Chapter 8
Ty spent the night on the ground and woke with a start. Every bone in his body ached. He’d dozed, but for how long he wasn’t sure. The sun had just cracked the horizon when he pushed himself up and carefully approached the barn. Now we’ll see what’s really going on here, he thought, as he crouched behind the picket fence that cut across the back of the Thompson’s lot. He was sure that last night the Thompsons were nervous. Something sure seemed wrong in there last night, but one thing I’ve learned being a ranger; you don’t dig up more snakes than you can kill.
With the sun at his back and a picket fence between him and the house, Ty felt secure. A few minutes passed before the first light of a new day began to streak across the eastern horizon. The sun had just broken above the mountains behind him when Mr. Thompson stepped out the rear door of the house. Loss had on overalls, no shirt, no shoes. He walked along a well-worn path to the two-seater outhouse. He was in the privy only a few minutes, then stepped out. He quickly walked back into the house.
Ty watched as smoke began to puff from the stovepipe. He was about to move to a better spot when Mrs. Thompson came out the rear door. Ty hunkered back down and peered between the cedar stays. Mrs. Thompson was wearing a blue gingham dress and sunbonnet. She also walked the path to the outhouse and entered. When she came out of the small wooden building, she turned toward the barn and came directly toward Ty. He crouched even farther as Mrs. Thompson continued straight toward him.
Dad-blame it, she’s coming right past the barn to the garden.
“Stella,” Mr. Thompson called. “If there are any onions left, bring me one. I’m hungry for some fried jowls and eggs for breakfast.”
Mrs. Thompson hollered back, “All right, Loss, I’ll see.” She bent to pull an onion when she saw Ty. “Ty Holt, you scared the Holy Ghost out of me!” she shouted. There was a touch of anger, both in her voice and in her eyes, as she stood up with a yellow onion in each hand. “If you want to look around our house, why don’t you come to the front door and ask, young man. Land sakes, you act as if you think we’re the thieves. Do you?”
Ty stood up. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”
“Then you’d better get before one of the neighbors shoots you for a peeping Tom.” She turned in a huff and walked back into the house. In a moment, Loss Thompson came out, walking straight to Ty. Dog wagged his tail when he saw Mr. Thompson coming.
“Ty, wait a minute.”
Ty braced for another tongue lashing, but it didn’t come.
“Have you any news about Sarah?”
“No sir, not yet.”
The sun made Thompson squint as he fixed his eyes directly on Ty. “Don’t you think you should be lookin’ for her?” he asked. “If you think she’s here, you’re wrong. We ain’t seen her since she went to bed, night before last.”
Ty nodded. He figured he’d best keep his ideas to himself. “I’m doing the best I know how, Mr. Thompson. As soon as I know something, you’ll be the first to know.”
Mr. Thompson seemed relieved, but said nothing else. He turned and walked slowly back to the house. When he was gone, Ty fetched Blaze.
“Dog, I don’t know what’s going on with the Thompsons, but I’ll kiss a cow if there isn’t something flapping in the wind back there, and I’m going to find out what it is, or my name’s not Ty Holt.”
Ty circled the Thompson’s house twice. On the second pass, he spotted the notched shoe track and the pony’s hoofprints, side by side. Both sets of prints were fresh, and they came from the Thompsons’ barn. After he stopped at the general store for supplies, he put Dog on the trail. Ty fell in behind the yellow Lab as soon as the dog took to the scent. Ty guessed the trail was not more than two hours old and figured they’d slipped out while he dozed. Both sets of prints went south for about a mile and then turned east.
The tracks led Ty due east until the two riders came to Little Creek, where they turned upstream. Dog became confused, but Ty knew exactly what was happening. He commanded Dog to follow and spurred Blaze upriver. Where the Bandera wagon road crossed Little Creek, the two riders left the river and cut back to the west. Putting Dog back to work, Ty settled in with a steady canter away from the rising sun.
The morning was already sweltering when the trail suddenly stopped. Both tracks skidded down a sloping trail before plunging into the Sabinal River. Ty took a chance and reined Blaze north, upriver. Sure enough, not more than four hundred yards upstream, the two horses had climbed the west bank. Dog was on their trail almost as soon as Ty pointed.
The sun was straight overhead when Dog stopped. The trail once again terminated where the tracks entered West Fork Creek. Ty let the animals drink and rest before he headed upstream. Again, less than half a mile north, the two riders left the water and cut back east toward the Sabinal.
They’re cutting a big circle, Ty thought. He also thought about the three dead Indians up river and removed the Winchester from its saddle scabbard. He laid the carbine across the pommel. A double-barreled ten gauge, sawed off to sixteen inches, lay tied across his bedroll within easy reach. He guessed he was still two, maybe three, hours behind the two riders.
“It’s got to be them,” Ty said aloud. But why in the world are the Thompsons acting the way they are, he wondered? Why would they cover up for a murderer last night, unless the kidnapper was holding Sarah hostage in her bedroom? Had he told the Thompsons that if they said anything, he’d shoot her? “That’s got to be it, Dog.”
Maybe the town’s right. If I’d stayed in Utopia and not taken off for Vanderpool, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. And then acting like a lovesick schoolboy, holding hands and hugging around on Mary Jane. Drat, I ought to be plumb ashamed of myself.
“One thing I don’t understand,” Ty mumbled, “is why the Thompsons were still acting like the cat’s got their tongues this morning?” Even if that pariah is holding Sarah hostage, surely they understand that I can help them.They’ve got to know I’d never do anything to jeopardize Sarah’s safety.
It was just as Ty had thought. The trail led back to the Sabinal River. He was almost six miles above Utopia. When Ty started upstream, Dog barked and started downstream.
“Come on, Dog. Sometimes you could fall up a tree. Come on.”
Dog hesitated and whined, and then fell in behind Ty. Two miles upriver, the water became deep. Ty had to swim Blaze until he finally reined the horse out of the river on the east bank. He spent the next two hours looking for any sign that would indicate where the kidnapper and Sarah had left the river. When he couldn’t find any evidence of tracks, he decided that maybe Dog had been right all along.
Finally, Ty gave in and commanded, “Find ‘em, Dog.” The yellow-haired dog broke into a trot downstream. About a mile below where they had entered the river, the villain and Sarah had ridden out on the east bank and immediately turned in an easterly direction.
The sun was beginning to set, and Ty estimated that he was now more than half a day behind the riders he was trailing.
“Next time, I’ll listen to you,” he told Dog.
Ty pushed on, way past sundown. It was good dark when he finally pitched camp in a motte of pecan trees. He swatted mosquitoes and picked ticks as he built a small fire.
Talking in a low voice, he said, “Dog, I’ve decided that when I locate Sarah and arrest that scoundrel, I’m turning in my badge. I’ve had enough. I’m going to settle down and buy that sure-enough good Hereford bull from Mr. Goodnight that I’ve been looking at. This work is either too hot, too cold, or someone is mad at you over something you can’t help.” Dog was stretched out on his back with all four legs in the air, wagging his tail while Ty spoke to him. “We’ll both be lucky if we don’t get our heads blown off before this is over.”
Ty