The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  “My, aren’t you the quiet one though, standing over here all by yourself.”

  Kilgore took a swallow of his beer, but he didn’t respond.

  “I saw you watching me in the mirror,” the girl said.

  “I was looking at all of you,” Kilgore said.

  The girl’s smile broadened. “Well, you can talk.”

  “I can talk.

  “You have to have company to talk,” the girl said. “Buy me a drink, and I’ll be company for you.”

  “Later,” Kilgore said. “Right now I’m waiting for a business partner.”

  “Well, when your business is done, my name is Blissful,” the girl said. “You won’t forget now, will you?”

  “I’ll remember.”

  He watched the girl walk away, wishing he could go upstairs with her right now. This Sinclair wasn’t the first man he had killed, but after he had killed, he needed a woman to take his mind off what he had done.

  But right now he was having a run of bad luck. He’d gambled away almost all the money he’d got for the cow hides, and now he was down to his last twenty dollars. But if everything worked out, that would soon change. The article in the newspaper had said that McCall and Willis would be taking a herd to the rail head in Kansas.

  “Some of ‘em ain’t goin’ to get there,” Kilgore mused.

  Fred Toombs and two other men pushed through the batwing doors. He brought the men up to the bar.

  “These here is . . .” Toombs started, but Kilgore interrupted him.

  “Not here. Barkeep, I’ll have another beer, and give these three men one, on me.”

  “I’d rather have whiskey,” one of the men said.

  “I ain’t goin’ to spend more ‘n a nickel on you ‘till I know you better,” Kilgore replied. “You want whiskey, you’ll pay for it yourself.”

  “I’ll have a beer,” the man said, amending his order.

  Kilgore left twenty cents on the bar, then, as the men were waiting to be served he walked toward an empty table in the far back corner. He took his seat at the table, with his back against the corner wall, and waited until Toombs and the other two men, carrying their mugs, approached.

  “Boys, this here is the man I was tellin’ you about,” Toombs said. “His name is Kilgore.”

  “Who are they?” Kilgore asked, taking in the two with a wave of his hand.

  “This is Elvis Graves,” Toombs said indicating the taller of the two. “And this here is Ramon Guerra.”

  Guerra had coal black hair, dark eyes, and a moustache that curled down around his mouth.

  “You’re a Mex,” Kilgore said, stating the obvious.

  “Si. Is that a problem, Senor?”

  “If you can shoot a gun, I don’t have no problem.” Kilgore turned his attention to Graves.

  “Whereabouts do you hale from, Graves?”

  “Missouri.”

  “Missouri? Which side was you on? North or South?”

  “Both.”

  “Both? How could you be on . . . oh, I get it. You was on whatever side was most handy at the time. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  “No. I let my gun do the talking,” Graves said.

  “Can you vouch for ‘im, Toombs?”

  “Me ‘n him’s pulled a couple jobs together,” Toombs said. “Weren’t much, but Graves here, he didn’t cause no trouble.”

  “How much money’s in this?” Graves asked.

  “It’s hard to say,” Kilgore said.

  “I need money. Right now I ain’t got two nickels to rub together, and I don’t like it.”

  Kilgore smiled. “I like it when my partners are hungry. That’s why I’ve got two plans. One to make walkin’ around money fast, and one that’ll take a little time, but the payoff will be bigger.”

  “A lot of money, good, Senor,” Guerra said. “But a little money fast, is also good.”

  Kilgore smiled. “Toombs, I think these two boys are going to work out just fine.”

  Amon Kilgore led the men with him to a specific place on the Indianola Road.

  “Toombs, you take Graves and get on that side of the road,” Kilgore said. “Guerra, you stay here with me.”

  “How much money do you think the stage coach is carryin’?” Toombs asked.

  “How much money you got?” Kilgore replied.

  “I don’t know. Two dollars, maybe.”

  “Then what do you care how much money the coach is carryin’?”

  “There it is,” Graves said, pointing.

  Looking in the direction Graves indicated, they saw a cloud of dust billowing up from the road, and gleaming in the halo effect of the sun. The coach was too far away to see it as more than a black dot beneath the cloud, but it was approaching and would be here in just a few more minutes.”

  “I’ll open the ball,” Kilgore said. “Soon as I do, you boys join in.”

  Checking their pistols, the four men got into position, two men on either side of the road.

  “I tell you the truth, Carl, I can’t believe this is your last trip,” the shotgun guard said. “Why you givin’ up the job? They’s no driver anywhere who can handle a six-horse team better’n you even if’n you are an old coot.”

  “Cause Miss Betty offered me a job tendin’ bar over in Goliad. The work’s easy, I can look at Miss Betty ever night, ‘n I can drink all the beer I want.”

  “Ha, if you drink too much ‘n wind up drunk, Miss Betty will be tossin’ you out on your ass.”

  “Hell, Jordon, my quittin’ ought to be good news for you,” Carl replied. “Soon as I leave, they’ll more ‘n likely make you the driver.”

  “I don’t want to drive,” Jordan said.

  “Why not? It pays more.”

  “Money ain’t ever’ thing. I like just sittin’ up here, ridin’ along, with nothin’ to do but look at the rocks ‘n the birds.”

  Carl laughed. “Don’t ever say that to the boss man. You’re supposed to be lookin’ out for highway men.”

  “And I’m a doin’ that,” Jordan said. “But we ain’t got that much money to speak of on this trip Nobody’s gonna want what we got.”

  “Do you think a robber knows what we got on this stage? Of course not. He might be a thinkin’ we’re hauling a chest full of gold.”

  “No, no, they always know when we got a big shipment,” Jordan said. “They’s somebody always runs his mouth. Now that’s when I’m on my toes, but this trip—it’s nothin’.”

  There was a slight depression in the road and the coach dipped as it passed over it.

  “Hmm, I’ll bet the passengers got a thrill out of that,” Jordan said.

  “Warn’t nothin’ none of ‘em ain’t never done before,” Carl said. “We only got Shuman, Bigelow, ‘n Smith in the coach.”

  “All drummers,” Jordan said. “Seein’ as they’re kind of competin’ for the same dollars, it’s a wonder that there don’t no fights never break out when they’re just a sittin’ there dreamin’.”

  Kilgore looked around to make certain none of the others could be seen. By now the coach was less than a hundred yards away, and he could not only see it clearly, he could hear it; the clump of hoof beats, the rolling sound of the wheels, as well as the squeak and rattle of the coach as it rocked fore and aft on the through braces.

  Kilgore waited until the coach was within twenty yards, then while still concealed, he shot the near-horse lead. The horse went down, and that stopped the coach.

  “Here, what . . .” whatever question was going to be asked, was interrupted by a fusillade of gunfire. Both the driver and the guard were killed instantly, then Kilgore started shooting into the coach. The others followed his lead, and after several shots had been fired, Kilgore held up his hand.

  The silence that followed the roar of guns seemed almost heavy, and Kilgore walked through the acrid smell of gun smoke, with pistol in hand, to look inside the bullet-riddled coach. There were three
men, all dead, their bodies bloodied with wounds.

  The robbery netted three hundred dollars from the money pouch, and another sixty-three dollars from the three passengers.

  “Now,” Kilgore said with a wide grin as he divided the money equally. “We got us enough money to move on to the big one.”

  LP Ranch, Jackson County, Texas:

  The first man to sign up for the drive was Ian Campbell. This would be Campbell’s third drive with Cade and Jeter, and though he was now 66 years old, he was still a good hand. Campbell, a Scotsman, had come to America when he was in his mid-twenties. Some said it was to find a better life, some said it was because he had been jilted by a woman, and a few even suggested that Ian, who even in his sixties was still a big and powerful man, had killed someone with his bare hands.

  “Adams, Kingsley, Grant, Woodward, and Sullivan are gone,” Colonel Puckett said. “You’re going to have to come up with some new men from somewhere.”

  “Jeter, you ask around in Texana. I’m going back to Galveston; there are bound to be some men there who are looking for work,” Cade said.

  Cade took Arabella with him when he went back to Galveston. They still owned the lot where The Red House had been located, and he wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with it. She had discussed rebuilding, and he was all for that, if that was her decision.

  “Oh look,” Arabella said, “they’re rebuilding the Tremont.”

  “It’s too bad it’s not ready yet. We could spend the night there,” Cade said with a prurient smile.

  “I think not,” Arabella said, lowering her lashes demurely.

  “Well, we’re not going home today,” Cade said. “Where do you want to spend the night?”

  “I’m thinking we should stay at the Bell and Sail. Didn’t Virden invite us to stay there after the hurricane?”

  “That’s not what I had in mind, but that would be a good place to meet. I’m going to spend some time at the Saddle and Stirrup and see who I can round up for the drive.”

  “All right. I’m going to look for some new clothes for Magnolia and me.”

  The first person Cade saw when he entered the Saddle and Stirrup was Boo Rollins.

  “Just the person I was hoping to run into,” Cade said. “What are you drinking?”

  Boo lifted his glass. “Beer—the best German beer on the island. What brings you back to town?”

  “I’m looking to put together a crew to head north,” Cade said as he indicated that he would have a beer as well.

  “You don’t say,” Boo said. “Word was, most of the cattle drowned in the high water last fall. I didn’t think there’d be a drive coming out of this part of the state.”

  Cade got his beer and sat down at the table. “They’ll be at least one. Colonel Puckett’s got the neighboring ranchers to agree to run what few cattle they have in one big herd.”

  “And you and Jeter are the contractors?”

  “That’s right. I’d like to gather up as many of the old hands as I can find. You, Finley, Macomb, Jenkins—anybody else who might be around.”

  “Finley’s here in Galveston, but the other two—Macomb was kilt in the hurricane and nobody knows where Jenkins is. What about Ian Campbell? Have you run into him?”

  “Yes, he wintered at the LP, and he’s signed on to go,” Cade said.

  “I don’t mean to be nosey, but who you got hired on to cook?”

  Cade shook his head. “Jeter’s in Texana now, trying to find a few new guys, and he’s supposed to be scouting out a cook. With there being so few drives this year, we should be able to hire a good one.”

  “I’d hope so,” Boo said. “That Weldon fellow was a sorry sack of shit.”

  Cade laughed. “I have to agree, but we were comparing him to Rufus Slade. There weren’t many men who could put out the grub and run a chuck better than Rufus.”

  “Too bad that son-of-a-bitch had to kill him—when the drive was over, too. Rufus could have just rode out of Abilene and nobody would’a knowed who or what he was,” Boo said.

  “He was a good man.”

  “That he was. When do you plan to start?”

  “I’d like you to get to the LP as soon as you can, because when we left, the ranchers had already started the gather. They’re putting them up in Puckett’s pasture on the Crooked Creek.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. I’ll find out if Art Finley can go with us, and maybe I can find a couple of others,” Cade said.

  “All right. Where should we meet up with you?”

  A sheepish grin crossed Cade’s face. “At the Bell and Sail.”

  “What? A cattleman on the wharf? That’s a bad sign. Somethin’s not gonna go right,” Boo said as he drained the last of his mug.

  Arabella was pleased to be back in Galveston. It had been a little over six months since the hurricane, and most of the business seemed to be open or in the process of rebuilding. She went first to the site where The Red House had stood. The lot, with the exception of the tree where the wagon had snagged, was swept clean.

  She walked over the ground, in her mind laying out the design for the new building. The house would be raised to at least seventeen feet allowing water to flow beneath it. That would protect her carpets when another storm came.

  She smiled. Her carpets. They had been so important to her, and yet this was the first time she had even thought about them.

  She had told Cade she would be shopping for clothes for her and Magnolia, but instead she went first to the Hutchings Sealy National Bank.

  “Miss Dupree,” Benton Caldwell said as he took her hand, lifting it to his lips. “I wasn’t sure what had happened to you after the storm. Did you return to New Orleans?”

  Arabella flinched. Caldwell was one of the few Galvestonians who had been a customer at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar.

  “I did not,” Arabella said raising her head in a defiant gesture.

  “Oh, my dear, I did not intend to offend you,” the loan officer said. “It’s just that you were so good at what you did, I thought you might enjoy returning to that line of work.”

  “Mr. Caldwell, I came to the HSNB this morning with the intention of borrowing money to rebuild my establishment—a boarding house, a legitimate boarding house that served this city well. I thank you for your time.” She rose from the chair and without another word left Caldwell’s office.

  When she reached the street, she clinched her teeth in an attempt to hold back tears, but she was not successful. Her words to Magnolia saying that you can’t un ring a bell were never more true. The tears streaming down her cheeks were tears of rage and tears of regret. They were also for the realization that The Red House was as much a part of her past as her employment at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar.

  8

  Jeter Willis tied his horse off in front of the Ace High Saloon in Refugio, Texas. He had come to find a few more drovers for the upcoming drive.

  “What’s goin’ on?” he asked when he approached a group of men gathering in the street.

  “You see that hat lyin’ in the middle of the street there?” a man replied.

  Looking in the direction indicated, Jeter saw the low-crown hat the man had spoken of.

  “I see it.”

  “Well, that feller over there has a bet with that boy down at the far end of the street.” He pointed to a large man with a cannon-ball like head that set directly on broad shoulders. “The kid says he can scoop up that hat when his horse is at full gallop.”

  “How much is the bet?”

  “Five dollars.”

  “All right boy!” the big man shouted. “You goin’ to make us wait all day?”

  “Don’t rush the boy, Penrod,” another said. “Give ‘im time to get hisself ready.”

  From the opposite end of the street the young man urged his horse into a gallop. As he approached the hat, he leaned down so far from the saddle that he had to hold himself on by hooking his foot on the saddle horn. With the h
orse at a full gallop, its hooves kicking up chunks of dirt behind, the boy grabbed the hat, then swung back up into the saddle. He let the horse slow then came back with a big smile on his face, holding the hat out in front of him.

  “Here’s your hat, Mister,” he said.

  “Penrod grabbed the two five dollar bills from the man who had been holding the bet.

  “You lost the bet, sonny,” he said.

  “Penrod, what are you talking about?” one of those who had been watching, shouted in anger. “The boy scooped up the hat just like he said he would. You lost that bet ‘n the money belongs to the boy.”

  “No it don’t neither,” Penrod said. “The bet was, he could grab the hat at a full gallop while he was still sittin’ in the saddle. It’s clear he wasn’t sittin’ in the saddle.”

  “Huh, uh, that ain’t what I said,” the boy protested. “I said without leavin’ the saddle.”

  “Yeah, well, you done that. You left the saddle.”

  “Mister, I watched the boy same as ever’ one else did,” Jeter said. “He had one foot in the stirrup and the other foot hooked over the saddle horn. The saddle horn and the stirrup, are both part of the saddle. That means he never left the saddle.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” another said. “You owe the boy five dollars.”

  “I tell you what. I’ll give you a chance to make some real money,” Penrod said to the boy. “I’ll put a handkerchief on the street, ‘n I’ll bet you twenty dollars you can’t pick it up like you done the hat.”

  “I ain’t got twenty dollars,” the boy said.

  “Too bad. You ain’t got this five dollars neither, ‘cause far as I’m concerned, you lost the bet.”

  “I’ll lend the boy twenty dollars,” Jeter said. “You give him back the five dollars he put up, and we’ll forget about the first bet.”