The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “The doctor said it’s called dementia. It just happens sometimes, he said, because when Pop was killed, she never even realized it.”

  “Yes, that’s another thing. I saw on the marker that Pop didn’t die until three months ago. He was killed, you say?”

  “He fell from the loft in the barn, broke his neck when he hit the ground. He was dead by the time I got to him.”

  Cade nodded, then he looked toward the living room. “Melinda hasn’t spoken to me.”

  “She’s afraid,” Adam said.

  “Afraid? You mean she is afraid I would hit her or something?”

  “No, we both know you better than that,” Adam said. “She’s afraid that she won’t be able to explain what happened.”

  “Can you?”

  “We thought . . .”

  “Yeah, I know you thought I was dead. Take it from there.”

  “She was terribly distraught, Cade. Don’t forget, Gordon was killed at Franklin, and she thought you were too. She lost a brother, and the man she loved. She was heartbroken, and she began spending a lot of time over here. I think, in the beginning, it was so she could feel closer to you. Pop and I were both devastated over you being killed, so having her here was sort of a comfort. We were comforting each other, really. Then, we finally got the courage to visit your grave at Carnton, or at least what we thought was your grave. And after that we . . . well, we fell in love. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it happened.”

  Cade nodded, then leaving the dining room table, he walked into the living room where he stood, looking at Melinda. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone more beautiful than she was at that very moment.

  “Melinda,” he finally said. “Look at me.”

  She looked up from her knitting, and a tress of her long, blonde hair fell across one eye. She brushed it away, and Cade could see tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Cade,” she said. “I am so sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Melinda,” Cade said. Subconsciously, he rubbed the purple, fish-hook shaped scar on his forehead. “I understand. I am hurt beyond words, but it was the circumstance that hurt me, not you. You and Adam are innocent and I love both of you. It’s just that, now, I will love you as a sister-in-law.”

  When Cade and Adam returned to the house from a day of chopping cotton, they were met on the front porch by Melinda, who brought two glasses and a large pitcher of sweet tea.

  “I cooled it as best I could by keeping it in the shade today,” she said.

  “I’m so thirsty, I could drink it if it was scalding hot,” Cade said. “Thanks.”

  The two were drinking when Melinda held her hand over her eyes to look out onto the road.

  “Someone’s coming,” she said.

  Cade and Adam looked toward the visitor.

  “Damn,” Adam said. “It’s Lloyd Botkins. What does he want?”

  “Lloyd Botkins? Who is he?” Cade asked.

  “He’s a Yankee carpetbagger who came down here from Cleveland. Ever since he arrived, he’s been buying people out. Hell, he owns more land now than anyone in Montgomery County.”

  “What does he want with us?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

  Lloyd Botkins was a short, rather rotund man, bald-headed except for a line of hair above each ear. He had a round face, full cheeks, an oversized nose, and rather small, beady eyes. He was wearing a cream - colored summer suit with a brown string tie. As soon as he stopped his one-horse shay, he wiped the sweat away from his face with the handkerchief he held.

  “Good afternoon,” he said.

  “Mr. Botkins,” Adam replied.

  “My, that tea looks awfully good,” he said.

  “I’ll get you a glass,” Melinda replied and she stepped back into the house.

  “What brings you out here, Mr. Botkins?”

  “Oh, I thought you and I might talk a little business. That is, if this gentlemen would excuse us,” he added, nodding toward Cade.

  “This gentleman is my brother,” Adam said. “And any business that has to do with me, has to do with him as well.”

  “All right,” Botkins said.

  At that moment Melinda returned with another glass, filled it with tea, and handed it to Adam, who stepped down to give the glass to Botkins.

  “I thank you kindly, ma’am,” Botkins said, lifting the glass then draining it all.

  “The business, Mr. Botkins?” Adam said, retrieving the now empty glass.

  “How many acres of cotton do you have in?”

  “Forty acres. Why, have you added being a cotton broker to all your other business dealings?”

  “Not exactly, but it does relate to the business we have to discuss. Right now, cotton is bringing about fifteen cents a pound. Now say you aren’t hurt by a bad drought, then you should bring in about a bale an acre. That would be seventy-five dollars an acre, or $3,000 for the forty acres.”

  “I’d say that’s about right,” Adam said.

  “I would like to propose that I buy your crop right now, forty bales, at fifty dollars a bale.”

  “Why would we do that?” Cade asked. “You just said yourself that cotton would be selling at seventy – five dollars a bale.”

  “Ah, yes, but you see, that is only if you make a good crop. Why who knows what could happen this year to prevent you from making a crop? You could have a drought, or it could go the other way, we could have rains so severe that the Cumberland overflows its banks and your entire farm could be flooded out. I’m not from here, but I understand that it has happened before.”

  Cade remembered a flood when he was fifteen, in which their entire crop was lost.

  “Yeah,” Cade said. “It has happened before.”

  “You could call my offer… insurance.”

  “No, thanks,” Adam said.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Botkins said. “Because you see, you have another thing to consider, an obligation you might say, to pay off your mortgage.”

  “Our mortgage isn’t due until January, and then only one half of it. If we have even a normal cotton crop, we’ll have enough money to make the payment,” Adam said. “C.D. knows this.”

  “You would be talking about C.D. Lewis, of the First Bank of Clarksville?”

  “Yes, who else would I be talking about?”

  Botkins shook his head. “I’m afraid that Mr. Lewis no longer has anything to do with it,” he said. “You see, Mr. McCall, I have bought the mortgage to your farm, and I have also paid off the taxes due. This farm is indebted to me for two thousand two hundred and eleven dollars. Now, if you would see fit to sell me your crop of cotton, today, for the price I have offered, you would only have to come up with another two hundred and eleven dollars.”

  “You don’t really expect us to take that offer, do you, Botkins?” Cade asked. He left out the “Mister” because the man was beginning to irritate him. “The crop will make us three thousand, and like Adam said, we have until January to pay half of it.”

  “Oh, no, gentlemen, you don’t understand,” Botkins said. “As I said, I hold the mortgage now, and I am calling all of it in, in sixty days. That will be the end of August, which is before your cotton will make.” He picked up the reins to his horse. “You might want to reconsider my offer to buy the cotton now.”

  Botkins made a clucking sound, snapped the reins, then pulled the shay around and started back.

  “Oh, Adam, what are we going to do?” Melinda asked.

  It didn’t escape Cade’s notice that Melinda asked Adam, and not him, what they were going to do. She thought of Adam first . . .any connection she may have once had with Cade was over. And who could blame her? It had been over three years since he first left, and three years was a lot of separation.

  “I don’t know,” Adam said.

  “Adam, how did we get in this position in the first place?” Cade asked. “I know that we owned this land outright, n
o mortgages of any kind. And I know that Pop was a very frugal man. How is it that we are now in debt?”

  “Confederate money,” Adam replied. “Like almost everyone else around here, Pop traded in his greenbacks for Confederate money. Seventy – five hundred dollars. The state didn’t redeem the Confederate money, and neither did the Federal government. Everyone lost everything. Mr. Waters wound up losing his entire farm.”

  “Your father?” Cade asked, looking toward Melinda.

  “Yes,” Melinda said. “Papa and Mama are living in Nashville now. They have a single room at a boarding house, and Papa is working as a grocery clerk.”

  “Botkins owns the farm now. And the Byrd land that you and I once talked about buying? Botkins owns that too. This farm is the only farm Botkins doesn’t own, between the Cunningham Pike, and the river.”

  Clarksville, TN:

  Cade was waiting in The First Bank of Clarksville for a meeting with C.D. Lewis. He planned to ask for a loan, though he knew the chances of getting it were very small. After all it was Lewis who had sold their mortgage in the first place.

  At the moment he was reading a newspaper, his attention drawn to one particular article.

  Embrey R. Carleton, of Carleton River Transportation, has just put on two new boats for service between Memphis and New Orleans, Louisiana. Each boat is three hundred feet in length, and seventy-five feet wide.

  “Each boat can carry 4500 bales of cotton,” Jed Carleton has reported. Jed Carleton, who is Embrey Carleton’s son, is vice president of Carleton River Transportation.

  “You are the money courier?” Cade heard someone say.

  “Yeah, Vernon Parker’s the name.”

  “Here is your authorization to pick up the money, Mr. Parker. It is a bank draft, signed by Mr. Lloyd Botkins, and drawn against his own funds. Present this to Mr. David Jenkins at the First Bank of Nashville, and he will give you five thousand dollars in cash.”

  “All right.”

  “It is too late for you to get to Nashville before the bank closes today, but you must be there by the time it opens tomorrow morning, so you can be back here before close of business tomorrow afternoon. Mr. Botkins is very adamant about that. He wants the money here, tomorrow.”

  “You tell him not to worry,” Parker said. “I’ve got a good fast horse, I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  Laying the paper aside, Cade walked to the front of the bank and watched as Parker mounted his horse, a big black, with a white face, and a large white circle on his right hindquarters. It was a distinctive enough horse to be recognized from some distance.

  “Sir,” someone said, stepping up to Cade then. “It looks as if Mr. Lewis isn’t going to be back today. Perhaps tomorrow. If you would give me your name, I could make you an appointment.”

  “No, that’s all right, tomorrow isn’t convenient for me,” Cade replied. “Perhaps I’ll try and make an appointment next week.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “I think I might have a solution to our problem,” Cade told Adam when he got back to the farm.

  “What would that be?”

  “Do you remember Jed Carleton?”

  “Carleton?”

  “Yes, he was in our same company.”

  “Oh, yes, I do remember him. Wait a minute, he was that rich guy, wasn’t he? Everyone used to talk about how he could have bought a commission, but he came in as a private.”

  “Yes. Jed and I were prisoners together in Camp Douglas, and we became very good friends. As a matter of fact, I saved his life once.”

  Cade was talking about when he jerked Jed back down into the escape tunnel just after the guards shot Pogue, and before they could shoot him.

  Adam smiled. “Yes, I should think that would make you a very good friend.”

  “Jed told me once that if I ever needed anything, to come to Memphis and he’d help me out. Well, I need something, so I’m going to Memphis.”

  “You think you can borrow some money from him?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “How? We don’t have enough equity in the farm, and if you borrow against the crop, as soon at the crop comes in and we pay him, we’ll be back in the same boat again. We won’t owe anything, but we won’t have any money, either.”

  “That won’t be your problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Adam, I can’t stay here. You . . . Melinda . . . I can’t . . . well, as I said, I don’t hold that against you but it’s just too distressing. The farm is yours, all yours. And the loan from Jed, that will be yours as well. You can call it my wedding present.”

  Adam shook his head. “No, Cade, I can’t let you do that.”

  “Call it my payment for you looking out for Mom.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Do you want a horse?”

  “What would I do with it? I’ll be on a riverboat. A horse would just get in the way.”

  “But, how are you going to get to Memphis?”

  “I’ll take a boat tomorrow from Clarksville to Nashville, from there to Paducah, from there to Cairo, and from there to Memphis. I’ll be there in about a week, and I’ll send you the money so you can buy back the mortgage from Botkins, long before it is due.” Cade smiled. “The only thing I regret is that I won’t be able to see that son of a bitch’s face when he is paid off.”

  “Yeah, I have to confess, I’m looking forward to that as well.”

  “Bye, brother,” Cade said, sticking his hand out.

  “Wait, let me get Melinda.”

  “No,” Cade said, uttering the word more sharply than he intended. He held up his hand. “Please don’t, Adam. I’d rather you not.”

  8

  BEFORE LEAVING, Cade went out to the wood shed. Sticking his hand behind a piece of slab-wood nailed to the rafters, he smiled when he discovered it was still there. He pulled down a little canvas bundle and opening it, saw a Colt Revolver, leather holster, powder flask and several .44 caliber balls. Sticking the powder flask and lead balls into his pocket, he walked down to the river, then headed south.

  Cade reached Half Pone Creek within three hours after he left, and spent the rest of the night there, using his rucksack as a pillow.

  As Cade lay there, he stared up at the dark sky, filled with stars from those that were so bright he felt almost as if he could reach up and pluck one from the sky . . . to the ones that grew dimmer and dimmer until they became indistinct, other than a powder-blue dusting against the black velvet.

  He thought about Melinda. Why hadn’t she waited? Didn’t she have any idea what she meant to him? Didn’t she know that it was the thought . . . no, it was the sure and certain knowledge that they would be together for the rest of their lives that had sustained him? It had given him the courage to face death in a dozen battles, and the strength to survive the hell of a Yankee prison. But she had taken that courage and strength from him, and as he lay here, tonight, he felt as empty as a rag doll.

  No. He wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t Melinda’s fault. She thought he was dead, Adam thought he was dead, before he died, his father had thought he was dead, and the belief that he was dead might well have been the cause of his mother’s dementia. It was time to put all that behind him.

  “The rest of my life begins tonight . . .this very moment,” Cade said aloud.

  And as if to punctuate his statement, a meteor sped through the stars above him.

  The next morning he pulled a little skillet and some bacon from his rucksack and had breakfast, though without coffee, as he had no way of making it.

  It was about noon when he saw the courier coming up Ashville Pike, which was the road that ran between Nashville and Clarksville. It was easy to spot him, because of the distinctive markings of the horse. Cade was prepared for the encounter, he had already charged his pistol, and last night, before he left the farm, he had made a hood from an empty flour sack. He pulled the hood over his face and, with the pis
tol in hand, waited until the courier was near. When Cade stepped out into the road, his appearance was so unexpected that the rider’s horse reared up, and had to be brought under control.

  The rider, seeing an armed and masked man standing in front of him, started to reach for his gun. Cade fired his pistol, the bullet knocking the courier’s hat off.

  “I could a’ put that right betwixt your eyes,” Cade said.

  “Now, what I want you to do is pull that there pistol o’ your’n, ‘n drop it onto the road. But iffen I see anythin’ more’n just your finger ‘n thumb a’ touchin’ that gun, I’ll shoot you dead.”

  Cade affected the most profound country accent he could.

  The courier did as he was directed.

  “Very good, Parker, maybe you ain’t as dumb as you look. Now, I want you to come down from that horse.”

  “You know me?” Parker asked, surprised at being addressed by name.

  “Hell yes, I know you. How could I ever forget a sumbitch like you?” Cade replied.

  “Are you saying we’re friends?” Parker asked.

  “Oh I wouldn’t say that me ‘n you was ever exactly friends. We was a long way from bein’ friends.”

  “Foster! That’s who you are, ain’t it! You’re Fred Foster!”

  “Parker, I done told you to get down offen that horse, ‘n you got two ways o’ doin’ it. You can either climb down, or I’ll shoot you down.”

  “I’m gettin’ down, I’m gettin’ down,” Parker said, dismounting quickly. “Wait, you ain’t Foster. I heard he was kilt in the war. You’re Shoan, ain’t you? Yeah, that’s who you are. You’re Abner Shoan.”

  “Stick your arms behind you, on each side o’ this here tree,” Cade said, continuing to exaggerate the affected dialect.

  Parker did as he was told, and Cade secured him to the tree by using a strip of rawhide to tie his thumbs together.

  The horse had stood patiently in the middle of the road and walking back to it, Cade picked up Parker’s pistol, which was a later model Colt that utilized metallic cartridges, rather than the cap and ball Cade was carrying. He stuck the pistol down into the waist of his pants, then he opened the pouch, where he saw three packs of twenty dollar bills. Stuffing the bills down into his rucksack, he mounted the horse.