“Branch and bourbon,” Owen Wister said, “I need it after this story. I had no idea the great Cade McCall was ever such a . . .a . . .”
“A bastard? I’ll say it.” Cade replied pouring a drink for both of them. “I don’t know how I ever found such a friend as Jeter Willis. It’s a wonder he didn’t shoot me.”
The two men were sitting in the swing on the front porch, rocking it gently back and forth with the slightest movement of their legs. In the west, the sinking sun had painted the sky crimson and gold.
“So, tell me, what happened to the Devil’s Den?” Wister asked.
“Jeter took it back, fixed it up, made it even better than it had been and it became the Red House again.”
“Did you own half of it?”
“Oh no.” Cade laughed. “Jeter wasn’t about to go down that road again. We traded his ownership in the freight company, for my ownership in the saloon, so that he became the sole owner. Pete Cahill, and the two girls who had worked for him all came back.”
“What about the young girl? The one that came to stay with Magnolia to get away from the man who was after her?”
“Ah, yes, that would be Cetti. Well, Cetti, her sister Frankie, and Rosalie all came to work for Jeter except they took their birth names. They became Concetta, Florentina, and Antoinette.”
“Did they stay in Dodge City?”
“Antoinette did. She and Maggie made the restaurant part of the Red House, the finest eating establishment in Southwest Kansas. I think Florentina married a lieutenant and left with him when Fort Dodge was closed. But Cetti, she saved her money and went to college. She became a teacher, and you’ll never guess where she is today.”
“No, where is she?”
“She married a congressman and she’s in Washington D.C.”
“It’s too bad the story of Lola couldn’t have had a happy ending, but I’m glad she was able to tell Jeter the truth about your card game in Caldwell.”
“It was more for me than for him.” Cade took another swallow of his drink before he continued. “You know, I would have gone to my grave thinking I’d lost the Red House for him.”
“I’m glad he found out,” Wister said, “but I’m glad he forgave you before he knew the truth.”
“Yes, I’ve done a lot of things in my life, Dan,” Cade said, using the name by which Owen Wister’s friends addressed him. “I’ve met famous and powerful people, and I’ve been fortunate enough to make a lot of money. But I count the long friendship I had with Jeter Willis as one of my greatest treasures. I miss him.” Cade looked away to hide the tear that had formed in his eye.
IV
Cade At The Walls
Cade At The Walls
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall, Book IV
Kindle Edition
© Copyright 2017 by Robert Vaughan
Wolfpack Publishing
6032 Wheat Penny Avenue
Las Vegas, NV 89122
wolfpackpublishing.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used ficticiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-64119-208-8
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Prologue
Twin Creek Ranch 1927
Cade McCall was watching as his cows were run through dipping vats of oil. This was the means used to rid them of ticks that would spread Texas fever.
“How many more?” Cade asked his son as he looked out over the herd that was enclosed in a nearby pasture.
“We’ve got less than 1500,” Will said. “I’m a little disappointed that Stone didn’t come, but maybe something came up.”
Cade smiled, as he took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “He’s a good boy. He’ll be here.”
“Pop, he’s seven years older than I am, and I’m 50. When are you going to stop calling him a boy?”
Just then they looked toward the ranch house where they saw a yellow vehicle making its way down the lane.
“Well, I do believe that’s him now,” Cade said as he waved his hat to show the driver where they were.
The Roadster was soon bouncing across the pasture, kicking up a cloud of dust as it headed toward where Cade and Will were standing. Upon stopping, a man jumped out, and reaching into the cargo box, he pulled out a leather case.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Cade. I would have been here this morning, but I had to stop and help a gentleman get his car up and running. You’re not finished yet are you?”
“Not yet,” Will said. “But we decided to go ahead and start. Do you have 1500 injections?”
“That and more,” Stone said. “Doctor Dalrymple mixed the serum himself, but even after we’ve given them the inoculation, I think we should still dip the cows just to make sure they’re not infected when you ship them out of here.”
“That’s good,” Cade said, “but I think I’ll leave this work for you young fellows. I’m going back to the house.”
The summer heat was bearing down, and Cade walked slowly. He should have asked Stone to drive him back to the house, but it was hard for him to admit that at 84, he couldn’t do all the things he had done when he was younger.
“There you are,” Molly McCall said as Cade let himself through the gate. “I was about to send out a search party to look for you. We’ve got company.”
“I saw him. Stone’s out with Will,” Cade said.
“No, no. Owen’s here. He had car trouble coming in from Fort Worth. He’s a little frustrated, so be nice.”
Molly took Cade’s hand and together they walked toward the porch where they found Owen Wister sitting in the swing with a tall glass of lemonade.
Cade nodded his head, waiting for Wister to speak first.
“These roads out here. You’d think with oil everywhere, somebody would have the idea that maybe they could make it, so a man could drive without falling into a cavern. If some Indian hadn’t come along, I’d still be sitting there.”
“You mean Stone,” Cade said. “Dr. Stone Forehead McCall.”
“McCall?” Wister questioned. “I’m sure he was an Indian.”
“He is, but he’s still my nephew.”
“Your nephew?”
“That he is.”
“Now this story, I have to hear.”
“You will,” Cade said. “Just as soon as Molly gets me a glass of lemonade.”
1
Dodge City, Kansas – spring, 1874
Jacob Harrison and Cade McCall were seated at their regular table in the Red House Salon, formerly known as a saloon. At one time, Cade had been the half owner of the place, but now it belonged exclusively to Jeter and Magnolia Willis.
“Do you think people will know the difference between a salon and a saloon?” Jacob asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cade said. “It’s what Magnolia wanted and, so it is.”
“Here
you are, gentlemen,” an exceptionally pretty, young woman said as she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of each of the two men.
“Thanks, Cetti,” Cade said. “Let me see. Is it beef or deer today?”
“It’s neither,” Cetti said. “Magnolia calls it potee, but that’s not what it really is, cause it’s supposed to have a lot more vegetables.”
Jacob laughed. “So, Bill just cooked up some pork and added beans and potatoes.”
“You’d better enjoy it while you can,” Jeter said as he drew back a chair and joined the two men.
“Why do you say that? Are the porkers about to go the way of the buffalo?” Cade asked.
“No, it’s not that. The end of the month, Bill and Sybil are planning on leaving.”
“That’s too bad,” Cade said. “I know Magnolia has enjoyed having their help, especially now that there’s a baby coming.”
“Is Bill staying here in Dodge City, or is he heading out?” Jacob asked as he took a bite of his stew.
“They’re leaving town,” Jeter said as he let out a long sigh. “I think it’s a big mistake. It’s fine for Bill to take such risks, but to put his wife in such danger—that’s just not right.”
Cade lowered his head and concentrated on his food, as all three men realized what Jeter had just said. It was now almost four years since Cade’s wife, Arabella, had died. She and Magnolia had been kidnapped while they served as cooks on a cattle drive that McCall and Willis had contracted to bring out of Texas. To this day, Cade blamed himself for what had happened to her.
Jacob, who was Cade’s partner in a freight hauling business, cleared his throat and broke the awkward silence.
“Where are they going?”
“To the Texas Panhandle,” Jeter said.
Cade jerked his head up. “You don’t mean he’s taking her down to the outpost Charlie Myers is trying to start.”
“Yes, I do,” Jeter said. “Bill says the two of them are going to start a restaurant.”
“That’s just asking for trouble. Wherever they put that outpost, it’s a clear violation of the Medicine Lodge Treaty,” Cade said. “Whatever they do is severely trespassing on Indian hunting grounds.”
“Does it really bother you all that much?” Jacob asked. “Because if it does, I can back out of the contract I just signed with Charlie. I told him we’d help haul as much merchandise as he could ship.”
“And where would we be taking this merchandise? As far as I can tell, he doesn’t even know where he wants to put his store. Just somewhere close to the buffalo, and nobody knows where that is,” Cade said.
“He won’t be going by himself,” Jeter said. “Tom O’Keefe’s moving his blacksmith shop down, and James Hanrahan’s moving his outfit down and that’s at least two dozen hunters and skinners. They say he’s gonna build a saloon, too.”
“Of course. We don’t want the buffalo hunters to be without their sauce.”
“That’s not all bad,” Jeter said. “Those same men have been mighty good to the Red House.”
“I know,” Cade said, “and I’ll be glad to take their money. How much do you think we’ll make?”
“Charlie says he’s going to ship about $50,000 worth of merchandise,” Jacob said. “We could pick up a pretty penny—maybe enough to add a couple more wagons.”
“That’d be good,” Cade said. “We’re not making much this winter, with the weather and then the agency getting less and less freight.”
“Speaking of which, two wagons go out tomorrow,” Jacob said, “but Dean’s flat on his back. Gus says he can’t move.”
“I’ll take it,” Cade said.
“Fine. Just make sure you’re back by the end of the month. That’s when we move out for the Panhandle.”
Indian Territory, Oklahoma:
It had been one of the coldest winters in memory with frequent blizzards making conditions even more brutal. Indian Agent John Miles watched the chiefs come in to the Cheyenne and Arapaho Agency. Never in his time at Camp Supply nor since he had relocated to the Darlington agency had he seen a more pathetic sight.
The Indians had barely survived the winter, and now they were coming in for much needed rations and supplies.
“Abandon your wandering ways, learn to live in peace, and we will provide you with food and sustenance,” they had been told by the government.
But the supplies had been little before the winter started and now, though the Indians were keeping their part of the bargain by staying close to the agency, some even moving into the housing that had been provided, Miles knew that he would be unable to keep up his part of the agreement.
“Ho, John,” Spotted Wolf said, lifting his hand in greeting. Though John did happen to be Miles’ name, Spotted Wolf greeted every white man in the same way.
There were others with him, and each of the Indians was leading a horse which they hoped to load with the provisions for their people.
“My friend,” the Quaker Indian agent replied, lifting his own hand. “It is good to see thee.”
“The winter has been very bad,” Spotted Wolf said as he dismounted. “The women and the children are crying with hunger. We have to kill many ponies.”
“It is a sad thing to kill ponies,” Miles agreed. “Come inside and warm thee by the fire.”
Spotted Wolf and the others followed.
Cade McCall and Gus Zordel were standing by the pot-bellied stove drinking coffee, while George Bent, the interpreter, was sitting behind a desk.
“I didn’t expect to see you, Spotted Wolf,” Cade said as he scrambled to find enough cups, and then began to pour coffee for the Indians. He watched as each one added generous amounts of sugar to the strong black coffee. “How is Quiet Stream?”
“She die. Wind Woman is now first wife.”
“I’m sorry,” Cade said. “And what of your children? How is Black Bird?”
“My son is well, and his sons are well. Cheyenne people cannot be broken. About my daughter, I do not know.”
“Spotted Wolf, the news I have for ye is not good,” Miles said interrupting Cade’s conversation.
Spotted Wolf lowered his cup and looked at Miles. His eyes told the agent that, even before he explained the situation, Spotted Wolf knew what he was going to tell him.
“All the rations that we requested have not yet been delivered,” Miles said. “McCall has brought two wagons.”
Spotted Wolf turned to Cade. “With bad meat and bad flour.”
Miles ran the back of his hand across his mouth, a nervous gesture, before he replied.
“It’s not Cade’s fault. He brought all that was shipped to Dodge City.”
“A promise that cannot be kept, should not be made,” Spotted Wolf said. “Give up the hunt for buffalo, we were told. Live in peace near the agency, we were told. You will not be hungry, you will not be cold, you will not be without clothing, we were told.
“But we did not get all that you said for the winter, and now we will not get all that you said for the spring,” Spotted Wolf said. “What shall we tell our women and children when we return, and we have no food for their bellies?”
“I’m sorry,” Miles said. “I’ll give thee what we have.”
“And how much is that?” He turned to Cade.
“Some flour, not much. Some beans and some bacon, but very little. No coffee, no sugar,” Cade said.
Spotted Wolf shook his head.
“I want thee to know that I will continue to petition Secretary Delano for more rations. I will even send a personal letter to President Grant,” Miles insisted. “I’m sure Washington will honor the agreement we have with thee and thy people.”
“I think the great chiefs in Washington do not care if the Indian lives or dies.” Spotted Wolf set his undrunk cup of coffee on the desk.
“Does thee not want thy coffee?”
“I cannot drink coffee if there is no coffee for my people. We will find food for our people.”
“Spotted Wolf,
I beg of thee, don’t do anything yet. I know that we’ve not kept our promises, but please do not start raiding the settlers. The Lord is not pleased when one of His children raises a club against another.”
“The buffalo are gone, our people are starving, our horses are run off by the white man, even while we try to farm this land, and the bluecoats refuse to take care of my people.”
Neither Cade nor Miles commented.
“Quakers tell us that the Great Father does not want war,” Spotted Wolf said. “I will not make war, but I do not speak for my brothers. The Kiowa have raised the pipe to the Cheyenne. If Bad Hand continues to kill the Comanche and the Kiowa, we will join them.”
The Indians all turned and left, each one pouring the contents of their cups on the floor in an act of defiance.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Gus Zordel said. “Who is this Bad Hand they are talking about?”
“Colonel Ranald Mackenzie. The Indians call him Bad Hand because he lost two fingers during the Civil War,” George Bent said. “He and his 4th Cavalry have been down on the border going after the Kiowa and the Comanche, and now he’s been posted at Fort Concho.”
“Has anything happened?” Cade asked.
“Not anything from Mackenzie—at least not yet, but Colonel Brooke got word at Camp Supply that Colonel Buell hit a couple of Comanche bands near the Double Mountain Fork of the Brazos. The word is Chief Lone Wolf’s son and his nephew were killed in one battle, and Quanah Parker’s nephew was killed in the other.”
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