Ranger's Trail

by Darlene Franklin

Buck took the cup Leta handed to him and drained it without speaking.

  “What are you going to do?” Stella spoke, but Leta’s eyes asked the question.

  Buck only shook his head. The sadness he felt at that moment was something he couldn’t put into words.

  Leta cast one last look at their impromptu campsite. She had lived all nine of a cat’s lives in the past twenty-four hours, but finding Ricky unharmed and having a good night’s sleep had restored a few of them. As expected, the worst consequence of yesterday’s events was her sore muscles. She stared at the saddle, wishing she could reach the seat without climbing.

  Buck came beside her. “Let me help.” He lifted her as if she was as light as a cotton ball and set her on the saddle. “You were incredible yesterday.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and she turned away. Calm down. “How do you balance the demands? Justice pulls on you from both sides. Don’t you feel split down the middle?” She turned her face in time to catch a look of such pain crossing his features that she felt like she had seen his soul. She averted her face, knowing she wasn’t meant to see that.

  “I’m both. I’m neither. And I have to decide what to do about it. Justice may be blind, but vengeance comes in a thousand forms. But how do I know which is which?”

  She was glad she was on the horse. Otherwise she might throw her arms around him, and that would be a bad thing. “You’ll figure it out. God promises to give wisdom to anyone who asks.” Now she was quoting platitudes. “I mean, it won’t be easy. God won’t write His will in the stars. But whatever decision you reach, God will help you get there.”

  “So you found the boy.” Henry repeated his question to Jeff.

  “He’s a plucky kid. Wet and freezing, he managed to find shelter and was trying to start a fire.” Slim tilted his hat back. “Reminded me of you when you were that age.”

  Henry’s mouth twisted. Derrick Denning had been a mistake, but he couldn’t go back and change it. And once he had witnessed that rough justice, he couldn’t back out. Hadn’t wanted to, until Cooley arrived and then Fred died.

  “Did you see any sign of Cooley?”

  Slim and Jeff exchanged a look. “We couldn’t see much in the rain. Do you want us to go out and check?”

  Henry considered it for a minute before he shook his head. “No.” He had a better idea: get Schmidt and Hinke involved. Together they could concoct a plan that would address the problem of Scott Cooley and Andy Warren.

  He wanted a plan in place before he addressed his cousin again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The undersigned citizens of Loyal Valley are under the impression that you are in command of the State Troops sent to this county to suppress disturbances and to aid in keeping up peace and good order.

  Petition, Citizens of Loyal Valley

  to Major John B. Jones

  October 4, 1875

  After escorting Stella, Leta, and Ricky to their respective ranches, Buck headed south for a meeting with Major Jones at the Kirschberg Ridge. A face-to-face meeting would relieve Buck of the necessity of posting his letter of resignation. He hoped resigning would relieve him of his feeling of responsibility for how things turned out in Mason County. For his family. For Henry and Andy, two good men caught up in evil actions. For Leta. For all the other good people of Mason County afraid of their neighbors.

  He wasn’t the only Ranger. Others could be more objective, not torn in half by the two factions.

  After riding far into the night and getting up before dawn the next morning, Buck was nearing Major Jones’s camp. Buck slowed Blaze’s pace as he rode down Kirschberg Ridge, doubting he would find the major. Pausing, he stared through the gathering dawn when he reached the crevasse where they had met the last time. Only a few weeks had passed, although it felt like years.

  “Morgan, as I live and breathe, I began to think you had died in the hurricane.” Jones’s words were friendly, but his eyes held no warmth. “I’ve sent Company D back to Mason for the duration.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Buck dismounted. “That’s one of my recommendations.” He tapped the pocket that held his letter.

  “I was sorry to hear about your cousin.”

  The major’s matter-of-fact voice pierced Buck’s defenses more than effusive words of sympathy would have. A lump the size of a quarter formed in his throat. “There is more to the story.”

  Jones gestured for Buck to follow him deeper into the mesquite trees, where a cheerful fire awaited. “Fill me in.”

  “This explains most of it.” Buck held out the envelope, but Jones waved it aside.

  “You could have posted the letter. Report.”

  The major’s clipped words left Buck with no choice. He tucked the envelope back in his pocket. Stalling for time, he sat by the campfire and poured a cup of coffee, although he was ready to report. He had spent the hours on horseback sorting through facts for the information he knew Jones would demand.

  “I was there when Fred—my cousin—was killed.”

  Jones raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

  “I set a trap for Cooley and his men.”

  “But Cooley is still at large.” Jones frowned. “Back up. Tell me about this trap.”

  Buck drew in his breath. From the time he had first seen the list in Leta’s handwriting, he knew this moment would be inevitable. “Mrs. Denning has identified five men involved in her husband’s murder.” He named them: the two Jordans, Hinke, Schmidt. He hesitated.

  “That’s four of them. What is the last name?”

  Buck buried his nose in the coffee cup and took a deep draft. “Henry Fletcher.”

  Jones’s breath hissed, and he learned forward. “Your cousin?”

  “Yes. I used some unorthodox methods to confirm his involvement.” Buck explained Stella’s presence at the Lazy F. “She has overheard conversations between Henry and other members of the German mob—Johann Schmidt, Adolph Hinke, Peter Jordan. Her impression is that he is a leader within the group.”

  Jones grunted. “I know you better than to think you set up a trap for Cooley for the mob’s benefit. You still haven’t explained that.”

  If Buck felt guilty for betraying his cousin, betraying Leta pierced his heart like a thorn. “I suspected Mrs. Denning’s brother. He’s seventeen and hot-headed, bent on revenge—and he disappears for days at a time.”

  “You thought he had joined up with Cooley.”

  “It was a possibility. I mentioned that members of the German mob were hiding in Loyal Valley. I sent them to a remote spot on my uncle’s ranch.”

  “Young Warren passed on the information to Cooley. What was your cousin doing there?”

  “Unknown to me, my uncle chose that day to check on his herd.” Buck forced himself to stay still under the major’s penetrating gaze. “Fred’s death falls at my feet.”

  Jones grunted. “It sounds like an unfortunate accident.”

  “If you say so, sir.” Buck sipped his coffee again.

  Jones allowed a moment of silence to fall between them before he spoke. “You went with your uncle when he was wounded. What happened to Cooley?”

  “Austin and Sampson trailed them, but lost them on the rocks.”

  “Cooley perfected his talents in avoiding detection during his time with the Rangers.” Jones pointed to Buck’s pocket. “I can guess what’s in that letter.”

  “I can’t be impartial in this investigation. One of the suspects is my cousin. One of the victims is my cousin.” And he wasn’t sure how he felt about Andy.

  “And you fear your feelings for Mrs. Denning are clouding your judgment.”

  Buck’s head snapped up.

  “You have faced down Indian scalping without blinking, but this hideous little war has twisted you like a pretzel. You’ve fallen hard.” The major made a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort. “Don’t worry. We all do, sooner or later.”

  “Whatever happens, someone I care about will be hurt, more tha
n they already have been. Both sides want vengeance. I want justice, but I’m not sure what that is anymore.”

  “Which is why we leave the decision to judge and jury.”

  Now Buck snorted, and Jones looked at him. “I know a court case started this vendetta last year. The system isn’t perfect, but it’s the best we’ve got.” Jones coughed. “People in Mason don’t have much reason to trust the courts or the sheriff. That doesn’t mean they can take the law into their own hands.”

  “I agree, sir. I just don’t know how much good I can do. Or—“The words dragged from a place deep in his soul. “Maybe I don’t know if I want to anymore.” He reached into his pocket for the envelope.

  “Wait a moment.” Jones put up a hand and stroked his beard. “Keep that letter. I’m not ready to let the Rangers lose one of our best men. I agree, you need time away from Mason. I’m reassigning you to Company E. Take a week. Take longer, if you need to.” Jones clamped his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Have a good, long talk with your God on the way. I’ve found a long trail, an open sky, and a conversation with God above can settle most of life’s knots.”

  Buck didn’t speak, thinking of the hours he had already spent storming heaven over this question. “I’ve been asking.” He removed his hat and scratched his head. “But if God’s been speaking, it must have been in a whisper.”

  “One thing I know about God.” Jones grinned. “He can get louder if He needs to.”

  Buck checked his hat and rolled the brim. “I’ll do as you ask. On one condition. If I still want to quit when I come back, you won’t try to stop me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Thunder rolled. Another afternoon storm threatened. Jones tilted his head to one side, smiling. “See? God’s started increasing His volume already.”

  Although Ricky ran a slight fever, his cough cleared up on Tuesday night, Leta decided to send him back to school on Wednesday.

  “Ma! I’m ready for school.” Ricky appeared in the kitchen, the buttons on his shirt off by one space. He checked his lunch bucket. “Egg salad.” He wrinkled his nose.

  Leta relaxed, glad for an ordinary day. “Boys who run away don’t get special treats.”

  Ricky had slept better than Leta did, since she kept waking every half hour to check on him. She knew she was hovering over him, but he had a boy’s penchant for getting into trouble.

  Leta sighed at another day of work lost, but a discussion with Julia was essential. She also wanted to place an ad for ranch hands before another week passed. Maybe she could place an ad that read, “Andy. All is forgiven. Please come home. Leta.” Even outlaws must read the paper. They’d want to know what was being reported, true or false.

  As they rode into town on Wednesday morning, she glanced around. Feeling like a schoolgirl, she hoped Buck would appear. The very thought of seeing him again cheered her spirits. She had to focus on something else. “Say the poem to me again.”

  “The black bat chased the black cat who wears an orange hat while he eats a big fat rat.”

  “And how do you spell cat?”

  “Cat. K-a-t.” He stuck out his tongue.

  Leta stifled a laugh. “Be serious.”

  “Cat. C-a-t. Give me words I haven’t studied.”

  Pleased that he had asked for a challenge, Leta pondered what to ask. They had studied the short a sound. Would they study long a next or a short o? O, she decided. The long a sound could be spelled too many different ways: bait, date. “How about dot?”

  Ricky’s eyes lit up. “D …” His face screwed up in concentration, and he leaned over Shadow’s neck as if he had the answer. He straightened. “Dot. D-o-t.”

  “Very good.”

  Coming up with simple spelling words was harder than she would have guessed. At least it kept her from thinking about Buck all the way into town.

  Eventually they arrived at the schoolyard, where Julia welcomed them with a warm smile. Ricky raced to say hello while Leta approached at a moderate pace. “Go on inside, Ricky. I need to speak with Miss Moneypenny. Alone.”

  Julia’s eyes grew wider and wider while Leta described Monday’s adventure. “You must have been terrified. I’ll keep a close eye on him. And if he misses another day of school, I’ll find out why.”

  “You can’t come all the way out to the ranch.”

  Julia’s cheeks warmed. “I’ll find a way to get word to you. And I’ll keep Ricky after school for the rest of this week, as you asked.” Julia glanced around the schoolyard. “But it’s time to start school. Until next time.” With a smile, she rang the bell and watched the children go inside.

  Oh, to be able to join Ricky in school, to once again lose herself in the innocence and simplicity of childhood. Leta squared her shoulders. God had given her a responsibility, and He would see her through. He must.

  She walked down the street and past St. Paul’s. Maybe she could stop in and speak with the pastor. Hopefully a man of God could see beyond her identity, even though he ministered to a largely German congregation. She opened the door, hoping to find the pastor in. “Hello?”

  A man of uncertain age with thinning blond hair appeared from behind the altar. “Mrs. Denning, is it not?” He smiled. “I am Johann Stricker. How may I help you?”

  Leta nodded. “I need some counsel. If you are willing to speak with me.”

  “Why would I not? ‘All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.’”

  Embarrassed that she had questioned his sincerity, Leta sat on the front pew and stared at her hands. Where to start?

  “Will it help if I tell you I know of your loss at the start of the hostilities? Does that have any bearing on why you wish to speak with me?”

  “Yes.” Relief that she had made the right decision flooded Leta. “My parents died shortly before I married my husband, so my brother lived with us. Derrick was more of a father to Andy than our own father had ever been. On the night they came for Derrick, he witnessed what happened.”

  “And he has been misbehaving.” The pastor made it a statement, not a question.

  “It’s worse than that. I didn’t place much trust in justice here. We talked about getting vengeance for Derrick’s death. I didn’t think it was anything more than talk. But he hasn’t been home for days, and I have reason to think he’s joined up with Cooley.” She put her hand to her cheek, turning away from Reverend Stricker. “I have failed the responsibility God gave me. And my son is so confused.” She started crying.

  “Ach. You must feel a little like God felt when Eve and Adam ate the fruit from the tree. You gave him everything, and he has broken the law.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SAN ANTONIO DAILY EXPRESS

  October 6, 1875

  On Wednesday morning September 29, Daniel Hoerster, one of the best and most favorably known citizens of the county, was shot and killed at Mason; and at the same time Peter Jordan was shot at, escaping however with but a slight wound.

  A sharp report, followed by a second, and a third, penetrated the church walls.

  “No. Not again.” Reverend Stricker looked out the window.

  “Those were gunshots.” Near, too near. Fear seared through Leta.

  The look in the pastor’s eyes said he recognized the sound as well. “I am sorry, but I must take my leave of you. Perhaps I can offer some comfort or assistance.” His face set in resolute lines, he dug a finger under his collar and stood.

  “I will come with you.”

  “Mrs. Denning, it’s not safe.”

  What if Andy had been shot … or had done the shooting?

  The pastor’s face softened. “You must keep yourself safe. Perhaps Miss Moneypenny needs help with the children. They will have heard the shots as well. As soon as it is safe, I will bring you the news.” He opened the door for her. “I know you are worried about your brother.”

  “Thank you.” Her brain dredged her memory for the right word. “Danke.”
r />   “You are most welcome, Mrs. Denning. God promises He is with us always. And that includes even this day.” He laid a hand on her shoulder.

  God is with me. Leta imagined Jesus walking by her side while she crossed the yard to the schoolhouse. She glanced at the sky. “Why do You let such evil happen?”

  A sense of God’s abiding peace came over her. God had stepped into evil. The One who was perfect and holy had come to earth and lived among fallen people. The God who came to earth as a helpless newborn would walk with her through this troubled time. Was it selfish to pray Andy wasn’t hurt?

  Arriving at the school, she opened the door as quietly as possible. Ricky stood at the front of the class, his voice reciting his poem in singsongy fashion. “… big fat rat.” His eyes widened when he saw her. “I got it perfect, Ma!”

  “Yes, you did.” She smiled.

  Julie clapped for attention. “Now I want you to write sentences of your own, whatever your spelling words are.” She passed down the rows, speaking to one child, then another, before reaching Leta. “What brings you back?”

  “Did you hear …” Leta’s eyes turned toward the window.

  “I didn’t hear anything. We were singing.” “Gunshots,” Leta whispered. Julia placed a hand on her throat.

  Only an hour earlier, Leta had longed for the simplicity of the schoolroom. She should have known better. The children of Mason County didn’t enjoy that luxury. A couple of times Ricky glanced at her, but she shook her head. Grinning, he picked up a piece of chalk and scribbled on his slate. He was struggling over some basic arithmetic problems. Once sums went over ten and he couldn’t count on his fingers, she didn’t know how he would manage. Reading came much easier to him.

  That train of thought kept her occupied for all of three minutes. Then the possibility of Andy shot or dead intruded again and she glanced out the window, willing Reverend Stricker to reappear.

  Ricky was still bent over his slate when she spotted the pastor. Nodding at Julia, she went outside. “They didn’t notice the shots,” she said.