Ranger's Trail

by Darlene Franklin

  The fact he had set Andy up tasted bitter on his tongue. “What a mess. Your brother running with Cooley. My cousin, dead.” To think he used to complain to his cousin Riley because he missed fighting in the War Between the States. Four years of neighbor killing neighbor instead of the one year Mason County had suffered so far.

  “I met with Ricky’s teacher yesterday.” The creaking of the rocker stopped, and Leta stood to get coffee for them both. “Julia—Miss Moneypenny—said she wanted to see if she could help us avoid what Reconstruction has done to the South. She’s good, Buck. She’s going to help Ricky and the others get through this.” She ground coffee and put it into the pot, filled it with water, and put it on to boil. “But I’m afraid it may be too late for Andy. He’s been angry for a long time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  AUSTIN DAILY STATESMAN

  October 17, 1875

  The Germans, who as a class are farmers, and have small gentle stocks of cattle, accused the stockmen of stealing their cattle, and complained that the courts afforded them no protection.

  Silence fell between Buck and Leta, both wrapped as they were in their own thoughts. The coffee finished brewing. Leta poured two cups and cut a few slices of bread, bringing out butter and honey and a slab of ham she was saving for Ricky’s lunch bucket. She’d boil an egg for him. Buck looked hungry. Leta wondered if with the death of his cousin, Buck would turn into another Scott Cooley—quitting the Rangers and chasing after the men who had killed his cousin. In her deepest heart, she couldn’t believe she was feeding the enemy at her table, but a small doubt remained. He finished the ham and drank a second cup of coffee. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “Thank you for the food.”

  “You’re welcome. But please … leave now. I need time to consider what you have said.”

  His face twisted, showing his conflicting emotions clearer than any words he might say. “Do you mind if I come back from time to time?”

  “So you can check if Andy comes back?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But I do want you to leave for now.”

  He stood and headed for the door. “I’ll be seeing you.” He smiled, the smile that warmed her straight down to the coldest reaches of her heart. “I wish things were different.”

  “So do I.” He twirled his hat on his finger. “I would like to speak with Andy. I don’t want to hurt him. Maybe I can convince him to change his ways.” His smile changed to that twisted, halfhearted version. “I have to at least try.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t betray my brother.”

  “I understand. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace. That’s an old benediction.” With a final nod of his head, he disappeared into the night.

  God’s peace, in this time and place? How foolish could the man be? A part of Leta wanted to call him back, to tell him he could return anytime he wanted. He was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time.

  The rest of her—the part that had followed her father from town to town and watched her husband die—knew different. He was a man, no more, no less. A Ranger bent on avenging his cousin, any means used justified by a commission from the governor. She shivered.

  She lit the stove under her kettle and changed into her night shift. Once the water warmed, she unwrapped the bar of rose-scented soap she saved for special times. Dragging the pins out of her hair, she let it cascade over her shoulders. Derrick had loved to run his hands through her hair when it was down. He said it was no wonder God called hair a woman’s crowning glory. She picked up a loose strand—tangled, unwashed. She never would have let it get this way when Derrick was still alive.

  She lifted the soap to her nose and breathed deeply. She and Derrick had spent their wedding night at a hotel in Austin. The claw-footed tub had amazed her, and she had luxuriated in rose-scented water and lavender soap. Every year on their anniversary, Derrick brought her a bar of rose soap and one of lavender. This rose bar was the last she had from her husband.

  Derrick was dead, Andy had disappeared, but she was still here. In spite of the late hour, she longed to feel clean, to be cleansed of all the horrible things that had happened over the past twelve months. A sponge bath would help her relax. She worked the soap into a lather and washed up. After pouring the water out the door, she refilled the basin again and washed her hair. Back in the rocker, she rubbed her hair until it was nearly dry, then brushed through the tangles. She brought a strand to her nose, breathing in the rose scent. She wove it into a braid for the morning.

  Leta’s Bible beckoned to her from her nightstand, but she didn’t want any more reminders about leaving vengeance to God, loving her enemy, and doing good to those who used her wrongly. Lord, You have to change my heart. I’m no saint. She tossed and turned, sleeping in short snatches, until the rooster crowed.

  Her eyes flew open. From behind the curtain, she heard Ricky’s deep breathing. At least he had no trouble sleeping. He’d had a late night. She’d give him a few more minutes while she fixed his lunch bucket for school.

  The hens had produced extra eggs this morning. A small sliver of ham remained. She’d fry that up and scramble it with the rest of the eggs. She whipped up cornbread and added buttered bread to the lunch bucket. With the addition of two peaches she had picked last week, he had plenty to eat. Today she would bake fresh bread.

  She chopped the ham and stirred it with the eggs, then went to wake Ricky. As he woke up, she melted butter in her frying pan and poured the egg and ham mixture in. Fragrant aromas teased a grumble from her stomach.

  Over breakfast, she quizzed Ricky on the spelling words—he knew them all. She left the bread dough to rise when he left for school. “Take things slow coming home. Don’t make Shadow run fast. Promise me?” She kissed his cheek.

  “Aw, Ma.” He raised his hand to his cheek and rubbed at the spot where she had kissed him.

  “I’ll have sugar cookies ready for you when you get home.” She watched him ride away at a slow pace, which she suspected he would increase as soon as he left her line of sight. If only his speed on a horse was the greatest danger facing him.

  The day sped by, baking bread and cookies interspersed with doing daily chores and Monday laundry. The barn was surprisingly clean; Buck must have done this last night. His help around the ranch had made a big difference. And I told him not to come back. Without Buck’s help, or Andy’s, she would have to hire help. But whom? Maybe she could advertise in a county removed from the suspicions swirling among Mason County’s population.

  After dinner, she pocketed several wrapped cookies and took her horse down the road to meet Ricky for a picnic as he came home from school. On the way, she checked to make sure nothing else had happened to her cattle. When she reached the bend in the road that led toward town, Ricky still hadn’t appeared. At the side of the road she spotted a cluster of wildflowers. They’d make a pretty centerpiece on her table. She hadn’t had any new flowers since Ricky brought her dandelions last spring.

  After tying her horse to the tree, Leta stood among the wildflowers, blackfoot daisies and goldenrods and black daleas, breathing in their fresh scents, not caring when she sneezed. They had sprung to new life after that horrible storm late last month, extending the summer growing season. Mist blew on the breeze, hinting at an afternoon rain.

  “Hi,” a boy’s voice said. “Are you Ricky’s ma?”

  Leta turned in the direction of the voice. A slender boy, a little older than Ricky, stood on the road.

  “I am.” She joined him on the road. “What’s your name?”

  “Peter Madison. My friends call me Pete.”

  Leta smiled. “Hi, Pete. Have you seen Ricky since school let out?”

  He looked at the ground, shifting from foot to foot. “Not exactly.”

  The good mood Leta had fostered since last night disappeared. “When did you see him?”

  “He asked me to give you this.” Pete
thrust a piece of paper at her. “I hope it’s all right, Mrs. Denning.” He twisted his body and took off at a run.

  The mist turned to raindrops that landed on Leta’s head like pebbles. She unfolded the piece of paper. Ricky’s pencil scrawl shouted at her.

  I go to Andee here.

  He had drawn a picture of a cave surrounded by cottonwoods, next to a river.

  A scream pushed up from Leta’s heart through her throat and out her mouth. She jumped on the horse’s back, bunching up her skirts to ride astride, not caring about propriety. Her horse sprang to action, racing for town, pushed by the storm winds at her back.

  “Ricky! Ricky!”

  Buck stopped in his tracks, two steps away from dropping his letter to Major Jones at the post office. He turned and saw Leta on horseback, riding up the main street of Mason and calling for her son wildly. He rode up to her on Blaze.

  “What has happened to Ricky?”

  Leta couldn’t speak. She thrust her hand toward him. He brought Blaze a few inches closer and leaned forward to take the note. He read the brief message.

  “He’s gone after Andy?” Buck blew out his breath.

  She nodded, looking around her. “He left for school this morning as usual. I was riding into town, to take Ricky on a picnic, and ran into one of his friends. A boy a little bit bigger than Ricky.”

  Buck thought back to the street scene. “I saw some boys on the edge of town. A couple of them maybe that age. Let’s see, brown hair, long arms, brown shirt?”

  She shook her head again and started toward town, at a pace they could talk. Her head turned from side to side, looking at open fields and distant farmhouses. “His hair was kind of blond. Wearing a blue shirt, squinting, like maybe he needed glasses?” She turned it into a question, looking at him for confirmation.

  “Sorry, no.” They reached the edge of town, where the schoolhouse was located. She slowed down. That made sense. “Do you mind if I come with you? I want to help …”

  His voice trailed off at her helpless expression. “You could try to make sense out of Ricky’s map.” Pinching her lips together, she said, “Or you could come with me.”

  “I’ll come with you, then. Another body can help.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you in town. I thought you’d be off somewhere else, far away, taking care of Ranger business.”

  Buck thought about the letter of resignation still tucked into his pocket. He had spent a night and day debating about whether or not to mail the thing. Once again, circumstances had intervened. He was still officially a Ranger. “Following up some loose ends, that’s all.”

  Another time he might tell her today was spent reading through the transcripts of the trial last year that had precipitated the violence. The law was confusing, the evidence inconclusive, and even so, the men brought to trial were convicted and fined. Only Derrick Denning was found not guilty.

  Buck thought the jury did a fair job. But a number of German citizens felt that—despite the convictions of cattle rustling and punishment in the form of fines—that wasn’t enough. The guilty parties should pay with their lives, the mob decided, and began their reign of terror.

  Fred was only the latest victim of that trial. Ricky’s, and even Andy’s, behavior, grew out of the circumstances. Murder demanded justice. When justice was denied, it brought about vengeance.

  They arrived at the schoolhouse, and Buck helped her down from her horse. “Let me see if Julia is here.” She straightened her skirts and opened the school door. “Julia? Miss Moneypenny?

  “Mrs. Denning.”

  Leta nodded and Buck followed them into them into the classroom. The odors of chalk dust and pencil lead assailed him, sending him back to his own days in the classroom. A map of the United States included the states of West Virginia, Nevada, and Nebraska, which had joined the Union after the War Between the States broke out. During his childhood, the maps kept changing: the United States, the Confederacy. Several flags had flown over Texas since the first European French had built a fort in the seventeenth century. The atmosphere in the schoolhouse felt familiar, welcoming—safe.

  “This is Buck Morgan, a Texas Ranger. Tell us, did Ricky show up to school today?” Panic laced Leta’s eyes as she relayed the encounter described by Peter.

  “No, Ricky didn’t come to school today.” The curly haired teacher looked confused. “I assumed he had fallen ill.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I find the houses closed [with] a deathlike stillness in the place and an evident suspense if not dread in the minds of the inhabitants. Every man is armed but so far as I have been able to ascertain there is no body of armed men in or near the place, at present.

  Correspondence between Major John B. Jones and Adjutant General William Steele September 28, 1875

  Buck wanted to rip the teacher apart, to demand why she hadn’t questioned Ricky’s absence. But he knew his anger was foolish. The poor woman had done nothing wrong.

  Miss Moneypenny was young, perhaps even as young as Stella. She sank onto the chair behind her desk in obvious distress. “I thought about checking with you if Ricky didn’t come again tomorrow. He was so excited when we visited on Saturday, I thought he would walk to school even if he had to walk barefoot over hot coals. No wonder Peter was fidgeting so today.”

  Buck told himself to calm down. He had no claim on Ricky. He was a family friend—no more, perhaps less. One missing child wasn’t the concern of a Texas Ranger, committed to protect his state, his community—not just a single family.

  He turned his attention back to the conversation.

  “—this looks like Loyal Valley.” Leta looked at Buck. “Like the place you were telling me about.” Her eyes dared him to disagree.

  He picked up the sketch. “Trees, water, cave. There must be a dozen places like this scattered across Mason County.”

  Leta’s lips thinned. “There aren’t any I know of outside of Loyal Valley, the heart of Deutschland. And my son went there.”

  Buck clamped his teeth together, biting off the words he wanted to spew. The so-called German mob wouldn’t hurt a child. Violence caught innocents as well as enemies in the crossfire. Arguments didn’t matter. Actions did. “How can I help?”

  Leta turned serious brown eyes on Buck. “I want you to take me to the place where the shootout took place. He’s near there, I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “We need help. I would suggest you bring Steve and Jim, but they don’t know the land. You already tried tracking them down, and couldn’t find them. So—would your family be willing to lend their ranch hands? I know they are in mourning.” A small smile softened her lips. “Besides, I need to borrow a split skirt from Stella.”

  Leta let her horse follow Buck, trusting him to lead her straight. She was following her heart, trusting the man who had labored over training Shadow for Ricky. She hoped she wasn’t traipsing after the man who wanted to capture her brother at whatever cost.

  She shook her head to clear her mind of doubts. Buck would do his very best for Ricky, she was certain. So many hours in the saddle left her sore; she hoped a split skirt would make riding more comfortable. But she would ride until she fell off the horse, if it meant finding Ricky.

  Buck didn’t break the silence, but maybe conversation would take her mind off her sore muscles. “Tell me more about your family. I haven’t heard of any Morgans in the area, but there’s a lot of people I don’t know. What’s their ranch?”

  Buck’s back stiffened, causing an awkward bump in the saddle. “They live at the Lazy F Ranch.”

  Lazy F … That meant their name probably began with F. She sorted through the possibilities. “Is it John Faris?”

  He shook his head.

  “It must be Frank Eastwood, then.” She couldn’t think of any other potential families. “No.”

  “I give up. Who is it?” The horses were climbing as they left the banks o
f the Llano and heading into Loyal Valley.

  His face stayed firmly ahead. “George Fletcher is my mother’s brother.”

  “Fletcher.” The name echoed in her mind. It couldn’t be. It must be. “Henry Fletcher is your cousin? You’re German?” She reined her horse to a stop.

  Pulling up Blaze, he looked at her.

  “Yes, and yes. Half German. My uncle was born Georg Fleischer and came to Texas in 1845. But he’s as American as you and I are, Leta. He changed his name to an English form to make himself fit in.”

  Leta stared down the road, not seeing anything. “Henry has different ideas.” She wanted to turn around, to run home. “How could you not tell me? Your cousin helped kill my husband.”

  “I knew it would upset you. My cousin and your brother both got caught up in events. I doubt either one of them intended murder.”

  “Your cousin was there when they put a noose around Derrick’s neck and hung him from a tree.”

  “Andy was there when they pulled guns on Fred.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t go there. Henry must know who I am.”

  Buck’s heart wilted at the panic in Leta’s voice. “This is not about Derrick or Andy or Henry. They’re just ordinary people, Leta. My family will help you look for Ricky.”

  “We’re calling a ceasefire in the middle of a war?” Leta looked at the hill in front of them. If only she could do this by herself and didn’t need anyone’s help.

  “I will talk with them first, if you feel safe waiting here.”

  She looked to her right and then to her left. “I am in German country hunting for an outlaw mob that might have my son.” Some of the anger seeped out of her, and she shrank back on the saddle. “I’m scared to stay alone.”

  “Leta, I won’t let anything harm you.”

  She looked at him a long moment. “I know.” She straightened in the saddle. “Let’s go.”