felt the stickiness of blood. His head ached as if a hatchet were sunk in it to the handle. “Fowler, you like to’ve brained me.”
“I intended to. First time in my life I ever had any real money, and you caused that thief to get away with it.”
“He was layin’ for you to come back. He’d’ve taken it whether I was here or not.”
Gaskin gave Andy another sound cursing, then went into his cabin. Andy heard him cry out in rage. Gaskin staggered back outside, trembling. “He wrecked my house. Tore up everything.”
The place was a wreck long before Cordell came along, Andy thought. He tried to muster a little sympathy for Gaskin, but it was not there. He said, “You ought to set fire to it and start over.”
“You always hated me,” Gaskin whined, “you and Rusty Shannon and all the rest of them. You got no Christian feelin’s for a poor man.”
Gaskin didn’t have to be a poor man. He owned the makings of a good little farm. All it needed was a competent farmer, somebody who would work at it and keep leaving fresh footprints from one end to the other. Gaskin raised just enough corn to put bread on his table and make moonshine whiskey in a still down by the creek. Andy found it hard to imagine Gaskin putting out the energy to move part of his woodpile, dig a hole to hide the saddlebags, then cover them up with firewood. Only money or whiskey would provide that much motivation.
For a moment Andy pictured what he could do with this place if it were his. The thought was fleeting. The last thing he wanted was to spend the rest of his life in this older and heavily settled part of Texas, tied to a plow, though it was what Bethel wished him to do. Memory carried him back to the western hills and the rolling plains. Someday, some way . . .
Two riders approached from the direction of town. As his vision gradually improved, Andy discerned that they were Farley and Speck. He dreaded hearing what Farley would say. He took the initiative by declaring, “I didn’t ask you-all to follow me.”
Farley said, “No, but you should’ve let me in on what you were up to. I could’ve told you you couldn’t handle the situation by yourself. Now Cordell’s got the money and gone por allá. You’ll go back to town draggin’ an empty sack and lookin’ like a fool.” He made no effort to hide his satisfaction. “But maybe with a little luck I’ll be able to pick up the pieces.”
Farley did not mention Speck. Andy guessed he hoped to catch Cordell and grab some glory for himself. He said, “That’s all right. I’m not runnin’ for sheriff.”
Farley examined the hole where Gaskin had retrieved the saddlebags. “So this is where the money was at.”
Andy’s eyes were still blurry, but perhaps Farley and Speck could follow the fleeing outlaw. He pointed in the direction Cordell had taken. “He hasn’t been gone long. Took my horse so I couldn’t follow after him.”
Farley said, “You never was much of a farmer, and you ain’t much of a deputy either. I swear, I don’t know what you’re good for, Badger Boy. Come on, Speck, let’s go catch the man that Andy let get away.”
They moved off in a lope.
Andy was angrier at himself than at Farley. He shouldn’t have let Cordell sneak up and get the upper hand on him. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been wrestling with Gaskin. The old fossil wasn’t worth all this grief.
Gaskin complained, “You caused me to lose my money, and on account of you I lost my mule, too.”
“That mule probably didn’t like it here anyway. I sure wouldn’t.” Large chunks had been chewed from wooden fence planks near the barn, a sign the mule had been starved for nutrients. It had to subsist on whatever native grass it could find and dry roughage that was more straw than hay. “I ought to arrest you for cruelty to an animal.”
“You’re hell-bent on arrestin’ people. Maybe if you hadn’t put me in jail, I wouldn’t’ve lost my money.”
“If you hadn’t been in jail, Cordell would’ve caught you by yourself and nailed your hide to the cabin door.”
Andy went to Gaskin’s well and turned the windlass to bring up a bucket of water. He drank his fill, then poured the rest over his throbbing head. “You’ve got good water here, Fowler. You’d be better off if you drank more of this and less of that moonshine.”
“I’ll have all the whiskey I want when I get through suin’ you and the county. You’ll be workin’ for me the rest of your life.”
“You’re makin’ my head hurt, Fowler. Shut the hell up.”
Andy considered setting out afoot for town, but he feared he did not have enough strength to get there. Besides, Farley and Speck would likely return for him sooner or later, with or without Cordell. He sat down to rest on a bench at the front of the cabin. Gaskin went inside and began rattling things around in an attempt to straighten up his damaged dwelling. Andy felt that he deserved no help, so he offered none. Gaskin kept up a constant monologue, cursing Andy and Cordell and anyone else he considered responsible for keeping him poor all his life. Every misfortune that had befallen him since childhood was someone else’s fault.
It was near dark when Farley and Speck returned, leading Andy’s horse and the mule. Andy’s pistol and cartridge belt hung from the saddlehorn where Cordell had left them. Farley said, “You’re luckier than you deserve to be, Badger Boy. He left these where we would find them. He’s an honest man, for a thief.”
Cordell had probably been glad to be rid of the lagging mule, Andy thought. Farley and Speck had obviously not caught up with the outlaw. “Why didn’t you trail him?” Andy asked sarcastically, knowing that Farley was no better tracker than he.
Farley said, “It was like he just left the ground and flew away. Them tracks stopped dead at the edge of a creek. We couldn’t find where they came out.” He shook his head. “Damned poor Ranger you are, messin’ around and lettin’ him escape.”
Andy shrugged. “When you start campaignin’, you can tell everybody it was all my fault. Things would’ve been different if you’d been full sheriff.”
He mounted his bay horse and started toward town. Maybe by tomorrow his head would stop hurting.