[Texas Rangers 06] - Jericho's Road (13 page)

“
In other words, just knowin’ ain’t enough. The only thing that counts is what you can prove.”

Farley grumbled, “You get a little smarter every day, Badger Boy. But you still got a long ways to go.”

Andy saw a dozen or so cattle grazing nearby. He rode over to look at them, moving slowly so they would not spook and run. “I see at least three different brands.”

Len watched the cattle drift away. “And all Mexican. Most of Jericho’s cattle are natural swimmers. Show them a river and they’ll jump right in.”

The horse tracks split at the fork. Some riders had gone on northward. Others had swung to the west, following the trail marked as Jericho’s.

Len said, “I’ve already seen Jericho’s headquarters. The outside of it, anyway. If we stay with the other bunch we might find a new hangout. Someday that could be a handy thing to know.”

Farley said, “I’ll follow that bunch west. I’d like to know what Jericho’s place looks like.”

Len cautioned, “You’re liable to learn more than you intended to. But I don’t reckon it’s my place to try and tell you what to do.”

“
Wouldn’t matter none if you did.” Farley rode off.

Len hollered after him, “Chances are we won’t find one another again. We’ll meet back at the camp.” In a quieter voice he said, “And that’ll be plenty soon enough.”

If Farley attempted an answer, Andy did not hear it.

Andy and Len followed the northbound tracks until eventually the trail split again. Len said, “Ain’t but one thing to do. You take the right hand and I’ll take the left. When we’ve seen whatever there is to see, we’ll backtrack and meet right here.”

Andy felt concern. “If you bump into somebody, you won’t try to tackle them by yourself, will you?”

Len shook his head. “You know me. I ain’t one to go lookin’ for a fight.”

“
I don’t remember you ever duckin’ out on one.”

“
I’m just goin’ to see what I can learn. I ain’t got my fightin’ britches on.

Andy knew Len’s propensity for getting himself into trouble. He had that much in common with Farley. However, Farley met his challenges with a growl and Len met them with a laugh. Andy conceded that Len had a point. Sooner or later Jericho was likely to make a mistake, and it behooved the Rangers to know as much as possible about his ranch and what went on there.

He told Len, “You take the pack mule.” The mule had more or less attached itself to Len’s horse. It would not so readily follow Andy’s.

Len said, “You won’t have anything to eat.”

“
We’ll be back together before time for that.”

The sun bore heavily on Andy’s shoulders. The back of his shirt and the underarms were soaked in sweat. Ahead he saw a windmill tower. That meant water. He was pleased that the tracks he followed veered in that direction.

Windmills were relatively new on Texas ranges. Railroads were first to try the idea, then farmers and ranchers had quickly adopted them to allow use of neglected lands that lacked living water in the form of springs, creeks, and rivers. Andy had seen a few windmills, but they remained strange and exotic to him. He was fascinated by the notion of a mechanical device that could harness the wind to pump water from unseen storage deep in the ground. He wondered how much longer people could keep coming up with such ingenious inventions. Surely they must be nearing their limit.

This mill had a tower built of lumber that still looked new except that it was already darkly stained by lubricating oil spilled from its gears. The cypress fan looked to be twelve or fourteen feet across. The sucker rod clanked as it rode up and down, striking the walls of the steel tube that enveloped it.

Water poured into a surface tank hollowed out of the level ground. A few cattle turned and warily trotted away as Andy approached. He imagined the pleasant taste of cool water gushing from the end of the outlet pipe.

He failed for a moment to recognize an angry buzzing sound. By the time he realized he had disturbed a nest of wasps, they were attacking him and the horse. He tried swatting them away but seemed to make them angrier. The black horse squealed and kicked, then broke into pitching. Already off balance from fighting the wasps, Andy lasted only two jumps before he was jolted out of the saddle. Instinctively he tried to break the fall by extending his arm. He hit the ground hard. The arm twisted beneath him.

His left boot was caught in the stirrup. He felt himself jerked violently, then dragged as the horse pitched, squealed, and broke wind. He bounced on the rough ground. He tried to shield his face, but one arm felt numb and useless. His foot pulled free of the boot. The dragging stopped. The horse continued to run and pitch without him. A few more wasps stung Andy before they began returning to the nest. They swarmed around it noisily as if awaiting another target.

Finding himself lying awkwardly on the arm that had taken the first impact, he rolled onto his back. The arm began to ache as feeling returned. He examined it gingerly, fearing it might be broken. He satisfied himself that it was not, though it was badly scratched and bruised. The sleeve hung in strips, as did the rest of his shirt.

His face and hands burned in more than a dozen places where the wasps had stung. He felt his cheeks beginning to puff. His eyes pinched. He tried to push to his feet, but his whole body hurt. He managed to sit up and take stock of his situation as the swelling almost closed his eyes.

It had not occurred to him that the windmill and open tank provided a hospitable breeding ground for wasps in a region where water was scarce.

He began feeling nauseated as the venom took hold. Vision blurring, he was unable to see his horse. He did not know how far the animal might have run. He crawled on hands and knees to where his boot had fallen from the stirrup. Painfully he pulled it on. Thirst began to plague him, but he did not want to try for the windmill again. He could still hear the angry wasps.

He wished he and Len had not split up. He had no idea how far Len might go in following those other tracks. When he returned to the rendezvous point Len was likely to wait awhile before deciding to follow Andy and see what had delayed him. By then it would probably be dark, and he would be unable to see tracks until daylight.

No telling how long I’ll be here by myself, he thought.

His canteen was empty, and Len had the pack mule with all their provisions. At the moment Andy was too ill to eat, but sooner or later he would be hungry as well as thirsty.

Damn wasps, he thought. They say the Lord had a purpose for everything He made, but I don’t see any reason for wasps.

He crawled into the thin shade of a mesquite tree and wished it were as solid as an oak.

Dusk came. He knew he would be by himself at least until morning. His blanket had been tied to his saddle, and the saddle was still on the horse. He resigned himself to sleeping on the bare ground, hungry and thirsty.

As darkness closed in, he heard something moving about. He paid little attention at first, for cattle had been coming up for water. Most seemed not to notice him. Those that saw or smelled him kept an uneasy distance. His blurry eyes made out the shape of a horse, his horse. It looked strange until he realized that the saddle had turned under its belly. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs aching. He spoke in a soft voice as he moved slowly and painfully toward the horse.

“
Whoa, son. Gentle now. Whoa.”

Grasping for the reins, he found one had broken off just below the bits. Holding the other, he patted the horse on the neck and rubbed his hand down its shoulder, then felt for the girth’s buckle. The horse almost jerked away from him as the saddle dropped between its feet.

“
Easy, boy. Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to hurt you now.”

Andy figured the wasps had become inactive for the night. Deciding to take a chance, he led the horse to the farthest end of the surface tank. There he let it drink. Hearing no buzzing, he took an even larger chance and walked to the end of the outlet pipe. Cupping his hand beneath the flow, he drank until his stomach ached.

He disliked tying the horse up short, but his rope had been lost. He had nothing to lengthen the one remaining rein. He tied it to a mesquite limb. He was disappointed to find that his blanket was gone. It had probably snagged on a bush and pulled loose.

He had already made up his mind he would be sleeping on the bare ground, so he was no worse off than before.

Andy spent a long and fitful night trying in vain to find a comfortable position. The itching was so intense that he could not help scratching the bites. That made them burn worse than before. He knew there were ointments that might help, but they had just as well be on the far side of the moon. He tried to remember if the Comanches had any remedy. Nothing came to mind.

Thirst told him he was running a slight fever. He drank his fill before dawn set the wasps to stirring again. He could see better than the evening before, but he still felt as if he were peering through a slit in a wall.

“
Damn you, Len, hurry up.”

Andy figured it must be around noon when Len finally appeared, following tracks from the south. He reined up and stared at Andy as if he were an apparition. He declared, “You look like wild horses have stomped on you.”

Andy warned, “Don’t get too close to that windmill. There’s a jillion wasps in there, and every one of them is mad.”

“
You let a few little old wasps do all that to you?”

“
When they hit you, you’ll think they’re the size of a cow.” He told how his horse had thrown him and run away, losing his blanket and rope.

Len said, “I’ll see if I can find them.”

He came back in a while, carrying both items. The blanket was dirty and torn. He said, “Bet you ain’t had nothin’ to eat. I’ll fix you some dinner.”

Andy had begun to feel strong hunger pangs, a sign of improvement. Len roasted bacon on a stick. Andy eagerly bit in without waiting for it to cool.

Len said, “I’m fixin’ to do somethin’ about that wasps’ nest.” He pulled several handfuls of dry grass and wrapped them around the end of a thin dead branch from a mesquite. He dipped the grass into the fire, then carried the blazing stick to the windmill tower. He shoved it under the nest. A few wasps came buzzing out, but most were consumed by the fire.

Andy heard Len exclaim, “Uh-oh!” The flames licked upward along the tower’s wooden leg, burning the oil spilled from the top. Len stepped back, swatting at a couple of wasps that had focused upon him as a target. “Looks like I’ve just played hell.”

Andy said, “Throw some water on it.”

“
Too late for that, even if I had a bucket.”

The flames intensified. Len backed away from the heat. “I think me and you had better mosey along. Jericho is apt to be a little put out about his windmill.”

He saddled Andy’s horse and shook out the dusty blanket, folded it, and tied it behind the cantle. Andy felt stiff. Swinging up onto the horse reawakened all of yesterday’s soreness. The two horses and the mule danced uneasily, fearing the fire.

Len kicked sand over the small blaze on which he had fixed Andy’s meager breakfast. “If they saw this,” he said, “they’d know somebody camped here and set fire to the windmill.”

“
How else would it have burned?”

“
Lightnin’.”

Squinty-eyed, Andy looked up but saw no clouds. “Yeah, they’ll sure be fooled, all right.”

Riding south, Andy asked, “Did you find anything?”

“
A few miles from where I left you, the bunch I followed stopped at an old Mexican ranch house. Jericho probably uses it as a line camp. Remind me to put it on the map when we get back to the company. What did you find?”

“
A jillion wasps.” Andy looked back. The fire had climbed up to the tower’s platform. Once it burned all the wooden support and the cypress, the metal parts would crash to the ground. He said, “I’ll bet that mill cost a hundred dollars.”

“
Jericho can afford it. His crew’ll steal more than that between dinner and supper.”

They had traveled a couple of miles when Len said, “Four riders comin’ our way.” Andy’s vision had not improved enough for him to see them. Len said, “It’s too late to hide. Let’s just play innocent.”

Len always had an innocent look about him, even when he was guiltiest.

As the horsemen came near enough for Andy to see them, he noted that a large man rode half a length ahead of the others. He said, “I’ll bet that’s Jericho.”

“
Yep, you’re about to meet the big stud his own self. Don’t act like you give a damn. He’s built himself a little empire by makin’ people afraid of him.”

“
From what I’ve heard, they’ve got a right to be afraid.”

“
Me and you can’t afford to be. Show him the feather and he’ll ride plumb over you.”

Jericho Jackson looked to be more than six feet tall and stocky enough to weigh considerably over two hundred pounds. He was not fat, simply large. He rode a gray horse bigger than those of the three cowboys beside him. He had a reddish complexion and hair and beard of a strong rust color, not unlike Rusty Shannon’s. His dark brown eyes fastened first on Andy, then on Len with a startling intensity. He recognized Len, though he probably could not have called him by name.