The O'Malleys of Texas

by Dusty Richards

  “Watch out. This one’s dead,” Chaw said from up in the loft, and rolled that shooter’s body out to plunk on the ground in front.

  “Who’s this one?” Tyler asked.

  The liveryman Hale said, “Phil Holland. I knew him from years ago.”

  “There’s two more dead out back,” Virgil said.

  “Damn. How many of your men are wounded?”

  “Sly, one of my point riders, was scratched. Candy and one of my boys, Frank Wayne, dead. Lost some damn good horses. You need us?”

  “I guess not. What next?”

  “A couple of boys can help Holy get his remuda gathered. Chaw, go see what you can do for Ira at the funeral home. Tell him I’ll take care of expenses. I am taking Sly to the doctor. He’s black but he is vital to us as a point rider. I want to be sure and have him fixed him up right.”

  Tyler nodded.

  “Chadron, go check on Erickson and those boys we sent to help set him up. This is a damn mess, and I want to get to the bottom of it after the doc’s. They even shot one of my best working horses. Damn. This all really makes me mad.”

  “I damn sure want this ended, too, Harp.”

  “Thanks. Now I need to get my man to the doc.”

  Sly didn’t want to go see a doctor; said his cousin Jimbo had already bandaged it.

  Harp wouldn’t listen and the three set out on foot for the doc’s house a block away. A grumpy attendant told Jimbo to stay outside since he wasn’t shot.

  Harp caught the man by the sleeve. “That man works for me. He’ll be in here or you will be on your ass out on the lawn.”

  “Yes, sir. I just—”

  “I know. They both stay in here.”

  An older woman showed them into a side room. Sly shook his head. “I knowed they wouldn’t—”

  Harp cut him off. “We talked a long time ago. You are my men and color don’t count.”

  “Not if you work for the O’Malley brothers it don’t.” Jimbo laughed.

  Doc Randolph cleaned the wound, stitched it, and bandaged it. “He will be fine.”

  While Harp paid the doctor, Tyler’s men brought in the wounded outlaw.

  Tyler said the other two had died. He didn’t know their names, but promised to send word if he learned any more. Harp thanked him.

  Holy had left three saddled horses at the hitch rail out front of the doc’s office for the men to ride back to the ranch. That boy thought of everything. They rode back and a worried Katy ran out to hug her husband.

  “They tried to kill you?”

  “Yes. But they failed. Sorry it worried you.”

  “You sure you are not hurt?”

  “No. Sly was scratched. A young cowboy, Frank Wayne, was killed. They got my good horse, Comanche, too. Marshal Tyler is trying to find out who hired them, but their leader is dead and two more with him.”

  “They are having Candy’s funeral tomorrow,” Katy said.

  “We will all be there.”

  “How is Ira?”

  “I imagine not very well. She was like a daughter to him.”

  “She never recovered mentally did she?”

  Harp shook his head. “But she didn’t deserve to die, either.”

  He hugged his wife and tried not to, but some tears escaped his eyes. “Damn, Katy, all of our successes and this had to happen.”

  He recalled the time, as a boy, when his welch pony Briar died of colic. Oh, he’d been heartbroken and his dad had hugged him and said in his brogue, “And into every man’s life there shall be a tragedy and it will cause a tear to fall maybe two. But the living must go on.”

  How true on this sunny late fall day.

  CHAPTER 33

  God cried for Candy. A soft rain with only distant thunder fell on the shoulders of Harp’s canvas coat as he held the umbrella over his wife. The Methodist preacher sent Candy and the young cowboy to be with God. Solemn times for everyone after a good drive, branding work done, and a new ranch added to the list of successes.

  Chaw brought Calamity over. Katy bonded with the dark-eyed girl immediately, and she planned to stay at the big house while they found the dress and prepared for the wedding. She was younger than Katy but intelligent and happy. Harp hoped for the best. That she was one of the good ones he wanted for all his men.

  Doug told him all was well over at the Diamond Ranch.

  Hoot had come to the ranch to catch Harp up on things, and promised to be at the wedding, which, he understood, would be soon.

  “They say you bought another nice spread,” Hoot said.

  “It looks good. His name is Erickson. Up in years and he wanted out and to fish away the rest of his life on the river.

  “He fought with Sam Houston and got part of that ranch as a veteran. Bought the rest for pennies back then. Tough old man. Comanche killed his wife and four kids. He killed that old chief before it was all over and cut his man parts all the way off. Someone asked him why he did it when the Indian was already dead.

  “Erickson said, ‘He won’t have any pleasure up there or down below this way.’ It explains why he wanted to sell that place. Too many bad memories was why.”

  It was raining when they went and everyone had lunch under the large tent. Ranchers never complained about rain—it might stop. Many folks in the community were there, and they spoke to him about the shoot-out. Asked why.

  He turned up his hands. In his book they were cowards who hired gun hands to do their bad deeds, themselves afraid to face them. Tyler dropped by with the undersheriff, Jack Freeman from San Antonio, who was in charge until they formed a new county.

  Freeman had no idea who hired them but said he had feelers out. Someone knew who had hired them, but to get them to step forward might be hard. They promised to keep working on it.

  Harp wished he had the names of the different men who halted him on the road the few times. But they were gone, like smoke. Still, folks talked and someone had to know them.

  * * *

  Chaw and Calamity were going to be married at the home place. A dress secured. In the midst of these preparations Harp worked on books to get his entire ranch accounts straight. It was getting to be headache work for him until his mother said there was a young man who lived on Loller’s Creek who had worked in a bank before the war. He was wheelchair bound because of damage a war injury had done to his legs. He needed an accounting job because the bank laid him off when he returned not able to walk around. Yes, his mother said, she’d house him at her home if he wanted him.

  He went to see Reg Hoffman the next day. His mother showed him in and told Reg he had company, then left the room. Reg put down a book.

  “You are one of the O’Malley brothers?”

  “Yes, Reg. My mother told me you were looking for an accounting job.”

  “Such a job I would like; however”—he drew in his breath—“I worked for a bank but they required me to move a lot and a wheelchair is not easily moved.”

  “We were thinking you could do our ranch books. My parents have a large house, and my mother said she’d see you were cared for.”

  “Oh, I’d be too big a bother.”

  “You don’t know my mother. It would give you something to do. We have no customers you’d have to serve. Just keep things like payroll, taking care of our banking business from the house. My brother and I are pretty solvent. I think that is the word, but he’s not a bookkeeping guy and it sure isn’t my game. If you desired to go somewhere, we have conveyances and people to take you.”

  “What does the job pay?”

  “What did you make at the bank?”

  “A dollar a workday.”

  “Like five or six dollars a week?”

  “That was it.”

  “If you can keep my books and the bank accounts up to date, I’d pay you fifty dollars a month.”

  “When could I start?”

  “I’ll find a big cowboy and send him for you next Monday. He is big enough to put you on the buckboard seat and get
you down, then wheelchair you to the house. Have your personal things in a trunk to take along, and if you don’t like it he can bring you back. Or you can try handling things for five days, and when that time is over we can talk more about it.”

  “That’s why you come here?”

  “Yes. My mother told me about you and we need an accountant.”

  “I know her. She’s a nice lady. Mother, come in here. This is Harper O’Malley. Monday I will go to his house and do his accounting.”

  “Oh, yes,” the lady in her forties said, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Easter told me last week she’d find you a job. Thanks so much, Mr. O’Malley.”

  “That’s my dad. I’m Harp or Harper.”

  “Oh, I won’t forget that, Harp. Does he need anything to bring?”

  “Just his personals. When we get him over to the house, we can modify things to fit his chair and ease of movement. I know he can go through the house and get onto the front porch from inside. My cowboys can fix anything else that needs doing.”

  “We heard you got attacked. Did you learn any more about the attackers?”

  “No one has come forth with an answer so far.”

  “I hope this gets solved. Your mother is worried some. Said she has not heard from your brother. He went out west?”

  “Long is not much of a letter writer. I did that for him, but I am certain he’s all right and seeing lots of new country.”

  “I knew you boys were quite close.”

  “I sure miss him but he’ll drop in some time, I figure.”

  Standing up to leave, Harp said, “Reg and Mrs. Hoffman, I am glad to have met both of you. Reg, look for my cowboys coming to get you next Monday.”

  “Thanks, Harp.”

  * * *

  Harp figured to be nearly halfway home, where the road dropped off to cross a deep cut made by a small creek, when a high-powered bullet struck the exposed banks and sent dirt all over him and his horse. The pony shied and he shed the saddle, jerking the Winchester out of the scabbard as he went. The gulch he was in might offer some shelter. To survive he needed to keep low. Was the shooter in a tree or on higher ground?

  He tried to imagine the bullet’s path and where it came from to barely miss him and plow into the bank. The shooter was south of him, and probably in a higher position, either bellied down or using a tripod to hold that big gun.

  If he dared to look up over the bank he might get a bullet in his face. What did he tell the men that worked for him? Go in pairs. Here he was miles from the home place and Reg’s, alone. They weren’t trying to make him quit any longer. They wanted him dead. Downstream he saw some brush growing on the bank. He might be able to get behind it and not be seen before he saw them.

  Rifle in his right hand, bent over, he hurried downstream. The brush still had leaves so he used it. He saw a reflection when a gun barrel turned and heard someone ask, “Is he dead or wounded in the crick?”

  “Let the sumbitch bleed some before we try to find out,” Harp heard as the shooter stood up and stretched, bareheaded, with the rifle barrel in his hand.

  That was the same position the man held two seconds later when the 44/40 hunk of lead went through his chest, heart, and lungs and ended his sorry life.

  “Donny!” the other man shouted, and whirled to shoot in the direction of the gun smoke. By then Harper levered out the brass casing, reloaded, and shot through the smoke surrounding him at the second person in the ambush. The bullet also caught the outlaw square in the chest and sent him flying backward, as his own gun discharged in the air.

  Who was left? He held his position carefully eyeing, through the wavering smoke, his ears still ringing from the shots. Was that all? No. He heard some rustling around with horses. He needed to get up top of the bank and try to stop whomever.

  A horse brand might tell him who hired them. Fleet footed, he ran up the hill hard as he could, past the two downed men. He saw a rider with two horses in tow. They were holding him back. His actions looked impatient, even at that distance, and he finally let the reins go, turning in the saddle to see what was happening.

  Harp stopped in his tracks, took aim, and fired. The rider went head first off the horse and the animal tore away. That made three of them down. He levered another shell in the rifle and started in that direction. Three against one sure ain’t no fun. He said that over and over to himself until he came in sight of the stilled rider lying on the ground looking like he had broken his neck.

  The downed rider never moved a muscle. He was dead. Even from thirty feet away he knew the dead one on the ground was the son of a rancher by the name of Holder. A damned teenage boy. What the hell was he doing out there with those two killers?

  His luck got worse and worse. No witnesses. His word against the three dead men’s silence. Oh, hell. Long, where are you when I need your help?

  With a lot of effort he finally loaded their bodies across the horses he caught. And when he got them into town he’d give his story. How could he have done anything else; it simply happened that way.

  It was dark when Harp reached town. First place he stopped was at the marshal’s office, and a deputy came to the door leaning on the frame. He took the toothpick out of his mouth and threw it down to stare at the bodies slung, facedown, over the saddles.

  “Who are they, Harp?”

  “One is Cal Holder’s boy. He rode with these two. They tried to ambush me at the crossing on Loller’s Crick.”

  “How did that teenager get in with those tough men?” The deputy lifted one by the hair, dropped him, and shook his head. Harp was certain he didn’t know either of them.

  “If I knew that I’d sure be a lot richer than I am now. Those two were waiting for me to ride through there. He was with them. I had no way to know it was the kid. I’d been shot at and I was mad.”

  The deputy agreed. “I’d have been mad, too, if they’d shot at me. There will probably be a coroner’s hearing. That’s a formality.”

  “I will be available.”

  Harp remounted his horse and rode for the home place.

  Katy came out on the porch while he started to unsaddle, but a ranch hand took the job away from him.

  “Thanks, Keith.”

  “That’s all right, sir.”

  “Reg is coming. I mean we’re going to send someone for him Monday morning. He is an accountant. He’s wheelchair bound but he gets around well and is independent. On the way home, I had to shoot three men that tried to ambush me.”

  She gasped. “No backup. When will you learn, Harper O’Malley? Who was it this time?”

  “Two men I never saw before and that teenage Holder boy who was holding their horses.”

  “Roger Holder?”

  “I guess. One guy shot at me. I moved and was able to shoot the two of them. Then someone took all three horses and ran. I considered him to be one of the killers and shot him, too. I never knew it was a boy. They’re all dead.”

  She hugged him tightly. “I am so sorry. What can we do?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t give the man his boy back. I almost took the boy’s body home, but I figured they’d kill me for sure no matter how respectful I did it.”

  “That was smart.”

  “Let’s go inside so I can tell everyone else.”

  She agreed and hugged him as he led her into the house.

  “Did you hire the young man?” Easter asked.

  “Yes, Mom, I think he will do swell, but you will have to help him some.”

  “I can do that. I bet he makes a good bookkeeper for you and Long.”

  “Tell them the rest of this shooting business,” Katy said.

  “Coming home I rode off into Loller’s Crick, and you know it is a real deep cut. Someone shot at me, and the bullet was so close I swear I felt it as it crashed into the bank near my face. I got the rifle and ran low downstream until I could use a bush for cover. I saw the number one man thinking he had hit me because they had not seen me since that shot
was fired at me. They were talking about killing me, and he was standing up when I cut down one. Then I shot the second. Someone was fooling with the horses over on the hill. I broke and ran to catch sight of him. The horses he led were being stubborn and he was arguing with them, so I was able to take him out, too. I never knew it was a boy—I was mad and not going to let any one of them get away.”

  “What a terrible thing to have happen,” his mother said.

  His dad agreed. He shook his head. “And of course he was out there innocently trapping flying squirrels?”

  After eating a little, with no appetite, Harp took his wife off to bed. He was pleased Reg was coming to be their bookman, and Long would give him an A for doing it. Just as long as he didn’t have to do them himself.

  But the mess was not over. Not by a long shot.

  CHAPTER 34

  He met his men at breakfast and started off by apologizing for going alone to find an accountant. He said Chadron Turner was in charge of the home operations until Red came back from helping Doug at Diamond. Chaw was going to move over and be the new foreman at the Erickson Ranch.

  After Harp outlined the new bosses, he said, “I bet some of you saw that dark-eyed pretty girl who’s been staying at the main house.”

  Most of them nodded and grinned.

  “Well, our old buddy Chaw never introduced her to any of you until after she said she’d marry him. Can you believe that?”

  “Good thing he’s leaving,” one of the punchers said.

  Another piped up. “He ain’t so damn far away we can shiveree him, either.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Men, all kidding aside now, I think we will have trouble over this last try at killing me. I really hated the results, but that won’t bring the boy back, and his family will be angry. Ride in pairs and keep your eyes peeled for trouble.”

  Later in the day the head deputy Kent Roberts came out and spoke to him. “I know you’re a busy man. I want you to ride over with me and show me the details about yesterday.”

  “I will be glad to do that. They picked the fight. I only survived it.”

  “Let’s reenact it for the Justice of the Peace’s court.”