North to the Salt Fork Page 5

  “See her temper, Captain?” Luke asked worriedly.

  “Yes, I do. How far did you ride her?” Jack asked.

  “Not far at all. Maybe ten yards. She shook me off like a tick both times.”

  “Your mother know about it?”

  Luke shook his head. “No way. She’d have given me a real licking.”

  “Heck, she might give me one.”

  They both chuckled at the thought.

  The Indian and his helper put the blinders on Widow. Jack noted how careful they were of her front hooves. After you were bucked off, she might come back to pay you for trying her.

  Widow began making deep-throated threats and Jack could see the knowing nods in the crowd of onlookers; the devil in her was waking up. They sure weren’t horse sounds.

  The last-minute bets were going down as the Indian led the mare to the center of the open field, with Jack following close behind. As he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the saddle, he could feel Widow trembling beneath him. Her trembling felt more like an earthquake as the Indian handed him the leads, jerked down the blinds and ran away.

  Her hooves left the dirt and flew skyward, her head between her knees as she made a high-kicking, fierce run-buck like Hoy predicted. She landed in a four-footed stop that would have loosened most punchers and sent them flying over her head, but Jack was braced for landing and managed to hold on, every muscle in his body strained.

  In a flash she whirled to the right, rising on her hind legs and showing her old belly to the midday sun. It felt like she was trying to turn herself inside out. Jack kept his seat, punishing her with a quick jab of his spurs to the flank.

  She bucked left, then right in a furious fashion to shake him loose. With the arches of his boots pressed down firmly in the stirrups he spurred her even harder. Her fury grew more powerful and Jack had to struggle to hold tight. Instead of getting tired the little Widow was bucking harder than ever.

  Her fierce bucking began to shake him and he knew how sore he’d be after this was over. Sharp pains in his neck and shoulders jolted him like lightning. He was satisfied with his performance and knew that prolonging the ride would only break her spirit.

  He kicked his right boot out of the stirrup and propelled himself off Widow. Landing on his feet, he swept off his hat and bowed to her as she reared up on her hind legs.

  The crowd, puzzled at first that Jack had chosen to dismount, soon realized that he did so out of respect to Widow. A sense of awe pervaded the crowd as they began to clap, the applause building and building.

  The Indian led the horse away, and Luke hobbled quickly toward Jack, a look of wonder on his face. “You rode her. You rode her good!”

  “That I did. But I didn’t wanna break her. She’s too great a spirit.” He stretched his arms high over his head as he scanned the smiling crowd. “All the riding’s got me starved. Let’s go find us some lunch.”

  “Wait, wait!” the Indian called, running to catch up with them. “You rode her longer than any man ever rode her, but you didn’t try to break her.” A look of respect briefly crossed his otherwise immobile face. “She’ll live to buck some more.” He handed Jack thirty dollars, then went after his horse.

  “That mean the bet’s off?” someone asked. Everyone laughed as the crowd disbanded.

  Jack bought two bowls of beef stew at a dime a bowl from a woman that Luke knew. They squatted under the shade of a tree to eat their lunch. The food was hot and the chunks of beef were tender as well as flavorful. The sweet, buttery cornbread crumbled in Jack’s mouth, drawing saliva in a flood.

  The woman came by and collected their bowls when they were finished with the stew and filled them with cherry cobbler.

  “Sure is good eating,” Jack told Luke. The youth grinned in return, his mouth full of flaky pastry and warm cherry compote.

  “I’m just glad you brought me along.”

  Several townsfolk came by and introduced themselves to Jack. Friendly folks, he decided, despite the fact that he had heard them quietly arguing about his decision to bail off Widow short of a so-called conclusion. He paid it no mind.

  After exchanging pleasantries, he excused himself as he saw Jangles, Cotton and Arnold—his three ranger friends from the rescue missions—approach.

  “Damn, heard we missed a wild ride,” Jangles said, shaking his head. “I’d like to have seen that.”

  “Aw, I’d bet on the captain,” Cotton said as he looked hungrily at Luke’s bowl of cobbler.

  Jack caught the look. “I’ll buy you jaybirds some pipin’-hot stew and cornbread if you’re willing to sit and visit a spell,” he offered. He knew that the state didn’t pay them for their services, so a free lunch would be much appreciated.

  “That would be nice,” Cotton said while the other two bobbed their heads eagerly. “But what we really came by for was to tell you we found a few signs that Indians’ve been snooping around the country. We’d like your opinion on the matter.”

  Jack considered the boy’s words thoughtfully. “What does McIntyre say?”

  “Well, he’s gone to Fort Worth for the week and we don’t trust just anyone else with this information,” Cotton whispered conspiratorially.

  Arnold, who had remained silent until then, looked around to be certain they were alone. “We don’t want folks panicking over nothing, but if them red devils’re scouting things we need to stop them.”

  Jack paid up and passed bowls of stew to the boys, contemplating Arnold’s words. But before he could answer, he was distracted by the sight of two men in conspicuous dress pulling up to the gathering.

  “Who are those two men wearing coats in this heat?” Jangles nodded toward the riders.

  “Looks like the law to me,” Jack replied.

  “You mean the carpetbagger’s law?” Luke asked, with a sneer of disgust.

  “Could be.” Jack frowned when he noticed the pair talking to someone in the crowd who pointed in his direction. The riders appraised him with cold eyes as they turned their horses toward him.

  The older one, with a white mustache and cold blue eyes, rode in the lead.

  “You Jack Starr?”

  Jack nodded, but refused to say a word.

  The younger one drew his six-shooter, keeping it low at his side. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Judge William Streeter.”

  “Who?” Jack said in confusion. This had to be a mistake. He certainly didn’t know any Streeter.

  “I’m afraid we’re gonna have to take you in, Mr. Starr,” the older man said, a cruel smile on his face.

  “You can’t do that—” Luke defiantly protested, nearly losing his balance on his crutches.

  “What in the hell is going on?” Jangles asked, returning with his second bowl of food.

  “These men are arresting me for murder,” Jack said in a soft voice. “But don’t no one interfere. Cotton, you three boys see that Luke gets home alright with the wagon.”

  “Mister,” Cotton said to the older man, “we’re rangers. This man is one of us.”

  The older man sneered beneath his thick white mustache. “I don’t give a gawdamn who he is. He’s wanted for murdering a government official.”

  Cotton readied himself to fight back, but Jack clapped a hand on his shoulder. His greatest fear was a gun-fight breaking loose between the boys and the police.

  “Cotton,” Jack quickly interrupted, “I’ll be fine. They’ve made a mistake. I’m sure I can clear everything up a lot easier if I just go with them peacefully.”

  The four boys swallowed hard as they sized up the younger man’s gun and watched the older man dismount and clamp cuffs on Jack’s wrists, which he held calmly before him.

  “Under the power of the emergency act for civil disobedience, we’re taking that horse.” He gestured to Jangles’ horse nearby. “You may recover him in town. Mount up, Starr.”

  “Easy, boys.” Jack said under his breath. “I can work this out.”

  “Ye
ah, you can work your neck right into a noose.” The younger man jabbed him in the ribs with the gun to force him toward Jangles’ waiting horse, not realizing how easily Jack could’ve reversed the situation if he wanted to.

  “Hurry up, Yonkers,” the older man said. “We’re going to draw a crowd.”

  “I don’t give a gawdamn. Just be another dead reb to me.”

  “Shut up.” With that the older man jerked the reins on Jangles’ horse and they started to leave.

  Jack could see people running over to find out what was going on. He closed his eyes. He’d done all he could to contain this thing. Mobs only made trouble. They needed to get out of there fast before things got worse.

  “Captain! We’ll get you out—I promise!” Jangles shouted after him.

  Chapter 7

  The jail in Shedville was an adobe jacal with bars on one high window and an iron bar door. Seldom used for more than drunks, it stank of piss and was buzzing with flies. The two state policemen never removed Jack’s handcuffs, and simply shoved him inside and put a padlock and chain on the door before heading off to find some food and whiskey.

  On the trip into Shedville, Jack learned the two lawmen were a special team from Austin brought in to arrest criminals wanted for high crimes, like the murder of a public official. This Judge Streeter, he learned, was murdered two years before in July on the streets of San Antonio. He’d been some kind of federal judge appointed by the then-current regime to hear cases prior to federal occupation.

  “When did you say this happened?” Jack had asked his accusers.

  “July 1866.”

  Two years earlier. Hell, he’d been in Abilene. There was no way he could have been in San Antonio.

  But that still didn’t get him out of the stinking jacal as he sat on the iron bunk and wondered how the devil he’d ever prove his innocence. A wagon pulled up outside and he wondered in dread who that could be.

  “Jack? Jack?” He could hear Lucy’s voice at the door as she made her way toward his cell. He wondered how she had gotten past the guards, but quickly realized that no one was there. She clung to the bars as he rushed toward her and squeezed her hand. “What is this all about?” she asked.

  “They say I shot some judge in San Antonio back in ’66 when I was in Kansas, or at least on my way up there with cattle.”

  “What can we do?” She looked close to crying. Jack noticed Tally behind her, hugging her mother’s shoulder and trying to comfort her.

  “I’ll hire a lawyer.”

  “They say this is a military trial, not a regular one.”

  Jack was taken aback. “Wow, I had no idea—”

  “I should have been there,” Lucille said bitterly.

  He shook his head. “Now, don’t go blaming yourself. It would’ve happened whether you were there or not. But don’t worry. I’ll get it worked out. You have a family and a ranch to run. Go home and take care of them.”

  “What if they won’t listen? Oh, Jack, these kinds of men shoot people in the back while they’re sitting in their cells. . . .” The tears began to flow.

  “Lucy, I’ll be fine. I have friends in Austin. I rode for the rangers.”

  “I’m so afraid . . . so afraid for you.”

  “You go home. This will all be over in a few days. I’ll be back and we’ll fix those fences that worry you so much.”

  She pressed her forehead to the bars. “Oh, I hope you’re right. Have they even fed you?”

  “Sure,” he lied to dismiss her concern.

  “I should go down to Austin with you. Maybe they wouldn’t shoot you if a witness were standing by.”

  Jack sighed. “Lucy, no one’s gonna shoot me. They’re lawmen.”

  “No, they’re not. They’re scum of the earth that’ve been hired as lawmen. Why, Luke told us what one of them said about you: you’d be ‘just another dead reb.’ He heard him!”

  “Lucy, you and Tally go home now and take care of things. This old cowboy will be fine.”

  “We should bust down this damn door and take you back with us.”

  “Nothing foolish. Please. That won’t solve a thing.”

  Lucy wiped her tears, taking a minute to catch her breath. “Oh, Jack . . .”

  She finally agreed to leave, and he was once again alone with the crickets. Later a small Mexican boy brought him two cold bean burritos and a canvas bag of water to wash them down. The food was gummy in his mouth and water ran down his chest when he drank from the bag. After the youth took the dishes away he was alone again. No one else checked on him.

  In the middle of the night he woke to the sounds of a large team of mules in harness stomping around at the jail’s front door.

  He heard the front door open. “Easy, easy,” a voice that sounded suspiciously like Arnold’s said through the darkness. Jack heard the clopping of hooves and the clinking of chains as they were wrapped around the bars of his door.

  “Boys!” Jack shouted. “Boys, don’t break me out of here! That’s not the answer!” He rushed toward the bars as he heard the mules straining. Before he knew it, dust was flying everywhere as the entire door casing fell to the ground in a cloud of dust.

  “You alright?” Jangles asked, out of breath.

  “Yes, but—”

  “We ain’t got time to explain much,” Cotton said. “A war party kidnapped Mrs. Lerner, her baby and her twelve-year-old daughter, Mandy, this afternoon. We need you, Captain. McIntyre is clear up in Fort Worth. Sergeant Craig is bringing packhorses and supplies to meet us tonight.”

  “Damn. How do we get these off you?” Jangles asked as he fiddled with the cuffs.

  “We can do it later,” Jack said.

  “We told folks we were getting you out to help us, and they’ll all testify we needed you for this job,” Jangles said.

  Arnold added, “We brought your good horse too, sir.”

  Jack shook his head in amazement. They quickly headed out the door, and holding his cuffed hands in front of him, he took the reins and mounted. Sorry to mess up your plans, state policemen, he thought. They need me.

  “Wouldn’t you rather ride off with us than sit in that piss-stinking jail?” Jangles asked, swinging by him as they rode off.

  “Yes, I’d a whole lot rather ride with you boys.”

  They all laughed.

  Craig met them in Flagstone Gap with five packhorses and they rode west through the hill country until a few hours before dawn. Once they made camp they curled up and slept a few hours, satisfied that the tracks they were following would still be warm enough to follow in a few hours.

  When they arose they dressed and quickly ate. Their breakfast consisted of boiled oatmeal with bugs (raisins) and some lick (molasses syrup) for sweetener. They washed it down with strong black coffee and hit the trail. Jack had picked one wrist lock open the night before and worked on the other one while he rode. It was hard for him to do at a trot, but at least his hands were separate now.

  A few clouds were gathering by midmorning. Jack noticed them as he looked back over his shoulder for any signs of pursuit. Those two state policemen would be sure to follow them once they discovered he was missing. The question was, How much time did they have? No doubt they were hungover from celebrating their success. They might get a late start that day before discovering the door was gone . . . as well as their prisoner, thanks to Cotton’s father’s draft mules, who had already been dropped off at home. The doorless adobe jail would be a sobering sight for the pair when they discovered it.

  Midday, Jack and his crew ate some crackers and dry cheese and washed them down with gyp water. After they filled their canteens from the milky-looking water hole and watered their animals, they rode on.

  There was no doubt the Indians were headed for Llano Estacada. Later that afternoon the rangers’ attention was drawn to some buzzards poking around along the side of the trail in the stirrup-tall greasewood. The rangers, fearing the worst, dismounted to see what was attracting the carrion. When they f
ound the abandoned baby’s dead body, its eyes already picked out by the buzzards, tossed into the grass, they were nearly sick. They scattered the large black birds away from the small corpse and got to work on digging a small, shallow grave. Jack said a few words from the Psalms, and Baby Lerner was quietly buried. They hoped her body was burrowed deep enough to avoid attracting wolves.

  The crew mounted up again and continued on the path. To the west a hammerhead cloud formed, rising high in the azure sky. The brewing storm spread wider, threatening to descend on the small band of horses and huddled riders as howling winds swept in a red wall of blinding dirt. Sharp grains of sand stung Jack’s face. He pulled up his bandana. Soon after, the thumbnail-sized hail began to beat on his shoulders and hat brim. They sought relief in an arroyo, but without a roof it was impossible to escape from nature’s fierce beating.

  They dismounted and stood with their horses, battered by the hail and jumpy from the blinding lightning and ear-shattering thunder. The storm was so bad that Jack began to question if they’d survive to see the sun again. Soaked through and through, his ears ringing, he kept a sharp eye on the ground around them; all they’d need was a flash of water to come down on them. But the arroyo was high enough that he felt certain they could avoid a flood.

  Before they knew it the downpour let up and he nodded at the others to get going. Numb, they mounted and topped the hillside. All evening they rode northwest in the rain, but Jack well knew that the precious tracks of the Comanche had been erased by the storm’s assaults. In that vast, unchanging land, they were on their own.

  The watery sun threatened to dip away in a bloody smear when they finally stopped for the night. There would be no fire, no hot food. The best they could do was pray that their bedrolls were still dry. With water-wrinkled fingers, Jack dug the latigo leather out to loosen the girth and remove his saddle.

  “Some damn rain,” Craig said with a wary head shake. “I could have used it at home.”

  “Maybe it went that way.” Jack smiled at him.

  “I doubt it. What’re we doing for tracks now?”