[Texas Rangers 03] - The Way of the Coyote by Elmer Kelton Page B

Brackett?"
    The woman moved closer, into brighter light. "I am Miss Brackett. Is there something we can do for you?"
    "I'm lookin' for Jeremiah Brackett."
    He could see now that the woman was actually a girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen years, too young to be Brackett's wife.
    She said, "My father is somewhere out in the fields. He'll be home directly for dinner. You'd be welcome to stay and eat with us."
    Rusty was hungry, but he felt his mission was too awkward for him to break bread with these people. "I'm much obliged for the hospitality, ma'am. I'm afraid I can't stay."
    She said, "You'd be Mr. Shannon, wouldn't you? I've seen you over in town."
    Rusty could not remember that he had ever seen the girl before, though he probably had. She was in that period of rapid change that comes just before womanhood. He found her face pleasant, her faint smile reinforced by friendly brown eyes.
    He said, "I don't recollect hearin' that Mr. Brackett had a daughter." Unmarried ladies were scarce, even ones this young. They were outnumbered by unattached bachelors persistently striving to alter their marital status. Unless a woman was homely enough to frighten hogs and had a disposition to match, she stood scant risk of becoming a spinster.
    "My name is Bethel," she said. "It comes from the Bible."
    "Mine is Rusty. I don't expect you'll find it in the Book." He turned to look toward the fields. "I'll go hunt for your father."
    She raised her arm to point, and he noticed that her sleeve had been mended, its cuffs fraying, the fabric faded. She said, "I think you'll find him over yonder-way, in that field past the oak trees."
    Turning away, he thought there ought to be at least enough money to buy that girl a decent dress. But he knew the reality was otherwise. Six years after the war, much of rural Texas was still flat on its back. Or, at best, up on one elbow.
    He had made a modest amount of money gathering unclaimed cattle and throwing them into herds that James Monahan trekked north to the railroad, but it had been extremely difficult to hold on to much of it. He bought little, but what he did buy was high in price. Taxes had risen to near impossible levels. He was convinced that reconstruction officials were deliberately taxing old settlers off their land so they or their friends could have it. The stronger the tie to the Confederacy had been, the higher the taxes were set.
    Jeremiah Brackett stood in the edge of the field, watching a black man follow a plow and team of mules. He became aware of Rusty's approach. For a moment his gaze went to a rifle leaning against the rail fence, but it was some distance away. He gave Rusty a second look and evidently saw no imminent threat. He picked his way through rows of corn, careful not to crush any growing plants.
    "Howdy, Shannon. You've come to see me?"
    That seemed obvious to Rusty, but he guessed it was a strained way of being polite. He dismounted. "I have. Wanted to ask you where you went last night."
    The question seemed to surprise Brackett. "Nowhere. I was at home. I am at home just about every night. Where would you have me be?"
    "Thought you might've gone over to pay Shanty another visit."
    "I rarely visit my white neighbors, much less one of so dark a hue." Brackett peered intently as if trying to read what was back of Rusty's eyes. "I suspect you are about to tell me that something has happened."
    "Somebody burned down his cabin."
    Brackett blinked as if the news was unexpected. "Was he in it?"
    "No, I'd taken him home with me. But I figured you knew that."
    "I had no reason to know."
    "Figured your son Farley would've told you."
    "Farley hasn't been there since the night your Indian boy fired a shotgun and got him thrown from his horse."
    "Andy didn't shoot at him. He just wanted to be sure he had everybody's attention."
    "He had it, and that is a fact. The boy is a menace."
    "Some folks must figure Shanty to be some kind of a menace too, the way they keep tryin' to run him