Clay suddenly stepped forward and slapped Burdette across the face.
The blow drove Burdette sideways, and his hand nearly went to his gun.
But then he saw that he was too late, for the instant he moved, Clay’s own revolver had appeared.
“I ain’t drawin’!” Burdette yelled.
Clay reached over and plucked Burdette’s revolver from the holster.
He laid both guns on the bar and said, “Here, Devoe, take a couple of these. That’ll give you enough bullets to shoot every one of them four or five times.” He turned then and said, “The two of you beat a boy almost to death. One of you held him, I expect.”
Dee grunted, “That’s a lie. I don’t need no help.”
He said no more because Zane stepped forward and like lightning drove a blow straight into Nolan’s face. It knocked the big man backward but did not put him down. The blow broke his nose, and Nolan looked down and saw the bright, crimson stain on his shirt. He didn’t lack courage, so he threw himself forward, and Zane came at him.
Burdette took this opportunity, when Clay’s attention was on the other two, to throw himself at Clay Taliferro. He caught Clay high in the head with a wicked right and drove him backward, then with a fierce yell he threw himself forward. Clay had not gotten his balance and took several wicked punches, for Burdette was a strong man. Clay reached out and grabbed Burdette around the middle. He made a wild swing and lifted Burdette up, then flung him through the air. Burdette struck a table and went down. As he scrambled to his feet, he saw Clay coming forward, his eyes glinting. He knew that no mercy would be given or expected in this fight.
The fight did not last long. Crutchfield, with a gun in each hand, watched it as he could, but he kept his eyes on the Skull riders, all of whom had come to their feet, but none went for their guns. He called out encouragement. “That’s it, Clay. Bust him in the belly! He can’t take it there!” And then, “Watch out, Zane, he’ll use his boots on you.”
Zane had his hands full, for Dee Nolan was covered with thick muscles, and his skull was hard as a rock. It had won most of his fights for him, but he was slow and ponderous. He landed a few blows that marked Zane up, but his own face became a mass of blood as Zane danced around, shooting hard lefts, followed by a powerful right. In the blink of an eye, Nolan reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. Zane picked up a chair and swung it over his head. The edge of the seat caught Nolan on the skull and drove him down, as if he had been hammered. It did not knock him out, and Zane dropped the shattered chair, picked up another one, and this time put him down with one terrible blow.
Burdette’s face was all bloody now from the blows Clay had rained on him. Clay caught him in the throat with a tremendous blow, and Burdette fell to the floor gagging and choking.
Breathing hard, Clay looked down. He had taken several tough punches himself, but it did him good to see that both of the Skull riders were battered and bleeding. “It hurts me to have to leave you two like this, but you tell your boss if any Skull rider ever so much as even speaks a word to those folks out at the old Bartley place, Zane and I’ll be comin’ to take it out of his hide. Come along, Zane.”
They took their guns, and Zane said, “Come on, Devoe. Let’s go down to the Golden Lady. Now, that’s a real saloon.”
As soon as the three left, the Skull riders rushed over to Burdette and Nolan. One of them said, “I think Burdette’s dying.”
Burdette could not talk, for the blow to his throat had hurt him badly.
Jake Ramsey said, “We’d better get these two to a doctor. They’re gonna have to be sewed up and put together again.”
They got Burdette to his feet, but it was hard to lift the huge form of Nolan, and Jake said, “We’ll have to bring the doc here. He’s too big to tote.”
“I wonder how Herendeen will take this,” a bystander said.
“I expect he’d better take it easy,” Jake said, looking at what Clay and Zane had done to Burdette and Nolan. “I’d hate to have them two come callin’ on me!”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
The last day of September was a blustering windy affair that swept through Jordan City like a miniature tornado. The hornbeam and sycamore trees were swayed by gusts, and the roadrunners seemed to have proliferated. They ran with long, rushing strides, head low and uttering their strange chirping cry. Clay had ridden to the bank to deposit the money he’d gotten for a herd of cattle that he had sent to New Orleans with another rancher. He had not made this trip, a fact that amused him. He had always looked forward to being on the move, but the twins and Jerusalem were like a magnet that drew him closer and refused to release him. Now, as he stepped off of his horse and tied him at the hitching rail in front of the Golden Lady Saloon, he grinned wryly at his own follies.
He pushed the doors of the saloon back and walked over to the bar. “Got any root beer, Butch?”
Butch Landry grinned and nodded. “You’re livin’ pretty high, ain’t you, Clay? Fixin’ to let your wolf loose and tree the town?”
“I’m an old family man now, Butch. Them days is far behind me.”
Still grinning, Butch went over and pulled a root beer out of a box and set it before Clay, saying, “Don’t drink too many of these. You’ve still got to ride home, you know.”
Uncapping the beverage, Clay stood there, his eyes running idly around the saloon. Frisco Barr came over and stood beside him. “Hello, Clay. Haven’t seen you much lately.”
“Stayin’ close to home, Frisco. Julie around?”
“I think she’s up in her room.” He turned and called out, “Charlie, go tell Julie Clay’s down here.”
“Right, Frisco.”
Clay sipped on the root beer and said, “I guess I’ve warned you about this before, Frisco, but I’m gonna get Julie out of this place if I can.”
“That’d be all right with me.” Barr looked down at his boots and studied them as if there were some inherent meaning hidden in the design of the fancy stitching. Finally, he lifted his head and said, “She don’t belong in no saloon, Clay, but I can’t run her out. It’ll have to be her choice.”
“Reckon you’re right about that.”
The two men stood there talking for a time, and Barr spoke of the Texas government, which had begun printing money a couple of years past. “It ain’t worth the paper it’s written on. Nothin’ to back it up,” he complained. “You could take a wagon load of it and couldn’t buy a bottle of whiskey.”
“That’s why I always want to take hard money if I can get it.”
“And another thing. It was a raw move to change capitals.” He spoke of moving the capital of Texas in ’40 from Houston to Austin.
That move had displeased everyone in Texas pretty much, except, of course, the inhabitants of Austin. Lamar had moved his government to Austin, which at the time only had nine hundred people. It was the wrong decision according to most, for Austin lay far beyond the frontiers of most settlements, and it was on the very edge of Comanche country.
“I don’t think anything good has happened since Lamar got to be president.”
Clay nodded. “I don’t see why Houston couldn’t just keep on being president.”
“Because the Constitution says that a man can’t succeed himself.
Anyway, I don’t like Lamar.”
Clay nodded slowly. “I fought with Lamar at San Jacinto. He’s a good fighter, but a bad president, and this burr in his saddle he’s got about Indians is gonna mean trouble.”
Indeed, President Mirabeau B. Lamar hated Indians with a passion, and upon assuming the office of president, he had begun a series of fierce campaigns against the Indians. He had used the regular Texas army forces and local bands called “ranging companies.” Lamar was convinced that all Indians were evil no matter what tribe they came from. He had sent his forces to strike against the southern Indians, including the Cherokee, who were harmless, and several other immigrant tribes who had moved into east Texas after
being driven out of the United States.
Clay spoke of this and then shrugged. “I reckon we’ve got to fight against the Comanches.”
“I reckon so,” Barr said. “They’ve been doing lots of raiding against the settlements on the border, but these blasted Indian wars have cost us two and a half million dollars—which we don’t have. Lamar tried to establish the Bank of Texas, but it takes plenty of money to found a bank.” He grinned wryly and said, “I reckon President Lamar don’t understand that, so he up and printed three million dollars in redback notes.”
“What are they worth now, Frisco, a dime on the dollar?”
“Not even that much. Did you hear about his latest idiocy?”
“Who? Lamar?”
“Yes.” Barr nodded. “He’s been talkin’ about the borders of Texas goin’ all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Can you tie that?”
“Why, that’s plumb crazy!” Clay exclaimed.
“I know it is, but he sent an expedition to take over Santa Fe. It come to nothin’, of course. The poor fools had to cross thirteen hundred miles of plains right in the middle of Comanches. Them that lived were captured by a Mexican army, only about three hundred of them. They’re all in prison now down in Mexico.”
Clay sipped his root beer, then set it down on the bar and began to draw figures on the surface. “I heard Lamar was tryin’ to get a bunch of Frenchmen to settle along the Rio Grande.”
“Another wild scheme of his! They were supposed to form kind of a wall between us and Mexico, to keep the Mexicans out. Wouldn’t that make a dog laugh? Imagine Frenchmen bein’ able to whip anybody! All they can do is be romantic and eat snails!”
“Well, one good thing about it. Next year we’ll have another election,” Clay said.
“And we know who our candidate will be.”
“Sure. Sam Houston. You hear he got married again?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“More than that. He got himself converted. Yep, Sam’s on the glory road now.”
“What brand did he wind up with?” Barr asked.
“A Baptist. I don’t expect even the Baptists will be able to tame Sam Houston down, though. I wonder what the issues in his campaign will be?” Clay asked idly.
“Well, I don’t know, but Sam will make it interesting.” The two stood there talking, when suddenly Barr caught a movement and said, “There comes your dear and beloved friend, Kern Herendeen.”
Clay did not turn around, but Barr watched as Herendeen stopped abruptly. He saw the big man’s eyes fall on Clay, and he noted the antagonism there. He waved, however, saying, “Come on, Kern, have a drink on the house.”
Herendeen hesitated only a moment and then came over and said, “Hello, Barr. I’ll take that drink.”
After Butch brought the drink, Kern stared at Clay with such animosity that Clay said, “You look like you’re about ready to pop, Kern. If you got somethin’ to say, why, just set it on the front porch.”
“All right, I will. I don’t take kindly to your beating up my men.”
“Why, Kern, you don’t know your Bible well enough. Don’t the Good Book say that whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap?”
Humor played in Clay’s eyes, and he said, “I reckon Dee and Lou just did a little sowin’, so Zane and me saw that they did a little reaping.” His voice grew harder then, a slight edge on it. “Those boys had no business tryin’ to run the Stuarts off. That ground don’t belong to Skull. The Stuarts are there legally. And Dee and Lou deserve what they got for beating up on my stepson,” Clay said coldly. “If they ever do that again, they’ll get it worse.”
Both men saw that Kern wanted to argue, but he knew he was on shaky ground. Kern Herendeen had hated Clay from the moment that Jerusalem had agreed to marry him. The two men spoke only when necessary, and this was the longest conversation they had had since Clay’s marriage.
“All right,” Kern said. “I’ll let it pass this time.”
“I do appreciate it, Kern.” The irony in Clay’s voice rubbed against Herendeen, but he drank his drink, nodded, and walked away.
He passed Julie on the way but did not glance at her. Julie came over and said, “Hello, Clay. How’s Clinton?”
“Oh, he’s too holy to hurt.”
“Yes, I saw his face, and I’d like to pound Kern Herendeen with a sledgehammer!”
“Guess you’d have to get in line for that,” Clay said.
The two stood there talking for a while, and Barr left them alone. Julie seemed to have something on her mind, and Clay said, “I’ve asked you this before, Julie, but if you want to leave here, we’d be glad to have you.”
“Leave me alone, Clay. I don’t have any place with you.”
“Sure you do. You’re family.”
“You talk like Rice.”
“Smart man. You ought to listen to him.”
Julie reached over and picked up Clay’s root beer. She smiled at him and shook her head. “You’re down to drinkin’ root beer, are you? Well, I always knew you’d go downhill when you wouldn’t marry me.” She tasted the beverage and made a face. “That’s awful stuff!”
“Rice is doing fine at the church, isn’t he?”
“He’s headin’ for a fall. He’s fillin’ that church up with people like me.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Julie seemed moody and restless. She put her elbows on the bar and stared down at it. “I’ll tell you the truth, Clay. This life is no fun anymore, but I can’t be anything else.”
“Sure you can, Julie. You’re just like me. I wasn’t a candidate for the pearly gates either, but if the good Lord took me in, He’ll take anybody.”
Julie did not look up, and Clay had to lean over to hear what she said.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever become a Christian, Clay, but if I did— I guess I’d want to be the kind Rice Morgan is.”
Clinton shoved his plate back and said, “Well, that was a nice breakfast, Ma.”
“Six eggs and a half a side of bacon. I think you’re gonna founder yourself.”
“I got to keep my strength up, Ma. After all, I got to hold this here ranch together.”
Jerusalem had to stifle a laugh, for Clinton’s enormous self-assurance always amused her. He was always sure that he was right, no matter how many people tried to tell him differently. In others it might have been a rather nasty trait, but somehow Clinton, in all his youthful exuberance, found a way into her heart.
Zane had been sitting to one side listening, and now he winked at Jerusalem and said, “I’m glad it was a fine, upstandin’ Christian like you that them two Skull fellers beat up on. Anybody else might be wantin’ revenge, but I know a good Christian lad like yourself will have to forgive ’em.”
Clinton suddenly looked up. “Forgive ’em!” he said with astonishment. “After they beat me half to death?”
“The Bible says to do it, Clinton. You know that. Forgive your enemies, and it’ll pour coals of fire on their heads.”
Both Zane and Jerusalem watched as Clinton struggled with the idea, wondering how he would handle it. They both knew that he had been extremely bitter to have been beaten so unfairly and unjustly. At the same time, he was a strict believer in the Bible and took the Scriptures very literally.
“Well,” Clinton said, taking a deep breath and then expelling it, “I guess I’ll forgive ’em and pour coals of fire on their heads.” He nodded firmly and said, “That’ll burn their brains out!”
Zane laughed, and Jerusalem had to conceal her own, but she said, “You ought to be ashamed talking like that.”
“It’s biblical, Ma. Burn their brains out. That’s what the Scripture says.” He got up and said, “I’m goin’ to go huntin’. I think I’ll stop by and thank that fella Al for lookin’ out for me.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Jerusalem said. She had visited the Stuarts twice and grown fond of them. Now she added, “I’ve baked some fresh bread. I want you to take it
over to them. Anne is doing much better, but she’s still too weak to do much cookin’.”
Clinton waited until Jerusalem had wrapped the bread in a cotton sack, and as she handed it to him, he said, “You know, Al seems like a nice young fella. Kind of small, and he shore didn’t help much when I was tanglin’ with Skull.”
Jerusalem smiled at him with something in her eyes. “I think Al Stuart’s nice.”
“Yeah, he’s kind of sissified. You know, Ma, I’m gonna take him in hand. I’ll make a tough fella out of him. Maybe some huntin’ and helpin’ Brodie and me brand some cattle will toughen him up some.”
Jerusalem reached out and grabbed a handful of Clinton’s thick brown hair and shook his head. “You’re always wanting to make people into somethin’. I think you’d better be careful about that.”
Clinton grinned, reached up, and moved his mother’s hand. He held it for a minute and then reached out and squeezed her arm. “I’m gonna start on you, Ma. I’ve been thinkin’ about some ways to improve your disposition. We’ll talk about that when I get back.”
Clinton left the room whistling cheerfully, and Jerusalem turned to stare at Zane. “Did I really give birth to that, Zane? He never thinks he’s wrong. One day I’m afraid he’s gonna have a bad fall.”
“He’ll be all right, sis.” Zane grinned. “And I’m interested to see how he improves your disposition.”
“Howdy, Miz Stuart. My ma sent you this bread. Baked it fresh this mornin’.”
Anne Stuart was a small woman with silver hair and clear, gray eyes. She had the look of a chronically ill person, but now she smiled cheerfully and said, “Why, thank you, Clinton. That was mighty kind of your ma. Come in, and I’ll heat it up and put some plum jelly on it.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. Maybe when I come back by.” He had removed his hat and looked around, saying, “I’m goin’ huntin’, and I thought I’d ask Al to go along with me.”
“Why, that would be nice. Look out in the barn. Just birthed a new calf last night. Al’s mighty handy with animals.”
“I’ll bring you back a deer, ma’am. I reckon that would go pretty well.”
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