Texas Blood Feud

by Dusty Richards

  He nodded woodenly. “They murdered Marla Porter.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you more later.”

  “Heck will put up your horse. Come in and set down. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I have.”

  “Who would murder her?”

  “She wrote his name in blood on the sheet.”

  “Oh, my God. Who was it?”

  “Kenny Reynolds.”

  “You found her?”

  “Raped and murdered—Doc said.”

  “Why would anyone—”

  “Revenge.” He dropped his chin in defeat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I never knew.”

  He handed her the partial note. “I found this, too.”

  After she read it, she collapsed on the sofa. “What will we do?”

  He shook his head. “I have no answer.”

  Chapter 11

  Chet was grateful that Susie was with him walking from the schoolhouse to the cemetery behind the pallbearers and Marla’s people. A cold north wind blew out of Kansas and swept across the Indian Territory and north Texas to get to them. It tugged at their clothing and tried to tear folks’ blanket wraps away from them. The kind of cold that penetrated like a wood bee bored in wood.

  Jake was wet-eyed helping his frail seventy-year-old mother up the path. Chet felt grateful he’d never shown him the farewell letter that Marla had started to write. The mourners stood up on the open hill with their backs to the hard breath of winter. Chet couldn’t believe any one was cruel enough to murder good horses, but to do what they did to Marla was monstrous.

  The preacher’s words sounded strained. “Dear God, we send you this lovely woman and wife, her life cut short at the hands of a killer…”

  His words went on and on. But Chet expected it. Even the chilling force pressing them down was not enough for him to shorten his finale at the grave site. Chet had been there before in driving rain that half filled the grave before the preacher finished—but the preacher never shortened his call to save everyone. Maybe he got his saved souls from those that couldn’t stand another ten minutes of his words.

  After the service, Chet and Susie rode home in silence. The boys had gone on.

  “It was a fine service,” Susie said.

  “I’m sure she would have felt that way. She always worried how she would be shunned if she divorced him. Said it was easier for a man than it was for a woman.”

  “I imagine she was right. She needed a connection with other women, and to be excluded might have been a severe thing for her.”

  “I came so close—those damn Reynolds—” He clucked to the team and sent them trotting off.

  “Spoilers, I’d call them.”

  “Worse than that. I can hardly wait for the hearing in the morning.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Good, maybe I can keep my anger under control. Louise take the poncho I bought for her?”

  “Certainly, it was nice of you to think of her. I guess a blanket would have done for me. She’s fancier than that.”

  “No, she’s fussier than you are.”

  They both laughed and dropped downhill to the ford. He recalled those boys waiting in hiding for his bunch to arrive that day—made him mad all over. But the crossing was uneventful, and soon the wheels were churning for the ranch.

  On Saturday, the hearing was held in Mayfield’s Red Horse Saloon. The only place large enough for such a crowd in the village. The Reynolds clan was there in force, except Chet didn’t see Kenny in that crowd. No doubt word had got back to them that he was the chief suspect and a writ would be issued for his arrest. Kenny could be in Kansas or New Mexico by then. From time to time, Chet overheard Big Earl boasting they wasn’t indicting his boy for this crime. Why, he was plumb in the other end of the county all that day and Earl had witnesses to prove it.

  When Chet took the stand, he heard several boos. Judge Barr rapped the gavel. “Another outburst like that and I’ll sentence you to thirty days in the county jail.”

  In the middle of Chet’s testimony, Earl jumped up and said he was lying. “I’ve got six men here will swear where my boy was at that day.”

  “Mr. Reynolds, we will hear that testimony later.”

  “Your Honor, I can’t stand that that no-account up there lying about my boy.”

  “Mr. Reynolds, you will have your turn to speak. You interrupt these proceedings one more time and I’ll have you escorted from this room.”

  He sat down again.

  Chet finished his testimony and stepped down off the stage. He joined Susie and the boys. “You did well.” she said.

  Doc came next, and showed the judge the bloody sheet and the name. He went through some fancy words, but it meant she’d been raped and then murdered sometime in the afternoon of the day she was found. Four others verified the sheet as the one found under her body and testified they’d read the words she’d written in her own blood.

  Then two from the Reynolds clan and three Campbells swore that Kenny had been with them in the other end of the county all that day.

  “Mr. Campbell, I have heard from five of you,” Judge Barr said to the last witness. “That you were all with this man on that day. However, no one but family members saw him by your account. No reputable storekeeper or saloon man saw him that day?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. He was damn sure with us.”

  “Name some other reliable witnesses that saw him.”

  “You calling me a liar?”

  Barr shook his head. “I asked for a witness that was not a family member.”

  Earl bolted up and shouted, “By Gawd, I’ll get some!”

  “Sit down, Mr. Reynolds. I am issuing a warrant for Kenny Reynolds’s arrest for the rape and murder of Marla Porter. When arrested, he will be bound over to the circuit court for his trial.”

  “He’s not guilty!” Earl shouted.

  “Mr. Reynolds, no one is guilty until a judge or jury says so. He will have his day in court.”

  “Those lying sons a bitches you had here need their tongues cut out.”

  “You lay a finger on any of them, even threaten one of them, I’ll slap an obstruction of justice charge on you. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Reynolds, I suggest your son Kenny immediately surrender to Sheriff Trent. As a wanted person facing a felony trial, his life might be endangered if he doesn’t.”

  “And you think he’ll get a fair trial? No, I saw you today turn those witnesses around against him. I won’t say nothing of the like to him.”

  “If you’re concealing him, that could make you an accessory.”

  “I seen all your kinda law I want to see. They lied about my other boy stealing their gawddamn horses; now they’re lying about poor Kenny.”

  Barr rapped his gavel. “Court is dismissed. Reynolds, approach this bench.”

  He sauntered up there and stood feet apart and arms folded. “What now?”

  “Marla Porter was raped and then murdered by an insane person. It was such a horrible scene that I vomited at the very sight of it. If a jury finds him guilty—he’ll be hung.”

  “Not while I’m still alive he won’t be.”

  “You better go find a good lawyer and surrender him.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Barr shook his head in disgust. “You may think you’re greater than the law. You aren’t.”

  “I’ll show all you sons a bitches. All of you. You ain’t hanging my boy for something he ain’t never done.”

  Chet led Susie out of the saloon. “I’m sorry. He needs his filthy mouth washed out with soap.”

  “No one knows, do they?” she asked softly.

  “No, and I won’t tell them.”

  “I’m so sorry. You have the worst luck with women.”

  “I must work at it.”

  Susie nudged him. “It’s Kathren Hines.”

  Her hair wrapped in a scarf, Kathren bo
oted her horse in front of him to cut him off.

  “Good day, Kathren.” He removed his hat.

  “Did you hang my husband?”

  “Yes, I did.” He wanted to tell her lots more, but she simply nodded at him. No emotion on her face, no accusation in her eyes.

  “I just wanted to know.” Then she turned the horse aside and rode off.

  “I guess we can scratch her off the list,” Susie said as he helped her on the seat of the buckboard. “I doubt you’ll drive any of her stock to Kansas.”

  “She knew he’d closed the gates on ever coming back by stealing our horses.”

  “Didn’t make her any happier.”

  “Susie, I don’t make anyone happy anymore.”

  He clucked to the team and the boys came along on their mounts. There were lots of things that upset him, but that short moment facing Kathren brought back many memories and left a bad taste in his mouth. How could Luther Hines have made it any more of an open-and-shut case? No way. And one thing more. Earl Reynolds would hide his son until his last day on this earth.

  Hiram Jenks came by the ranch that evening to visit. Susie made him up a plate of food since she felt he probably had not eaten.

  “I’ve got a hundred steers to toss in your drive if you can get them in,” he said.

  “That’s good, but you may be subject to the Reynoldses’ terror tactics. Several folks I’ve talked to said they won’t send cattle up there with me for fear of some kind of revenge on them.”

  “Earl don’t worry me none. I made up my mind this morning in that courtroom. You’ve been a good drover for many of us. That bunch of windy Georgia crackers sooner or later is going to have the whole country siding against them.”

  “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my level best to get the cattle there.”

  “I don’t worry a minute when I deliver them to you.”

  “We’ll road-brand in late February.”

  “Good,” Jenks said, and Chet let him eat.

  Eleven hundred head looked better. There had to be others that wanted their cattle driven north. He still had time. If a few more of the regulars threw in their cattle, he’d be full. Next, he’d need to map out a route for Dale Allen.

  “Well, I’ll be heading home,” said Hiram. “It was sure wonderful food, Miss Byrnes, and filled in a big hole inside of me. I sure didn’t come to beg a meal.”

  “Any time you’re in the area, door’s open and the food’s here,” Susie said.

  “You folks are family to me, and I can’t help but think those vengeful folks are getting some of what they deserve. It may put a stop to them.”

  Chet shook his head. “It won’t. They murdered two of my great brood mares. We found Kenny’s knife in the pond where he killed them. I figured it would be my word against them like the liars they had in court.”

  “That was pathetic.”

  “But it’s what you face charging them with anything.”

  “I understand. I better get home, wife’ll think I went off on a spree.”

  Chet laughed with him as they went out the front door, and Jenks rode out in the night.

  Things were quiet in the morning at breakfast. Like no one wanted to speak. Only a fork or knife’s edge on metal plates broke the silence, or a spoon’s clink on a cup edge to be sure all the sugar was in their steaming coffee. Louise, who seldom was up for breakfast, sat her straight-back, stoic self across from Chet.

  “I plan to leave for Louisiana in the morning.”

  “Then I suggest the boys take you to Mason this afternoon and you spend the night. That buckboard leaves around nine in the morning.”

  “I need some metal bars. I’ll take her this afternoon,” Dale Allen said.

  Chet saw his sister at the stove flinch, but there was nothing he could do but agree. Saved a big argument, but it no doubt would send May into a deeper depression. He mopped up the gravy on his plate with half of a soft biscuit—being everyone’s keeper at times overwhelmed him.

  “Reg, you and J.D. check the mares today. Watch your backsides. Don’t make a stand if you can get away. No need to die. Heck and I will be down in the south end looking at cattle. I feel from what Reg and J.D. said, we are gaining cattle numbers on our land. I’ll make a decision today how to handle them.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Ray, you and Ty count the chickens for me today. You boys can do that?”

  “Yes, sir, Uncle Chet, we can sure count ’em. You thinking about branding them?”

  “Not right now.” He winked at the others and about choked on his own amusement.

  “Ty and me, we’d sure help.”

  “Why, it would be a roundup deluxe, but you better stay with counting today.”

  “I hope that you keep my boys out of harm’s way in my absence since they don’t have the good sense to join me,” Louise said.

  “Louise, I do that all the time.”

  “That is a matter of opinion.”

  Chet nodded curtly to her. “Have a good trip.” Then he slammed on his hat and jumper and left the dining room.

  That woman could burn down a devoted Christian, much less him. He had two horses caught when Heck came running to join him. The ten-year-old was rawhide tough and never wanted to be left behind—restless as a sixteen-year-old with surging hormones—he was sure all boy. Avoided by his father, he was anxious to be part of the ranch either with the older ones or Chet.

  “You ever ask your dad if he’d show you how to blacksmith?” Stirrup across the seat, Chet fussed with the latigos and eventually cinched it up.

  “Told me when I was old enough he’d do that.” Heck shrugged. “I tried to work the bellows, but I sure didn’t please him so I quit that.”

  Chet jerked down the stirrup. “I would have, too.” Hell, what was wrong with Dale Allen? He ignored those three boys. Ignored his wife and the babies. Maybe Chet needed to have a good down-and-out fuss with him—he’d hoped his sharp comments to him before they went after the rustlers would have been enough. Dale Allen had never changed one drop toward any of them.

  Chet rigged up Heck’s saddle for him and they led their horses out of the pen. The ten-year-old could climb in a saddle like monkey going up a circus pole, and he reined Dobie around with the confidence of a much older rider.

  They trotted the horses and the sun began to melt the morning. When they crossed Batterman’s Flat, Chet dropped down to a walk.

  “What was my mom like?” Heck asked. “I just recall a few things about her.”

  “Nancy was a good mother. She made you nice clothes. I guess the firstborn is always the most pampered.”

  “You’re firstborn. Did your mom pamper you?”

  “I guess some. I was born in worse times than you were. We lived out here because of the fort that Grandpa and the others built so we could defend things. Most of our neighbors pulled out, went back to San Antonio. Others were killed. It was never easy. And they still kidnapped three of my brothers and my sister.”

  “Will they ever come back?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think for a young child to have survived the Comanche way of life would have been a miracle.”

  “I could have.”

  He looked over at his nephew and nodded. “You’d fit right in.”

  They both laughed.

  They found no shortage of other folks’ cattle on his grass. He’d need to separate them out and drive them off the place. Either folks were pushing cattle on the Byrnes land, or no one was riding herd on them. There were some jacales and some ruins above the Rosa Springs. A large tank made of stone built by Hispanics years before the first gringos came to this land made it a nice place to check on the cattle coming to drink. Considerable water poured over the spillway to feed Rosa Branch, which ran three miles southwest into Yellow Hammer.

  If he ever found a woman of his own—maybe he’d build her a house down there and leave that smothering
hacienda for the rest of them to argue over. No—he couldn’t do that to Susie.

  “You see that flash?” Heck asked, looking around.

  “Flash?” He’d missed it.

  “Yeah, a flash off a mirror—”

  “Ride like hell for them jacales. That could be a scope on a rifle pointed at us.”

  They charged for the buildings, Chet’s back twitching the whole time, expecting hot lead in the muscles. Sliding in a hindquarter stop, they dismounted and quickly led their horses inside the first jacal to take cover.

  A high-powered bullet struck the soft adobe and exploded into a cloud of dust. The whine of the long-range rifle rang across the countryside.

  “We did some good thinking getting here,” Chet said, realizing how close they’d come to becoming victims.

  “What should we do now?”

  “Keep your head down. They’re a long ways away. That shot came from way over east on the hillside, I imagine.”

  “Holy shit! That far?”

  “Watch your language. Being bushwhacked is no call for cussing.”

  “I’ve heard my dad say—”

  “I don’t care—ten-year-old boys aren’t supposed to cuss around grown-ups.”

  “Who can I cuss around?”

  “The dog, but better be sure no grown-up hears you.”

  What was he doing anway? Dodging bullets with a ten-year-old freckle-faced boy. Heck was not a grown-up, though at times Chet expected that from him. This Reynolds feud had become more than out of hand. It had reached a serious enough point where he needed to put a stop to it all.

  “We going to wait him out?” Heck asked as they squatted inside the roofless jacal.

  “Let them take a chance. Sometimes, ambushers get careless when you don’t fight back. They think they’ve won and then swagger into range to see all the damage so they can brag on it.”

  “You think they’ll do that?”

  “That or slip away. We ain’t on any job needs taken care of so bad we can’t wait a little and see.”

  Heck agreed with a confident grin. “You ever been in a feud before?”

  “Not unless you call the Comanche years a feud.”