The Milch Bride

by J. R. Biery

Hattie was busy talking with Rubye behind her about what to get together for supper and Jackson was talking to Cliff who was riding beside him about possible Sunday chores for the men. Since real work wasn’t to be done, Sunday chores were mending harness, sharpening tools, small tasks to while away the afternoon.

  Hank who was riding a little ahead was the first to see the vultures as they approached the house. Hank pointed, hollered, and then set off at a gallop. James snapped the reins and guided the buckboard toward the house. But even as they wheeled into sight of the house, Hattie’s heart stopped. In the front yard, a vulture floated away from the body of a big yellow dog. She recognized Sam who had been such a help in watching and keeping J.D. safe.

  When he pulled to a stop, Hattie grabbed the baby closer as Jackson bounded down. The gate at the top step had been knocked loose and the fence around the porch that Jackson had so carefully nailed in place had been kicked and broken in several places. For a moment she was afraid to get down. It was like the day she had arrived home and found her father beaten and unconscious in the barn. Her heart began to beat in panic and she realized she was gripping the baby too tightly as he started to cry. Rubye climbed over the seat and wrapped an arm around her and got her to loosen her hold.

  Panicked, she wanted to climb down, desperate to find Jackson. When she looked away from the house, she saw vultures being chased away by the mounted cowboys. Behind them she saw two pink mounds in the paddock. The roan mare and her pretty filly were dead. What manner of men would kill them? She knew and her knees felt like jelly.

  Minutes later, Jackson appeared on the porch, his revolvers strapped on. “James, get the women and J.D. inside, help them restore some order. I can’t tell if someone was searching for something or if they just wanted to make our lives difficult, but they sure have done the latter.”

  He stared up at Hattie and heard her small gasp as she stared toward the paddock. When he realized what she was looking at and the horror in her face he rushed forward, turning the baby over to Rubye as he swept his terrified wife from the seat and into his arms. Jackson held her for a minute, trying to get her attention, but she kept moaning, “No, no, no,” in his arms and he quickly hurried into the house and the bedroom, closely followed by James.

  The bedroom was bedlam, covers and mattress pulled off, mattress ripped and some of the cotton stuffing pulled out and scattered. Clothes had been torn from hangers and the dresser contents dumped haphazardly about in a snow of linen. Hattie’s dark clothes had been shredded, but even Jackson could see it was only hers that had been destroyed. His own were scattered as were Donna’s, but none was torn, stomped on or had waste dumped on them like Hattie’s. The baby’s clothes still rested snuggly in the dresser drawers.

  He trembled to think that the demons who did this hated her so much. He held Hattie while James straightened the mattress, poking stuffing back into the slit down the center. Jackson nodded at the sheets and James shook one and they watched it float down onto the ripped mattress that had just been returned to the bed.

  Rubye stood in the door, the baby held snugly, while she shook her head. “Well, I never.”

  Jackson scowled at her. “Rubye, see what you can put up, and carry out the soiled stuff and these torn garments.”

  Rubye stood, rocking the baby in her arms. “Of course, maybe some of it can be mended or used for patterns to make new garments.”

  The crib stood untouched, except for the cloud of clothes scattered over it. In minutes it was emptied and J.D. was settled in his bed. Together Rubye and James set about restoring order. She gathered up a simple quilt made of bright squares and as Jackson laid Hattie in the bed, Rubye spread it over her. Then she turned to open one of the bedroom windows.

  Tuning out everything and everyone but Hattie, Jackson sat on the edge of the bed, an arm around her, alarmed to see her shivering and curled into a ball of fear. Outside, he could hear his men shouting to one another as they gathered their weapons and traded the wagon for saddled horses. He leaned down to brush her cheek with his own. “I know its hard Hattie, but you need to be strong. I have to go after these men. I need to know you’re okay and that you will take care of and protect J.D. while I’m gone.”

  He heard the deep ragged breath, then saw her force the terror down and turn toward him.

  “Where are my guns?”

  Jackson leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He turned to the closet behind them. He pushed aside the clothes that Rubye and James had hastily hung up. He thumped the back panel and it almost opened, blocked by the clothes. He lifted out a thick batch and laid them, hangers and all across the foot of the bed. This time the door swung open. The leather bag of coins Hattie had asked him to hide was gone, along with Donna’s jewelry.

  Suddenly he was back in the new bedroom, one of the rooms he had added with Dawson’s help to accommodate his daughter. His own bed and dresser had been moved into what would become the maid, Rubye White’s room. This room, Donna’s bedroom with its “cross-ventilation” was furnished by Charles Dawson. Donna had picked out and ordered the furniture and it and the room had been part of her “dowry” as she called it.

  He remembered Charles Dawson tapping the back of this wardrobe and saying with pride. “It has a banker’s panel, here at the back. Donna, where’s your jewelry.”

  When his blushing bride had handed her father the velvet bag Jackson had watched in fascination as Charles hooked it at the back of the narrow space, then smoothed it flat before tapping the panel back into place. “If you didn’t know it was there, you couldn’t see or find it. Even the cleverest burglar would miss it,” he’d bragged.

  Jackson felt around the narrow space but the heavy velvet bag and the small leather pouch holding Hattie’s meager coins were both gone. Sinking, he felt around the bottom of the wardrobe, moving around Donna’s numerous shoes until he found the guns.

  “The money’s gone, but here are your guns, let’s check that they’re loaded.” Before doing that, he took the time to tap the panel back in place and rehang the expensive clothes. Sitting beside her, he broke the gun, spun the barrel with her, and then snapped it shut when she nodded. He held it, then slid it under the pillow.

  She sniffed, trying to resist the urge to grab the gun back out.

  Next, he repeated the steps of checking the rifle with her, and then stood the loaded rifle to rest against the headboard. “James will be here. He has his handguns and rifle and Rubye has her scattergun loaded and ready. We’ll ride hard and get back as soon as we can.”

  She reached out a hand to his cheek, surprising them both that it was still shaking. “I love you. Go, we’ll be fine, I’m good now.”

  He sat there, unable to move. He wanted to pull her into his arms again until the words she said were true. Instead, he kissed her forehead, held her for a moment and then left.

  Outside in the yard, Jackson stared at the armed men, each looking as grim as he felt.

  “It looks like four riders, boss. I catch them sons-of-bitches, I’m going to make ‘em wish they’d stayed low,” Cliff barked.

  “We’re going to ride out in four directions again, maybe we can catch some of the neighbors on their way back from church,” Jackson said.

  “Did you see what they did to that pretty baby and momma. Shot full of holes like every one of those snakes had to shoot them,” one of the young hands added.

  “They wrecked our coop, too.” Hank added, pulling on the reins to turn his horse in a tight circle to stop its nervous side-stepping. “Pulled one wall down, the sorry S.O.B.’s.”

  Jackson looked toward the house, torn between chasing the raiders and going back inside to check on Hattie. “We were at the Stoddard’s ranch a couple of days ago. I’m pretty sure that’s not where they’re staying these days.”

  The men exchanged looks when Jackson continued to stare at the house. “Well, at least this time we know there’s no point in going for the sheriff. Pair up, Hank with me. Men let’s ride.”
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  Jackson circled the house, then took the road toward town and the Dawson’s place. Hank started to argue, but then fell into place beside him. When they crossed the tracks of four horses, Jackson dismounted to study them. The only thing he could tell for sure was that one horse carried a heavier rider, the tracks were deeper and the smaller pony had a nail missing in a shoe. They rode almost up to the front door of the Dawson’s house before the tracks veered off.

  Cautiously, Jackson rode on into town, following the tracks until they were hidden among dozens of others on the dusty trail. “Hank, do you think you can find Tony, see if he saw or heard anything.”

  “Looks like you may need a back-up.” He nodded toward the horses tied up at the saloon. It was Sunday, but it was customary for the saloon to open after church, since it catered to a different crowd.

  “If I do, looks like the sheriff is here to give a hand.” He pointed out the sheriff’s wall-eyed pinto tied up beside the other four.

  “Okay, boss, once I get him, we’ll come back, just in case.”

  Jackson nodded, focused on the saloon door. He dismounted, tying up in front of the Thompson’s store. He eased up onto the boardwalk and peered into the dusky quiet of the saloon. At a front table sat Sheriff Tate and a nervous, ugly cowhand, a man Jackson remembered hassling Hattie on the day he brought her home. He couldn’t tell anything about the other three, until one lifted his drink and Jackson held his breath. The man clearly was missing his middle finger on his right hand.

  So Hogue and Sweat were two of the ones who had shot horses and torn up his place. They were clearly friends of the sheriff and had two new men riding with them. The heavy man could be Silas Sweat, but the man’s long black hair and beard gave him no resemblance to the four-fingered drinker.

  Jackson eased the gun back into the holster as he realized there was no way to approach them, one against five. Certainly, no reason to see the sheriff to report and complain about the raid, he had probably just heard about it from the raiders. Asking his father-in-law for help was pointless. He had reason to believe it was Charlie Dawson behind this raid, the earlier rustling, and the harassment of Hattie and her father, as well as the other ranchers. They would pay, but not now, not here in town.

  Carefully, he backed off the walkway and mounted up. In minutes, he was waiting beneath an elm tree in the Mexican section of Star. Hank rode up with a rumpled looking Tony. The younger cowhand had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  “I did what you asked, boss, checked around for strangers. There are four men who have set up out at the Eastman place.”

  “Eastman?”

  “Yeah, he was one of the small squatters just west of town. He had a really bad run of luck last year. First rustlers, then his barn burned, then he lost his crops to a prairie fire. When he couldn’t pay his taxes, the bank foreclosed. Not sure who owns the place, but these four have moved in out there.”

  “Well, see if you can find out names. I’m pretty sure one is Rafe Hogue, then there’s a four-fingered man, pretty sure he was Silas or Able Sweat.”

  “Missing a middle-finger?”

  “The very one. They were drinking with Sheriff Tate.” He started to add that their trail lead from the Dawson’s place, but he didn’t. To accuse a man as powerful as Charlie Dawson, even when he had reason, could be a costly mistake for all of them.

  “What’s the next move, boss?”

  “Tony, you’ll stick close, keep an eye on these men on the Eastman’s ranch. The rest of us will ride armed. If they cross onto Harper land again, we’ll shoot first, then ask questions.”

  “We could ride in with you, take them on now,” Hank said.

  Jackson shook his head. “Believe me I want to. But this isn’t Deadwood or Tombstone City. Folks don’t expect gunfights on the streets of Star and I don’t want to be the one to start one, do you?”

  Hank shook his head. “No, but I sure want those coyotes dead.”

  Jackson remembered the terror stricken girl who had touched his cheek and told him she was good, to go ahead. “No one wants them dead more than me. We’ll get every one of them. But we’ll do it legal. For now, we’ll wait.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When he was once again on Harper land, Jackson fired the two short bursts of rifle fire that was the agreed upon signal. The men poured into the ranch yard as he rode in. He met them at the paddock.

  “Some of you will have to drag these horses down to the gully and cover them. We don’t want coyotes or wolves this close to the house. Hank and a few of you can tackle getting the chicken coop nailed back together. I’ll repair the gate and porch fencing,” Jackson said.

  “No one saw four horsemen. Don’t you want us to go back out scouting?” Cliff asked.

  “No need. I found their trail; they’re holed up at the Eastman ranch. A place like the Stoddard’s that had far too much bad luck, and then got foreclosed on by the bank.”

  Cliff stared at him hard. “You saw who they were?”

  “Yeah, I saw them drinking with our friend the sheriff. Rafe Hogue and one of the Sweats, probably Able, along with two I’ve never seen. One oversized with long black hair and a black beard, and the other on the runt side.”

  “I suppose you saw their horses too?”

  “A black, seventeen hands at least, probably carrying the fat man. A brown mustang, a dun quarter horse and a small, flea-bitten gray that has a shoe on the right front leg that’s missing a nail.”

  The men exchanged hard looks. “That’s a pretty close look, boss.”

  “Tony is staying in town, keeping an eye on their movements and trying to give us a heads up. I believe it’s the best way to handle things.”

  “Why don’t we just ride out, shoot them full of holes like they did those strawberry ponies?” Cliff demanded.

  “Nothing would please me more. But with the law on their side, we need to catch them in the act.”

  “So we just stay home and clean up the mess.”

  “And, keep an eye on the cattle and the ranch. The priority is the safety of the people here, especially Hattie and J.D.”

  “You can count on us, boss.”

  Supper was a silent affair, the broken furniture in the living room keeping everyone’s spirits low. They ate beans, fresh corn, and buttered corn bread with green onions and no one complained. Tired and hungry, they were glad to have a hot meal

  Hattie was somber, still wearing the skirt and blue blouse from church, holding J.D. who was frightened by all the tension in the air. He clung to her and rejected all offers of other arms or laps. Hattie no longer appeared frightened, but she appeared sad, hurt by all the destruction and the dead animals. He knew she would normally have changed back into her everyday clothes. Maybe it was knowing that all her clothes were gone, that she would always be wearing Donna’s that gave her face such a down-turned expression.

  After supper, the men all got busy with their tasks; Jackson hammered the boards into place and rehung the gate on the porch. Hattie carried the quilt from the bed and the sewing basket into the front room. The tall table had been set upright, the Bible back on top. Although the settee had been slashed on the seat, the back and both arms, its horse hair stuffing still rested firmly inside and none of its wood was broken. It was as though the raiders were going through the motions, but not really expecting to find anything since they hadn’t removed the stuffing like they had on the bed.

  She began with the encyclopedia of needlework, reading again the section on mending. She chose the denim from the scrap bag, cutting pieces to work beneath the edges of the rips in the upholstery. Then using the curved needle and a red thread to match the fabric, she slowly whip stitched the edges together over the reinforcing cloth. Her first real difficulty came when she had to make a knot at the end of the seam. J.D. sat beside her on the folded quilt, his back and sitting skills stronger every day. He looked up at her and she had to smile at his studious expression. Knowing it might show, she made the u
sual double loop, passing the needle through the last loop and then bit off the end of the thread after running it down the length of the seam. At her smile of satisfaction, J.D. laughed out loud.

  Hattie stabbed the needle into the slashed sofa nearest her and scooped the laughing baby into her arms. Leaning down to kiss him, she was delighted when he raised up to kiss her back. As she held him in the circle of her arms he stretched up against her. “Big boy, momma’s big boy,” she teased and he laughed again.

  Jackson stepped into the house staring at the pair on the quilt. The baby stood on wobbly legs, weaving in the arms of his smiling wife. Despite the rage that still rushed through him at the violation of his home and the killing of his stock, he felt his own lips tug into a smile as they both turned to smile at him.

  He stopped for a moment to hug and kiss both, then turned to examine the chair. Although its upholstery hadn’t been slashed, one leg and the bottom side rails had both been broken. While the boy played between them, both continued to work. Hattie darned one of the arms, just as she had repaired the long rip in the seat.

  Then stretching her back, careful not to move her feet, she cut and placed the denim in the tear of the backrest and the remaining arm. J.D. had stopped babbling and lay with his head under her skirt, one hand on her ankle. Jackson finished working the broken leg loose from the chair and the broken rail from the rear leg and smiled at her. “He always figures out what I’d like to do, and then does it for me.”

  Hattie looked down, moving her skirt just enough to reveal the sleeping baby. “I hope the lord will forgive us for the work this day.” She added as she returned needle and thread to the basket.

  “I was always taught that no new work was to be done, only cooking and light mending. I’d say that’s all that any of us have done.” He put down the hammer on the seat of the mended couch, then bent to lift the limp baby.

  Rubye stood in the open door of her room. “Did you call me?”

  Hattie shook her head, again reaching to stretch her back. “No, I forgot to ask, but was your room all right?”