Texas Blood Feud

by Dusty Richards

  “Get on the chair.”

  “If I don’t—”

  “Then I’ll gut-shoot you and leave you to die slow.”

  Wallace stood on the chair. Reg drew the rope tight and tied it off.

  Only the birds chirped.

  “You have anything to say?” Chet asked.

  “No.”

  Chet kicked the chair out from under him. The rope creaked and the limb bent under Wallace’s weight. His neck cracked like a dry stick and Wallace hung limp.

  They hung the other four, including the wounded man, on various other branches until five corpses swung from the oak tree and swirled gently in the soft morning wind. Then the—C horses were collected from the pen under the shifty eyes of the Indian women and the small dark-eyed children hiding in their skirts. Maybe sixty head, Chet guessed, about two thirds of the bunch they took.

  Mounted up, they drove the horses back to the herd. At camp, Chet went to check on Matt. The boy wasn’t back with the buckboard yet.

  “How many horses you get back?” Matt asked

  “Two thirds of ’em.”

  “That’s enough to get started.”

  “Yes, it is. But we’re sending you to Denison to a doctor before we leave.”

  “Aw, hell, go on—”

  “I do the going-on part. Where’s the damn whiskey for this outfit?”

  “In the chuck box marked salve.”

  “You want a drink?” Chet asked, starting for it.

  “Yeah. I’d have one.”

  “I’ll bring you one when we get through. Them boys can stand one. We’ve been kicking chairs.”

  “Huh?”

  “Out from under horse rustlers.”

  Matt nodded. Chet went for the whiskey. Damn, this job got tougher.

  Chapter 36

  Chuck arrived with a buckboard and four hands that Doan sent and twenty-one more horses. Matt was carefully loaded in the rig.

  “Now you be sure that he’s going to be taken care of,” Chet instructed the young man. “Here’s forty dollars for the doc. Tell him I want the man alive, but if not, then have a Christian funeral and I’ll settle with ’em when I come back. Then you take your time and catch us. We’ll be headed north.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Byrnes.”

  “Chuck. You take good care of him.”

  “I will. sir.”

  His new hands were Cosmo, Dyke, Jim Bob, and Bugle. They looked like typical drovers, and each said how proud he was to be on the trail again.

  Bugle said he could cook, so Chet agreed to try him. They were planning to move out in the morning. After breakfast, they headed them up and began the drive. That afternoon, some thundershowers passed overhead and the cattle, all spread out to graze, made it through them. Still, that was no guarantee that the next time they wouldn’t jump up and stampede. The big steer’s bell was tied off until morning, and Sammy bragged on him as a good leader.

  Bugle wasn’t Matt, but his food passed the boys’ muster. Heck showed him some things Matt had done and he used ’em.

  Days straggled on, and the afternoon storms became more frequent. Two weeks later and what Chet considered halfway across the Nation, the creeks began to take on rock bottoms and there was less scrambling to unstick the chuck wagon at each crossing.

  A wide expanse of prairie with wildflowers and dry grass, mixed with new growth, began to take over the landscape. Purple, yellow, and orange were part of the petal colors. White blossoms on the wild plum thickets and the emerging elm trees all spelled spring, like the noisy meadowlarks and killdeer scurrying about the land.

  A dark black bank began to gather in the northwest at mid-morning. It would be close to dark by Chet’s calculations before it would strike, but it could sure have high wind, hail, and lightning in it. The herd grazed with only a head toss at a pesky fly or a bawl for a separated buddy.

  “Don’t unsaddle or pick you out a fresh horse,” he told the lead riders. “Load your bedrolls in the wagon. We’re eating supper early and moving cattle tonight. We’ve got miles of rolling country ahead. If that black steer can lead us and we miss a tornado, it will damn sure beat riding down a stampede.”

  He passed the word on to all the riders throughout the afternoon. This might be their greatest challenge yet. Bugle and Heck were ready. They were going to sit out the storm where they were at and catch up in the morning. Their mules were hobbled and everything was staked. Even the wagon was tied down to save it from blowing over.

  Bugle looked grimly at Chet. “I had time, I’d dig us a cellar.”

  “Times like these, it would be nice to have one,” Chet agreed.

  The boys didn’t joke at supper. Three changed horses because their horses were acting worn out, and then Whip Malloy, in charge of them, said he’d head north before the herd and keep east of them. Chet trusted him and agreed.

  “Think it’ll work?” Reg asked Chet where they were squatted on their boot heels drinking coffee.

  “Ex-Texas Ranger Charlie Goodnight said last year in Abilene it was the best way. Get ’em on the move. It’s hell on men and horses, but so is a stampede.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  “Find old Blacky and soon as that wind starts blowing, you jerk that rag off his clapper and head ’em north.”

  “I’ll tell Sammy.”

  “Good.”

  On board Roan, he waited. Though a storm might look like it was barreling down on a person all at once, it usually took a slower pace. That let the tension mount higher in the individual waiting with baited breath for its arrival. Then the first cooler drafts swept in and struck Chet.

  “Head ’em up!” he shouted, and the clear ring of Blacky’s thick silver bell rang across the land. Horned heads flew skyward, cattle got up and stretched, and then they began to bawl and horns knocked on each other. The wind grew faster, and in the distance thunder shook the air and ground. They were off and rolling.

  Daylight soon began to darken, and the long trot of the cattle began to stretch out as their hooves rumbled with the thunder and pea-size hail began to beat on both hides and men’s hats. Blinding flashes and nearby explosions of air deafened him. Rain in sheets and torrents ran off Chet’s hat and down his chin.

  His shouts at the herd were soon absorbed by the louder roar of the wind and the bawling of the cattle. Day turned completely to night. Temperatures dropped like a rock, and being under the rubber slicker turned from clammy-sweaty to chilly and caused gooseflesh on his arms. Riding hard beside the cattle was going well despite the discomfort. Lightning danced on their horns. Four hours later, things grew calmer and they began to slow. The storm went east, and his swing riders began putting the herd in a circle.

  In the predawn, the exhausted night herders rode around the herd. The rest collapsed on the ground where they could find a mound and not a puddle.

  “All hands are accounted for,” Reg reported as he swung down.

  “Good. It worked—this time,” Chet said.

  “Worked damn good,” Sammy bragged, and then he laughed. “Besides that, we’re thirty miles closer to Kansas.”

  “You two ever hear where Earl, Shelby, and Kenny went after the raid?” Chet asked.

  “No, but Earl was swearing at us that night. He said that we better not even consider going to Kansas because we’d never get there, they’d see to that.”

  “Big threat, but he took our horses or had them taken. You boys figure that he might be laying up there waiting for us?”

  “So much has happened, I have no idea,” Reg said. “Where would they be?”

  “There’s some saloons and whorehouses north of the Arkansas River at a place in Kansas called Wichita. It ain’t nothing but a sin hole and a place to get robbed. When we get closer, I may ride up and see if they’re there.”

  “Hey, I might like that place.” Sammy grinned big, and then he laughed.

  “Hey, most of those women in those outpost brothels are so ugly a dog wouldn’t love the
m.”

  “What about your wedding?” Reg asked.

  “I put it off when we learned about the raid.”

  “Damn, that’s a shame. I wondered what happened, but figured it wasn’t none of my business or you’d’ve told us.”

  “No. She said she would be there when I got back.”

  “Nice lady. That the one you sung to?”

  Chet chuckled. “Yeah. But that was years ago.”

  “I bet she ain’t forgot it either.”

  “I never asked her.” He wasn’t going to either. “I had some more problems after you boys left. I shot Frank Dutton trying to run off our Mexican farm help.”

  “Huh, why them?”

  “Anything, I guess, to cause us trouble. I doubt that Earl knew about it happening, him being up here waiting for you all.”

  “Who else was there when you shot Dutton?”

  “Garland and, I guess, a hired hand. I never dreamed that they also planned to waylay you all once you got in the Nation.”

  “What are we going to have to do?” Reg asked.

  “Maybe move somewhere else. I don’t think as long as we live on Yellow Hammer Creek it will ever be the same again.”

  “Hey, we were there long before those Georgia crackers came to Texas.”

  “Won’t stop them.”

  “When do you reckon the wagon will catch up? I’m hungry.” Reg rubbed his belly.

  “Malloy is bringing in the horses.” Chet noticed them coming across the rise to the east.

  “He’s half horse himself,” Reg said in disgust. “Should we go look for Heck and Bugle?”

  “No. I hear ’em.” The sound of Bugle’s horn tooting came clear across the prairie, and the wagon was a dot heading toward them.

  “Better build a fire or we won’t eat till noon.” Sammy shook his head in disgust and looked around. “Everyone up. We’ve go to find some wood or dry cow chips. Wagon’s coming and if we ain’t got a fire going, he’ll never get anything cooked till noon.”

  “I’m going to ride ahead and see what I can find,” said Chet. “We move in the morning if I’m here or not.”

  “Keep your head down,” Reg said after him. “Come on fellas, you heard Sam, getting this fire going is serious. We can rest all day after we do that.”

  Rest all day. When had he had that chance? Not since courting Kathren anyway. How was she doing? He hoped they had left her alone. If anything happened to her—he’d kill every one of them.

  Dale Allen, doing the best thing in his life, lying in a cold grave. No, they’d pay. He short-loped across the soggy prairie thinking about Kathren. Several miles from his camp, he spotted a turned-over wagon. It was a farm wagon fitted with bows and a new canvas top. He rode over to see if the owners needed any help.

  The closer he drew, the louder the crying became. When he rounded the wagon, a red-faced young woman screamed, “Savages!”

  She clutched two small girls to her skirt. She couldn’t be over sixteen years old, and her face and nose were red from crying.

  “Ma’am, my name’s Chet Byrnes.” He slipped off his hat and nodded to her. “I guess the storm did this last night.”

  She bobbed her head woodenly and swallowed. “It kilt him, too.”

  He went over and lifted the blanket to see the man’s face. Under the cover, he looked to be Chet’s age or older.

  “That your husband?”

  She agreed.

  “I didn’t catch you name.”

  “Abby for Abigail.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And these pretty young ladies?”

  “Tanya and Lana.”

  “I guess you were going somewhere?”

  “New Mexico.”

  “I see. Where are your mules?” He searched around to look for them.

  “No. They were horses and they ran away when the lightning struck Olaf.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  She pointed west.

  “I’ll be back. Fix those girls some food and you eat, too.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “You have no choice, ma’am. You have to live for those two children.”

  Woodenly, she agreed.

  He bolted into the saddle and rode west. A pair of rusty red Belgiums raised their heads when he saw them and drew near. They were in full harness, he noted with grim approval. The horses and harness were there. All he had to do was upright the wagon and get the woman on her way. Maybe back to Missouri where she and those girls belonged.

  Back at the wagon, he learned she had boiled some corn mush and fed the girls. When she offered him some, he decided to eat his own jerky. Seated on the ground while she ate from her bowl, she appeared to be in a better mental condition than when he’d found her.

  “We must unload the wagon and then turn it over to see if there is any damage to the running gear.”

  “I understand.”

  “Unloaded, I think those horses can turn it back up. If not, I’ll go get some of my men and do it.”

  “You have men near here?”

  “Cowboys, drovers with a herd of cattle.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now help me unload it.”

  They worked hard all afternoon, and had everything stacked up outside. Even the bows and canvas were taken off, and the sideboards. He hitched the horses to a doubletree attached to a chain tied on the far side of the wagon. Then, taking the reins, he clucked to the horses. They hit the collars and acted shocked. He spoke to them. They danced around.

  “Get up!” he finally shouted with a hard clap of the reins on their butts, and the wagon tipped over on its wheels. He discovered himself skidding along on his boot heels to stop them. Eventually, they stopped.

  He walked up and patted them so they would settle down. He turned, and the small woman was bringing the sideboards. The wagon still had to go back together. They recovered as much of the busted flour barrel as they could. That and the rest of her things were set back inside by sundown, when everyone collapsed on the ground. The bloody light flooded the plains and the ground around them.

  “Do you have a wife, sir?”

  “No, I have a fiancée at home.”

  “Oh, she is a very lucky woman. Not many men would stop and help a woman with two children.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Three men rode by earlier today and wouldn’t stop. They even laughed at my plight.”

  He looked hard at her. “Can you tell me about these men?”

  “One of them had a bad arm. It just hung down and swung in the wind. I thought no one would ever come by and help me.”

  “Abby, was he round-faced and heavyset and wore a gray hat with silk around the brim?”

  “Yes, you know him?”

  “Abby, did they say where they were going?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t say what he said to that younger one.”

  “What did he tell him?”

  “It was bad. I can’t say those words.”

  He reached over and took hold of her upper arms. “God will forgive you, Abby. Tell me what he said. I must know.”

  “He said—Come on, Kenny, I’ll—I’ll get you a prettier whore than her to fu—in Washitaw.” She buried her face in his vest. “I was so scared.”

  Inhaling deep, he hugged her tight. He could see Marla Porter’s bloody body all over again. How close Abby had come to death she would never ever know.

  Chapter 37

  Nothing to make a cross out of. He promised Abby he’d do something later. When the burial was complete, to a crickets’ chorus, he said a short prayer over Olaf’s grave. Then she put the girls to bed under the wagon. Off in the starlit night, a coyote howled and another answered. She scurried back and sat close beside where he used a wheel for a backrest.

  “I hate those wolves.”

  “They’re only coyotes.”

  “Sound like wolves to me. Mr. Byrnes, would you hold me in your arms?”

  “Sure, but—”

/>   “Mr. Byrnes, I don’t care about my reputation. I don’t care about anything. I spent all of last night shaking in the rain, trembling and so afraid, just knowing I was going to die. I knew my husband was dead. He was never coming back and I would soon be dead, too. And my girls torn apart alive by wolves. Now that I am safe, just hold me tight all night, please?”

  Her calloused small hands squeezed his face and she kissed him. He felt himself caught in a web and pulled down by forces greater than he could resist.

  Dawn came in a purple glow. She fried them mush for breakfast. There was no way he could let her go on by herself.

  “I’m taking you with me to Abilene. You can help with the chuck wagon, and from there you can decide what you want to do. I’m sorry, Abby, I can’t be a part of your life. But I can’t let you and those little girls fall prey to the vultures on this prairie either.”

  She swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”

  His fingertips on her lips silenced her. “Nothing happened between you and me.”

  “But—”

  He shook his head till she swallowed and agreed.

  “We’ll join the cattle drive today. I simply found you, buried your husband, and brought you with me. I have several nice young men who will be civil to you. I expect you to resist any advances. If you pick one, that could cause trouble.”

  “I understand.” She bowed her head.

  “Good, and when we get to Abilene, you can decide where you want to go, but that is near two months away. You are to help Bugle and Heck cook. I pay fifty a month for a cook.”

  “I shall be very grateful—”

  “No, Abby, I don’t expect a thing but what I asked.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Chet,” he corrected her.

  Up on the wagon seat ready to drive the team, he looked off to the north. Those three Reynolds men were up there somewhere waiting for him, or at least his crew, to try to cross into Kansas. Ten days to two weeks away—maybe he needed to ride on ahead and settle with them.

  Her hand on his arm, she said, “We’re ready, Chet.”