[Texas Rangers 02] - Badger Boy Read Online Free

it."
    "He's darin' me to come out and meet him in the middle ground. I'm not a schoolboy. The only dares I pay attention to are the ones I give myself." He knew if he killed the young Comanche the others would turn back and do their damndest to kill him . They would stand a good chance of getting it done. The price would be one ranger for one Indian. There were already so many Indians, and so pitifully few rangers.
    "We bloodied them some and spoiled their party. Won't do any harm to leave them somethin' they can brag about when they get home."
    Home might be the broad and mysterious high plains of Texas, the land known as Comancheria, where the wild bands still roamed free. Or it might be a reservation set aside north of the Red River shortly before the war began between the states. It was under Federal jurisdiction, which meant that any Texan who strayed upon it and managed not to be killed by hostile Indians was subject to arrest as a Confederate belligerent unless he could convince the authorities that he was trying to escape Confederate service. In that case they were likely to impress him into the Union Army. Rusty saw no net gain in that. Though he did not want to fire upon the United States flag, he would not like to fire upon fellow Texans either.
    He wished the only thing he ever had to shoot at was meat for the table.
    Some men with more courage than scruples periodically invaded the reservation to steal Indian horses. That fanned Indian anger at all Texans and made them more eager than ever to raid south of the Red River. Some of these horse thieves were brush men, fugitives from Confederate conscription. They used aversion to the war as an excuse, but many would have been outlaws whether there had been a war or not. It was in their nature. They seemed indifferent to the misery their forays brought upon fellow citizens.
     
    * * *
     
    Rusty's horse stood relaxed in the camp corral, enjoying the brushing his owner gave his black hide. Rusty stood upwind so the breeze would not carry dust and loose hair into his face. Both horse and rider had been granted a rest after days out on patrol. Rusty examined Alamo for sign of scalds or saddle sores, a hazard when a horse was used long and hard. Out here a man took care of his mount before he took care of his own needs. Everything was too far away for walking.
    Len Tanner paused in brushing his own horse and gazed to the east. He pointed with the brush. "You don't reckon that'd be a paymaster comin' yonder?"
    "I think they've lost the map to this place." Rusty walked to the rail fence for a better look. He wondered if the rider would make it all the way into camp before his mount collapsed of fatigue. The animal was thin. The state provided little money to pay for grain, so horses had to subsist on whatever grass they could find. Only recently had showers begun to fall after two years of drought across most of Texas.
    Half of the company had deserted during the winter and early spring. Rusty could not blame the men for saddling their horses in the dark of night and stealing away. They had not been paid in months. Confederate script found little favor among the merchants of nearby Fort Belknap town anyway, even those few who still boasted about their continuing enthusiasm for the Southern cause. The last time Rusty had been sent away to buy horses for the outfit, he had felt like a thief. The rangers had authority to take the horses with or without the owners' consent, paying with promissory notes on the state government. The paper was worth more than the promise. People could save it and write letters on the back.
    Tanner said, "Maybe we ought to go see what's happenin'."
    "Captain Whitfield'll call if he needs us." On patrol, Rusty was nominally in charge. Anything and everything was his business. In camp, Captain Whitfield was in command, and nothing was Rusty's business unless the captain saw fit to make it so. Whitfield was a large man who carried a navy Colt on his