[Texas Rangers 06] - Jericho's Road (10 page)

The sergeant squinted, one eye almost closed. “It’s hard to tell. They got an outlaw look about them.”

This time Andy was seventy-five percent certain that the sergeant was not joking.

Len said, “Sergeant Donahue, this is Farley Brackett and Andy Pickard. They been transferred here from out in West Texas.”

Donahue studied Farley with suspicious eyes. “Brackett? Seems to me like I’ve heard that name.”

Len said, “He’s got a considerable reputation up yonder where he comes from.”

“
Good or bad?”

“
Depends on who you ask.”

Farley gave Len a cautioning look.

Donahue nodded. “Well and good, but we judge men by what they do here and not by their reputation somewheres else.” He spoke to Andy. “You appear too young to have much of a reputation as yet. Are you here lookin’ to get one?”

“
I’m just here to do my job, whatever that is.”

“
Well, boy, you better watch these border Meskins. They’ll grind you up and make tamales out of you. I just got one rule when it comes to them. If you’re in doubt, shoot.” He punctuated that statement by jerking his head. “Come on, you’d best report to Lieutenant Buckalew and get on the pay roster. That don’t guarantee you’ll get any pay, of course.” He did not look back. He had the air of a man who has no doubt that his order will be obeyed. The three Rangers followed him, leading their horses.

Entering the headquarters tent, the sergeant introduced Andy, Len, and Farley to the lieutenant. Buckalew welcomed the newcomers with more enthusiasm than Donahue had shown. He said, “You men are a welcome sight. As you will soon discover, this company is somewhat under strength. There’s been a dearth of state appropriations. I see you brought your blankets. I hope you brought lanterns as well. You will have more use for them than for a bed.”

Len put in, “They’re good men, Lieutenant. You tell them what to do and they’ll get it done or bust a gut.”

The lieutenant smiled. “They don’t have to go that far. All I’ll ask is that they work thirty hours a day and eight days a week.”

Len reported on their confrontation with Hatton and his bunch. The lieutenant listened intently, glancing at Andy and Farley from time to time for confirmation.

The sergeant demanded, “Are you sure they wasn’t Meskins?”

Len said, “They was blue-eyed gringos, every one.”

Andy had not noticed the color of their eyes, but he nodded agreement with Len. “They were white men.”

The lieutenant said, “You think they were part of the Jericho outfit?”

Len said, “I can’t say for sure that they belonged to Jericho, but I’m pretty certain they’re part of a bunch we swapped shells with some time back. You was there that day, Lieutenant. Remember, they was tryin’ to get away with some of Big Jim McCawley’s horses.”

“
I remember. Think you killed anybody?” He asked the question hopefully.

“
Somebody hollered like he was hurt.”

“
I wish we could shoot them all, Jericho’s bunch and the Chavez gang too.”

Sergeant Donahue interjected, “Or euchre them into shootin’ one another without costin’ us anything.”

Once the formalities were taken care of, Len headed for the mess tent. A dark-faced Mexican cook used a wicked-looking butcher knife to cut a quarter of beef hanging from a tree branch. He dropped the slices one by one into a tin pan. Finishing, he chased the flies away and wrapped a bloodstained tarp around what remained.

Len said, “Pablo, we’re hungry.”

Pablo had a long, drooping mustache and a pitted face that showed he had survived a long-ago bout with smallpox. He looked westward to gauge the position of the afternoon sun. “Always, Tanner, you are hungry. You will wait like everybody.”

Keeping an eye on the butcher knife, Len lifted the lid from a cold Dutch oven and found leftover flat-baked bread. He tore off a chunk. “Try it, Andy. It ain’t bad when you get used to it. Mexicans don’t know about bakin’ biscuits.”

Andy gave Pablo a questioning glance before accepting. He knew that getting crossways with the cook was about the worst mistake a man could make in camp. He saw that Pablo was awaiting his verdict on the bread. He took a bite and nodded. “Tastes mighty fine to me.”

Pablo grinned. “Any time you are hungry, you come see me. We find you somethin’ to eat.” He shook the knife at Len. “You got enough. You wait for supper.”

Len broke off another piece of bread. He said, “Another good thing about camp cooks is they’ve always got a givin’ disposition.”

The sergeant came looking for him. “Tanner, the lieutenant says we need to get the new men off to a quick start. In the mornin’ you’ll take Brackett and Pickard and patrol up the river. They need to get acquainted with the lay of the land.”

Len asked, “We got to take Farley?”

“
He needs to learn the country.” Donahue frowned. “What’s the matter? Don’t you and Brackett get along?”

“
I get along with Farley just fine. As long as I don’t pay any attention to him.”

Donahue grunted. “Just be damned sure you pay attention to
me.”

CHAPTER FIVE

B
urt Hatton came to a fork in the road and glanced with foreboding at a sign which stood on the left. It said: THIS IS JERICHO’S ROAD. TAKE THE OTHER.

He wished he could take the other and keep going. Facing Jericho was always unpleasant when things did not go as Jericho wanted. Hatton turned in the saddle and looked at the men who followed. One led a riderless horse. He said, “Don’t none of you forget what we’ve agreed to say. We got jumped by Lupe Chavez’s bandits. The kid got shot before we could reach cover.”

He hoped Jericho would be mollified at least somewhat by the fact that they did not lose the cattle money.

Jesse Wilkes always looked as if he had sucked on a sour persimmon, and he had more complaints than a dissatisfied mother-in-law. He argued, “I still say you can’t lie to Jericho. He reads faces like me and you read a paper.”

“
Let me do the tellin’. You-all just nod. Maybe he won’t ask many questions. He’ll be busy figurin’ out some way to get even with Chavez.”

“
Whatever he comes up with, it’ll be us that get sent to do the job. He don’t do anything the law can grab him for.”

Hatton’s voice sharpened. “You’ve got nothin’ to bellyache about. You get your share.”

“
Money’s hard to spend in the graveyard.”

“
You can always leave if you’re a mind to. Go back to East Texas. Maybe they’ve forgot about that murder charge they had out on you.”

Wilkes seemed to shrivel. “They don’t ever forget.”

“
And neither does Jericho, so keep your mouth shut and let me talk to him.”

Wilkes went quiet, but his eyes still reflected his anxiety. Hatton had not chosen him as a member of the bunch; Jericho had done that. Hatton often found it hard to fathom Jericho’s thinking. It was too bad Wilkes didn’t catch that bullet instead of the kid. If it ever became necessary for Hatton to sacrifice somebody to save the rest, Wilkes would be his first pick.

Hatton’s eyes kept searching the crooked wagon track ahead. Jericho kept a guard on this road in case some stranger came along who couldn’t read the sign or chose not to heed it. The guard moved around often, so Hatton could never predict just where he would be. The regular guards knew Hatton and his riders, but sometimes Jericho put a new man on the job. Sooner or later he might assign somebody who was too slow on recognition and too fast on the trigger.

A horseman casually rode out from behind the leafy green cover of a mesquite tree and stopped in the center of the road, waiting. He had a rifle in a scabbard and a pistol on his hip but nothing in his hands except his bridle reins. A telescope hung from a leather string around his neck. He said, “Been watchin’ you-all with the spyglass, so I knowed it was you. Been a long time on this trip, ain’t you?”

Hatton wondered if the guard was being subtly critical. “It takes a while to drive a herd all the way up to San Antonio.”

“
Jericho’s been gettin’ a little nervous, wonderin’ if maybe you-all decided to take the cattle money and look for greener slopes.”

Curtly Hatton replied, “He knows me better than that.” Should he ever succumb to that ambition he knew he had better travel a long way, for Jericho would send somebody to track him down. Jericho would not care how long it took. Forgiveness was alien to Jericho’s nature. He never forgot, nor did he ever fully trust. Hatton harbored a suspicion that Jericho might have assigned one of the men riding with him to watch the rest. If there was such a spy in his midst—and Wilkes seemed the most likely candidate—Jericho would not be long in learning what really happened to his nephew.

Hatton tried to reason that he was wrong, that he was just being paranoid. A man was apt to get that way, working for Jericho.

The guard said, “I hope you’ll tell him you saw me and that I was right on the job.”

“
Sure, I’ll do that.” But Hatton knew he would not. He had more important things on his mind than accommodating a lowly gun toter worried about staying on the payroll or hoping to be promoted to a more profitable position.

The nucleus of Jericho’s headquarters had been built long ago in Spanish times when Indian raids were a periodic threat. The stone walls of the long main house were thick enough that no bullet would penetrate them. Narrow rifle ports allowed shooters inside to fire at an approaching enemy with minimum exposure. Beyond the outer walls that enclosed the major ranch buildings, the ground had been cleared of brush for two to three hundred yards to expose attackers as they came into good rifle range. The first brush removal had been done by the Spaniards. Jericho had maintained it for his own protection.

Most visitors were unwelcome, whether they were Mexican bandits or lawmen such as the Texas Rangers. He could stand them off if they ever came at him here in his stronghold. So far, none had tried. Even Guadalupe Chavez, who took pleasure in rustling the outfit’s cattle, had never attempted to overrun the headquarters. Outlaws were welcome so long as they were white and were willing to operate under orders, though their stay was short unless they proved themselves.

Hatton hoped by riding directly to the barn that nobody would notice the riderless horse. That would give him time to present the money and put the boss in a good humor before delivering the bad news. But Jericho was at the barn, watching a hired hand shoe his favorite mount, a big gray capable of carrying a large rider. He watched the riders’ approach, and his flinty gaze fastened hawklike on the lead horse.

Jericho stood more than six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. Women were drawn to him and considered him handsome, but they didn’t see him as Hatton saw him now, coiled tight and dangerous like the spring on a trigger. Hatton wondered if even Jericho’s Missouri-raised wife had ever seen him that way.

Hatton tried to head off the question by dismounting and immediately unbuckling his saddlebags. “The cattle brought a little more than we expected, boss. Got the money right here. I think you’ll be tickled.”

The big man was not to be distracted. “Where’s the boy?”

Hatton swallowed. “It’s a long story.”

“
Give me the short of it. Where’s he at?”

Hatton stammered. “It’s like this … we run into some of them Chavez bandits …”

Jericho seemed to tower over Hatton, his eyes cutting like blades. “You tryin’ to tell me you got him shot?”

“
It was … there wasn’t nothin’ we could do. They was on us so fast … we tried to shield the boy … but he was hit before we could … honest to God.”

“
Damn you!” Jericho’s hard fist struck so quickly that Hatton did not see it coming. He fell backward, dropping the saddlebags and startling his horse into breaking free. The animal ran off a little way and turned warily to watch. Hatton shook his head and raised one hand to his aching jaw. He felt as if a mule had kicked him.

Jericho stormed, “I told you I didn’t want him goin’. I told you to leave him at home.”

Hatton found it difficult to speak. He had bitten his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood. He wanted to explain that the boy had trailed after them and had not let himself be seen until the second day out on the trail. He had declared that he would continue to follow even if not given permission. A reluctant Hatton had told him, “All right, stay, but make a hand.”