“I’m convinced,” Tolliver snapped. “That’s all I need to know.”
Pegeen eased into the fray. “Gentlemen, please,” she said. “Let’s just enjoy our supper and leave the wrangling until later.”
Wedge inclined his head toward her and said graciously, “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Tolliver. This meal is delicious.”
No more was said about Don Felipe Almanzar or the Black Scorpion. The topic shifted to the political situation across the border in Mexico. El Presidente, Porfirio Diaz, had ruled the country for a decade now, after an earlier stint in power as well, and he ran things with an iron fist, enforcing his will by means of his tight control over the Mexican army. But despite—or perhaps because of—Diaz’s heavy hand, there was always a certain level of unrest in the country. And the farther away from the capital of Mexico City, the weaker Diaz’s control over the population. In northern Mexico, across the Rio Grande from Texas, a frontier police force known as Rurales were in charge, although Diaz sometimes sent in troops from the regular army to quiet things down if too much trouble began cropping up. One thing could be said for Mexican politics: It was always colorful and never boring.
Frank didn’t have much interest in any politics, however, having learned from experience that most men who would seek political jobs weren’t qualified to hold them. Many were long-winded gasbags with fewer scruples than a coyote. Diaz might be a ruthless dictator, Frank thought, but at least he was more honest about it, ruling with guns rather than slick words and smiles that hid nothing but lies.
When the meal was finished, the men went into the parlor for the brandy and cigars Tolliver had mentioned earlier. The air turned blue with tobacco smoke. Several times during the evening, Frank noticed Captain Wedge giving him an intense, slit-eyed look. He didn’t know if Wedge harbored some resentment toward him because he had helped Roanne with her chair, or if the Ranger was just naturally wary because of Frank’s reputation as a gunfighter.
Frank had no real interest in winning Wedge’s approval. He was what he was, and if that bothered Wedge, it was just too bad. And if the captain was jealous, that was unfortunate, too. Frank wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t enjoy Roanne Williamson’s company.
After a while the air grew too thick with smoke for Frank’s taste. He stood up and said, “I believe I’ll walk out to the barn and check on my horse once more before it’s time to turn in.”
“Go right ahead,” Tolliver told him. “You might ought to keep an eye open, though. You never know who might be lurkin’ around. Some of Almanzar’s men might try to sneak in and raise some hell. Might even be a stray Comanche or two still around.”
Frank doubted that. The backbone of Comanche resistance had been broken years earlier at the Battle of Palo Duro Canyon, up in the Panhandle. Indian trouble since then had been sporadic and isolated, mostly occurring in far west Texas where some bronco Apaches still raided across the border from time to time.
With the smoldering butt of a cigar still clenched in his teeth, Frank left the house and strolled toward the barn. On the way he dropped the cigar butt in the dirt and ground it out with his boot heel.
Dog had been waiting on the porch, along with the little dog called Dobie. Both of them walked out to the barn with Frank. They seemed to have become good friends. Dobie jumped up and nipped at Dog’s ears every now and then, but the big cur tolerantly ignored the smaller dog.
The bunkhouse was lit up, and Frank heard guitar and fiddle music coming merrily from inside the long structure. The Rangers and the ranch hands were getting along well, from the sound of it.
He went into the barn, where a single lantern was burning with its wick turned low, and looked into Stormy’s stall. The Appaloosa seemed fine and nuzzled his nose against Frank’s shoulder. Frank scratched the horse’s ears for a few moments, talking softly to him, and then turned to go.
He stopped short, his hand moving instinctively toward his gun, when he saw the shadowy figure looming in the doorway of the barn.
5
The figure moved into the light, and Frank edged his hand away from the Colt, hoping that Roanne Williamson hadn’t noticed his reaction.
She was too sharp-eyed to have missed it, though. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Frank smiled. “If I’m to call you Roanne, then you have to call me Frank. And I didn’t mean to be so jumpy. I reckon it’s a habit.”
Roanne had put on a lace shawl, drawing it around her shoulders against the faint chill in the air. They were far south, but it was November, after all. Frank thought the shawl looked nice against her dark hair and the blue dress she wore.
As she came closer, she said, “I imagine the life you’ve led makes you quite cautious.”
“I keep my eyes and ears open,” Frank admitted. “Fact is, I should have heard you coming before you got to the barn.”
“I don’t make a lot of noise. Even though I live in town now, I was raised on a ranch. When I was a little girl, one of the hands was a ’breed who taught me to be as stealthy as an Indian. It was quite thrilling . . . when it wasn’t dangerous.”
“I expect so. But you said you live in town? I thought you lived here on the Rocking T with your sister and her family.”
“I visit frequently, but my home is in San Rosa. I have a little dress shop there. It won’t ever make me rich, but there’s enough trade so that I do all right.” She hesitated, then said, “At least, I did.”
“What do you mean by that?” Frank asked, his curiosity getting the better of his natural politeness.
Roanne shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day But I like to get a breath of fresh air before I retire for the evening.”
“So do I,” Frank said. “That’s why I came out here.”
She smiled. “Yes, the air in the parlor is anything but fresh after Cecil and the boys fire up those cheroots of theirs. Tonight, of course, they have Captain Wedge with them, too.”
Frank thought he heard something in her voice when she mentioned the Ranger, a certain coolness. He said, “The captain seems fond of you. I didn’t mean to poach on his territory when I went to hold your chair for you.”
“Believe me, you didn’t. Although I think I should resent being referred to as territory.”
“Just a figure of speech,” Frank assured her. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“None taken.”
“Your sister and brother seem to get along well enough with Captain Wedge,” Frank commented.
“He commands a troop of Texas Rangers,” she said coolly. “What would you have them do when he comes to their home?”
“So you’re saying there is some friction between them?”
Roanne shrugged eloquently. “Captain Wedge is a lawman. Cecil respects that. Cecil is also a naturally hospitable man. And I really don’t want to talk about Captain Wedge anymore.”
Frank was still puzzled by her attitude, but he knew that if he pressed her on the matter, she would probably say good night and leave the barn. He didn’t want that. He enjoyed her company.
“Where’s this ranch you grew up on?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Over on the Nueces River. Even brushier country than around here. Nothing but longhorns could ever live on it, let alone thrive.”
Frank nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve seen that brasada over there.”
“Where are you from, Frank?”
“I grew up in Parker County, up in north Texas. A good long way from here.”
Roanne’s lips curved in a smile. “Yes, Texas is a big place. They say you can ride for weeks and still not leave the state.”
“True enough if you’re going in the right direction,” Frank said.
“But you’ve been a lot of other places in your life, haven’t you?”
“Pretty much everywhere west of the Mississippi, from the Rio Grande to the Milk River up in Montana.” A touch of wistfulnes
s crept into Frank’s voice as he answered her question. He hadn’t had a real home in so long that he had almost forgotten what it was like before he returned to Parker County a few months earlier. And things had changed so much there that it wasn’t really like coming home.
“Do you think you’ll ever settle down and stay in one place?”
Frank reached down and scratched Dog’s ear for a moment, giving himself a chance to gather his thoughts. As he straightened, he said, “I reckon nearly every man thinks that about himself, even the drifters like me. We believe that the day will come when the urge to always be moving on will leave us. It’s just a matter of time and finding the right place. But time runs out and the right place is still somewhere over the next hill, and before you know it, there aren’t any more chances.”
“That’s a sad way to look at it,” she said in a half whisper, obviously moved by his answer.
“Sad but realistic,” Frank said.
“But what about you?” she pressed. “Your chances haven’t run out yet.”
“Not so far. But nobody ever promised us tomorrow, either.”
She looked at him for a long moment and then said, “You’re not at all the sort of man I thought a famous gunfighter would be, Frank.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a smile.
“That’s the way I meant it.” She drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’d better be getting back inside. Good night.”
He tugged on the brim of his hat. “Good night, ma’am . . . I mean, Roanne.”
She smiled, turned, and walked back to the house. Frank stayed there in the barn for a few minutes, giving her a chance to go up to her room before he went in. Then he returned to the house and found that the brandy-and-cigars session in the parlor had broken up. Cecil Tolliver was waiting for him, sitting alone in a chair in front of the fireplace, rolling a cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Tolliver said as he got to his feet.
“Everybody else turned in already?” Frank asked.
“That’s right. It was a long day, and everybody’s tired.”
“You seem to get along well with Captain Wedge,” Frank commented, wondering what reaction he would draw.
He found out quickly as Tolliver made a face, as if he had just tasted something bitter. “A man’s got to get along with the law these days,” he said quietly. “Things ain’t like they used to be.”
So maybe Roanne’s hints that there was some friction between Tolliver and the Ranger captain had some basis in fact, Frank thought. But Tolliver was obviously determined to keep the peace, and again, it was none of Frank’s business, so he let it drop.
He was tired, too, and looking forward to spending the night in a real bed after sleeping out on the trail for too many nights in a row.
Dog curled up at the foot of the bed in the upstairs room where Tolliver left Frank. He passed the night in a deep, dreamless slumber. When he woke up in the morning before dawn, as was his habit, he was refreshed, although his muscles were a little stiff from not being accustomed to sleeping on such a soft mattress.
Despite the early hour, the smells of coffee and bacon were in the air when Frank went downstairs. Ranch folk were nearly always up before the sun. He found Captain Wedge sitting at the table with Tolliver, Ben, Darrell, and Nick. Roanne came in from the kitchen, carrying a coffeepot. As she began to fill the cups in front of the men, she nodded toward an empty chair and said, “Have a seat, Frank. The food will be out in a minute.”
Frank pulled back the chair and sat down. He was aware that Wedge was watching him closely, but he ignored the Ranger’s scrutiny and smiled at Roanne instead. “Good morning,” he said to her. “I hope you slept well.”
She returned the smile. “Very well, thank you.” She finished pouring the coffee and went back to the kitchen.
As the men sipped the strong black brew, Tolliver said, “What are your plans, Frank? You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”
Before Frank could reply, Wedge said, “I was hoping Mr. Morgan would agree to come with me and the troop.”
Frank’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Am I under arrest, Captain?” he asked.
Wedge waved a hand. “Hell, no. I thought maybe you’d come with us and help us track down the Black Scorpion and his gang.”
“You want me to help the Rangers?” That came as another surprise. Frank had thought that Wedge didn’t like him, either because he was a gunfighter or because he was interested in Roanne—or both.
“Word gets around,” Wedge said. “I hear tell that you’ve helped out the Rangers a couple of times before.”
“That’s true,” Frank admitted with a shrug. “A young Ranger named Tyler Beaumont befriended me, helped me out when I was in a bad way. I figured it was only fair to return the favor.”
“I realize I haven’t done you any favors,” Wedge said, “but we could use a good man, especially if we catch up to the Black Scorpion. You wouldn’t have to be sworn in as a Ranger. We could do it sort of unofficial-like.”
Frank pondered the offer. He knew the Rangers were most interested in getting their job done, and they didn’t mind cutting a few corners if need be, like recruiting a notorious gunman to give them a hand. He didn’t doubt Wedge’s sincerity.
However, he was a little leery of accepting because of the uneasy feelings he had gotten about the way Tolliver, Roanne, and perhaps the others regarded the Ranger capain. If they didn’t like Wedge, there had to be a reason for their attitude. On the other hand, just because Wedge might rub some folks the wrong way didn’t mean that he wasn’t a competent lawman and commander.
Those thoughts went through Frank’s head in a matter of seconds, along with the admission to himself that he was curious about the so-called Black Scorpion. Wedge seemed convinced that the masked bandit really existed. So did Cecil Tolliver, although Tolliver insisted that it hadn’t been the Scorpion’s men who had jumped him and Ben the day before. Frank decided that he wouldn’t mind finding out the truth of the matter for himself.
He nodded slowly and said, “All right. I reckon I can do that.”
“Good,” Wedge said with a nod. “I appreciate it, Morgan.”
The women came in then with heavily laden platters filled with flapjacks, bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and biscuits. One thing could certainly be said for the Rocking T, Frank thought: The people here ate well.
After eating a large breakfast washed down with several cups of coffee, the men went outside. The Ranger troop had already eaten in the bunkhouse, and the lawmen were now saddling their horses and getting ready to ride.
Tolliver told Ben, “Saddle my horse, so I can show the captain where those bastards jumped us yesterday.”
“I’m going along, too,” Ben said.
“No, you ain’t. There’s work to do here on the ranch, and I’m countin’ on you and Darrell and Nick to see that it gets done.” Tolliver frowned. “There’s been too many times lately, boy, when I’ve gone lookin’ for you and ain’t found you. If you’re sneakin’ off to town to have a drink, I’ll find out about it, you know.”
Ben flushed, looking angry and embarrassed at the same time. “I haven’t been sneaking off to town, Pa. You know me better than that.”
Tolliver grunted. “I thought I did, anyway.”
“And you can’t say that I haven’t gotten my work done, can you?”
“I reckon not,” Tolliver admitted grudgingly.
Frank left them talking and went on into the barn to see about Stormy Dog and Dobie were lying in front of the stall where the Appaloosa moved around restlessly. Frank smiled and said to the horse, “You’re ready to get out and stretch your legs, aren’t you, old boy?”
Stormy moved his head up and down as if nodding. Sometimes Frank thought the horse understood every word that he said.
Within half an hour after breakfast was finished, the Rangers were ready to r
ide out. Frank joined them, leading Stormy over to the group, and then he swung up into the saddle. As he did so, the women came out onto the porch. He noticed that Roanne now wore a traveling outfit.
Moving Stormy closer to the porch, Frank asked, “Are you going back to San Rosa this morning, Miss Williamson?”
“That’s right. Darrell is bringing my buggy around right now. I’ll go part of the way with the Rangers and then on into town.”
“By yourself?” Frank asked. “The countryside seems a little troubled for that.”
Roanne smiled. “Pegeen and Cecil agree with you. That’s why they’re sending along a couple of hands to watch over me.”
“Be careful anyway,” Frank told her. From what he had seen of the Rocking T crew, they seemed like competent cowboys. He wasn’t sure two of them would be able to fight off an attack by outlaws, though. For a moment he considered changing his plans and riding on into San Rosa with Roanne.
Then Captain Wedge raised his hand and called, “Move out!” his voice carrying clearly in the early morning air. With the hoofbeats of their horses sounding like rolling thunder, the Rangers rode out of the ranch yard and headed toward the spot of the ambush the day before.
“Go on, Frank,” Roanne said as he hesitated. “I’ll be fine.”
“All right, then,” Frank said as he nodded. “But I’ll see you again.”
“I certainly hope so,” she replied with a smile.
Frank put the Appaloosa into an easy lope and followed the Rangers and Cecil Tolliver. Dog padded after him, and Dobie barked a farewell.
6
The large group of men rode northwest toward San Rosa, following the river and raising a large cloud of dust. Frank looked over his shoulder and saw more dust rising behind them. That would be from Roanne’s buggy and the mounts of the two men riding with her about a quarter of a mile behind the Rangers. Frank kept alert for the sound of shots. If he heard any, he would turn and gallop back to help make sure Roanne stayed safe.
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