Texas Blood Feud

by Dusty Richards

  “I’ll get a blanket, too,” Matt said, leading off all the horses.

  In a few minutes, he was back and joined Chet. He began unfurling a blanket for them to use. “See anything?”

  “Not really. A woman threw a pail of waste water out the front door.”

  “Real interesting,” Matt said, taking a position on his belly beside him. “We’re two horses up on them.”

  “There are a few more horses in the pen. I can’t tell much except they aren’t my mules.”

  “They sold them a month ago, I’d bet.”

  “That’s why they stole ’em. I savvy that, but I’ll go find them if we can make them talk.” He took up the glasses at some movement. “Here. Who’s that?”

  “Must be Amos Gilford. The big man with black beard Nina told us about. I’ve seen that remittance man a time or two. It ain’t him. He’s kind of a cleaned-up-looking ladies’ man.”

  “You know, I ought to pop Gilford with this Sharps right now. I could do it to a Comanche, but somehow to a white man, it don’t seem right.”

  “I know the law of being fair. Sumbitch would kill you any way he could, but you have these gentleman’s rules.”

  “Yeah, like shooting those two kids at the dance. I’ve hated that ever since it happened. Damn them anyway.”

  “You play with fire, you can get burned. That wasn’t a prank. That was pure meanness setting the tent on fire.”

  Chet shook his head. “Still wasn’t supposed to happen. Let’s leave their horses and Black here hid out and ride in.”

  “That should be a big surprise.”

  “Oh, they want their horses back and our packhorse as part of the deal. Since we won’t have them, they might ease off their trigger fingers a little.”

  “Ah, yes, the order of gentlemen.”

  They rode abreast a dozen feet apart, advancing on the outpost—rifles across their laps. The sun was warming the air. Chet expected one of the mule thieves to try to get in a place to shoot at them—maybe on a roof or at the side of a building.

  Three of them came out the open door and stood spaced apart. Black-bearded Gilmore, the slit-eyed Toledo, and a fancy-dressed dude in a ruffled white shirt—all packing irons.

  Where was Vargas?

  “Watch for the fourth one,” Chet said under his breath, and his partner nodded.

  “Ah, amigos, what brings you here?” Gilmore said.

  “You tell that damn Vargas to get out here in the open.” Chet set Strawberry down. “I know he’s trying to get us in his sights.”

  “Vargas, he rode to El Negro this morning.”

  “Listen, he don’t show up right now, we’re shooting all three of you.”

  “No need for guns, señor—”

  Someone shouted with a crash. Women inside screamed bloody murder. Obviously, someone had fallen through the roof. It distracted the outlaws. They went for their irons.

  Chet’s rifle nailed the shocked-faced Gilmore to the wall. Toldeo crumbled face-forward from Matt’s shots. Thames, with his hands in the air, was screaming, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

  “Take care of him,” Chet said, the acrid smell of spent gunpowder burning his nose. “I’ll get the one inside.”

  His rifle slapped in the scabbard, every muscle tense, Chet swung down. The six-gun filled his fist. He ran to the open door. In the dark room, he found Vargas lying on the floor being tended to by two young women. He pushed them aside, took the man by the collar, and physically dragged the moaning outlaw outside and dumped him on the ground.

  “Where are my mules?” he shouted at Thames.

  “Mules—”

  Chet holstered his Colt, grabbed the shorter man by the shirt, and drove his fist in Thames’s gut. “My mules that you stole.”

  “Don’t hit me. Don’t hit me. We sold them.”

  “To who?”

  Thames swallowed hard. “El Paso Freighting.”

  “They got a place around here?” He kept Thames’s shirt in his fist and held him so close to his face, he could smell the man’s perfume.

  “They’ve got a wagon yard at Coyote Springs.”

  “Where’s that, Matt?”

  “South of here.”

  “I lost ten mules worth a hundred dollars apiece. That’s one thousand dollars. You can pay me that or I’m going to hang you.”

  “A thousand dollars—”

  “You get to thinking. I’m hanging you and them three, too. Alive or dead. If I don’t get my money out of them mules.”

  “Gilmore has some money—”

  “Get it and count it, Matt.”

  Chet shoved Thames toward the door. “Now you get me all the money you got in there. I’m getting my money or satisfaction.”

  Like a whimpering pup, Thames went to a large safe and dropped to his knees. His fingers trembled as he twisted the knob. When he raised up to unlatch the door, Chet jerked him back, fearing a holdout gun inside.

  Satisfied, he nodded for the man to go ahead.

  “I found about two hundred on Gilmore,” Matt said from the door.

  “Check them other two.”

  Thames handed Chet a sack of coins and then a stack of loose bills.

  “There a thousand here?” Chet demanded, holding the canvas bag in his face. “There ain’t that much, you and your friends will hang in two minutes.”

  “Wait, wait. I’ve got some bonds—I can sign them over to you.”

  His head drawn back, Chet considered taking paper. It could be worthless. They needed to count what they had. Matt had his take on a table, stacking it.

  “Fix us some food,” Chet said to the cowering women. “Make it good it. This may be his last meal.”

  Doe-eyed, they slipped away, nodding that they’d do so.

  Matt jumped up and ran outside. Chet wondered, then heard his horse bucking and snorting—two shots, and Matt stuck his head back in. “Vargas got well enough to get on Strawberry. He went to bucking and I shot Vargas off him.”

  “Good. Let’s count this money. Thames ain’t got long to live either.”

  “Don’t say that! I’ll find the money—I swear to God I will.”

  They finally counted out 863 dollars. The bonds were valued at five hundred dollars.

  “Find forty more dollars,” said Chet.

  Thames swallowed. “I swear to God I don’t have any more. Those Grand Bank of London bonds are worth near a thousand.”

  “Maybe there, but in Texas they may be toilet paper, too.”

  “Wait. Wait.” Thames rushed over and went under the bar, then set a jar of money on top. “Here is all the money I have.”

  “Is it forty dollars?” Chet asked, hefting the jar full of coins.

  “Want me to count it?” Matt asked.

  “No. Sack it all up and we’ll call us even.”

  Thames collapsed on the floor with a sigh.

  Chet stood over him and drew out his pistol. “See this gun muzzle?”

  “Yes.” Thames swallowed hard.

  “You ever steal as much as a fence post from me again, I’ll shoot your damn head off with this gun. Am I clear?”

  Thames nodded hard.

  Chet went and sat down at the table. He had the money for new mules anyway. At least he could go buy some more—what worthless trash these men were. That freight company wouldn’t still have his mules at their outpost. They’d deny buying them anyway. He’d have to prove it.

  Him and Matt had done well.

  The women brought the food and it tasted delicious. Thames was still shaking, and refused their offer to eat with them. In the late afternoon, they left. Gilmore was dead. Toledo looked close to death, and the remittance man still acted shaken.

  They took all four horses and saddles with them.

  “I’m ready to camp somewhere and sleep for a couple of days,” Matt said.

  “I was thinking if we slept a short while,” Chet said, “with that money I paid Nina, she’s probably bought some corn and su
gar and has a new batch of pulque ran off, and we need to get back there and share it.”

  “Hell, yes. Two-three hours, I’ll be ready to ride.”

  Chet nodded. “You’re a great hand, Matt. I’d ride to hell and cross any river with you.”

  “Thanks. But I’d never dreamed you’d get your money back or anything but some mule apples they’d left behind. Amazing, but it worked.”

  “Yeah, mule buyer, now you need to find the replacements.”

  They both laughed as they rode on. What was the name of that pretty girl at Nina’s?

  Chapter 19

  The pulque was flowing. Cherie strummed her guitar and sang a song about the wild vaquero from the ranchero. Oh, Chet was dancing, his boots shuffling dirt as he and Deloris danced apart in the firelight, twisting and turning as the song went on. Her hips and skirt like a weeping willow in a strong wind. Then, with her skirt and many petticoats in her hands, she raised them to free her brown knees and her shapely legs to kick to the music.

  Oh, what a wonderful night.

  Deloris shook his shoulder the next morning to wake him. He half rose, looked around out of bleary eyes, and told her he wanted to sleep all day. That was it. She let him.

  At sundown, he got up, washed his face in a water bucket, and wished he’d not drunk a single drop of the pulque the night before. But shortly, Deloris came for him, dragging him to the large fire cooking where a fat young pig roasted on a spit.

  “That is your three-dollar pig you ordered last night.”

  He poked his chest. “I ordered?”

  “Si, you said, ‘Cook me a fat weaning pig tomorrow,’ and gave me the money last night.”

  “Hell.” He reached over and drew her tight to him, then kissed her hard. At last, they stopped to catch their breath. “I must have. He’ll be muy bueno anyway.”

  “Sí,” she said, and they kissed again like it would be for the last time in their lives.

  They danced and drank and partied most of that night.

  Damn shame that she was married. He woke up before she did in the predawn, and he covered her good when he climbed out of her pallet—so she didn’t freeze—her being naked and all. He found Matt drinking coffee, seated on the ground by the growing fire. Nina poured Chet some.

  “Today we better get home, Matt. No telling what they’ve got into at the ranch.”

  “We better,” Matt agreed. “It’s been fun and thanks to these ladies here, we were able to locate those thieves and you recovered enough money to buy new mules.”

  Chet agreed with an open-mouth yawn. “Get our asses home.”

  “Food will be cooked in a short while,” Nina said. “You two better stay and eat.”

  “We will. We’ll go saddle our horses if we even have any.”

  “They are fine,” Nina assured him with a laugh. “We have watered and fed them well.”

  “Them mule thieves won’t ever bother you again,” Chet said. “And I bet that remittance man don’t either.”

  She nodded in approval. “Matt told me what happened.”

  “They got what they deserved.”

  Their ride home was long and torturous. A dozen times, Chet considered getting off his horse, laying down someplace out of the wind and the sun, and sleeping a couple of hours. He didn’t, and late afternoon in a blustery wind, they rode through the gates and were met by a hard-eyed Susie.

  “Rachel died.” She hugged him. Sobbing, she looked up, swallowing hard. “May did all she could for her.”

  Chet felt a great knot in his chest. “Sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “You couldn’t have saved her. I just count on you.” She looked around. “You didn’t find the mules?”

  “No, but Matt and I damn sure got the money for ’em.”

  He could see by the bewilderment written on his sister’s face that she didn’t understand. “I’ll explain. Did you have the funeral?”

  “We were waiting a day longer for you to get back, but it’s tomorrow.”

  Chet nodded. “How is Dale Allen?”

  “Stone-faced. He keeps it inside.”

  “We haven’t ate since before sunup.”

  Susie turned to Matt. “Matt, I’m glad you’re back. Come on, I’ll find you both some food.”

  “Music to an old cook’s ear.” Matt laughed aloud, and then sobered. “I’m sure sorry about the little girl.”

  Susie nodded and holding her dress hem out of the dust, led them inside the warm house.

  “Oh, yes, your new stud horse arrived, too, while you were gone,” Susie said to Chet, and some excitement danced in her blue eyes “He is light as feather on his feet.”

  “Good.” Chet nodded to Matt in approval, and then they followed her into the living room.

  “You get them mules?” Chet’s father asked, rocking in his chair by the hearth.

  “As good as. I got paid for them.”

  “Who paid you?”

  “One of the fellas who stole them.”

  “Who were they?” Rock asked his voice cracking.

  “Some old outlaws.”

  “Them no-account sons a bitches,” the old man swore, and retreated into his own world.

  The next day, Rachel June Byrnes, two years old, was laid to rest at the Warner School House Cemetery beside her mother. Lots of food was brought in and set up inside by the neighbors, as was the tradition in the land. Folks from all over came. It threatened to rain, but only misted for a little before the graveside service. After Reverend Meeks’s last amen, folks gathered quietly in the schoolhouse for the meal.

  Reg and Sammy stayed home to watch the ranch. The rest all came. Dale Allen hadn’t said much to Chet since he came home with the mule money. That was fine with Chet, but he wanted in some way to comfort his brother over his loss. Nancy had died giving birth to Rachel not that long before. Another knife stuck in Dale Allen’s heart.

  Chet felt sorrier for May, who’d taken the loss so hard. She’d done her share, and Dale Allen looked like he was no support for her. The day went on.

  He learned Scotty Campbell still lingered from his bullet wound in the Mason jail, and the boy that he’d shot at the dance was doing all right. The two older Reynolds boys were still on the loose, but Sheriff Trent had made some surprise raids looking for them.

  “You know Earl threatened Jenks?” Morgan asked Chet.

  He shook his head, blowing the steam off his fresh cup of coffee. “No, I was down on the border chasing mules rustlers all week.”

  “On the road one day this week, Earl told him it wouldn’t be healthy for him to send cattle to Kansas with you.”

  “That son of a—did he threaten you?”

  “No, but Jenks’ wife is really upset. She’s deathly afraid they’ll ambush him or the boys.”

  Chet shook his head in disgust. “Someone is going to permanently shut Earl up someday. And it might be me. I’ll go by and see them. Damn. Thanks, Wade.”

  Where was Dale Allen? Chet looked around at the crowd in the building; he hadn’t seen him since the funeral was over. Not inside. He went out, and decided to go up on the rise to see if his brother was still up there. He found him on his hands and knees, crying at the grave.

  “Hey, can I do anything?”

  Wet-faced, Dale Allen looked up blankly. “It ain’t your fault. First he took Nancy—dear God—I miss her. Maybe I’ll miss her all my life. Now he went and took her image.”

  Chet helped him up. The mist on the wind grew stronger. “You’re going to get a death of a cold if we don’t get you under cover or under a slicker.”

  Dale Allen looked over at him. “Why, hell, you’re getting all wet, too.”

  I don’t count. Not today. You’re the one that counts.

  Chapter 20

  “I’ll read everyone’s Louise’s letter,” Susie announced at breakfast. “It came yesterday and they brought it to me at the schoolhouse. We all got in so late last night, I’ve held it until now.

  “‘Dear F
amily, I arrived in Shreveport in good condition. Train rides are not fun despite the amenities they now have. I found my father ailing and my mother teaches piano lessons to support themselves. They lost the family plantation to taxes and now live in a small apartment.

  “‘Chet, you warned me. But I was not willing to accept the fact that this is not the thriving city I knew as a girl growing up. Now I know. It is not anything. I shall return to the bar-C when I am satisfied my parents are to be well enough cared for. I can’t wait to get home to Texas and see all of you. Tell my sons hi. I love and miss you all so much. Signed Louise.’”

  “Let me see that,” Chet said, and she handed it to him. With a quick glance, he passed it back. “Yes sirree, it’s her handwriting all right.”

  Susie swished him with the letter and shook her head in disapproval at him.

  He held out his palms. “I couldn’t believe she wrote that.”

  Several chuckled around the long table, but they made sure Susie wasn’t close.

  “Matt’s going to San Antonio and look for some mules for us,” said Chet. “Reg, you or J.D. want to go along and add your two cents to this deal?”

  Reg shrugged. “Don’t matter. Either one of us can go.”

  “J.D., you go this time. You can learn a lot getting in on this.”

  “And J.D., if he don’t like the mules we bring back, I’ll say you picked those out.” Matt snickered and everyone else laughed.

  “Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.”

  “That’s it.” Chet winked at him. “You boys getting other cattle ran off?”

  “We’ve been working at it,” Reg said with a wary smirk.

  “I think someone is piling them in on us.” Sammy said “I’ve seen the same roan cow with a down-turned horn three times this week. She’s got a YT4 on her hip. She’s no coincidence.”

  “She’s way off her range. That’s the Rasmussen brothers’ brand. They’re south of the Llano River.”

  “We need to stop the pushers,” Sammy said. “They ain’t drifting on us, they’re being driven.”