The O'Malleys of Texas

by Dusty Richards

  “No. His name is Holy Wars. He found you.”

  She snickered. “That wasn’t his name?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I guess here? Mister, I don’t know nothing. You got any food?”

  “Lady, come out from under there. These men don’t have all day. They have to get set up in their new camp.”

  She came out from under the wagon. “I can’t help. I don’t know nothing more. My head is spinning.” And she fainted.

  “Ira, can you make a space for her in the wagon? We haven’t got all day. I think she’s weak from not eating. Hell, I am not sure of anything.” He scooped her up easily. She didn’t weigh anything. Between him and Holy they handed her up to Ira and Billy, the boy who helped him. Somehow they managed to find a place to lay her on a palette.

  “Good. You can feed her when you make camp.”

  Ira agreed, undid his reins, and Harp got off the wheel so he could drive on.

  “What’cha figure she is?” Holy asked.

  “Besides a badly beaten up girl, hungry and delirious, I have no idea.”

  Holy handed him his reins. “I didn’t know, either. Kinda strange finding her out here with no one. Why, if a wolf had found her, he’d ate her.”

  “He might have if he was hungry enough, though she don’t have much meat on her.”

  In the saddle they rode out to his grazing horses. Holy raised the end of his lariat and went to slapping his chaps with it making a popping sound. The horses took off after the wagon like they knew where they were going.

  The bell mare was Holy’s secret. She knew she’d get a handful of oats for following the wagon. The geldings were all pledged to her and followed her wherever she went. Holy made a real good horse wrangler, all without a lot of shouting and cussing. Most outfits would need three guys to hold them, herd them everywhere, and still cuss them as stupid. He had a notion about the youth. Now he knew how one man held sixty plus horses, drove them, and kept them ready to ride.

  Sweet deal.

  When they stopped for the night at the place Long had marked with a flag on a stick, Holy drove the horses to water in the creek. Harp, Ira, and Billy got the girl down and laid her on a ground cloth in the shade. The temperature was rising.

  “We can make her some oatmeal when you get started,” Harp said to Ira.

  Some of the hands came by to look at her. None had ever seen her before, and they left shaking their heads. Harp wondered if his brother had seen her before, but he was not back yet. That was just about his last hope of learning where she came from and where to take her.

  When Long came in, Harp took him to look at her. She was still groggy, making little sense lying on her pallet.

  “I saw her with a man on the road,” Long said. “I can’t put two and two together of what I know about ’em. He was leading a small horse she rode. He had a white beard and acted kinda gruff when I asked about her. He said she was none of my gawdamn business. Got my back up. She looked groggy then, but she was not as beat up then like she is now.”

  “She’s out of her mind. There’s nowhere to dump her off at. I am not going to let her die if we can help it, but I’d like to know more about what happened, and she is the only one can tell us anything. . . if she could talk.”

  Long agreed and shook his head. “I see that old man again, I’ll get the reason for her problems out of him.”

  “Guess that’s all we can do.” Harp knew his brother well enough. He’d do what he said he would and that old man better be ready to spill the beans or he’d have a tough time getting away from Long.

  Ira came over. “Billy and me’ll feed her. No one will touch her. Pitiful as all get out that someone beat her senseless. I ever learn who done it, I’ll clean his plow.”

  “I want part of his hide, too,” Harp said. “Thanks, Ira. I bet we find them.”

  “She seems a little better.”

  “You are closer than we are, so you’d know. And we appreciate how hard you’ve worked to keep us fed.”

  Ira smiled. “Harper, I told you once before, I really respect you and the way you run things. I get up every morning and tell Billy to look around, that he is part of a great outfit and that beats the hell out of most places he’ll ever work.”

  Long nodded. “O’Malley brothers are tough, too.”

  “No shortage of that,” Harp said. “Long, how are things up ahead?”

  “Fine. Lots of grass and water.” Long looked back toward the supply wagon, then turned back. “Do you think she was doped some way or is only half here and they used her until they tired of her?”

  “I have no idea. I am pleased we have gotten this far without any more troubles. I hope the others coming behind us are doing this well.”

  “This rolling grass country beats mountains and woods for moving cattle.” Long laughed. “People will never believe the hell we had east of here last year.”

  “I don’t miss it,” Harp said. “This open unpopulated country is ideal for moving them.”

  The days and nights warmed as it was moving toward summer on the calendar. They had been making between twelve and sixteen miles a day. The new grass became strong and each passing day meant the steers added pounds and condition. Those were his concern—having them ready for buyers. The whole purpose of taking them north was sell the best cattle they could deliver.

  * * *

  Ira reported the next morning that the girl was improving.

  At the evening meal she helped Ira and Billy prepare it. Harp could tell her mind was not any better when he tried to converse with her. So he left them, satisfied the two were taking care of her.

  Holy checked on two of the horses the boys told him were showing they had a limp. One had a rock in his frog that Holy removed and said to skip his use for two rounds. The other must have bruised his hoof. Skip his usage for two turns also and he’d watch him.

  The cowboy Harold Nelson, who played the guitar, was strumming it again after the meal. This was a relaxing time for his crew and they enjoyed it. Ira quit what he was doing, dried his hands, and came over to listen, standing close to Harp.

  “I learned a little about her today. She said her name was Candy. And the last guy who beat her up was Howard somebody.”

  “Long saw the two of them on this road before someone beat her up. Said he was white headed and whiskered.”

  “She comes and goes in and out of her mind. We may never know the truth.”

  “Right. You good on your supplies?”

  “Oh, we should make it to Abilene on what I have on hand.”

  “If you run out we may be up a bad creek. We have seen little civilization out here.”

  “It sure isn’t populated.”

  The next day Harp saw his first herd of buffalo moving west of his cattle. Not a large group but cows, calves, and some bulls. An impressive enough sight. He knew Comanche knew them. The way his horse stiffened his gait, tensed up, and laid his ears back like he expected Harp to chase them. But instead, he swung him back to the herd. He’d put that sighting in his diary and also write Katy that he saw them when they made camp.

  She’d sure get lots of mail when he found a post office to mail all his letters from. He wondered about his son’s arrival. Simply thinking about her was enough to upset him. Not that he didn’t trust her waiting for him, but their first long separation was not easy for him to take. He’d make it up to her.

  That evening, Long told him there was a store on the way north they’d pass the next day, and it had a post office. Harp told the men, and some accepted paper, envelopes, and pencils to share, and wrote notes for him to mail. He had all his mail ready as well. A touch of civilization but being still in the Indian Territory there would be no alcohol. Not that he used it, but while Kansas frowned on it, they’d find some above that line.

  Pikesville I. T. was the address there. The store was a soddy and smelled like sour unbathed humans. The place was dark and lighted with candle lamps, and the other
smell inside was from the stacks of dried buffalo hides. He bought two sacks of hard candy to hand out to the men from time to time.

  The crotchety clerk said Harp’s cook had bought some girl a dress and other things, and the cook said Harp’d pay for them when he got there. That didn’t count all the three-cent postage stamps he owed the man for mailing all the letters. It all cost seven dollars. Harp paid him and left the place with some Bull Durham tobacco, paper to roll the cigarettes with, and strike-anywhere torpedo matches. There were boys on his crew that would be extremely grateful for those smoking supplies.

  Lots to do and many more miles to go.

  In a week they forded the wide, shallow Arkansas River, and on the far side a sign said, “Follow the piles of sod to Abilene—Joe McCoy.”

  He damn sure intended to. The crossing was not nearly as wild as the one that put Emory out of commission.

  In two weeks or so he knew they would be in Abilene—selling steers.

  God’s blessed them all.

  CHAPTER 26

  They were in and out of rain the next week. Long heard some rumors that the cattle herds ahead had not yet sold because the herd owners thought the buyers were not offering enough money for them.

  “How much will they pay?” Harp asked Long.

  “They said ninety dollars a head.”

  Harp laughed. “They will damn sure buy all I’ve got here for that.”

  “I’m with you.”

  “What do the owners expect?” Harp asked.

  “One hundred and twenty-five dollars a head.”

  “Do they think no one else will bring cattle up here?” Harp shook his head.

  “Something like that.”

  “We get closer, I am going to ride in and sell all three herds.”

  “Right on, brother. That should satisfy the trains for a while, too, if they are as slow as Sedalia was.”

  “We will do that.”

  “I ain’t really figured it out to the penny, but we have over a half million dollars’ worth of cattle in these three herds.”

  “Mother never showed us how to count that high in our lives.”

  “It is something. We will be all right if things keep going on like they have. Cross your fingers, brother, the O’Malley outfit is coming on strong.”

  The next five days passed, confirmed by gossip. The cattlemen and the buyers were still at an impasse over the price. Not one livestock car had left Abilene and they had a string of them waiting, according to the men who were coming back from there.

  Everyone he stopped on the road told him that the Abilene dream had blown up. There would be no sales that summer unless they found some other better buyers.

  Three fancy surreys were headed south full of high-priced women of the night.

  A fancy dressed man with them riding a Kentucky horse asked Harp how far south would he have to go to find customers.

  Harper said he didn’t know. All his cowboys were too broke until they sold their cattle. The man scowled back in the direction of Abilene. “They won’t ever make it work back there.”

  “If they have the money they say they have, I will sell them seven thousand head.”

  The man looked at him in disbelief. “You’d take ninety dollars a head for them?”

  “Damn right, and I bet a hundred more behind me will, too.”

  “Thanks. Albert, turn the buggies around we are going back to get set up. Abilene will soon blossom.”

  His first driver took off his derby and stuck his head out to look at his boss. “Boss, you sure you want to do that?”

  “Hell, yes, this man is betting a half a million dollars on Abilene.”

  “Whatever you say.” The driver did as ordered.

  “How many men are in your outfit?”

  “Three crews . . . over three dozen men.”

  He reached and tossed him three small cloth bags to catch.

  “There’s twenty tokens for services in each of those bags at the new establishment I will set up in Abilene. May your men have at least one great time there in Abilene on me.”

  He tipped his hat and galloped after his carriages.

  “What did he give you?” Red asked him.

  “Enough tokens for every hand we have to make a free trip to his house of ill repute in Abilene.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “I told him not to worry, that we were selling our cattle when we got there.”

  “Open one up. I want to see them.”

  The others in his lap, Harp opened one. The brass coin had a crowing rooster on one side and two bucks on the other side.

  “Here, you hand yours out. I’ll do the same to the other foremen for their crews.”

  “You need one?”

  “Not no, but hell, no. Thanks anyway, Red.”

  “I can use yours then?”

  “You bet your life you can.”

  “Keep giving out that good information. Why, that bunch of ours will be tickled pink to get one of these.”

  Harp rode off laughing and dreaming he sold all those steers for that much per head. Wouldn’t that be great?

  That evening, Long came in late.

  Harp met him short of camp. “Anything wrong?”

  “I made a wide loop today. By my figures this herd is three days out of Abilene. You can ride in, get a room tomorrow, and the next day sell all three herds. How’s that?”

  “Ninety a head is enough isn’t it?”

  “Hell, yes. They won’t bring five bucks a head at home.”

  Then he told Long about the whorehouse tokens while Ira fixed his plate of food.

  Long chuckled about the story, and with a biscuit in one hand and a fork in the other he looked at Harp. “Ma said stay out of those places. I’ve never been in one in my life, have you?”

  “ No.”

  “Then it ain’t no time to start.”

  They both laughed.

  Next morning, Harp shaved and cleaned up, then put on a new white shirt, his suit coat, and clean pants. He mounted Comanche and rode off to war. Red knew where he was headed and said he could handle things. Harp wore his .45 on his hip and figured it would be near dark when he got to town.

  Comanche stabled at the livery, and his room for the night secured, Harp went into a restaurant. The waiter seated him, and he knew he drew some looks from the crowd in the room. Soon a big man with a whiskey bottle in his left hand came over and introduced himself as Claude Clower from Texas.

  “You bring a herd up here, sonny boy, or did your daddy?” he asked, standing over Harp like he was a king or something.

  “My father is home in Texas. I brought three herds with me,” Harp answered.

  “Three? Oh, my, and the market at this stalemate that we are in? That is a shame.”

  “No, it is not a shame. I sold cattle a year ago at Sedalia for eighty bucks a head.”

  “Yes, but the meat market shortage conditions are twice as bad now as they were then, so we expect a much better price.”

  “Well, tell me where it is that good?” Harper asked Clower, then nodded his approval as a waiter set his supper on the table.

  “They can pay it if we all hold their feet to the fire and none of us don’t undersell the rest.”

  Clower set the liquor bottle on Harp’s table and took the opposing chair. “You drink whiskey?”

  “No, sir, I don’t. But help yourself.”

  “You look a little young to be heading an outfit.”

  “Mister, my name’s O’Malley. I drove that herd to Sedalia last year. I have three herds coming here. Don’t worry about my years old. I can and will sell them.”

  Clower poured half a glass of the brown liquor. “If you step over our deadline to sell cattle for less than what we want, you may not live much longer.”

  Harp threw down his napkin. “I have had all the threats I am going to take. Get your damn whiskey and get the hell out of my way.”

  “Listen—”

  “I wil
l not. So get away before I shoot your head off. And believe me I have shot Comanche and outlaws alike, so you wouldn’t be any different if you threaten me again.”

  “Well, the organization can stop you if you aim to ruin our strike.”

  “Load your guns, Clower. If I can make a deal, you won’t stop me. But they can preserve your body in alcohol and lead casket to haul back to Texas.”

  “Boy, just try it and you will be buried here.” The man rose and started to leave.

  “Wear your best damn suit . . . I will bury you in it.”

  Clower stopped by a table and picked up his two hard-looking hands and left the restaurant. Still boiling mad, Harp threw down money for the meal that would go uneaten, went to the stables, and rode back to their camp. It was near sundown, and his arrival drew many of the crew around to see what went wrong.

  “What happened?” Long said, putting on his shirt while coming out of the tent.

  Still near shaking mad, Harp dismounted and gave the reins to the closest man. “Some old man threatened me if I sold our cattle for less than they are demanding. He acted like he was in charge and that I better listen. I told him I’d already killed Comanche and outlaws and he better not get in my way or I’d kill him.”

  “Whew, brother, you are as mad as I have ever seen you. He really pulled your chain.”

  “Long, tomorrow I want four men armed with rifles with me, and I am going back and selling seven thousand steers for ninety dollars a head.”

  “I’ll go along.”

  “No. If they kill us both no one wins. We have many people’s wealth here. Someone needs to finish this job if I can’t.”

  “All right, but you be careful. I ain’t saying run from a fight, but you and the men you take are important to us all. I don’t want telling Mom or their moms I let you go without me.”

  “I am handling Clower. He thinks I am some boy, and I know damn well and good I’m more than that. He will find that out tomorrow.”

  “Bro, settle down. He’s a damn fool if he tries.”

  “He is that, too.”

  He chose Red Culver, who picked the guitar man, Harold Nelson, and his two black point men, Sly and Jimbo Trent, when the two cousins volunteered to back him. Harp felt they were some of the toughest men in the outfit. Others would fight but since Nelson began playing—he showed himself to be a stronger guy than Harp first imagined. The two cousins, he had no doubt they’d surely do in a clutch.