by J. R. Biery
The adrenaline from the fight left him all at once, even as he walked toward the house. He washed up, knocked the dust off his boots and pants, and then stepped into the cool shadows of the house, only to hold up short. Hattie had spread a quilt on the waxed planks of the floor and she lay on it smiling and playing with a naked J.D. He lay in the beams of sunlight, cooing and making little noises as she tried to catch his wiggling body to diaper. The edge of her skirt had been kicked up to show the lace of her petticoat and reveal one stocking-clad slim ankle. Her blouse was wet and two buttons were open. It was plain she had just bathed the baby.
Jackson poked his hat back with one finger and grinned. As usual, J.D. noticed him first and waved his arms even more excitedly. Hattie quickly sat up, self-consciously buttoning the blouse and pulling her skirt down over her shoeless feet, before turning back to the giggling baby.
Unable to resist his command, Jackson sank to the edge of the quilt, leaning down to blow bubbles on the tender neck and belly. J.D. went wild, wiggling and laughing. Jackson leaned back laughing too. Hattie used the breather both were taking to get a diaper on the baby.
“Why the quilt?”
Hattie blushed again and Jackson enjoyed the sight of her pink face, startled blue eyes, and the way her hand rested tenderly on the baby’s chest.
“Dr. Padgett says he should be able to roll-over, and he hasn’t done it yet? He has just rolled onto his side, not from front to back, or back to front yet. I thought on a firmer flat surface, he might be able to roll all the way over.”
Jackson laughed and J.D. made a gasping sound and opened his eyes wide to stare at his Daddy. Hattie laughed at his look of astonishment and J.D. rolled in her direction, grabbing at his foot as he rolled. Jackson chuckled at her delight and J.D. rolled back over toward him. Hattie lay down on the quilt and Jackie flipped over, raising up on his arms to look at her like a little shell-less turtle, then rolled over to face her. Hattie clapped her hands. “You did it. Did you see that, daddy? He made a 360-degree-turn.”
They smiled at each other, each touching the laughing baby between them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What the hell is going on?”
Hattie got up, but Jackson lay back on the quilt watching as J.D.’s face puckered up, ready for a cry. Wordlessly he lifted the baby against his chest, kissing the soft scrunched face. The baby pushed a fist into his mouth and Jackson nibbled it.
On her feet, straightening her clothes, Hattie spoke defensively. “We were playing with the baby, teaching him to roll over.”
“Sure you were. I knew something was up when you both came up with excuses to miss church. When I think of the faces of the Dawsons, missing seeing that boy.”
Hattie sputtered. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”
Rubye looked like she would slap the girl, and Jackson sprang to his feet.
“Miss White, I think you’d better apologize to Miss Stoddard.”
“Apologize, to that lying minx. That baby is no more teething then the man in the moon. I doubt it’s her monthly either, but you’d know more about that than me?”
“Stop!” the voice was fierce. “Stop before you say things you’ll regret.”
“The only thing I regret is believing two liars. I’m leaving this house of sin.”
Hattie started to say something more in protest, but Jackson reached out and put a hand on her arm, then moved that arm behind her. This let J.D. reach out to grab her and change arms. Hattie felt a huge ache grow in her chest. She wanted to crumple from the angry scorn of a woman whom she had taken for a friend. The baby’s lower lip was quivering at the tension in the air and Jackson placed a hand on the soft little back, letting his hand stroke the velvety skin. J.D. curled into Hattie’s arms. She felt comforted by Jackson’s arm bracing her back and the baby clinging to them both. At the slam of Rubye’s door, she pulled free, but as she turned to carry the boy to the bedroom, her eyes pooled with tears of disappointment and she clenched her jaw to keep from shedding them. Was she never going to be free of suspicion and accusation?
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Rubye hurriedly packed and quickly left for town, driven and comforted by James Boyd. The Dawsons had long ago offered her a place if she ever found living with ‘that woman’ too difficult. Even after all these months, Irene Dawson had stayed angry that Jackson had dared to bring the woman into his house, into his wife’s bed, and given her the care of her precious grandchild. Irene Dawson would be only too eager to welcome Rubye and listen to her accusations and stories about that ‘white trash.’
Hattie rushed into the kitchen as soon as J.D. was asleep in his crib. Upset with Rubye’s reaction, she was relieved that the food was ready as the men should arrive any minute for dinner. She rushed to dish up the roast and vegetables, sliced a bowl of ripe tomatoes and the large wheel of cornbread. She had dishes and silverware on the table, then stepped back in shock as strange men began to ride up. Already nervous since James and Rubye would not be there to serve, she started to shake.
Frightened, she called for the one man who could make her feel safe. “Jackson?”
He came into the kitchen from his study. Hattie felt her heart sink when she noticed the guns strapped to his hips. She had never seen any of the hands on the ranch walk around armed before. They kept rifles in their saddle scabbards but they were mostly for shooting varmints. Handguns, like her father’s pistol, were for shooting men. More than the strange men continuing to file into the yard, the sight of this armed man left her stunned.
Jackson shook his head. “Sorry I didn’t warn you in time. There will be a lot of men coming to form a posse. I had a run-in with rustlers this morning, and I plan to catch them and see them strung up this time. Dinner looks good, but we don’t have time to sit down and eat.”
Hattie knew her confusion and disappointment showed.
He gave her shoulder a pat in consolation as he asked, “Can you get a couple of pails of water for these riders and clear this table, but leave the bread? Then stay out of the way while we talk.” He stepped down the stairs into the cold cellar only to emerge in minutes with a bag of deer jerky and several strings of beef jerky that had hung from the ceiling below.
Hattie awoke to her surroundings at his touch, quickly carrying the food back to the kitchen stove and returning dishes and silverware to the pantry shelves. She started through the door to the porch, then stepped back behind the screen at all the staring eyes. Jackson walked up behind her and told her curtly. “Never mind, stay with J.D.”
Hattie knew if she were stronger she would snort like Rubye at the request that she just fade into the background. Instead, she felt grateful for the reprieve and quickly disappeared into the back room.
Hattie kept the door cracked a little so she could hear, wanting to know the reason for the gun, the men arriving, the details of the animals taken, the shots fired. It was an hour later, when the men were finally gathered, that Jackson addressed them all. She heard about the exchange of gun fire, felt surprisingly elated on hearing that two of the rustlers were wounded and all the cattle and two mules were back. Maybe it was the Sweat brothers and Rafe Hogue. It was un-Christian she knew, but she prayed it was the three rapist. She was afraid, since they were going to chase after the rustlers, but she felt optimistic that they would catch up with them soon and this time Jackson would have all these men as backup.
It surprised her that so many of the local ranchers had also had cattle rustled. They were as angry as she felt. There was agreement that it was time to go after them.
Tony rode in spraying dust. “The sheriff’s on his way; he wants everyone to wait until he arrives.”
There were already over twenty men ready to ride and Jackson burned with irritation at the needless wait. He had already shared all the details of the shoot-out this morning, and he didn’t want to repeat it. His irritation spilled over when James Boyd pulled in with the empty buckboard, minutes before the sheriff finally arrived. The reminder of t
he scene with Rubye White and her abrupt departure fueled his anger. Now what had been settled would need to be worked out again. He would need to make more arrangements just to keep his household running smoothly.
It was nearly three o’clock by the time everyone was gathered and Sheriff Tate finally rode onto the ranch in his high-wheeled buggy. Again, pacing and talking loudly, Jackson explained what happened, why they needed to hurry and ride after the rustlers.
Hattie paced inside the house, echoing his anger and excitement, bouncing the wide- awake and fussy boy. She knew from Jackson’s description, that at least one man was hurt badly enough they should at least catch him. She crossed her fingers, making a selfish wish. Let it be Rafe Hogue, not Able or Silas Sweat. Please let it be Hogue, the leader, the instigator, the brutal animal. Let him be wounded, dead, or about to be hung as a rustler. Her name might never be cleared, but her father’s beating and death would be avenged.
The sheriff stood in his buggy, interrupting her thoughts with his speech. “I will tolerate no vigilantes. We will catch these men, but they are to go to Star to be held, to wait on the circuit judge and a fair trial.”
His words were greeted with angry arguments. “What about our animals?”
“If the brands are there or you can offer proof that they are your cattle, then you can hold them until the trial. We’ll make a tally of all animals recovered and who takes each, in case of future disputes.”
Jackson pointed to the back paddock. “We recovered Miss Stoddard’s mules and a dozen of my cows and calves. Cows are branded; I reckon each calf will identify its own momma. Range law says it belongs to the owner of the cow.”
“True about the calves. How do I know those mules are Stoddard animals?”
Jackson was tempted to say, just ask them.
Hattie piped up through the screen door, softly so Jackson could hear her. “They wear Stoddard brands.”
Jackson repeated the answer though the sheriff had heard it. The sheriff stared at the shadow, deliberately making no nod or tip of his hat. Instead he wrinkled his nose as though from a bad smell and Jackson felt the insult burn up the back of his neck. He still felt the rage of Rubye’s casting them in the role of sinners. He could not, nor ever would, slug a woman. But if the sheriff dared a similar comment, he would reconsider those words sitting in the dust.
His housing arrangements would be the first issue Jackson would have to resolve when they returned. Hattie already did most of the laundry, more than her share of cleaning, and often helped with the meals. Even taking care of J.D. full-time, she could probably take on the chore of feeding the men. However, with the housekeeper moved out, even Jackson would not dare sleep under the same roof with her. Hell, he had problems.
Finally, all agreed. As quickly as the house and yard had filled, it emptied.
It was Cliff, who picked up the blood trail, the other half of the party headed northwest, keeping each other in sight as the line spread out over the range. The rest of the men, including Jackson, Hank and the sheriff, fanned out southeast, doing the same thing.
When Jackson crossed the boundary onto the Stoddard ranch, he heard the bellow of a large bull. Excited, he spurred his horse down the valley toward the seeps and the mud puddles where Hattie had sent his men months ago in search of eighteen cows and a black, trick horned bull.
The area was fenced with logs, animals crowded into the space. Along with the Stoddard animals were his eight missing cows and their twin calves and most of the animals that had been pilfered during the last months, including several saddle horses. He was disappointed not to see Hattie’s old gelding, but the excitement of the ranchers on finding their missing animals was palpable. He looked, but the first fifty cattle the Stoddard’s had lost were gone.
Maybe they had rustled and sold animals quicker before the Stoddard place became available? Now they could hide out and keep the animals until they had enough to trail north. Something about the arrangement didn’t add up. Where were they getting the feed? When they’d moved Hattie, they’d moved all the food stored here, though there hadn’t been that much. Where did outlaws get the food to keep the stolen cattle penned up and fed?
He held the men up. “It looks like they’re holed up at Tom Stoddard’s place. We’d better go in slow and cautious.” He grinned as he looked from face to face, “All this crowd, they might know we’re here, so keep your guns ready and try to find and use all the cover you can find.”
They crept in, inching from the cover of the trees to the protection of the barn, all the time expecting to hear shots. Jackson and Cliff rode into the barn with one of the farmers holding the door open. As he suspected, the loft was full of hay, and there were two barrels of oats for the horses. There were wheel marks clearly showing where a wagon had sat, probably moving no farther than a foot from where the oats were unloaded. He toed the ground, noticing a bright fleck of red. “Hey, look at this.”
Men who had approached the house, called in complaint. “They’re gone.”
Entering the house, Jackson put his hands on his hips, resting them near the guns. The place was filthy, food dropped on the floor, everything rough. He noticed there was a new table, four good chairs where the broken table and two busted chairs had sat before. In each bedroom, there were two cots, just like the ones he had been sleeping on in the study. Not just feed in the barn, but somebody had provided furniture for these owl hoots. Someone with money was behind the rustlers. In a town like Star, there were only a few men who had that kind of money.
Sheriff Tate looked around the cabin and Jackson felt his suspicion rise. This was the man who told Hattie he would arrest her for indecency for wearing pants, but told her he believed low-life saloon trash, not her. Jackson felt his jaw clench and he let his hand rest on the butt of his revolver before calming enough to speak.
“Ben, you and your deputy rode in from town. Clearly one of these rustlers was wounded badly. They doubled back here for a wagon, because the wagon that was in the barn is gone. Did you pass them on the way into town heading to Doc Jenkins?”
The sheriff rolled his eyes at him. “Damn, Harper, I know you think you’re the big dog, having a shoot-out with the rustlers and finding their hidey-hole and the rustled cattle, but I am the sheriff. You think if I rode past a bunch of bloody men, I wouldn’t have noticed and stopped them? Especially, when Tony rode in and told me to ride out and arrest some rustlers?”
Jackson wasn’t the only one who gave the sheriff hard looks. He wanted to say, yeah, if you’re being paid not to see them. He just stared and didn’t answer.
“All right, let’s drive these animals back to the ranch, make a tally, and then get people home. Those of you who live in town, you can look for wagon tracks; see if you can find a lead. Hank, you can try to trail the wagon while it’s still light, maybe they went across the prairie.”
Everyone wanted to comment, but none of them did. Later, when the sheriff was gone, Jackson knew there’d be plenty said.
“Why drive them to your place? Take the tally here, divide them up. Save these men a little of their Sunday.” Tate said as though he were already running for reelection.
“Anyone know who’s been staying here at the Stoddard place?” The sheriff bellowed.
No one answered. “Don’t worry. If they’re as shot up as Jackson claims, they’ll be easy to spot,” the sheriff laughed.
“They’re shot up, or do you think I painted the blood trail here and out in the barn?”
The sheriff’s face changed from smiling campaigner to man in charge.
“Come on, let’s get these animals tallied and moved home,” he barked.
As Jackson hazed forty animals home, most with Stoddard brands he was relieved not to have to ride guard tonight. He’d probably move his cot out to the porch. He’d left Tony behind since he and his horse were spent, but also because he didn’t want to leave Hattie and the baby unguarded.
James Boyd was back from town. Maybe the chuck wagon
cook could be persuaded to move into the house and take over Rubye’s job. If he did, that might be the best solution. Then Jackson wouldn’t have to fight off the hounds and mosquitoes to sleep on the porch.
As they approached the ranch, Jackson sent his men to move the animals into the large front paddock with the other recovered animals. “Cut out the horses, see if you can get them stabled and grained”
Tony came out into the yard to greet them. “See you found our cows, boss. What about the rustlers?”
“Not yet, but Cliff and Hank are still on their trail.” Jackson looked up at the darkening sky, “Although I expect they’ll have to give it up soon. James inside?”
“Yeah, he’s been back a couple of hours. He’s inside, helping Miss Stoddard rustle up some grub.”
Jackson slid from the saddle, patted his horse’s neck. He knew the animal was as relieved as he was to be home and done for the night. He loosened the cinch and swung the saddle over the rail, pulled off the bridle and turned the big bay into the barn. The animal swished into his stall and snorted, already demanding his food and rub down.
Tony smiled at Jackson. “I’ll take care of Red for you, boss. Reckon they’ve been holding supper awhile.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jackson nodded. He stopped at the well, drew a pail of water and washed up first. Then, untying his gun, he uncinched the gun belt and carried the belt with its dangling guns and his long rifle toward the house.
He was surprised to see James Boyd in an apron, waiting on the porch. So much for a peaceful home-coming.
“James, I’m glad to see you. Appreciate your helping Hattie get supper.”
