Praise for A Ranger’s Trail
Carefully blending fact and fiction, Darlene Franklin brings one of the lesser-known eras in Texas history to life in this powerful story of love and vengeance, family and faith. For a realistic look at the way the Old West really was, don’t miss A Ranger’s Trail.
—AMANDA CABOT, author of Summer of Promise
Darlene Franklin has taken a dark time in Texas history and turned it into an intriguing tale of family loyalty, self-preservation, and love. She weaves together the lives of two people who don’t realize the ones they love are in the middle of the fight. How the differences are resolved and peace restored makes a compelling drama that will keep you turning the pages. Another winner in the Texas Trails series.
—MARTHA ROGERS, author of the Seasons of the Heart series
Darlene Franklin immerses the reader into the bitter Hoo Doo War through her passionate characters and exemplary research. In A Ranger’s Trail she explores the struggle between family loyalty, vengeance, and justice, yet examines both sides of the conflict without partiality. Thoughtful and challenging, A Ranger’s Trail is an experience that continues long after the last page.
—REGINA JENNINGS, author of Sixty Acres and a Bride
TEXAS
TRAILS
A RANGER’S TRAIL
DARLENE FRANKLIN
A
MORGAN FAMILY
SERIES
MOODY PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO
© 2012 by
DARLENE FRANKLIN
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Edited by Pam Pugh
Interior design: Ragont Design
Cover design: Gearbox
Cover images: Masterfile, VEER, and Photos.com
Author photo: Motophoto
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Franklin, Darlene.
A ranger’s trail / Darlene Franklin.
p. cm.—(Texas trails: a Morgan Family series)
ISBN 978-0-8024-0587-6 (alk. paper)
1. Cattle stealing—Fiction. 2. Vigilantes—Fiction. 3. Texas—Fiction. 4. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3606.R395R36 2012
813’.6—dc22
2011032809
We hope you enjoy this book from River North Fiction by Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:
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This book is dedicated to my biggest fan and number one (and only) son, Jaran Franklin.
Together, God has taught us how to forgive the unforgiveable and has restored us to each other.
Above all, I want to dedicate A Ranger’s Trail to the God who sought me and died for me while I was still His enemy.
NOTE TO READER:
Range wars are an ugly part of the history of the American West. The Mason County, or “Hoo Doo,” War is an example of range wars at their worst. German settlers felt they were denied justice when A. G. Roberts and M. B. Thomas were acquitted of cattle rustling. They decided to administer rough frontier justice to several key figures of the Anglo community, including Tim Williamson. Unfortunately for the Germans, Williamson was a close friend of former Texas Ranger Scott Cooley. Cooley vowed to see everyone involved in Williamson’s murder brought to justice. Other historical characters who appear in the pages of A Ranger’s Trail are Major John B. Jones, Sheriff John Clark, Henry Doell, Rev. Johann Stricker, Johann Wohrle, James Cheyney, Capt. Dan Roberts, August Keller, Ernst Jordan, Peter Jordan, Miles Barler, Dan Hoerster, and Captain Neal Caldwell.
Unless otherwise noted, quotes are taken from:
The Lucia Holmes Diary 1875–1876: The Hoo Doo War Years by Lucia Holmes (Mason, Texas: Mason County Historical Society, 1985)
The Mason County “Hoo Doo” War, 1874–1902 by David Johnson (Denton, Texas: University of North Texas Press, 2006)
Names have been spelled uniformly for the sake of simplicity, although there is some variation in original sources.
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM Cowgirl Trail: PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
HOUSTON DAILY TELEGRAPH
March 3, 1875
We are able, thanks to a gentleman who was present, to define the deliberations that took place under the spreading branches of a live oak a little more definitely. Some unknown parties (many citizens probably) seized upon the five men who were suspected of being horse thieves, and succeeded in elevating three of the five, when the sheriff put in an appearance … So instead of five men being hung, only two were hung, and one was shot. For the sake of the reputation of Mason as a law-abiding community, we hope this correction will be made.
MASON COUNTY, TEXAS AUGUST 1874
Found not guilty of any wrongdoing. Praise the Lord.” Derrick Denning lifted his cup of coffee in a mock salute to his wife, Leta. “As the Good Book says, ‘Thou hast maintained my right and my cause.’ Though I feel bad about the fines the other fellows have to pay.”
The Denning family sat around the table enjoying a celebratory dinner in their cabin on the D-Bar-D Ranch. Young Ricky clapped his hands on the table, although he didn’t know what they were celebrating. Leta looked into her husband’s eyes over their son’s head and smiled. The baby inside her stirred, as if contentedly joining in on the joy.
“I’ll read up on that new law about transporting cattle over county lines before I go on any more cattle drives. Right and legal aren’t always the same thing, and we want to be sure we stick on the side of the law.”
“It’s not right, the other men getting fined.” Leta’s brother Andy stopped shoveling beans into his mouth long enough to grumble. “They didn’t do nothing wrong. The cattle belonged to Mr. Roberts and Mr. Thomas.”
When her husband was arrested for helping M. B. Thomas and Allen Roberts take their cattle to Llano County from Mason County, the ordeal filled her with anguish. Local German cattlemen had accused both Thomas and Roberts of stealing cattle. In the court case, six of the cowhands were charged guilty and fined $25 a head. Yet the court dismi
ssed Derrick’s case due to insufficient evidence.
The German cattlemen had grumbled at the verdict. Tensions between Anglos and Germans already ran high, since German settlers had opposed seceding from the Union during the War Between the States. Now Mason County was full of cattle ranchers who were angry that justice for cattle stealing—real and supposed—was not being fulfilled through the law. German settlers and people native to Mason County alike were troubled.
Leta suppressed the niggling worry that threatened to destroy this night of celebration. God answered her prayers. Derrick was home. She and her family—Derrick, their son, and her brother Andy—could stay put in Mason County, Texas. They wouldn’t have to move every year or two the way Pa had dragged them all over the map when she was a child.
Derrick set both his elbows on the table and crossed his arms, signaling he had an important announcement to make. He winked at Leta. “Since we’re celebrating tonight, it’s time we told you the news. Ricky, what do you think about being a big brother sometime this winter?”
Ricky stopped pushing beans around his plate. “I’m going to have a baby brother?”
“Or a sister.” Leta touched the palm of her hand against her womb. “We won’t know until the baby comes.”
“I don’t want to wait until later.” Ricky clapped his hands together. “I want it now.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”
“Can I at least have him for a Christmas present?”
Andy snickered.
Leta hid a smile behind her napkin. “The baby might come around your birthday. How would you like that?”
Ricky shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’s all right. Say, Davey’s dog had puppies. Can I have one?” Leta admired how much his smile looked like his father’s. “Since I have to wait so long to have my brother?”
“Your father and I will talk about it.”
“Maybe I can have a horse of my own, since I have to wait for my niece or nephew.” Andy lifted his eyebrows and put on his most innocent expression.
“That topic is already under discussion.” Derrick grinned at his brother-in-law. “Today I’d like to give all of you the world, but I’d better wait and see what happens next.”
Good, sensible, steady Derrick. The best husband in the world for Leta. God was so good.
When they retired to bed later, thunder rumbled. Leta snuggled close to Derrick. The raging storms that swept across the land from time to time frightened her, and she preferred the safety of her husband’s arms.
Instead of subsiding, the rumble continued—constant, moving closer and closer. More like a … stampede. Derrick swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed his gun and headed for the main room. Leta threw on her dressing gown and followed.
Ricky sat up on his elbows in his bed in the main room, rubbing his eyes and looking scared.
Derrick ran his hand over Ricky’s soft curls. “Nothing to worry about, son; you lay back down.”
The boy ducked his head under the sheets as instructed, but Leta didn’t for a minute think he had gone to sleep.
The rumble grew louder, the distinct sound of hooves pounding the hard earth at full speed.
Andy climbed down from the loft, rifle in his hand. “Is something after the cattle?”
That was a definite possibility. The newly reinstituted Texas Rangers tried to keep Indians and Comancheros away from American holdings. Sometimes they were successful, sometimes they weren’t.
Leta didn’t like her brother heading out to fight off rustlers. She didn’t like her husband going into danger, for that matter—but she knew he must. Derrick handed her a loaded rifle. She grasped it with both hands and started praying. Horses neared, almost too loud to speak. She dropped to a kneeling position beneath the window.
As Derrick reached for the front door, the hooves stopped moving, snorting and neighing punctuating the abrupt silence. Leta lifted her head a few inches to see out the windowpane. Dark, shadowy figures on horseback formed a semicircle around the front door. Of the cattle in the pen, she saw and heard no sign.
“Derrick Denning. Come out and face justice.”
Leta tensed and waited for Derrick’s response. He half turned the doorknob, then dropped his hand.
The speaker held up both hands. “Derrick Denning. I will not ask again. You have two choices. Either you hang;” he held up a rope tied into a noose. “Or we burn down your home.” A light flared in the hand of one of the other riders, and the object in the leader’s right hand burst into flame—a torch. “It’s your choice.”
Leta gasped and the rifle trembled in her hand. Shoot the man. The thought flew in and out of her mind. They were too many, she couldn’t drive them all away before someone threw the firebrand onto the dry wood of their house. She wanted to grab Ricky and run for the door. But the only exit lay through the front door—in the direction of the men threatening to burn them down.
She chanced a glance to the side. Andy stood with his rifle on his shoulder, ready to shoot. Derrick motioned for him to put the gun down.
A pale face appeared over the edge of his blanket. No! Ricky must not see this! Leta motioned for her son to sneak back under the covers.
A deep sigh drew Leta’s attention to her husband. Putting down the gun, he tied a white dish towel around his arm. He turned to Leta. “Take care of Ricky.” Before she could protest, he opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.
The first-quarter moon provided little light, and clouds drifted across it like wisps of smoke. Light from the torch flickered, revealing Derrick’s face in sharp contrast.
“Gentlemen, whatever is troubling you, surely we can settle this like reasonable men. I come out here in peace.” Derrick pointed to the white band on his arm. “Unarmed.”
Rough custom said no one would shoot an unarmed man any more than they would shoot a man in the back.
The men on horseback were shadows hovering just beyond the circle of light. Leta couldn’t see the faces of the men threatening her husband. “Derrick Denning, the district court of Mason County found insufficient evidence against you to convict you of the theft of cattle.” Listen to the voice. Leta strained her ears. It had to be someone they knew, someone from their small community. “However, the people of Mason County witnessed your crime firsthand, and we find it necessary to pronounce a true judgment.”
Derrick took a step back, then straightened his shoulders and moved forward. “Get off your horse and face me like a man.”
The leader handed the torch to the man on his right and the noose to the man on his left and jumped from the horse. He stood in the shadows.
“We the people of Mason County have examined the testimony against you. We have determined that you were indeed with A. G. Roberts on the date in question. That you did aid in the illegal transportation of cattle over the Mason County line without proper inspection. That you knew that the cattle in question in fact belonged to a local rancher.”
“How can you say what happened? The only people there were the folks on trial today.”
“You admit to the facts then?”
Leta heard the smiling threat in his voice, although she couldn’t see it. The end of the noose dangled where she could see it in the flare of the torch.
“Having examined the evidence, we have determined that you are, both legally and morally, guilty of the crime of cattle rustling. And that your punishment will be death by hanging.”
The man with the noose nudged his horse forward.
A long, long five minutes later, Leta slumped to the floor. Only then did she become aware of Ricky crouching beside her, staring in horror out the window.
NEAR VICTORIA, TEXAS SEPTEMBER 1874
Buck Morgan reined in Blaze when he approached the familiar sign suspended over the entrance to the family ranch: “Running M Ranch, est. 1834.” As far as he roamed, across Texas and farther west, into New Mexico and Arizona territories, he always pictured this place as home. His father
had worked hard to build the Running M Ranch into the best horse ranch in all of Texas. Buck loved the quality Morgan horses the family raised, but he loved the freedom of the open range even more. When he reached his eighteenth birthday, he kicked the dust of the ranch off his heels, coming home for only short stretches of time since.
But Ma and Pa would want to hear his current news firsthand. He owed them that much.
He spurred Blaze, and the gelding trotted forward, easing into a gallop, as if he sensed he was headed home too. His gait ate up the distance to the big house, while Buck took note of changes to the ranch. In the distance, he spotted a group of riders bringing the horses in from the pasture for the night. He turned Blaze in that direction and the horse increased his speed, giving in to the desire to reach the head of the pack.
A lanky-bodied youth on the back of a roan-colored mare turned in Buck’s direction. “Pa! Bert! Buck has come home.” Buck’s youngest brother, Jack, edged his mare out of the band and raced across the open space.
Buck reined Blaze in to a moderate pace and met his brother. “What did you do with my brother? He wasn’t any taller than a cow’s tail the last time I saw him.”
Jack grinned. “It’s good to see you too, Buck. Come on, let’s head to the house. Ma will be so happy you’re home. She’ll be sending messages all across town.”
Oma and Opa. Granny. Aunt Marion and Uncle Peter. Tante Alvie and her husband. His married sisters. Buck could be glad his other aunts and uncles and cousins lived scattered across Texas, or else they would’ve rented out all the guest rooms in Victoria.
Ma was working in the garden beside the house, probably getting it ready for the winter crop, when they approached. Her back was to him. Buck put a finger to his lips and slid off the horse as quiet as a cat.
“You’re home early.” The faintest trace of an accent pointed to Ma’s German roots. She pulled up another weed before turning around. She dropped the weeds and the spade, her hand covering her mouth.
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