Ranger's Trail

by Darlene Franklin

  Lisel took the bowl of egg whites. Her face revealed nothing more than serious concentration as she whipped the egg whites. A good German hausfrau.

  “I confess, I’d rather be outside most days.” Stella looked out the window. “I like growing plants more than cooking them.”

  “Wande loves a garden. Does she still sell vegetables at market?”

  “Yes. Everyone in Victoria comes to her for her Gewuerzgurken and fresh vegetables.” A pang of homesickness swept over Stella. If she found adventure and love here so far away from home, she would never spend her Saturdays visiting with their neighbors in Victoria again.

  Horses raced into the yard. Buck among the riders. A slender body slumped in front of Onkel Georg: Fred.

  Tante Ertha moaned and ran for the door. Lisel looked up from the egg whites, which had formed soft peaks.

  “Fred’s been hurt.” Stella dunked the last egg yolk in the bowl and headed for the door.

  Before she made it outside, Onkel Georg filled the frame, Fred’s still body in his arms. Buck followed close behind. Stella jumped out of the way, and her uncle brushed past her, carrying his son into the parlor where he laid him on the couch. “Henry, go for the doctor.”

  “Dr. Tardiff won’t be at his office.” Stella cleared her throat. “Yesterday he said he couldn’t come by the Denning Ranch this morning because he had promised to check out a couple of cases of measles.”

  Tante Ertha was on her knees leaning over her son. “Friedrich? Can you hear me?” She pressed her ear to Fred’s chest. The room came to absolute stillness as she listened. When she lifted her head, they released a collective breath. “He’s still alive.”

  Lisel brought in a bowl of steaming water, soap, and a mean-looking knife. Buck came to life. “I’ve done this before.”

  Stella stumbled. Her knees buckled at the sight of the knife taking its first cut.

  “Come, cousin.” Henry put his arm around her shoulders.

  “No. Let me stay.” He led her to a chair and helped her sit. Closing her eyes, her lips moving in prayer. He returned his attention to his brother.

  Fred looked so impossibly young, younger than his years laid out still as he was, as innocent as Henry’s two little girls. As Buck worked, Fred’s breath came out in ragged gasps, a bit like a fish trying to breath in air. Henry’s own breath labored as his brother struggled.

  When at last Buck finished, Ma took his place by Fred’s side, his head in her lap, holding his hand, head bowed in prayer.

  Cooley had a lot to answer for. Henry wanted to go get Schmidt and Hinke and chase him down. Make him pay.

  His father noticed Fred’s slight movement and shook his head.

  Fred wouldn’t last long.

  Henry wanted to plant a bullet straight between Cooley’s eyes.

  Stella wasn’t a stranger to blood. She had bandaged her nephew’s scrapes and even set a broken leg one time.

  But she’d never dug a bullet out of someone. She wasn’t living up to the standard set by her heroine Clara Barton, a ministering angel to the men she nursed during the War Between the States.

  After Buck finished, he washed his hands in the bowl of water and dried his hands, then came toward her.

  “Tell Tante Ertha and Onkel Georg I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Ranger business?”

  “There’s nothing more I can do here. Steve and Jim went after Cooley. If they catch up with him, they’ll need help.” He stepped closer to her. “There’s something else you should know. Andy Warren was with Cooley.”

  She gasped. “Leta’s brother?”

  He nodded. “I hoped I was wrong but … I’m afraid Andy and maybe Leta too are meting out justice without benefit of law. I don’t want you back there until we’ve sorted it out.”

  “Buck?”

  He paused on his way out the door.

  “Can’t you wait a little while? Until …” She nodded in the direction of the parlor. She hated the tremor in her voice. “They need you. I need you.” She began crying.

  Buck cradled her quivering body in his arms. He knew he could not leave yet.

  Jim Cheyney had been shot, not Dan Hoerster. All of Mason was in an uproar.

  Leta pushed down the fear. She needed to finish her weekly shopping. Miss Moneypenny, the teacher, had agreed to meet with Leta and Ricky on Saturday. Perhaps she was overanxious, but she wanted to learn how Ricky was doing. She was determined that Ricky could read the Bible and do basic sums. More, if he wanted it. She’d love for him to become a doctor or a lawyer or a pastor. Big dreams for a poor rancher’s son.

  She’d feel better if they lived closer to the school. Maybe she should seek a job in town that would support them. Give up the ranch, especially if Andy … moved on. She didn’t know what she would say if he came home tonight.

  Her head hurt. Texas had always been her home, but for the first time, she wished she lived in a more settled part of the country. Maybe if she sold the ranch.

  No, if she sold the ranch, she’d be lucky if she was left with enough money to buy train tickets. Maybe Ricky could ride for free. Still, she didn’t know where she’d go or how she would support a family.

  Andy and Ricky would wither in the confines of a city, away from the space to ride and the rhythms of ranch life. So would she.

  No. Mason County was home, and like marriage, it was for better or for worse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MASON COUNTY NEWS

  January 6, 1893

  Mankind ever stands appalled before the impenetrable mystery of death. No voice has ever broken the somber silence of the grave, but God in the wisdom of His Revelation has responded to the yearnings of the soul and faith gives us a vision of the “city not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

  A sharp cry rent the air, shocking Buck out of his light doze. Tante Ertha flung herself across Fred’s still form, sobs racking her body. “Why? God in heaven, why? He was just a boy who did no harm to anyone.”

  Dr. Tardiff had come at last in the early evening, but offered no hope. “Keep him as comfortable as possible … and pray.” The family kept watch all night, while Fred’s breathing slowed. From what Buck observed, his death was quiet and peaceful. No fever, no delirium—only his life seeping senselessly away.

  Fred’s needless death weighed on Buck. He would stay with his family long enough to bury his cousin—and then he would add very personal reasons to chasing down Cooley.

  Not only Cooley, but also the people with him—including Andy Warren. He was close to Fred in age, and yet far removed in experience. Why, God, indeed? Why Fred, who had never harmed anyone, and not Henry? Not that Buck wanted Henry to die, but it would have made a kind of poetic justice.

  Some people would call the death of poor Fred God’s will. Buck didn’t believe that way. God allowed it to happen, but it was no more His will than Satan’s rebellion in heaven. The Rangers had ignored Cooley’s part in this hoodoo, bad luck, long enough.

  Buck closed Fred’s eyes and placed his arms under his chest and knees before picking him up. “Where do you want him laid out?”

  Tante Ertha pointed down the hall to the bedroom she shared with Onkel Georg. Buck used his bulk to shield the family from the sight of Fred’s limp body in his arms. After spreading a clean sheet across the quilt, he laid down his cousin. He had seen plenty of dead bodies before, but rarely one so young, and never one from a gunshot wound. He closed his eyes. “Lord, I trust Fred is with You now. So I won’t pray for him. But his family here is hurting.”

  Buck’s conscience reminded him that other families in Mason had suffered loss. Most of them had done something to bring anger on themselves. The mob activity had started over cattle theft and been raised to the level of murder.

  Guilt overwhelmed Buck as he gazed at his cousin. As a Ranger, he had made life-and-death decisions before. Command and responsibility carried risk, and he had killed men in battle.

  But this … the clo
sest Buck had felt to this guilt was when he saw a Comanche mother and child killed during one of their scouts. The brave’s family was no threat to white settlers. After the event, Buck debated resigning his commission. He held off until he could speak with Major Jones. By the time he saw the major again, he had changed his mind.

  The door opened, and Tante Ertha and Lisel entered. “We’ll take over from here. Thank you for everything.”

  Buck turned his head, so they wouldn’t see the tears that blurred his vision. His aunt wouldn’t thank him if she knew the truth. That he was responsible for Fred’s death. Anger and guilt propelled him toward the door.

  “We’ll hold the funeral tomorrow. Henry is going to town, to ask if Reverend Stricker can come say a few words. We can’t wait any longer than that.” Tante Ertha’s voice broke. “It will be the first family member buried in our cemetery. We’ve only had one ranch hand die. We’ve considered ourselves so blessed, and then this happens …”

  “We have to accept God’s will,” Lisel said.

  A gasp from the door alerted Buck to Stella’s presence. She opened her mouth, but Buck shook his head and guided her back to the main room. Under her breath, she sputtered, “God’s will doesn’t include murder.”

  Thou shalt not kill. Buck didn’t like to think of all the men who had died at his hands. “No, but God promises to work everything for good. That gives people comfort.” He pulled her close, cradling her head against his chest the way he had when she was little. “Even when illness took two of Ma’s siblings and the Comanche captured Aunt Billie, our parents never gave up their faith in God.” His hold on her tightened. “I have to believe in God’s goodness. Or else nothing makes any sense.”

  She clung to him, crying. His sister had gained a new and terrible knowledge, akin to that Eve gained from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. She pulled away and patted his chest. “Go capture the guys who did this.” Her voice turned cold. “No other family should go through this. Not if you can do something to stop it.”

  “I’m on my way. As soon as I get a letter off.” He borrowed pen and paper from Onkel Georg. In a quiet corner of his room, he wrote the letter he should have written long ago. He would detail everything he knew and suspected. He would beg Major Jones to commit the Rangers to stay in Mason County until things settled, one way or the other.

  Major Jones:

  The Texas Rangers must go to Mason County to preserve the peace and to remain until further notice. The situation is critical. Company D should abandon the Indian scout and return to Mason with all speed.

  I realize you may choose to bring action against me for not passing on the names Mrs. Denning gave to me earlier. I have no excuse, except a desire to confirm her suspicions and to catch Cooley in an act of violence. Anything you do cannot be worse than the death of my cousin because of my cautious approach.

  I also recognize that you must pursue Heinrich Fleischer’s (Henry Fletcher’s) involvement in the German mob.

  I cannot endure watching the remainder of my uncle’s family destroyed. I am tendering my resignation immediately.

  Sgt. William Meino Morgan

  He addressed an envelope. He would send it the next time he reached a post office. First he would find Jim and Steve. He wouldn’t abandon them until Company D returned. He grabbed a stamp from the parlor desk and stuck it on the envelope, blowing on the ink of the address to let it dry.

  “I am so glad to meet you, Mrs. Denning.” Fresh out of school in Arkansas, Miss Moneypenny had started teaching Mason’s school the previous week. Arkansas was far enough way that she might not have heard about the war in Mason County. She hadn’t mentioned the most recent death, Jim Cheyney, and Leta wouldn’t mention it if she didn’t.

  “I wish all our parents were as interested in their children’s schooling as you are. Of course, it’s early in the year.”

  They’d be more interested if they weren’t worried about survival. “Education is an advantage I want my son to have. He likes stories. I’m hoping he’ll like to read.”

  “He already knows the alphabet.” Miss Moneypenny glanced at the chalkboard, where all twenty-six letters of the alphabet were written in block letters as well as cursive. “What letter does your name start with?” Miss Moneypenny smiled at him, confident of his answer.

  “D. Like dog.”

  Miss Moneypenny cast a confused look at Leta. “Ricky starts with R, not with D.”

  Ricky giggled. “My real name is Derrick. D-e-r-r-i-c-k. I know how to spell it.” He ran to the chalkboard and wrote it down.

  “He’s named for his father. We called him Ricky, to tell them apart.”

  “His father died when the awfulness started last summer?”

  So the young woman had heard about the town’s troubled history. “If you know our recent history, Miss Moneypenny, I’m surprised you came to Mason.”

  “It’s Julia. Let’s talk. But first—” She walked to her desk and pulled out a spelling book. “Ricky, I need your help next week. Here are our spelling words. Can you read them?”

  He looked at her scornfully. “Of course. C-a-t, cat. R-a-t, rat. B-a-t, bat.” He read through the list with ease, and Leta allowed herself a moment of pride.

  “I’d like you to memorize them in order and make up sentences. And for a treat, why don’t you go outside while you work on it.”

  Once Ricky had closed the door, Julia took a seat beside Leta. “My reason for coming to Mason may sound foolish. I felt called. Of all the people damaged by war, children always suffer the most. Several of them are in my class. I was hoping to bring healing to children from both factions, but … none of the German families have sent their children to my school.” She looked out the window. “I fear they will learn to hate from their parents unless something changes. Mason will need its own Reconstruction, and I pray we do a better job than the folks in Washington did.”

  Leta sat back. Was she passing on her own hatred and distrust to her brother and son? “Don’t you believe in justice?”

  “Justice, yes. Revenge, no. ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ Romans 12:19.” Julia turned into a schoolmarm for a moment. “I know this all started when people thought a trial ended in the wrong verdict.”

  Oh, Derrick.

  “But if people start keeping score—it will be like things were after the War Between the States. From what I have heard of President Lincoln, things would have gone much better if he had lived to see things through, instead of President Johnson.”

  “Here in Mason, we started out with a sheriff who took one side over the other.”

  “So I’ve heard. We’ll have to pray God sends someone new. But my job—besides prayer, of course—is to help the poor young ones left behind. Including Ricky. He chatters a lot—that’s his biggest problem.”

  “Use whatever discipline you feel is needed.” Nothing Leta tried made much difference, but this teacher seemed so competent.

  “I will, if it’s necessary.” Julia smiled. “He gets bored easily. My biggest job will be to keep him too busy to get bored.” The laughter in her eyes said how much she enjoyed the challenge.

  “I’m so glad we had this chance to talk. I’ll be praying about your calling. God brought you here for a special purpose, I’m sure of it. And now I won’t keep you any longer.” Leta stood. Julia and Stella, both young women with drive and determination, must be about the same age. Leta didn’t think she ever felt so certain of herself, so open to new experiences. Ricky was blessed to have Miss Julia Moneypenny for a teacher.

  Ricky dashed inside the school. “I know the words, Miss Moneypenny.” He listed ten rhyming words. Eyes twinkling, he said, “I made up a poem with the words.”

  “Wonderful!” Julia clapped her hands. “Ask your mother to help you write it out, and bring it on Monday.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Maybe the future in Mason held promise after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SAN
ANTONIO DAILY EXPRESS

  November 23, 1875

  Then again on Saturday night a party supposed to be the Cooley party came to town heavily armed, but were pursued by the Rangers and three of their number captured, and as rumor has it, Cooley himself was wounded. The Rangers are still in pursuit …

  Buck stared at the loose pebbles under his feet. He had caught up with Jim and Steve about an hour before. Looking across the valley, he realized the spot he had chosen was a poor place for an ambush. After the shooting started, Cooley lit out over the rocks. Jim and Steve followed, looking for a place where the two of them could take down more than a dozen men. But they lost the trail heading around the mountain.

  “If it was just a matter of bringing them in dead or alive, we could have done it. But we figured killing them would just start the whole cycle all over again.”

  “They need to be tried and punished in a court of law.” Buck shook his head. “It’s my fault. I should have set the meet in a different place.” He thought of Andy and the approach from the Denning ranch. The route cut across the Llano and ran through trees and pastureland, easy enough for a tracker. “I should have come with you.”

  “Don’t say that. You had to see to your cousin.” Jim tilted his head in his direction. “How’s your family taking his death? Breathing fire and vengeance like everybody else?”

  Henry probably was. Buck’s stomach clenched. “Might be. And I don’t altogether blame them.” When the other two exchanged glances, he held up a hand. “I’ll stop them, if they try.”

  Jim pulled his horse up. “We’re a ways from our camp. I’m worn out. I say we stop here for the night and rest up. I got the makings for coffee and bacon in my saddlebag.”