Free [Texas Rangers 01] - The Buckskin Line by Elmer Kelton

not feel secure against the border troubles. Only a few years ago a Mexican army had invaded all the way to San Antonio, capturing the district court in session and taking Texan prisoners back to Mexico. There had been hell to pay over that incident and the retaliations that followed. Always ready for a scrap, Mike Shannon had ridden off on a punitive expedition. Wisely, he had stopped at the Rio Grande. Some who crossed the river had paid with their lives.
    Preacher Webb said, "I'll wait and ride with you-all." He dismounted and stepped up to Mother Dora. His voice was full of concern. "How do you feel, Dora? Any improvement?"
    She attempted a faint smile that never quite came to life. "I know better than to lie to a preacher."
    Webb turned to Mike. "I wish you'd stay and watch over Dora. It's time you left the fightin' to younger men."
    "I ain't any older than you are."
    "I've got no sick wife at home."
    Dora said, "He's set his mind to go, Preacher Webb, so let him he. I can take care of myself. Always have." She turned toward the cabin's kitchen door. "I'll sack up some vittles. And you-all had best take blankets. The nights can get chilly out in the open."
    Mike nodded. "Go fetch them, Rusty."
    Rusty was so excited at riding with the volunteers, at calling himself a ranger if only for a few days, that a small thing like blankets would not have crossed his mind. But he rolled up a blanket apiece for himself and his foster father.
    Dora Shannon came out of the kitchen and handed Rusty a bulging cloth sack. "'There's coffee and some bacon and salt. And the biscuits from breakfast. You be real careful, son." She hugged him, and he felt the wetness of her tears when their cheeks came together. Many a time she had bid Mike good-bye this way.
    Mike said, "The young'un'll do his duty."
    "Duty." She spoke the word with irony. "Duty'll be the death of you someday." She put her thin arms around her husband. "Don't take any chances tryin' to get our stock back. We can buy more somehow. Just bring yourself back in one piece, and make sure nothin' happens to David. He's the only son we'll ever have."
    Mike tried to dismiss her concerns. "We probably won't catch up to them anyway." He turned. "We'd best be movin', Preacher."
    Webb gave Dora Shannon one more worried look. "God bless this house, and all who live in it." He swung into the saddle and spurred his brown horse into a trot.
    Rusty waved his floppy old felt hat and shouted back over his shoulder to his foster mother, "Don't you worry. We'll be comin' back."
    If she answered, he could not hear her for the wind.
    "We will be comin' back," he repeated, softer now, and more to himself than to Mike or Preacher Webb.
     
    * * *
    For years he had worked the farm without anything exciting happening to him. Following the plow and the mules day after day, year after year, he had dreamed of joining a minuteman ranging company as Mike had so often done. He had seen himself riding boldly into action, making Mike and Mother Dora proud of the raising they had given him. Now his backside prickled with anticipation.
    The three did not press their animals to catch up quickly. Mike said they had plenty of time because they were unlikely to overtake the Indians before tomorrow or next day at the earliest. They moved along in a stiff trot, gradually closing the distance between them and the other volunteers without breaking into a run that would tire their horses. The hooves of the stolen animals had beaten down the grass and left a wide band of tracks that anyone could have followed.
    Most members of Blessing's little band had fought Indians, and several had seen action in the Mexican War and border skirmishes.
    It felt natural to Rusty that he ride alongside Preacher Webb. Several times he had accompanied Webb on his preaching circuit when he had no pressing responsibilities at home. The minister had always been pleasant company and a good teacher without blatantly appearing to try. He was widely