“You had a part in the death of that poor man?” Tante Ertha’s voice boomed across the room. “You dummkopf. You brought those evil men onto our land.” She burst into German that needed no translation, even if Buck hadn’t understood it.
She turned to face the Morgans. “And you. We are no longer in Victoria, and it is not 1846. We have worked hard to build a life here, and these—Anglos—want to take what we have worked so hard to build. They are angry with us for not agreeing about the War Between the States. They do not forget, and they have not forgiven us for voting against secession.” She mumbled in German. “If more people had voted with us, things would not have gone so poorly here. Your Riley Morgan wouldn’t have come back from the War a skeleton of a man.”
Pa threw back his head and laughed, and some of the tension left the room. “Well said, Ertha. This is a new day. But I have to believe peace is still possible. I say we go tomorrow.”
“Of course we will go.” Tante Ertha planted her fists on her hips. “We must ask and give forgiveness, as God would want us to.”
Henry’s deliberate nod didn’t give anything away. He would attend the picnic. How much more, Buck couldn’t say, but he was praying God would work a miracle of healing.
Stella spent the morning in the kitchen preparing for the picnic.
“I should have prepared American dishes.” Tante Ertha bustled around the kitchen, second-guessing the mounds of sauerkraut and links of bratwurst she had prepared to bring.
“If we can’t enjoy each other’s food, we have no hope of peace.”
Tante Ertha looked even more uncertain than before. “Leta is kind. One of the nicest women I have ever met.
She welcomed me, a total stranger, like I was her little sister,” Stella said.
“How could she not love you? You are a darling.” Tante Ertha packed the dishes into a basket. “I have been praying for this meal all night. I do not know if I slept more than thirty minutes, and Georg also did not get any rest.”
Stella pulled her aunt into an impromptu embrace. The present situation would test her own mother. This kind woman didn’t deserve the awful things that had happened, one son’s death and the other’s complicity in murder.
No one deserved this lunacy, Stella reminded herself. That was why today’s meeting mattered so much. Maybe with the womenfolk involved, the men would listen and not simply react. She prayed so.
The question of transportation posed a thorny problem. Ordinarily they would travel by wagon, allowing Tante Ertha to pack as much food as desired. But Onkel Georg was adamant: a wagon was too vulnerable to attack, too slow to move in case a quick escape was needed.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Buck said. “I wouldn’t suggest this if I thought there was any danger to the ladies.”
“Maybe I should hoist a white flag so they’ll know not to fire on us.” Pa attempted a joke but no one laughed.
“These men, they would use a flag to track our approach and open fire before we could react.” Henry scoffed.
“We will tie the picnic basket to a pack horse. Women and children will ride in the center while the men guard the perimeter.” Onkel Georg frowned at everyone, daring them to disagree.
Buck agreed it was a sensible plan, and as soon as the morning chores were finished, they started out. The trip passed without incident, and they arrived at the D-Bar-D shortly before noon.
Leta stood on the stoop to the cabin, wearing a yellow calico Stella recognized as her best dress, waving a greeting. Ricky waited by her side. Several men were ranged in a semicircle in front of the cabin. She was surprised to see Buck’s fellow Rangers, Steve and Jim. Three strangers who must be the ranch hands Buck had mentioned rounded out the group. Like Henry and Onkel Georg, they were armed, looking as uneasy about this meeting as Henry was.
But where was Andy? His absence compromised the purpose of the meeting. Something moved near the barn door, and Andy walked into the sunlight, his rifle propped from elbow to shoulder. Beside Stella, Onkel Georg sucked in his breath.
Ricky chose that moment to run to Andy’s side. “Uncle Andy, are these the dirty Dutchmen you told me about?”
“I told you.” Henry’s breath hissed loud enough for Stella to hear. “This woman you claim is so willing to listen has poisoned her son’s mind.”
Buck had pulled Blaze a couple of steps back, and Stella had to strain to hear his low response. His gaze was fixed on Leta. “Look at her, Henry. She’s heartsick.”
“Because the boy gave her away.” Henry put his fingers to his teeth and whistled, the sound piercing the air.
Stella shifted in the saddle. She heard the low rumble of hooves striking the earth. Buck stared at Henry. “You didn’t.”
Flat hazel eyes looked at Buck. “I couldn’t allow my family to come in here unprotected.”
Stella had heard enough. She left the huddle of riders from the Lazy F and dismounted, leading her horse by the reins as she approached Leta. She was counting on the fact that no man of either party would shoot an unarmed woman. “We’re going to have unexpected company.”
Andy’s face quickly deepened from tan to a dusty pink to a deep red. He let loose with a call of his own, something akin to a barn owl. The barn doors burst open, and men Stella didn’t recognize stormed through the opening.
The stunned look on Leta’s face told Stella everything she needed to know.
Their attempt at a parlay for peace had turned into a showdown between the factions.
Leta pounced on Andy. “You promised.”
“I promised to be here. I didn’t say I’d come alone.”
She heard a stir behind her. Riders burst through the elms and formed a line behind a man about Buck’s age. Henry Fletcher had betrayed her peace gesture. Anger and fear tightened her stomach.
Andy swallowed, and for a second, she saw the frightened little boy behind his gruff façade. “They’re coming to string me up.”
Buck remained on horseback between the two factions. Leta and Stella flanked him, Leta facing Cooley and Stella the Germans. The Rangers Steve and Jim moved next to the girls.
“You said this would be a peaceful gathering.” An older man who looked so much like Buck that he must be his father joined them in the center. He nodded at Leta. “Ma’am.”
Leta looked at Buck pleadingly. “That was our intent, Mr.—Morgan?”
The man nodded.
A man separated himself from the pack behind Andy. He tapped her brother on the shoulder and together they walked forward. He held his arms up, gun at his waist but not in his hand.
Henry Fletcher rode forward at the same time, together with another man Leta didn’t know by name. “Cooley.” Buck greeted the man with Andy.
So this was the infamous Scott Cooley. He didn’t look like a hardened killer.
“Morgan.” Cooley’s voice was as flat as a sheet of paper. “Have you come to take me in?”
Henry Fletcher scoffed.
Buck’s nose widened as he drew in a breath. “I’m not here today as a Ranger, but as a man of peace.”
“Then what are they doing here?” Henry Fletcher gestured at Steve and Jim. “Looks like you were trying to round us up. Catch us all with the same net.”
Men from both factions inched forward, guns in hands.
Leta untied the apron from her waist and held it over her hand. Putting iron into her voice, she said, “There will be no fighting here today. Anyone who has not come in peace must leave.” Her legs quivered, but she willed them to hold still. “I swear to you by the graves on that hill, I am not seeking vengeance. Again I say, if you haven’t come here in peace, you must leave.”
Buck dismounted in a single movement and stood shoulder to shoulder with her, his finger on the trigger of his Winchester. “You heard the lady. Remain, with a promise of peace, or leave—if anyone moves his gun so much as an inch he will answer to me.”
Steve and Jim joined Buck. Toby, looking like the battle-hardened soldier
he had once been, crossed the yard, followed more slowly by Bob and Burnett.
Cooley took Andy aside and whispered a few words in his ear. Leta held herself still, aching to come between them. This was the man who had lured her brother to murder. Shoulders slumped, Andy walked away in the direction of the cabin.
Cooley stopped in front of Leta. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Denning. Your brother’s a good boy, and he’ll become a good man some day. But it’ll be without my interference.” He saluted her and turned his back on the German mob, signaling his men to head out.
Henry Fletcher slipped his gun back into its holster and nodded to the man beside him. The tall blond glared at Cooley’s back, but jumped on horseback. With a whistle, he melted into the forest with the other members of the German mob.
Leta let out a breath. The men who had killed Derrick had come to her ranch, and she let them walk away. The taste of bitter ashes filled her mouth.
But they had walked away, without a single shot fired. She and her family had survived the encounter. She went weak at the knees. Buck appeared, throwing his arm around her waist and pulling her against him before she could fall.
“We did it.” Her voice squeaked out the words.
“It’s a start.” Buck tilted her chin until her mouth met his.
Vengeance and hate, peace and justice, all melted in the warmth of Buck’s love.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lawlessness at Mason is being superseded by order and morality. A Methodist revival is progressing up there, and the late evil-doers are doffing the six-shooter and getting themselves checked for a blessed immortality.
Telegraph from Sheriff M. B. Wilson
to Major John B. Jones,
May 11, 1877
Buck reluctantly separated himself from Leta’s arms. People around them looked alternately amused and confused. Ricky looked mostly bewildered, confusion mixed with a darker emotion flickering in his eyes. Toby bent down and spoke in his ear. Ricky shook him off.
Leta reached for him, but he evaded her, and Buck’s heart shivered with pain at the rejection. Ricky had experienced far too much for any small child to accept. Buck and Leta’s embrace had punched another hole in the boy’s fragile spirit.
Buck took a step toward the cabin. Leta stepped in front of him, shaking her head. “No.”
Did she already regret their brief kiss? He searched her face.
She reached out, the work-roughened fingers of her right hand caressing his cheek. “Not now. Help Toby with the meal.” She pointed to the basket of food Tante Ertha held on her arm. “I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of your family. I’ll go talk with Ricky.” A last caress that landed as softly as a kiss on his cheek, and then she lifted her skirt off the ground and strode to the house.
Buck gestured to Stella, while he kept his eyes on Leta’s straight back and confident bearing. Behind him he heard movement, the neighing of horses and soft laughter.
“Let me carry that.” Andy appeared at the periphery of Buck’s vision, smiling as he carried a basket for Tante Ertha. They were getting ready for the picnic without his involvement, leaving him free to enjoy this moment of peace with Leta at the center of his thoughts.
She had almost reached the cabin when the door burst open. Ricky had decided to join the party. Good.
But Ricky was holding a gun.
“Ricky!” Panic strung Leta’s voice. “Put the gun down.”
“That Dutchman killed my Pa. Uncle Andy said so.”
The gun boomed. Buck lunged at Ricky, knocking the gun from his hands, and pulled him to his chest.
The boy broke into tears, hiding his face against Buck’s chest.
The kid shot the gun.
Henry stared at his leg. Blood spattered his legs but he felt no pain.
At his feet, Andy Warren clutched his left calf. Blood streamed through his fingers. He stared up at Henry, as if expecting him to finish what his nephew had started. Tante Ertha looked from the stranger to her son and back. “He jumped in front of you.” She looked around, in a daze. “Where is the pump?” “Over here, Tante Ertha.”
“Let me see.” Henry bent down to examine the wound.
The dark cowboy Toby crouched on the other side. “This is okay. Take care of it, and you’ll be up before you know it.” He looked over the young man at Henry. “I did some doctorin’ while I was in the Army.”
If Henry needed any further proof, the flush on Andy’s face spoke volumes about his lack of experience with gunfire. This was no hardened killer. He was just a kid, as raw and innocent as Fred had been. “You jumped in front of me?”
Pain twisted Andy’s face into a grimace. “I couldn’t let Ricky shoot you. He didn’t know what he was doing.” He closed his eyes. When he opened them, guilt sat on his features. “He was just repeating what I told him.”
Henry’s heart went still for a brief moment. He had deserved the bullet the child had intended for him, and more. “You were right. I was here when Derrick Denning died.”
“I know that, Mr. Fletcher.” Leta Denning knelt beside her brother and offered him a drink of water. “I saw you.”
She locked gazes with him, and he couldn’t look away. “Why didn’t you tell Buck? He’s a Ranger.”
A sad smile shadowed her face. “I did. He set up the trap at the ranch, when your brother was killed.” She held her brother’s head against her chest. “My desire for revenge only poisoned my brother and then my son with hate.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I forgive you, but it came too late.” She started rocking.
“I’ll take care of Andy, Mrs. Denning.” Toby took Andy in his arms and carried him into the cabin.
Leta stayed on the ground, staring at her hands, Andy’s blood staining on her fingers. “It’s my fault.”
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” Henry stumbled to his feet, mouth as dry as if he was the one losing blood.
“None of us do.” Leta’s voice was tear-streaked. “But God means it when He says ‘Vengeance is mine.’ He exacted every last ounce of punishment when Jesus died on the cross.” She made an all-encompassing gesture. “It’s not up to me.”
“What about the law?” Henry asked with a choked voice.
Leta nodded. “They’re supposed to administer justice. Ordained by God, as Paul says. But governments are human. So they make mistakes.” She swallowed and blinked. Fixing Henry with her stare, she said, “I don’t know if the law will catch up with you or any of the men involved in Derrick’s death. For now, all I care is that the violence stops.”
Henry drew in a ragged breath. “For my part—I will promise the same. Any action the German mob chooses to take won’t include me.” He offered her his arm, and helped her to the cabin.
Leta sat by Andy’s side while Toby cut the material from the wounded leg. He didn’t speak as he worked, snipping, cleaning away the blood and dirt, probing the hole where the bullet lodged. Andy twisted.
“Sorry, son, this is going to hurt.”
“I already know that.” Andy bared his teeth.
“It’s okay to scream. Or cry.”
“Or squeeze her hand until you break all the bones.” Buck brought Ricky into the partitioned area and took a seat beside Leta. “That was a brave thing you did back there.”
“Uncle Andy?” Ricky’s voice quavered.
“He shouldn’t see this …” Leta couldn’t believe Buck brought Ricky in while Toby was still at work.
“I think he should see what happened to the person he shot. Don’t you?”
Buck’s cool blue eyes bored into hers, sending shivers down her arms. Ricky had to face what he had done.
Trembling, Ricky fixed his eyes on Andy’s bare leg. “I didn’t mean to shoot you, Uncle Andy.”
Toby took his pocketknife from the boiling water where he had cleaned it. “You ready?”
Ashen-faced, Andy nodded, and Toby set to work.
A low moan escaped Andy’s lips, and he crushed Leta’s
fingers. Opposite her, Ricky patted his arm in sympathy. About the time she began to lose feeling in her fingers, Toby straightened, a smile playing around his lips. His knife speared a blood-smeared bullet. “We got it.” He bent over Andy and squeezed his shoulder. “That was bravely done. It’s going to hurt a little more while I clean out the wound, but then we’ll bandage it up.”
“Should we send for the doctor?”
Toby and Buck exchanged looks, one veteran to another. “He should be fine. All the more the doctor could do is give him something to ease the pain.”
“No doctor.” Andy shook his head. “There’s supposed to be a party today. Go have fun.”
Leta wanted to go. Meeting the Fletchers was the whole purpose of the event, after all. Looking into their faces after her son shot at one of them, it was doubly important. But Andy was family.
“I’ll stay with him. You go on now,” Toby told her.
Ricky was still staring at the bullet Toby had laid on the nightstand. He reached out a finger and touched it, horror clouding his eyes. She’d have to think more about it, but she was certain any further punishment she meted out would pale in comparison to watching Toby operate on Andy. Picking up the bullet, she held it palm up. “This bullet could have killed a man today.” She unfurled his fingers from her left hand and placed the bullet in his palm. “I want you to keep this and remember what almost happened today.”
When he didn’t respond, she said, “Go ahead. Put it in your pocket.”
Nodding, he slipped it in his pocket and wiped his palm on his pants.
Leta went out to greet her guests and neighbors, the nucleus of a new beginning for Mason County.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
HOUSTON DAILY TELEGRAPH
June 14, 1876
The notorious Scott Cooley died this morning about one o’clock, at the house of Esquire D. Maddox, nine miles north of Blanco, of brain fever.
Ranger's Trail Page 21