Written in Blood: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (Hayden Tilden Westerns Book 5)

by J. Lee Butts

  “Well, I personally thought them Doome boys were the perpetrators of the most horrible kind of vicious behavior I’d ever come across,” Nate said as he danced from foot to foot. He looked mighty anxious when he added, “And now you boys feel like what the Blackheart bunch did to this feller is even more awful than that?”

  Pulled my hat off a sweat-drenched head and used it as a fan. “Settin’ fire to a livin’ man is about as evil as it gets, far as I’m concerned. Leastways, the Crooke brothers killed most of the folks they burned ’fore they set ’em ablaze.”

  Carl snatched his own hat off, wiped a pinched face on his shirtsleeve again, then used the hat to point off to the north. “Well, Blackheart and his bunch went thataway. Damned near due north along the river. Accordin’ to what that roasted-up Harvey feller just told us, they’re headed right straight for his ranch. ’S almost like he told ’em which way to go. Or like they could read his mind. All I gotta say is Lord help the man’s wife and family if them killers run across those folks.”

  Took a swallow from my canteen, then spat. Said, “Well, shit. This really cuts it.”

  Carl hooked a thumb in the direction of the Blackheart bunch’s probable trail. “Bet he’s got a pretty little Injun wife, couple a beautiful, big-eyed, half-breed kids about five miles over thataway. And I’ll go even further and say I’d be willin’ to bet, right this minute, the whole hapless family’s deader’n a buncha them yellow-winged, springtime butterflies drowned in a pitcher fulla sweet cream.”

  Prospect of Carl’s horrific prediction being true threw a hush of shocked revulsion over the three of us. Nate cast a baleful glance off to the north, then said, “Reckon there’s any chance we could get to this feller’s unsuspecting family quick enough to keep such a horror from taking place? Mean, hell, if we ride hard, really put the spurs to our animals, there’s a chance, ain’t there, boys?”

  Of a sudden, a light, imperceptible breeze swept through our midst. Soft, cool, sweet-smelling puff of air hit the patch of flame-seared grass, cut a soot-raising path to where Harvey lay, hovered over the body, then swirled upward like a tiny, heaven-bound cyclone. In spite of the blistering heat, an icy shiver ran up my spine.

  “Damned if that ain’t a wonderment. Think God just came and got ’im,” Carl muttered.

  All three of us hurried back to the fallen man’s side. I stooped over. Checked the body for any signs of life. Sure enough, Bosephus Harvey had departed this world.

  “Seen a lot of men go out,” I said, and stood. Gazed toward heaven and watched the twisting, fragrant cloud dissipate, fly into vaporous fragments, then disappear. “First time in memory that I’ve known a body that predicted his own departure from this life with such amazing accuracy. ’Nuff to give a body the cold shivers.”

  Nate gazed at the corpse, a look of inquisitive confusion etched onto his handsome face. “For sure? He actually did what you boys said? Hell, I thought you were just foolin’. Kiddin’ with the new guy in the group, you know. Never figured either of you actually meant it.”

  We wrapped Harvey’s body in a blanket. Placed him over the back of our pack animal. Never did find any trace of his own ride. Figured Blackheart and his boys must’ve taken the bangtail when they left.

  Nate led the overburdened beast carrying Harvey’s charred body. Headed north as fast as we could urge our own knotheads along.

  By the time we finally got to the ill-fated dead man’s ranch, Carl and I’d left Nate at least half a mile behind. We reined up on a grass-covered hillock several hundred yards from the main house.

  Sat our animals and waited for Nate to catch up. Pulled our long glasses out and surveyed the scene at the same time. What we saw didn’t appear to bode well for Harvey’s wife or children. Nothing moved. No chickens in the yard. Couldn’t see any dogs, cats, or other such pets. Place proved eerily still, silent, even sinister. Looked to me as if death had already been there and gone.

  7

  “. . . MIGHTY HARD TO TELL WHICH IS WHICH.”

  BOSEPHUS HARVEY’S MAIN house lay nestled on a flattened piece of well-tended, bare earth surrounded on three sides by rolling hills. The breeze that swept through the water-starved, waist-high grass covering those sheltering hills gave his prairie home the appearance of floating just below a yellowish brown ocean of slowly heaving waves.

  A deep, inviting veranda covered the entire front of the spacious-looking building. Cane-bottom rocking chairs appeared to openly invite visitors to stop over and sit a spell. Board-and-batten walls had recently been painted and the shingle roof repaired. The bright, fresh coat of whitewash caused the house to cast a shimmering glow in the afternoon’s diminishing sunlight. Splash of colorful wildflowers planted all around the porch gave evidence of a woman’s touch.

  From our vantage point atop the highest of the surrounding hills, some 150 yards to the south, Carlton and I sat our horses and continued to scan the dwelling through collapsible, army-surplus spyglasses. Carl threw a leg over his saddle horn and leaned against it on one elbow. Said the tactic helped steady his telescope. Made it easier for him to pick out small, sometimes important, clues from a distance.

  Hadn’t inspected the spot for any more than five minutes or so when Nate rode up pulling the weighted-down packhorse. He dropped the reins of both animals, stepped down, stretched his back, then rubbed his right shoulder.

  “See anything?” he asked as he leaned against my blue roan and set to rolling a smoke.

  “Nothin’ so far,” Carl replied. “And, to me, that’s the horror of the thing. Can’t see any of them kids that Harvey claimed to have, or his wife. Not even a dog or two. Corral, over on the east side between the house and barn, appears empty, ’cept for what looks like a dead mule. No activity around the outhouse behind that big ole sycamore tree. Place looks deserted. But, hell, there could be twenty people inside the house, or the barn for that matter. And all of ’em could be lining us up in their gun sights for some longdistance killin’ as we speak. ’Course, that’s doubtful, given as how there ain’t no horses in the corral.”

  “Front door’s standin’ open,” I added. “So are all the windows I can see from here.” Closed my glass with a series of loud clicks. Slipped it back into the case, then said, “Might be a good idea for one of us to slip around back just to make sure this ain’t some well-planned trap. Been ambushed a time or two before. Wouldn’t want it to happen again.”

  Carl pushed his glass into its near worn-out leather case, dropped his foot back into a stirrup, then said, “I’ll ease on around to the west. Come up from behind that hill over yonder on the backside of the place, where all them cottonwoods are behind the barn. Bet there’s a small creek of some kind ’round that way. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any of them trees a-growin’ back there. Soon’s I make sure there ain’t nobody layin’ for us, I’ll fire two shots. You boys can come on in soon’s you hear ’em.”

  Before I could say anything, one way or the other, he’d put the spur to his animal. There was no calling him back. Once the little redheaded peckerwood made up his mind, you’d best stand aside ’cause there wasn’t any stopping him.

  Nate snatched up the reins of our packhorse, and headed for the shade afforded by an umbrella-shaped live oak not far from where Carl and I’d set up. “Gotta get our friend Bosephus Harvey outta the sun, Hayden. Poor feller’s a-startin’ to ripen up mighty damned fast. Think we need to put ’im in the ground just as soon as we possibly can. Festeratin’ corpse is drawin’ flies like a stink magnet.”

  Led Gunpowder over into the shade as well, then went to pulling all the weapons and ammunition I thought I might need. “Figure I’m gonna take this double-barreled blaster and my long gun, Nate,” I said. “Along with a bandolier of mixed shells.” Threw the canvas ammo belt over my shoulder, then headed off. Dry, waist-high grass swished and cracked around my legs as I plowed my way toward the poor dead feller’s neat little ranch house.

  “Ain’t we gonna wait for Carl to fire off
a shot or two?” Nate said as he scurried up beside me, a shotgun in one hand, his rifle in the other.

  “Well, figured we could hunker down and creep through all these weeds till we get right up to where Harvey appears to have cut the stuff back to make a kind of yard for his wife. Maybe settle in behind that wagon, just on the other side of his rail fence. Don’t think there’s anyone here, from all I could see through my long glass. Figure them folks as might still be around here are likely dead.”

  We’d sneak along for a few steps, drop to our knees, listen for anything that might be out of place, then scramble a few more steps, and repeat the process. Made it to the fence line, crawled between the top and bottom rails, and took shelter behind the remains of an old freight wagon that looked like it hadn’t been moved in some time. Wheels had sunk into the dirt nigh on halfway up to the hubs.

  At almost that exact instant we heard the sound of two muffled pistol shots. Stood, propped my rifle against the wagon bed, pulled back both hammers on the Greener, then headed across the grassless, dusty yard toward the dwelling’s front porch.

  Nate fell in on my left and a few steps behind. A peculiar, spine-chilling quiet seemed to envelop everything. Undisturbed stillness made it possible to hear insects that sprang from the ground and fluttered into the air as we crunched along. Swirling breeze tickled the edges of my flared nostrils. Brought the familiar, pungent, coppery scent of blood and death.

  Spotted Carl as he made his way around the east side of the main building—between it and the barn. Cocked pistol in each hand, he darted from one cottonwood tree to the next. His nervous glance cut back and forth as he searched for any trouble he might’ve missed.

  The three of us converged on the partly opened front doorway at the same time. Carl had the right side, Nate and me flattened ourselves out against the wall on the left. Nodded at Carl and, honest-to-God, we were less than a breath away from storming into the house and killing everything in sight, when a child of about four or five wandered out onto the porch with her little brother in tow. Kids didn’t even notice us pressed up against the wall, armed to the teeth, with blood in our eyes. They quietly toddled out to the edge of the veranda’s raised, wooden deck, stopped, and kind of squatted down. Appeared they were looking for something.

  Glanced around the doorframe and stared into the interior darkness, but couldn’t really see much of anything, then stepped over to a spot beside the youngsters. Both kids looked up at the same time. Their faces were smudged with dirt. Boy’s dy-dees hadn’t been changed in some time past. You could smell him from several feet away. Aroma was enough to make a body’s eyes tear up.

  Little gal flashed a sweet, coquettish smile at me, then said, “Have you seen my mommy, mister?”

  Waved at Carl and Nate. They darted through the open door. Disappeared inside. Kinda hunkered on the porch next to the kids. Let the hammers down and laid the shotgun across my legs, then said, “No, darlin’, haven’t seen your mommy. Do you know when she left?”

  The child stood and fiddled with the hem of her flour-sack dress. Swayed back and forth as though thinking, then flicked another brown-eyed glance at the empty yard. “With some men.”

  “No, sweetie, when did your . . . never mind. Your mommy left with some men?”

  She moved closer, placed a sweaty, unwashed hand on my shoulder, and leaned against me. “Yes.”

  “Do you remember when your mommy left, darlin’?”

  Tiny, inquisitive fingers picked at the badge pinned to my bib-front shirt. “No.”

  “Did Mommy leave yesterday?”

  “Don’t know. She didn’t come back last night. We were scared.”

  Placed my hand on her shoulder. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  She chewed on a filthy fingernail, inspected the damage she’d done, rubbed the finger on her dress, then said, “Matilda.”

  “Have you had anything to eat, Matilda?”

  “Not today. Mommy will fix us something when she gets back home.”

  “Did your mommy say where she was going when she left?”

  Before the child could answer, Carl and Nate strode back out onto the porch. Nate propped his sawed-off next to a pole holding the veranda’s roof up, leaned against it, then started rolling a smoke. He puffed the cigarette to life, then flicked the smoldering match into the grassless yard.

  “Find anything inside?” I asked.

  “Place is a mess, Hayden. Hardly a stick of furniture left in there what ain’t busted all to kindling. Spots and pools of blood splattered around here and there, but these young’uns’ momma ain’t nowhere to be found. Blackheart bunch either took her away, or . . .” Carl hesitated, then cast a squint-eyed, worried glance toward the barn before he almost whispered, “Maybe she’s somewheres else.”

  “I’ll go,” Nate said, then flicked his cigarette away and hustled off toward the barn.

  Fresh breeze brought me a new whiff of the boy’s nasty behind. Said, “Go back inside, Carl, and see if you can ferret out a clean dy-dee for this kid, or at least something we can use for one. Poor little whippersnapper stinks to high heaven. Gonna have a helluva rash on his skinny butt if we don’t get ’im cleaned up.”

  Matilda leaned against my knee as though she wanted to crawl up into my lap. “His name’s Beaver.”

  “Ah. Beaver, huh? Well, Matilda, we need to get Beaver outta all that stink. Maybe wash him up a mite.”

  She did a cute, childish point of her finger toward the side of the house. “There’s a pump around back.”

  “That’s good. I’ll send Mr. Cecil for some water soon as we can find something clean for Beaver to wear.”

  Patted her on the head about the same time I happened to cast a glance toward the barn. Nate stumbled back into the sunlight. He leaned against one of the double doors like a man who’d just run a footrace all the way from Fort Smith. Boy snatched his hat off, buried his face in the crook of one arm. Then he leaned over and puked. Looked to me like everything he’d eaten in a week came up, including one of Carl’s damned fine breakfasts from earlier that morning.

  Slowly rose to my feet. “Stay here with your brother, Matilda. I’ll be right back.” Stepped over to the front door and, without taking my eyes off Nate, called out, “Carl, get back outside. Come on out right now.”

  I’d already made my way to the eastern end of the veranda when Carl stormed through the doorway and grabbed up Nate’s shotgun. “What goin’ on, Hayden?”

  Kind of gestured toward the barn with my own big-barreled blaster. Before I could stop him, Carl darted around me, legged it for our friend. I stayed right on his heels till we got to Nate. Do believe the boy looked more shaken than I’d seen him in almost a year of chasing killers and badmen together. Came as something of a shock when I realized that, in addition to being a shade of ghastly white just this side of dead grass, he appeared on the verge of tears.

  Carl grabbed him by the elbow, then leaned over to get a better look into the boy’s ashen face. “Look at me, Nate. Tell me, what the hell’s the matter?”

  Nate raised his arm. Shook the hat in the general direction of the barn’s partially opened double door. “Woman didn’t leave with anybody,” he said, then stuffed his hat back on. He gulped hard, then scratched his throat as though a fragment of something he’d upchucked mighta stuck somewhere. “Damnedest carnage inside there I’ve ever seen, Hayden. Think maybe it’s both of ’em. Poor gal from Beehive Creek and that Harvey feller’s wife. But, Hell’s eternal fire and damnation, it’s mighty hard to tell which is which.”

  Under his breath to the point where I barely heard him, Carl said, “Sweet Jesus have mercy.”

  8

  “HOW WE GONNA CLEAN THIS BLOODY HAIR BALL UP?”

  PUSHED PAST BOTH my friends and stepped into the shadowy, dim, somewhat cooler interior of Harvey’s barn. Snapped the hammers back on both barrels of the shotgun. Readied myself for the worst.

  Carl came in behind me. Waited until my eyes had adju
sted to the inner gloom before I took one more step. Stopped again. Ran a quick glance around the barn’s shadowy core. On the surface, couldn’t detect much that appeared out of place.

  Typical of most such crude structures, the rough-cut wall boards had shrunk under the unrelenting assault of ruthless summer sunshine. Resulting contraction left spaces that allowed knifelike shafts of sunlight to cut their way inside and slice through billowing clouds of the drifting dust we’d stirred up. Here and there, a variety of harnesses, trace chains, leather straps, singletrees, and tools of every sort imaginable hung from thick wooden pegs.

  Three stalls stood on either side of an open, dirt-floor common area, most of which had been covered with an ankle-deep layer of straw. Pair of decrepit McClellan cavalry saddles sat on the top rails of one of the animal pens.

  At first glance, it appeared that all the cubicles were stone-cold empty. Then Carl elbowed me and pointed at the dirt floor. Series of drag marks in the hay-littered dirt led to two of the open-fronted enclosures—one on either side of the building.

  Raised the shotgun to my shoulder and headed for the nearest of the corrals. Didn’t even get inside. Stench was enough to curl your nose hairs. Hit me in the face like somebody had slapped me across the mouth with a sock full of rancid manure with a hole in the toe.

  Scene of murderous depravity I beheld in that blood-soaked, three-sided compartment stopped me dead in my tracks. Had to cover my nose with a bandanna tied over my face. Little doubt in my mind that One Cut Petey Mason had once again worked his diabolical magic with a bowie, or perhaps an ax. Maybe it’d been a group effort. Just couldn’t imagine one man doing that much damage to a human body. Either way, Nate had hit the nail right on its square-cut head. Blackheart and his bunch had left one hellacious mess.