“Buck’s back.” Stella bounced up from the chair where she sat gazing out the window. Two days of sitting in the house, dressed in a borrowed black skirt with her plainest blouse, had left her restless.
“William is here?” Tante Ertha struggled to her feet and joined Stella at the window. Her tear-blurred eyes blinked. “And he brought company with him. His Ranger friends? We must get him some good coffee.”
Steve? Stella’s heart tripped at the thought of seeing that good-looking Ranger again. She narrowed her eyes, looking at the second horse and rider.
“It can’t be a Ranger. It’s a woman.” Lisel looked over her shoulder.
“It’s Leta Denning.” Stella looked again, checking for Ricky on his prize colt. She saw no sign of the child. That was odd.
“I don’t know any Dennings.” Tante Ertha sounded confused. “Does she like coffee?”
“Yes.” There was enough food left from the funeral to feed a hundred guests, and Tante Ertha hadn’t allowed the coffee pot to empty. “She’ll be fine.”
“She’s one of the Anglos,” Lisel said. “I know of her. Why does Buck bring her here?”
The riders grew close enough for Stella to see their features. Leta’s pinched face startled her. This was no social call, nor a call on a family in mourning.
Tante Ertha went to the kitchen to prepare refreshments for their guests. Stella walked to the porch and opened her arms wide to greet her friend. Leta hung back for a second, then accepted her embrace. “Oh, Stella, it’s good to see you.” She glanced at Buck. “Please tell them I’m here.”
“Come inside. You look ready to fall down where you’re standing.” Stella decided Leta looked like a woman who had suffered a tremendous loss—like Tante Ertha. “Where’s Ricky?”
Leta hesitated in midstep. “I don’t know. I’m hoping your family can help us find him.”
Buck’s hand stayed gently on Leta’s arm, and he cradled her against his side as he led her through the door.
Stella followed, joining them at the kitchen table.
As Stella had expected, Tante Ertha had cut large pieces of chocolate torte and fixed a coffee tray, two china cups and saucers with a pitcher of cream and a sugar bowl. “I don’t know how you like your coffee, Mrs. Denning. William, I know you drink yours black.”
“William?” Leta looked up at him. “Is that your real name?”
“I was born William Meino Morgan, named for both my grandfathers.”
Tension threaded the simple words. Stella rushed to smooth it over. “But when Aunt Billie came home from the Comanche, Buck didn’t like having a ‘girl’s’ name. So he insisted everybody call him Buck.”
“I didn’t get you coffee, Stella. Let me get you a cup.” Tante Ertha jumped up from the table.
“That’s not necessary.” But Tante Ertha was already pouring from the coffee pot. Stella leaned closer and whispered. “I’ve drunk so much coffee I think I’ll be awake until I go back to Victoria.”
“It is delicious coffee.” Leta cut a tiny corner of the torte but laid down her fork without touching it. “Will they help me look for Ricky? Or let their ranch hands help?” Tears sparkled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She turned to Stella. “We think he might have come here.” She took a piece of paper from her pocket and straightened it out on the table. “We think this is on your uncle’s ranch.”
Tante Ertha brought a full cup of coffee to the table. She glanced at the paper. “That looks like a drawing Fred made of the smugglers’ cave when he was a boy. He used to go camping there.” She slumped down in grief, and Buck helped her into a chair.
“I heard what happened to your son. I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine losing a child.” Leta’s voice quavered. “That’s why I’m here. My son ran away today, and we believe he was headed for that cave. I need your help.”
Lisel stood in the door, framed by the light coming from the parlor. “How dare you come to a house of mourning. You’re not even one of us. For all I know, your son was involved in Fred’s death.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Some fifteen men, very suspicious-looking fellows, passed through Loyal Valley en route for the Upper Llano where it is thought they will make a camp and probably take up winter quarters. Several horse thieves of notoriety have lately gone from San Saba, Lampasas and other places in that direction also. I wish you as soon as practicable to make a scout in that section of country.
Letter from Major John B. Jones to Neal Coldwell, Commander of Company F October 25, 1875
Buck beat Stella in jumping to his feet. “He’s just a boy. A small, scared little boy.” Crossing her arms, Lisel glared at them across the table. “If he’s only a child, how did he get here? And why did he come to our ranch?” “It’s all right, Buck. They deserve to know. My son came searching for my brother.” Eyes fixed on her plate, Leta spoke with a soft voice. When she looked up, pain ravaged her face. “Andy was with Scott Cooley when your son was shot.” The words scraped out of her throat.
Stella’s head snapped back. Andy had joined up with Cooley?
“But my son.” Leta stopped, silent sobs shaking her shoulders. “My son is only six years old. He worships Andy and Buck. He misses his father.” A single sob burst from her lips. “Help me, please. Before anyone else is hurt.”
Stella didn’t need to hear any more. “I will help.”
“You’re staying here,” Buck said. “It could be dangerous.”
Stella glowered at her brother. “I’m an extra pair of eyes. I’m sure the ranch hands will help with the search. You can at least ask.”
Leta’s face showed her gratitude, and heat rushed into Stella’s cheeks. “Let’s get ready. How can I help?” She took Leta’s arm and guided her away from the Lisel’s scowl and Tante Ertha’s helpless hovering.
“Can I borrow a split skirt?” Leta followed Stella to the guest room.
Buck barred the door as Lisel attempted to follow Stella and Leta.
She sputtered. “Her brother was one of the men who killed Fred.”
“But Ricky is an innocent child. He’s only trying to find his uncle and convince him to come home. He doesn’t know he’s headed into a den of murderers.”
“You’re sweet on her. That Denning woman.” Lisel clamped her lips together. “Does Henry know about her brother?”
The Dennings had already suffered the mob’s wrath. Henry knew that, but Lisel might not. This wasn’t the time nor place for that revelation. “How I feel about Mrs. Denning is irrelevant. Finding her son is what matters. I’m done talking.” Behind him, Leta and Stella appeared, dressed in split skirts, hats in their hands to keep the rain off their heads. They were ready, and he hadn’t yet talked with the ranch hands.
“I’ll get some food together.” Stella looked hard at Lisel. “We have plenty.”
The hands—Jeff and Slim—readily agreed. Back in the house, Buck checked his uncle’s study for the guns he stored there. The men had firearms, but neither Stella nor Leta were armed. Remembering his first encounter with Leta, he knew she could handle a rifle. For Stella, he chose a Colt.
When he came out with the weapons, Leta stared. “We can’t get into a gunfight. Ricky could be shot in the crossfire.”
“We have to be prepared.” Stella accepted the Colt and tucked it into her waistband.
Reluctantly, Leta accepted the rifle. She showed the map to Jeff and Slim. “Mrs. Fletcher said this was the smugglers’ cave. Do you know where that is?”
“Sure do.” Slim nodded. “It’s a two-hour ride from here. Far enough for a young boy to feel he was spending the night in the wild, close enough for his mother to allow it.” He scrunched his face. “It’s close to where we were ambushed the other day.”
Leta blanched.
“They’re long gone.” Buck’s words did little to reassure her.
Leta glanced at the sky. “In two hours, it’ll be dark. The rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up any time soon. I don�
��t know which is worse. If Ricky caught up with Cooley, or if he’s alone, lost, far from home.”
Determination chased fear out of her face. Her face was so expressive; he wondered if she knew how much she revealed just in the simple blink of an eye. Or maybe he had grown sensitive to her moods because he had grown to care more for her than made any kind of sense. “Let’s move out. Keep your guns ready and stop at the first sign of movement.”
Slim led the way. Buck hoped the presence of two women in their party would alert any lookouts that this wasn’t a posse. That Andy would recognize Leta. Buck trained his eyes on the passing landscape, looking for any signs of passage. The rain obscured most signs, but Buck was surprised not to find evidence of the passage of a number of horses and cattle. “Is this the route you took the other day?”
Jeff shook his head. “Nope. Slim’s leading us by the most direct route. The cattle couldn’t travel this way.”
Blaze wended his way through oak and willow trees. The vegetation provided cover from watchers, but it also made it hard to spot any sentries. Buck listened to the sounds of the woods, but heard nothing beyond the rushing wind. Unease heightened his every sense.
Rain plastered her braid to Leta’s back, below the edge of her hat. Stella sat straight in the saddle, hat tipped over her forehead, but her head went back and forth, scanning side to side. She’d make a decent scout. He had shown her the basics, and she had continued learning on her own. She was more comfortable hunting a buck than cooking it, although she could do both.
“Over there.” Leta pointed to a clump of creek plum shrubs. She turned her horse and increased speed, hooves splattering mud against the horses’ shanks as far as her skirt. Glancing in the direction she was headed, Buck saw a metallic glint that suggested human passage over the rocks. It could be anything. Guns.
Buck spurred Blaze into a gallop, pulling out his Winchester as the horse ate up the distance. He reached Leta in seconds and pulled on the reins of her horse. “It—could—be—a—gun.” The words came out in gasps.
She slowed a fraction. “I spotted a patch of blue. It’s the same color as the shirt Ricky was wearing. That metal? I think it’s his lunch bucket.”
Shielding his eyes against the rain, Buck peered through the glistening skies. He saw a patch of light blue, the right size for a small boy’s chest. He spurred Blaze, who jumped into action and together they barreled forward.
Several horses galloped behind him, and he assumed the others had veered off the path to join them. Blaze outpaced them all.
A familiar, high-pitched whinny greeted them. Shadow. The black colt poked his nose out of the brush and trotted forward to greet Blaze.
A horse whinnied. Leta’s mount responded in kind, and she recognized the sound a second before Shadow raced out of the bushes.
Buck jumped down and dropped Blaze’s reins to ground tie him. He crashed ahead.
“He’s okay!” Buck yelled.
“Ranger Buck! How did you find me?”
Tears ran into Leta’s eyes at the sound of Ricky’s voice, and she raced ahead. Ricky sat on the ground, his blue shirt pulled over his head to protect him from the rain, but he was still shivering. In his right hand, he held flint. The twigs in front of him looked anything but dry.
She knelt beside him and took him in her arms. “Don’t ever do anything like this again.”
“I wanted to find Andy, Ma. I know you’re worried.” His mouth quivered. “But I didn’t see him.”
Others were coming, but Leta focused on her son. Buck took over fire-making duties while she rocked him.
“I took extra peaches and some cheese and the rest of the bread. I’m sorry, Ma.”
“No, that was smart.” What was she saying? She should tell him how stupid his behavior was, how dangerous. She wasn’t sure if the moisture on her cheeks came from tears or the rain. “But it was dangerous riding across country. You didn’t know where you were going.”
“But Andy told me all about it. He said he was going to help find the men who killed Pa. I wanted to go with him.” His lower lip stuck out. “That’s more important than school any old day. But then it started to rain, and I couldn’t see where I was going. So I decided to wait the rain stopped. I was lighting a fire so I wouldn’t get too cold.”
“And now we have fire.” Buck blew on the small flame and fed it a few twigs. “You did a good job finding wood.”
“How cozy you look.” Stella joined the circle.
“Miss Morgan!” Ricky leaped from Leta’s arms and hugged Stella. He was clearly relieved to see his “rescuers.”
“You had your mother awful worried, buddy.” Stella took his face in her hands. “Say hello to Jeff and Slim. They helped us find you.”
“Hi, Jeff. Hi, Slim.” He giggled at the name.
Slim bent his tall frame over. “Hi there, Ricky.” They shook hands before he turned to Buck. “Do you want to spend the night out here, or go back to the ranch?”
Go back to the Lazy F and the Fletchers? Shivering at the thought, Leta hoped the others would put it down to the drenching rain. “Is there any kind of cover nearby?”
Buck grinned. “I have a tarp in my saddlebags. It will be enough for the ladies and Ricky. Slim, Jeff, you probably should get back.”
“Nope.” Jeff’s hand tightened on the butt of his rifle, and Leta understood. “We’ll stay with you until daylight.”
She glanced at the dark gray sky. “Thank you. For everything.”
Buck’s saddlebags proved as amazing as a magician’s hat. He handed over the tarp to Slim and Jeff, who fashioned a canopy that directed the rain away from them and the fire. While they set up camp, Buck cut strips of bacon and tossed them in a fry pan. After they sizzled to a healthy brown, he stirred beans into the pan. Stella opened her saddlebag and added sauerkraut. Ricky reached for his lunch bucket. He still had the heel of the loaf of bread. The aromas alone cheered Leta.
“We’re having a grand adventure, aren’t we, Ma?” Ricky stirred the beans with the spoon Buck had given him.
She didn’t have the heart to scold him. “Yes, we are.” Muscles sore, clothing still damp, wind tearing at the tarp but not dislodging it, she curled up with Ricky in her arms and thanked God for protecting her once again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Came out of the gallery and heard a lot of shooting uptown—poor Dan Hoerster killed.
Lucia Holmes’s diary
September 18, 1875
Sun teased Buck awake in the morning, bright, warm, sunshine, already baking his waist overalls dry. A glance to his right revealed Slim and Jeff had already headed back to the ranch. They had kept watch all night, a gesture Buck appreciated.
In other company, Buck would strip to his long johns and hang his clothes to dry. He glanced at the tarp. Small puddles had formed where it sagged, but it had done its job. Ricky was tucked under his mother’s chin, her braid hanging over both their shoulders.
As if she sensed Buck watching her, Leta opened her brown eyes, smiling at him. She sat up. “Do you have any more magic in that bag of yours?”
He gestured with the coffee pot. “Coffee to keep us warm.” He dug into Stella’s bag and found the other half of the cake she had grabbed yesterday. “Is this enough, or do you want some bacon? Rice?”
Her eyes lit up at the sight of the cake. “More cake? Oh, I’m getting spoiled. And I haven’t had to cook for two days.” She detached herself from Ricky and climbed out from the tarp. Biting into the cake he handed her, she closed her eyes, savoring the delicious taste.
Once she swallowed, she opened her eyes, some of the simple delight gone. “Having Ricky run away like that helps me focus on what’s important. Life. Family. But nothing has changed, has it? Andy is still on the run.”
He nodded. “And Henry …” He stared in the direction of the ranch. “I have to accept his involvement in your husband’s death.”
“I didn’t know Henry was involved with the mob from th
e beginning.” Stella joined them at the campfire. She broke off a piece of cake and began munching. “I didn’t know about your husband, Leta.” Her eyes teared up. “I’m so sorry.”
The cake in Buck’s mouth had turned to stone. “What have you learned?”
Stella glanced at Ricky’s still sleeping form, and her face softened for a moment. She chewed a second bite of cake. “I’ve heard some chatter. The men didn’t seem to notice me hanging around.” She shrugged. “I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Or maybe they forgot I understand German.” She looked at the sky. “Or maybe I pretended I understand less than I do.”
Leta’s eyes flickered back and forth between the two. “You asked Stella to spy on your cousin?”
The corner of Buck’s mouth lifted. “If he’s guilty, I can’t ignore it.” He stopped. “I hope you’ll forgive me for wanting further proof.”
“You listened to me.”
He shrugged. “Of course.” He nodded at Stella. “I also want to know if Onkel Georg is involved, or if Henry is acting without further family involvement.” He sounded like he never resigned from the Rangers. “So what have you learned?”
Stella brushed the crumbs from her hands and off her skirt. “They didn’t talk about the past in detail. No who, what, when, or where. Plenty of whys, of course—I’ve had an earful of everything about those so-and-so Anglos. Do you mind?” Without waiting for an answer, she snatched his cup of coffee, since they only had the one cup to share among them, and continued.
“They’ve had enough. Now Cooley has killed someone who wasn’t involved with the Williamson killing in any way. A kid. And they want to fight back.” She drained the cup, poured in fresh coffee and handed it to Leta. “A couple of men argued that would only lead to more revenge killings by the Anglos. But Henry won the day.” She reached out and touched Buck’s hands. “I’m sorry. He’s one of the leaders.”
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