The O'Malleys of Texas

by Dusty Richards

  “How did it go, Harp?” Simons asked him.

  “None of them got away since I got up here, but if I didn’t have Comanche here, I couldn’t have held them.”

  “Simons, ain’t there any trained horses like his?” a boy named Carl asked him.

  “What you’re riding is what we’ve got.”

  Carl dropped his head. “Man, you’ll have a real mess coming when we hit the trail.”

  “Harp, you get some supper and a fresh horse. I’m putting you in charge of the night guard.”

  “Sir? How many men do I have to do that?”

  “Oh, five or six. Why?”

  “Will they all come in for supper?” Harp asked him, concerned how he’d meet them and figure it all out.

  “Who will watch the herd?” Simons asked.

  Harp pushed his lathered horse in closer. “Some need to sleep. How will I set up that order?”

  “I guess ride by and tell them who stays and who goes to supper.”

  Harp had no idea how many men were even working on containing the herd. He told two to stay in that group and four to go eat supper and report to him when he got to camp. On the north side he found Long on his sweaty horse still busy working his section of the herd.

  “How many guys are working here?”

  “Why?” Long set his using horse down beside Harp.

  “I am in charge of the night riders.”

  Long looked at him in disbelief. “How did you get that job?”

  “Brother, I don’t know that I want it, but I have it. Hell, Simons just handed me the job. Now you choose two to stay and tell them I will send replacements in a little while. The rest need to go get supper. They must report to me in camp. Meanwhile I’ll start a list.”

  Long narrowed his dark eyes at his brother. “Good thing. He’d handed that job to me, I’d have shoved it up his ass.”

  “Long, that ain’t no way to work for a man. I can see there is going to be lots more to this trip than I thought about as being our problems.”

  Warily, Long shook his head. “All the damn cheap horses in Texas and the boys have the scraps.”

  “You’re right, brother, but now I need to make a list and figure this herd guard business out.”

  They had boiled beans for supper in camp. No bread, no dessert. Harp took an instant dislike to the grubby-whiskered guy named Chester doing the cooking. He had the list of the hands named on a tablet.

  Randy Hamilton

  Chadron Turner

  Chaw Michaels

  Darvon Studdy

  Red Culver

  Carl Kimes

  Eldon Morehouse

  Kevin Doones

  Norm Savoy

  Doug Pharr

  Long O’Malley

  Harp O’Malley

  Simons had gone somewhere, the camp cook told him, seated on a log and smoking another quirley. Harp was busting to ask him what was coming for breakfast after the sorry showing that he served that evening, but he kept the matter to himself. He did take the alarm clock, wound it, and set it for three hours to get his next shift out on time. Simons must have gone to town. No sight of him. Harp felt a little like he’d been abandoned. In an effort to make sure he had help, he’d saved the last shift for himself, Long, and Chaw, the only other real cowboy in his book.

  The herd didn’t run off, and dawn saw them back in camp for some watery oatmeal—nothing else. When he assigned the crew to go ride herd, they all were disgruntled about the food. No Simons at noon, either. More plain brown beans for lunch.

  “Harp, we’re going to have to move them steers. They’ve eaten or shit on all the grass up there,” Chaw told him, hunkered down on some run-over boot heels, making frowns at each spoonful of beans he shoveled into his mouth.

  “I know it’s bad food. I’ll try and do something about it.”

  “I’d like to go north but I ain’t going on this crap.” Chaw rapped the metal plate with his spoon.

  “Stay tight; I’m saddling up and going to where they hired us and ask some questions. If things aren’t fixed, Long and I won’t be staying, either.”

  Chaw nodded. “I’m with you two.”

  Harp saddled Comanche and rode back to Greg’s outfit. No one was around and so he dismounted at the yard gate. A nice-looking woman in a blue dress came to the door. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, is Mr. Greg here?”

  “No, he’s gone to town on business. What’s wrong?”

  “You expect him back pretty soon?”

  “Not very soon. Is something wrong?”

  “Ma’am, I hate to worry you, but I was put in charge of the cattle drive, and the cook they hired is lazy and—ah, well—as sorry an excuse for one as I’ve ever seen. I haven’t seen the boss in twenty-four hours, and the boys are beginning to get upset. I guess cowboys are worth about two bits today, but he might miss them when they all leave. And besides we’ve run out of grass for the steers and need to move them.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Harp O’Malley, ma’am.”

  “I’ve met your mother—Easter?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, she should be proud of you. You could explain all that and not cuss once.”

  He smiled, amused. “I know better than that, ma’am.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Harp, I’m sending Emory, the minute he gets back, over to the herd. You will have results when he gets there.”

  “I didn’t come to upset you.”

  “You didn’t. But Emory will be displeased when he hears all that is happening.”

  Harp tipped his weather-worn felt hat and remounted his horse. On the trip back he short-loped him. Long cut him off short of camp. “You do any good?”

  “Emory Greg is coming. Why?”

  “Your boss come back drunk as a skunk. Asked where you were. I told him tending steers.”

  “Where’s he now?”

  “Snoring in his bedroll.”

  “I spoke to Greg’s wife. He was in town on business. I mentioned the cook, the feed, and the men to her. The man who sent us up here was nowhere around.”

  Long made a scowl. “What did she say?”

  “She said Greg’d be here when he got back.”

  “You reckon he will?”

  Harp nodded, looking over the camp for Simons.

  “He’s over in the shade.” Long pointed him out.

  “Let him sleep.” He dismounted and undid his saddle.

  Scratching his belly, the cook came over. “The boss wondered where the hell you were, boy?”

  “I don’t work for you. Mind your own damn business.”

  “When he’s not here I’m in charge.” Chester rapped his chest with his fist, and in Harp’s opinion that was a challenge. Without a word Harp stepped in and knocked the cook on his ass in a one-two punch. Chester never saw his fists coming until they struck him. Spilled on his ass, Harp pointed at him. “Load your gear and get the hell out of here.”

  “You can’t fire me.”

  But then there were six cowboys with sticks in their hands backing up Harp. Chaw stepped in. “You heard Harp. We’ve had enough of your bad cooking. Load your ass up or we’re lynching you, mister.”

  Chester took the hint, loaded his stuff in a tow sack—cussing under his breath—and left. Harp told three of the boys to wash the cooking utensils, rinse, and dry them while he mixed flour and baking powder. Long greased a Dutch oven for him. Carl had a sharp hunting knife he washed and then sliced bacon. Norm ground some beans for coffee. Another hand put on the water to boil, and they all acted like they were relieved at last to have that nasty cook gone.

  “There’s some dry apples and bugs in the supplies, will that make something sweet?”

  Harp had Norm looking for supplies. Harp answered him, “Yeah, we can make something. Long, grease another Dutch oven for us to bake it in.”

  “Got her.”

  The baking powder, he hoped, would work i
n his dough. Some of his mother’s own sour dough starter would be better, but they didn’t have much choice in this case. The beans were almost boiled. Carl’s bacon was frying. Using some of the grease, Harp was frying some chopped onions in a big skillet.

  Long was tending the biscuits in the Dutch oven and the second one with Norm’s slurry of dry apples, raisins, flour, sugar, water, and baking powder. Things were going all right in Harp’s opinion. They took a break for some good coffee, and everyone stood around looking smug. He had his list of hands to replace the herders after they ate. Maybe the captain would get there shortly.

  The biscuits worked, but in his case he decided his mother’s were lots better. The fried onions and crisp bacon made the beans tolerable, and Norm’s dessert wasn’t café fine but they bragged on it. The herders coming in reported the herd was becoming more upset without much to eat. Those boys could hardly believe they’d run off the cook and had some real food. They were soon bragging on the grub when Captain Greg arrived.

  He stepped off his horse and motioned to Harp. “What’s going on up here?”

  “We planned to wait for you, but we run off the cook and cooked ourselves supper.”

  “Anna said you told her he wasn’t very good. Where is Simons?”

  “Sleeping it off over there.”

  “Looks like you’ve handled it, Harp. What else?”

  “We need to move the steers to better grass, and most of these horses are junk.”

  Greg chuckled. “Where should we go with the cattle?”

  “North I guess. They’re out of feed here,” Harp said.

  “We better ride up there and find a place in the morning.”

  Harp nodded. “We can do that. You have a lead steer?”

  “No. Do we need one?”

  Harp took off his hat. “Captain Greg, I wouldn’t move that many cattle a mile without one.”

  “Emory is my name. I am certain I can find one. Can we move them to grass without one?”

  “We can do about anything needed, but we will sure need a lead steer to go all the way to Missouri.”

  “I will find one. Now about the horses? These were all that I could find.”

  “They lied to you. My dad could find you some. These ones the boys are using are a sorry bunch.”

  “I know where your dad lives. He’s got a lead steer, too, I bet.”

  “He does but he might not sell him.”

  “Can you and these boys move this bunch for me tomorrow?”

  “What about Simons?”

  “I’m going to fire him. You’re the man in charge, Harp.”

  “So it’s okay that we run off that dirty old man that only cooked beans and made watery oatmeal?”

  “You done right. I don’t blame you, and I am sure I can find a cook somewhere. You will have to handle it until then.”

  “We can do that. And there’s some open country we can graze north of here. I just hope we can move them up there.”

  “On Liar’s Creek?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I know you can handle the men, the cooking, and move those steers north.”

  Harp had another point he needed to make. “Fine. One more thing. The food wagon’s okay, but that one other sorry wagon you bought won’t even make it to Fort Worth.”

  “I’ll find a wagon to replace it.”

  “Good. We can handle the rest.” Harp folded his arms while Greg walked over and nudged the sleeping Simons with his boot. “Simons! Get your ass up. You’re fired.”

  “Huh?” Blinking and sitting up, he still looked drunk to Harp.

  “You’re fired,” Greg said.

  “Why you—”

  “Don’t say anything. I may kill you. If it hadn’t been for these boys here I might have lost my herd.”

  On his feet, Simons wasn’t even steady, but by then Greg was on his horse. Mounted, he said, “Get the hell out of my camp.”

  Simons went off grumbling and cursing all of them. Harp ignored him, talked to the men about the night shifts and moving the cattle. His plans included for Long to ride up early to look over the way north to the open country where he wanted to move the herd to starting in mid- morning. Things were set and they were all laughing over their success at shaping up the outfit while they finished off Norm’s dessert.

  Harp shook his head, thinking about all the things he had to do if this job continued. Going to be a helluva drive to ever get this shirttail outfit to Missouri.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sun rose. Long and Carl Kimes rode out, eating some leftover biscuits, to find some grass north of the site. Harp headed up the crew, making flapjacks and homemade syrup with coffee for the men. The five cowboys who rode out to replace the night guard and keep the cattle in the herd were promised breakfast relief before they had to begin the move. Things were getting done.

  Two hours later Long and Carl were back. The first riders sent out were back to eat breakfast and were warned they’d not have lunch due to the day’s work ahead. In a quick huddle Harp made the two scouts his point riders and sent them back to get the move started. Two guys in camp were going to wash the dishes, load the wagons, and move to the new location. Harp put a slender boy, Holy Wars, who’d showed lots of horse sense, in charge of the horse herd. He had the draft animals harnessed and would help them get to the new site. Holy Wars would bring along his remuda, too.

  Harp saddled Comanche and rode out to the herd. He hoped the crew could move them. Individual steers were butting heads, mixed with others they did not know, deciding what his father called a pecking order. Once the cattle decided which steer to follow, all that would pass. But he warned the boys about the cattle that came out of the brush; they were wild as deer and any loud noise might cause the whole group to stampede. He didn’t need that to happen.

  Harp told the nearby cowboys that Long and Carl would try to start the herd and for them to push the cattle easy moving to the north. The boys agreed with him so he left, rounded the herd, telling the others they were moving and that they needed to hold them as a herd. The bawling cattle were finally on the move.

  At this point it looked like they were going north in a mass. They needed a lead steer with a bell that would direct them where the cowboys wanted them to go. He hoped the boss found one before they really moved too far along the way.

  At last he set Comanche down and watched the flow. The cattle had improved a lot by not doing so much head butting or breaking for freedom. New feed would help settle them down, but they really needed to get started on the drive to Sedalia.

  An hour later the wagons and horses went past him. Harp checked with Doug Pharr who was taking charge of that operation and driving the first wagon. Harp rode alongside him.

  “We know a well up there where we can get fit drinking water. We’ll get set up there and have food started. The herd looks like it’s moving good.”

  Harp agreed, reined up, and rode back to the herd. Red Culver caught him. “This is going better than I figured.”

  “So far. I think we can move them north all right. Greg finds a lead steer and we will get some more things ironed out.”

  “Hey, a bunch of us are backing you. Firing that cook took nerve. Thanks.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Red waved and hurried off to catch a few quitters in the herd.

  If Red’d had a real horse—damn this was a mess fixing to blow up. He chased another back in and things leveled off.

  They were moving into an area that opened into a large grassy meadow that had water. The cattle could spread out to graze and drink. Harp went to find his wagon setup and the bawling grew farther away from him. He saw the canvas top and pushed Comanche on up there.

  His cooking crew was unloading things to get started. Doug had pulled a bucket out of the well. He used a dipper to draw a drink, tasted it, and nodded. “We have some good water tonight. Plenty of fuel here, too.”

  “I think the cattle will be fine. How is that worn-out wagon?” H
arp asked.

  Doug shrugged. “Worn out.”

  Harp agreed. Before Long rode in to check with Harp, he told half the boys to go into camp with him and help getting it set up.

  “Well, we made it. What, four or five miles?”

  “Hmm,” Long snuffed at him. “Take three years to ever get to Sea-dalia at that speed.”

  “Things went pretty smoothly. How could they go better?” Harp asked him.

  “If we had a bell steer they’d fall in when they learned what that bell means ringing.”

  “The boss is trying to find one. I also mentioned better horses. Told him Dad knew where they were. The boys said the old wagon made it. Captain said he’d find a better one.”

  “This going to be the crew?” Long asked quietly.

  “Looks that way. You, me, and him. He never mentioned finding anyone else. I don’t know who was at his house and talked to us. I thought he was part of it—must not be.”

  Long agreed. “Well, I thought he had some war veterans or someone knew the way. He come back from the war after he got wounded didn’t he?”

  “Yes. I heard the bullet was too close to his heart and they couldn’t remove it.”

  “He looked all right yesterday didn’t he?”

  “He was fine. But he’s been planning this for over a year. He says they’re real short on meat to eat both North and South. If we can get these steers on a train and shipped to somewhere they could bring a big price.”

  “God will have to help us do it.” Shaking his head, disgusted, Long went for a drink.

  The cooking had begun. The boys had things rolling and it looked good. They made some cinnamon rolls in a Dutch oven to tide them over.

  The boss man arrived in mid-afternoon. Harp met him and noticed he looked paler than Harp recalled when he talked to them a week or so earlier.

  “Well, a cook is coming. He’s army material but seems sensible. His name is Ira Smith. My brother-in-law Ken has another wagon to replace the wobbly one.” The captain sat down on a log. “Harp, there is lots to do. I thought I was ready a week ago. You think that most of them boys will stay with us?”