“Did he tell you that?”
“Yes, he told me that. Papa, you aren’t against him just because he isn’t rich, are you?”
“No, honey, that has nothing to do with it. I’m rich enough that I don’t care whether the man you wind up marrying is rich or not. All I want for you is to have a man that you love, and one that loves you.”
“I love him, and he loves me.”
“I’m glad. I think Cal is a good man. He reminds me a great deal of another young man I used to know, a man who has made quite a success of his life.”
“You’re talking about Mr. Jensen, aren’t you?”
“Kirby Jensen, yes.”
The train whistle blew again, this time from far down the track and Katrina and her father stood there watching it until, finally, it went around a distant bend and passed out of view. All that remained to be seen of the train was a thin wisp of black smoke.
“I suppose I had better get to school,” Katrina said. “I wouldn’t want the children getting there ahead of me.”
“Where are you going to leave Sundance?” Tom asked.
“I’ll leave him in the stable; there’s really no place for him at the school.”
“I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll approach the school board and ask them to build a stable behind the school.”
“Oh, Papa, do you think they will?”
Tom chuckled. “I’ll pay for it,” he said.
Cal didn’t sit with the others on the train. He sat alone at the front of the car, looking out the window, but not really seeing the passing scenery.
“I wonder if Cal is feeling all right,” Smoke said.
“No, he’s not feeling all right,” Sally replied.
“Why not? What’s wrong with him?”
Sally sighed. “Really, Smoke, haven’t you paid any attention to anything but horses for the last month?”
“The girl?”
Sally smiled. “Maybe you aren’t hopeless after all. Yes, of course the girl. I doubt Cal will be staying with us after we get back home.”
“You mean you think he is going to want to come back down to Texas?”
“I know he is.”
“I think I’ll go up and talk to him.”
“Smoke, don’t say anything that will . . .”
Smoke put his hand out to touch Sally on the arm. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Cal is more than just a top hand. He’s also a close friend. I’m not going to say or do anything that would change that.”
Sally smiled up at him. “I know you won’t.”
Smoke walked up to the front of the car. Cal was looking out the window with such intensity that he didn’t even notice the man who was standing in the aisle, looking down at him.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Smoke’s words startled Cal and he jerked around, quickly.
“Yes. Yes, of course you can.”
“You’re already missing her, aren’t you?”
“You mean it shows?”
“Well, I suppose you could have painted the sign in larger letters, but I think most people can read it.”
“What? What sign?” Cal asked, not understanding Smoke’s joke.
Smoke laughed. “Never mind. How long do you plan to stay at Sugarloaf before you start back?”
“As soon as you can find a replacement for me, I plan to gather up all my things then head back down here. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Cal, never let it be said that Smoke Jensen stood in the way of true love. I’m going to miss you. We all are. But there comes a time in a man’s life when he has to go out on his own, and I’d say that time has just come for you. Go with my blessings. And you’ll be getting a real fine woman. I know that, because I have known her since she was a baby.”
“Thanks, Smoke,” Cal said with an expression of relief on his face. “I knew you would understand.”
“What about Pearlie? Have you told him yet?”
“I ain’t told ’im, but I figure he’s prob’ly already figured it out, anyhow.”
“You mean you haven’t told him,” Smoke said. “If you think schoolteachers that you know are always correcting your grammar, wait until you marry one.”
“You’re right. I haven’t even thought about that. But, bein’ as you’re married to a schoolteacher, I reckon you would know all about it, wouldn’t you now?”
“I reckon so,” Smoke replied with a smile. He stood, then looked down at his young ranch hand. “Has she told you she’ll marry you?”
“Yeah, she’s told me that she will.”
“Congratulations.”
At that same moment, Katrina was sitting at her desk in the school building, back in San Vicente. The children had not yet arrived, and she was scribbling on a sheet of paper:
Katrina Woods.
Mrs. Calvin Woods.
Mrs. Katrina Woods.
She printed the name in block letters, then wrote it in cursive. No matter how she did it, the sight of it made her heart sing. This was the happiest she had ever been in her life.
“Hello, Miss Byrd,” a young voice said.
Katrina looked up to see Lenny Potts, one of her first graders. She had a particularly warm spot for Lenny. She thought he was cute, and funny, and she couldn’t help but think that if she ever got married and had children, she would want a boy just like Lenny.
“Hello, Lenny,” she said. “You’re the first one here today. You must really like school.”
“That’s because I like you, a whole lot.”
“Well now, isn’t it good that it works out that way? Because I like you too.”
“Mama says I can give this to you.” Lennie held out an apple. “Mama said I could give this to you.”
“Isn’t that sweet of your mama? Thank you, Lenny. And when you get home this afternoon, you thank your mama for me as well.”
“Can I ring the school bell, Miss Byrd?” one of the seventh graders asked, arriving at that moment.
“Yes, Mickey, I think it’s about time for it. Go right ahead.”
A moment later the bell began to toll, and young people streamed toward the school from all over town.
Chapter Nineteen
Keno held his hand up, halting the column. It was early afternoon, and just east, and down the Lodge from him, the town of San Vicente was undergoing a normal day of business. From here they could see a wagon rolling slowly down the street as well as men and women strolling along the boardwalk. School was out for recess, and the happy laughter of children at play could be heard.
Keno had only twenty men with him. It was his intention to strike against the town making as much noise and causing as much chaos as he could. Doing so would create a diversion that would draw defenders in from around the town. Keno had sent thirty men out to Tom Byrd’s ranch with orders to wait there until Byrd’s ranch hands rushed into town. That would leave the herd unprotected.
The school was located at the west end of town, and at the moment Katrina was out on the school ground, keeping an eye on the children at play. She was glad school had started, because when she was busy she didn’t have time to dwell on Cal being gone.
She knew that Cal was a little intimidated, partly because of her education, and partly because her father was such a wealthy man. But Cal was a man of intelligence, confidence, and self-reliance. She had seen him demonstrate those very qualities, many times over the last month. And she knew that he would be able to overcome any misgivings he might have about marrying her.
“Miss Byrd, look,” one of the boys said, pointing to the Lodge just to the south. “Who are all those men?”
Looking in the direction the boy had pointed, Katrina was confused by the sight of so many mounted men, just setting up on the ridgeline, looking down toward the town. She had no idea who they were, but she waved tentatively at them.
Her wave was not returned.
Up on the Lodgetop, Keno was sitting on his horse, looking down toward the town. Seeing all the chil
dren outside let Keno know that their approach had been unseen. He had the complete advantage of surprise.
“Chavez, Ortega, set up the Gardner guns here, and here,” he said, pointing to positions on the Lodge. “When I give the word, start shooting.”
“What shall we shoot at, Coronel?” Ortega asked.
“The town,” Keno repeated.
“But, at what in town should we shoot?” Ortega asked, still not sure he understood what Keno was talking about.
“People,” Keno said bluntly. “Shoot at the people. I will tell you when to start, and when to stop.”
“Sí, Coronel.”
Keno peered at the town through a pair of field glasses, smiling when he saw how many people were out, just milling around. There would be plenty of targets for his rapid-firing guns to shoot at.
“Now!” he shouted, bringing his hand down sharply. “Begin shooting!”
Chavez and Ortega began turning the cranks, feeding ammunition into the breech of the guns. The two guns roared, spitting two streams of bullets toward the town at a combined rate of three hundred bullets per minute.
In the town the people out on the street heard the sound of gunfire coming from the Lodge to the west of town. In addition, they could hear the whizzing, whistling, and popping of bullets as they flew through the town, breaking out windows, punching holes in signs, kicking up dirt from the street, and splinters from the boardwalk.
“What is it? What is happening?”
“How can they be shooting so fast?”
The citizens of the town hurried to get off the street.
Although she had never heard gunfire so rapid and so close to together, Katrina recognized it immediately for what it was. It was gunfire! She had to get her children back into the schoolhouse!
“Boys and girls, back inside!” she shouted. “Hurry, please, back inside.”
Lenny, her first grader, had never heard such a sound before and, confused, he wandered off the school ground, out into the street. It was at that moment that the noise of the very rapid fire stopped, and mounted riders began galloping down the Lodge, shooting as they approached.
“Lenny! No! Get back here!” Katrina called.
Despite Katrina’s warning, Lenny stood there, watching, as if mesmerized, the galloping horses. Whether he was too curious or too frightened to move, Katrina didn’t know. She just knew that he was in great danger, and without giving it a second thought, she rushed out into the street.
“Lenny!” she shouted again. She managed to reach him, grabbing him, just as the riders reached the edge of town. The riders were shooting now, and though there weren’t quite as many bullets flying around now as there had been a little earlier, they seemed to be closer, and she could hear them whizzing by, and see them kicking up dirt in the road. She picked Lenny up, then turning to put her body between him and the riders, started back toward the school.
Sanchez had not specifically aimed at the woman, but he saw his bullet hit her in the back, and he saw her go down. She was lying belly-down on the ground as the twenty men rode on past the school, shooting up the town.
“Shoot everyone who is on the street!” Keno shouted. “Burn the buildings!”
Out at The Wide Loop, Stan Hardegree heard the shooting. It wouldn’t have caught his attention, except for the intensity of it. The sound of gunfire was loud and sustained. Then he saw smoke coming up from the direction of town.
“Somethin’ goin’ on in San Vicente!” he shouted, and as the others looked in that direction, Hardegree ran to the Big House.
“Mr. Byrd, there’s shootin’ comin’ from town! Lots of it!”
Byrd stepped out onto the porch and he too could hear the many gunshots.
“Katrina is there!” he said. “Get the men mounted! We’re going to town!”
Ramos watched until the vaqueros left the ranch, then he held up his hand, signaling the others.
“Come!” he said. “We will take the horses now!”
Ramos and thirty men swooped down onto the ranch with guns blazing. Only three of Byrd’s hands had been left behind, and they went down under a hail of bullets. With all resistance gone, stealing the herd of horses was easy and within two minutes after riding onto the ranch, Ramos and his men were heading southwest toward the river, and Mexico.
“Señor Coronel, many men are coming!” Sanchez shouted.
“Come, we will leave now,” Keno replied, and the twenty men rode off, leaving the dead and dying lying on the street behind them. Three of the buildings were ablaze.
By the time men from the surrounding ranches arrived, the raiders were gone, and there was nothing they could do but help fight the fires that had been started.
Tom Byrd went straight to the school to check on his daughter. He saw a cluster of children, looking down at someone on the ground, and as he drew closer, he felt a grabbing constriction in his chest.
The person they were looking at was Katrina!
“Katrina!” he shouted in dismay. Dismounting, he moved toward her as quickly as he could.
“She saved Lenny,” one of the older children said. “When the riders came they were shooting, and Lenny ran out into the street. Miss Byrd went to get him, and she was shot.”
“Katrina, no, no!” Tom Byrd shouted in anguish. He knelt on the ground beside her.
“Papa?”
“Yes, honey, it’s Papa.”
“Are you and Mama all right?”
“We weren’t hurt.”
“That is good. That is very good. And Lenny?”
“Lenny is here, Miss Byrd,” the same older boy who had spoken to Tom Byrd said. “He is crying, but he isn’t hurt. You saved his life.”
“Papa?”
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m here.”
“Papa, tell Cal. Tell him it would have been so wonderful.”
“You can tell him yourself, Katrina, I’ll send a telegram and bring him back so you can . . .”
Katrina took a couple of short, audible, rattling breaths, then she stopped breathing, and her eyes, though still open, glazed over.
“Katrina!” Tom shouted. “Katrina!”
“She’s dead, ain’t she?” the boy asked.
Tom lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Is Miss Byrd dead?” one of the other students asked.
Soon, word spread among all the students that their teacher was dead. Many of the students began crying then, girls and boys alike.
Stan Hardegree rode up then, and seeing Tom Byrd squatting down by Katrina, knew without having to ask, that she was dead. Dismounting, he removed his hat and stood, respectfully, alongside his boss. He said nothing, thinking it would be better to give Tom Byrd a moment of privacy.
“I’m going to have to tell Hazel,” Tom said. “I’d rather do anything in the world than that. But I’m going to have to tell her.”
Before leaving town, Tom made arrangements with the mortician to take care his daughter. It wasn’t that easy to do, as eleven more of the town’s citizens had been killed in the raid.
“How will you handle that many?” Tom asked.
“I’ve sent word to Brownsville. There are two undertakers there. I’m sure one of them will be able to come over and help.”
With Katrina in good hands, Tom started home to share the grim news with his wife of forty-eight years. Halfway home he was met by Hardegree, who had gone home earlier, taking the men with him.
“Stan?” Tom asked, puzzled as to why his foreman would have come to meet him.
“They was here too, Mr. Byrd,” Hardegree said.
“What? Stan, my wife?” Tom gasped, in shock and fear.
“Miz Byrd is fine,” Hardegree said.
“Thank God.”
“But Lou, Jay, ’n’ Booker ain’t. They was kilt, Mr. Byrd. While we was in town, a bunch of men come here to the ranch. They kilt the three men that was keepin’ watch o’er the horses, then they took the horses.”
“Took th
e horses? How many did they take?”
“They took ’em all, the whole herd. Mr. Byrd, they took ever’ horse they could find.”
Tom rode on up to the house where he found Hazel sitting alone, on the sofa, in the living room, darkened because the shades and curtains were pulled shut.
“Hazel?” His voice was quiet and caressing.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? Our little girl is dead.”
“Who told you?”
“Nobody told me. Nobody had to tell me. I just knew, that’s all.”
Tom hurried over to the sofa, and pulled Hazel into his arms.
“Did you get to see her, Tom? Was she, at least, able to say something before she died?”
“Yes, she spoke to me.”
Tom wondered if he should tell Hazel that Katrina spoke of her, or if he should tell her the truth.
“She talked about Cal, didn’t she?” Hazel asked.
“Darling, I’m sure . . .”
“Don’t worry. I know she loves you and me. But I very much want to know that she had found love, before she died. What did she say about Cal?”
“She said that we should tell him that... ‘it would have been wonderful.’ I told her that she could tell him that, herself, but it was too late.”
“I’m glad her last thoughts were of him. Now, we have to get him back for her funeral.”
“They are on the train. How am I going to do that?”
“I don’t know, but, please, do.”
“We can do it,” the Western Union operator said. “I have a schedule of where the train will be at any moment. All we have to do is send a telegram to a stop that is ahead of the train. They’ll get word to any passenger.”
“Are you sure they’ll know how to do this?” Tom asked.
“Don’t worry. It’s been done many, many times.” The telegrapher chuckled. “The telegram is a lot faster than a train. Now, what message do you want to send?”
Terror of the Mountain Man Page 15
