Under a Texas Star

by Alison Bruce

  Conversation was spare. The kid was obviously exhausted and Jase was busy with his own thoughts. His quarry had passed through Abilene two days ago, still headed for El Paso. Jase was taking a chance of getting too far behind by taking Landers. He told his Captain that he thought the boy might be an accomplice.

  Truth be told, he suspected that Landers was heading west to find the old Rebel who saved his life. In the boy's eyes, Sarge was a hero, but Jase knew of more than one discharged gray-coat, who had found it hard to leave the war behind and had taken to the outlaw life. He didn't want to see the boy fall into the wrong hands. It offended his honor.

  It wasn't a brilliant career move to let a wayward kid slow down a criminal investigation. Yet, there was some connection, however tenuous, between the boy and his quarry.

  That thought paced back and forth in Jase's mind, until Landers nodded off over his apple pie.

  "Come on," Jase said, prodding the boy. "Go get some rest."

  He sent Landers up to the room, alone.

  Jase had to see a man about a horse.

  Landers was gone when Jase awoke. The boy had packed his bedroll and left it by the washstand. Jase found him in the dining room, pouring coffee for other early risers.

  "Kid," he said between yawns, "you're unnaturally productive. Don't you ever give it a rest? Speaking of which, you didn't have to sleep on the floor. I would've shoved you over when I came to bed."

  Landers shrugged and fetched two cups of coffee, leaving the pot on the counter for someone else to wield. After a large and greasy breakfast, Jase dissuaded the boy from any further labor.

  It was time for him to learn to ride.

  The gelding was a short, sturdy gray mustang with a definite mulish look to him. The owner fit a similar description. He was asking forty dollars. Jase talked him down to twenty-five, then spent another twenty-five on a saddle, bridle and saddlebags. The tack he bought used from the livery owner. With a little dickering, Jase managed to get him to throw in a saddle blanket.

  Throughout this procedure, the boy stood out of the way, in awed silence. His expression was one of near panic.

  "Stop gaping and saddle his horse," Jase ordered.

  "S-sir, I c-can't―"

  "Sure you can. You seem to have made stable work a part-time career. Next to clearing tables, that is."

  He looked down at Landers and could almost see the mental calculations the boy was making. Fifty dollars was a lot of money. A month's pay for a Ranger. Mucking stables, the boy might make that in four.

  "Don't fret it," Jase added. "You take care of that horse and I'll get my money back for it in El Paso. Now hoof it!"

  Within an hour of trying to teach Landers how to ride, he started to wonder if he shouldn't trade the saddle tack in on a buck-board. It wasn't that the boy was slow-witted. Far from it. All things considered, Landers learned fast.

  Blame, Jase had to admit, lay partly at his own door. To him, riding was as natural as walking. He took most of what he knew for granted. That didn't make him an ideal teacher. Nor did it help that they were drawing an audience. The livery owner had cleared a corral for them. Bit by bit, the fence started filling up with folks who had nothing better to do on a sultry Friday morning.

  Most just watched for a time and moved on. Some cheered, while others taunted the boy. The worst ones shouted well-meaning but contradictory words of advice.

  Then there was the horse. The beast didn't just look mulish. He had a temperament to match. With more intelligence and malice than Jase had ever thought a horse could possess, this one did his best to make things even more difficult for the boy.

  Jase was losing his patience.

  When Landers tried to pull the horse to a stop, the animal bucked hard and the boy was thrown over his head.

  Jase jumped between the gray and the boy. "You!" He pointed at one of the cowboys. "Get the horse!"

  Two men jumped off the fence. One took Jase's position as block. The other grabbed the reins and let the beast know who was boss.

  Jase went to help the boy.

  "I'm okay," Landers said in a shaky voice.

  He waved off Jase's help, stood and brushed the dirt from his trousers. With a stubborn gleam in his eye, he marched up to the now calm horse. Grasping the bridle, he pulled the gray's head down to look him in the eye. "I've had enough. Your name is Trouble, 'cause that's all I've had from you. From now on, you better behave or I will personally slice you into horse steaks."

  Fascinated, Jase and the cowboys watched Landers. Still glaring, the boy took the reins and walked around to the right side. As though hypnotized, the horse maintained eye contact until he had reached the limits of his neck's ability to twist.

  Then Landers shortened the reins and with only a little awkwardness, mounted. The boy turned Trouble and walked around the corral's edge. Cautiously, he changed the pace to a trot.

  "That's an old Injun trick," one of the cowboys said.

  "What?" the other asked. "Mounting on the wrong side or threatening to make dinner out his horse?"

  "Both," Jase interrupted. "Show's over."

  The cowboy nudged his friend. "Come on, you can buy me a beer."

  Jase's gaze returned to the boy on the horse. It wasn't the most graceful riding he'd ever seen, but at least the kid kept his seat.

  When Jase announced it was time to eat, Landers almost fell out of the saddle. It seemed his knees had forgotten how to support him. They folded under him. Sitting in the dust, he looked up at Jase, puzzled and pitiful.

  Jase shook his head and flipped the stable boy a half dime to take care of Trouble. He offered a hand to the boy. Landers hesitated a moment, then allowed himself to be helped up.

  "You're doing fine," Jase said, giving the kid a pat on the back before letting him go. What have I gotten myself into?

  Over beef stew and biscuits, he discovered that not learning to ride hadn't been the boy's idea.

  "My aunt didn't think riding was a skill I needed to have," Landers said. "I don't think she approved of riding horses at all. Come to think about it, she didn't approve of anything I liked to do."

  "Like what?"

  "Like hanging out with the Sheriff Langtree. He let me sweep the floor and sort papers and keep the Wanted posters up to date. He knew Aunt Adele didn't approve, but he didn't stop me from coming around until she came down and told him face-to-face I wasn't allowed." He sighed. "For someone so law-abiding, my aunt had an odd aversion to lawmen."

  Jase tucked away the name Langtree for future reference. There was something familiar about it, no doubt a reference from one of the many reports he was required to read. If he could place it, he might have another clue to the boy's identity.

  After dinner, he took Landers to the general store. The boy needed to be outfitted properly. Jase accepted this as part of his self-assumed responsibilities. The kid didn't see it that way.

  "What's wrong with the hat I've got?"

  "Other than the fact it doesn't fit right?"

  "You can't keep buying me things, sir," Landers complained, picking up a fancy black hat with silver medallions.

  Jase bit his lip to stop a smile. He put the black hat back on its stand and placed a plain, light tan Texan on the boy's head.

  Landers compared prices. "You can't tell me you're going to sell these things off once we get to El Paso."

  "I'm keepin' account. I figure you can work it off over time as my unpaid assistant and stable boy. Speakin' of which, we'll add a shirt or two to your account. I can smell that one a mile away."

  The boy turned red as his hair and picked up a denim work shirt.

  "See if they got anything closer to your size," Jase advised.

  "My aunt always believed in buying things with room to grow."

  In the end, Landers allowed Jase to buy him two oversized work shirts, a hat and a couple of bandanas. Emptying out his pockets, the boy handed over almost three dollars in small change.

  Jase gave him back a
silver dollar. "Get a bath before you put that new shirt on." Landers looked ready to argue, so he added, "Tell them to save the water. I'll be along once I've had a shave."

  When he arrived at the wash-house a half-hour later, a bath with fresh water was waiting for him. But no Landers.

  Jase sat in a chair in front of the hotel and waited.

  Hours later, the boy showed up. He was dirty, sweaty and smelled like the stables. Jase pretended to be asleep, legs stretched out, ankles crossed and hat pulled down over his eyes.

  As Landers tried to sneak by, Jase said, "Seems I ain't ever gonna get a meal on time with you around." He pushed his hat back and surveyed the kid.

  "You didn't have to wait."

  Landers handed over the half dollar.

  Jase shook his head, pocketing the coin. Switching from relaxed Texan to stern task master, he scowled at the boy. "The point was that you'd set down to supper clean and well dressed."

  "Sorry, sir. You'll notice that I didn't wear my new clothes. I can go clean up now. You don't have to wait for me."

  "You're a brat."

  "Yes, sir."

  "An obnoxious, stubborn brat," he said, trying hard not to smile. "Go wash up. Be down here in half an hour." He took a watch out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the boy. "I'm orderin' supper, so you better not be late."

  The kid wasn't late.

  Jase noted, with some satisfaction, that Landers cleaned up well. He was beginning to suspect that the boy was older than he seemed. His clear blue eyes and their intent gaze gave him an air of maturity. Then there were his memories of a war he should have been too young to experience.

  Jase had known boys who claimed to be twenty or more who hadn't a hair on their chins. He adjusted his estimation of the boy's age up to sixteen, the age Jase was when he joined the Texas Rangers.

  Landers was doing some sizing up of his own. Jase recognized the reaction his own transformation wrought. His beard was flecked with gray, which made him seem older. Clean, shaved, with his hair and moustache neatly trimmed, he now looked what he was, a man of thirty. Years had literally been washed away.

  The waitress came over as soon as they were seated. She gave Jase a warm smile and a delicate blush. "Coffee?"

  Jase returned her smile. "You're lookin' very pretty tonight. Even prettier than usual."

  "Why, thank you, sir. I set aside some fresh biscuits for you. Usually they're gone by now."

  "That was exceedingly kind of you."

  Landers' mouth twisted into a disgusted expression.

  "Give it time," Jase teased. "You'll learn to appreciate the fairer sex some day."

  "I'll never act like that!"

  The revulsion driving those words took Jase aback. He wasn't about to put up with rude behavior, but this was unexpected.

  Before he could get his bearings, Landers apologized. "Sorry. That was uncalled for." The boy echoed the very words Jase was mustering. "I should learn to hold my tongue."

  Landers was as good as his word, sitting quietly while they waited for their supper. It was stew and biscuits again. The meal was good, satisfying their hunger and cooling their tempers.

  "Warmer than Kansas, I reckon," Jase remarked.

  "A bit," Landers replied.

  "What part of Kansas you from?"

  "Cherryville. I was born on a farm further southwest."

  "We got somethin' in common. I'm a farm boy too." His eyes met the boy's. "And like you, I lost my home to war."

  "Where?"

  "Not far south of here, on the Brazos."

  "Union Army?"

  Jase's mouth tightened into a hard line. "Banditos." He turned his attention to scooping the last bit of stew.

  When he looked up again, the boy watched him, frowning.

  "Were you slave holders?" Landers asked.

  "My family was 'poor white trash.'"

  The kid looked blank.

  "My folks were neither slave-holders nor holding with slavery."

  "Why did you join the Rangers?"

  "To protect Texas."

  Landers gave him a thoughtful nod. "My father fought for Kansas and the Union. My aunt tells me that my mother was an abolitionist. I can't say I remember one way or the other. My aunt, though, says that slavery is a sin. I think the sin is treating people like they're not really people."

  They lingered over pie and coffee. Now that the boy had started talking, Jase only had to drop a comment here and a question there to maintain the conversation.

  When they headed upstairs, their easy understanding experienced a setback. Landers insisted he was comfortable on the floor and that is where he would spend the night. Jase figured he'd let the kid fall asleep wherever he liked and put him to bed later, but Jase fell asleep first and Landers stayed on the floor.

  Next day, Jase was irritated―with himself and the boy.

  "I'm not gonna put up with any more foolishness. Sleepin' on the ground when you had to is one thing. Sleepin' on the floor in a hotel room is wasteful."

  Landers neither argued nor agreed.

  Jase sighed. "Saddle the horses."

  They travelled in easy stages and made the quiet town of Coldwater by evening. Not used to riding all day, Landers was practically dead on the hoof. Jase had to force him to stay up long enough to have something to eat.

  He paid for a room over Coldwater's only saloon. The accommodations weren't fancy, but the place was clean. Like most rooms, it was supplied with a double bed. This one also had a cradle.

  "I can use the mattress in the cradle," the boy said. "I'll put it on the floor."

  Unbuttoning his shirt, Jase sighed. "Kid, you're exhausted. You need to rest or you're gonna slow me down tomorrow."

  Landers paused for a moment, then reached for the mattress.

  Jase cleared his throat. "Do you like crossing wills with me? Or don't you trust me?"

  "I trust you, sir. I never meant to imply that I didn't trust you and I don't mean to be contrary. I'm very grateful for all your help and―"

  "Never mind. Sleep where you like."

  Jase readied for bed. Gun and holster were hung on the bed post. He draped his outer clothes over the bottom post, with his boots tucked within reach. When he was stripped to his socks and long underwear, he climbed into bed. All the while, Landers held his bedroll in one hand and the cradle mattress in the other.

  When the candle was extinguished, sounds in the dark told Jase that Landers was getting ready for bed. The mattress shifted as the boy crawled between the covers, keeping to the edge of the bed.

  "Night, Marly."

  "Good night, sir."

  "Friends call me Jase."

  "Good night, Jase."

  The bed, like many old spring beds, sagged in the middle. Once they were no longer capable of consciously keeping to their sides, they met in the middle. Instinctively, they took advantage of each other's body heat as the night grew colder. It wasn't the first time Jase had shared his bed with a fellow traveler and ended up back to back, sharing warmth.

  He woke the next morning with his arm about Marly. The boy's head was on his shoulder and one hand rested on his chest near his heart. It felt so comfortable that it might have worried him―if he had not just discovered that Marly Landers was a girl.

  Chapter 3

  Marly woke up in easy stages.

  At some point, in what seemed to be a dream, she felt warm and safe in a secure embrace―a feeling she had not known since her mother had died.

  Later, she stirred. Feeling a slight draft, she pulled the covers in closer and snuggled back down into sleep. Whether it was a minute or an hour later, she didn't know. Finally, sleep gave over to wakefulness.

  She pulled herself up on her elbow. "Morning."

  Already awake and dressed, Jase straddled a chair and watched her. "C'mon, sleepy head," he said with an exaggerated drawl. "We got miles to go. You get yourself cleaned up and dressed. And be quick. I'm going down for coffee and I'll be ordering breakfa
st. If you're late, you'll get yours cold."

  After he left, Marly took advantage of the privacy to have a sponge bath. It had almost broken her heart not to take a bath the day before, but she couldn't very well use the men's room at a public bathhouse.

  As she stripped down, she wished she had the nerve to ask Jase for a new set of long underwear. She made do, beating out the dust and using a damp towel to attack the worst of the dirt. She did the same with the singlet she wore underneath, a hand-knit garment she'd been given half a lifetime ago when she was ten. Being knit, it stretched to fit her and held in parts that would otherwise have given away her masquerade.

  "And to think," she said, examining her modest curves, "at one time I wished I had a real figure."

  Aside from feeling safer, she rather enjoyed being a boy, instead of the young lady her aunt always expected her to be. More importantly, a boy could travel alone, though she was glad of Jase's company and protection.

  Of course, if she had been born a boy, she wouldn't be in this trouble in the first place. If she had been born a boy, she might have been able to protect her mother and wouldn't have needed to protect herself. If she had failed to save her mother, a boy could have stayed with Sarge, instead of being taken to her aunt for propriety's sake. And if she had been taken to her aunt, a boy wouldn't be expected to help out at the school. He might have been allowed to work for the Sheriff instead. More importantly, a boy wouldn't have been seduced by a honey-talking, city slicker whose good looks and charm were in direct proportion to his criminal motives.

  So far, the masquerade hadn't been overtaxing. One of the benefits of overseeing the schoolyard was that she knew first-hand how boys acted. She modeled her behavior after young John Henry who, with three older brothers to train him, knew how to get away with murder around adults and hold his own with the bigger boys like John Thomas.

  Soon, being boyish came naturally to her. She didn't have to act like someone else. Her deception was aided by the fact that no one expected a young woman to be travelling on her own dressed as a boy. She suspected that one or two women she'd met had seen through the disguise. Since they didn't say anything, she couldn't be sure. The important thing was that no man would see her as a woman and take advantage of her.