Fortunately, Feather’s remark was not heard by the rustlers.
Pike turned to his men.
“Find some rope,” he ordered. “Tie them all up!”
One of the extra men moved over to the saddles that were serving as pillows beside the bedrolls. He removed the lariats and began to bind Charley and the rest of them, looping them together with the long coils.
“You won’t get away with this, Pike,” cautioned Charley.
“That’s right,” Kelly cut in. “The whole world knows about Charley Sunday’s Texas Outfit! … and the Colorado longhorns.”
Flora Mae added, “You won’t get outta this county alive, Bucko!”
Pike turned on the two women menacingly.
“Shut up,” he demanded. “Both of you!”
Flora Mae lashed out with a foot, catching Pike directly between the legs.
“Ooooooffff,” was all he could manage to utter.
As Pike started to double over, Charley stepped in, attempting to grab the gun. But Pike managed to pull away abruptly.
In the confusion Holliday’s gun discharged.
Charley was hit—he staggered backward, tripping over one of the saddles.
He went down—hard.
Slim and Bull readjusted their weapons, training them on the group.
Bull shouted, “Nobody move!”
Henry Ellis flew out of the chuckwagon with his shirt unbuttoned. He ran to his fallen grandfather’s side. Buster was close at his heels.
Roscoe glared at Pike.
“Ya kilt C.A.,” he muttered. “Kilt ’im dead.”
The others were still in shock as Flora Mae moved over to where Charley lay.
“I said, nobody move!” repeated Bull, cocking his gun.
Slim also cocked his weapon, aiming it at Flora Mae.
The four itinerant cowboys-turned-cattle rustlers continued to hold them all in abeyance.
Flora Mae looked up at the rustlers, a tear forming in one eye.
“This old cowboy means a lot to me,” she began. “And so does the boy. I ain’t goin’ no further, gents … so don’t you go a-worryin’ yerself ta death about it.”
Kelly, also defying Bull’s order, moved in beside Flora Mae. The two women knelt down beside the sobbing Henry Ellis.
Buster whined, nuzzling Charley. There was absolutely no response from his master.
Kelly comforted Henry Ellis.
Tears trickled down Flora Mae’s cheeks, her fingers caressing Charley’s motionless face.
Charley’s eyes were closed in a peaceful manner.
“You were a very brave man, Charles Abner Sunday,” Flora Mae eulogized. “A very courageous and valiant human being … A true Texan … Down to the very end.
“You stood tall in yer saddle,” she went on. “Taller ’an most men, an’ you never got yer spurs tangled … least not that I ever knowed of … And ya died with grit … Both boots full a’ grit …”
She smiled softly, adding, “Protectin’ the folks you loved.”
A final tear tracked its way down her cheek as the others looked on in complete silence. Then Flora Mae leaned in closer to Charley’s peaceful visage.
“I really loved you, Charles Abner Sunday,” she whispered. “You wonderful, old turkey, you.”
She kissed his cheek softly and then collapsed, sobbing, on Charley’s chest.
Kelly and Henry Ellis, with their tears also flowing, tried to comfort her.
Buster lay down flat, his chin between his paws, whining softly.
Holliday, Rod, Feather, Roscoe, and the Colorado cowboys, all with their own sentiments showing, watched Flora Mae, Kelly, and the boy in their despair as the other two rustlers finished securing their bonds.
Buster, finally realizing something was awry, sat up straight. He emitted a menacing growl.
Pike’s men turned abruptly to the frightening sound.
Slim warned, “Someone get that dog away from me or I’ll shoot ’im dead!”
“Ahh, ya don’t have ta do that,” said Roscoe. “Buster!” he shouted, “get outta here … NOW!”
Buster understood Roscoe’s command. He turned immediately, darting off into the underbrush.
Pike, now recovered, moved over to his henchmen.
“Slim,” he began. “You stay here and help me keep an eye on these yokels.
“And Bull,” he said, turning, “as soon as those two finish tying up the women and the kid, I want you all to get back out there and help the other boys round up the rest of those cows.”
Bull nodded. “Yeah, boss,” he answered.
Roscoe tugged at his ropes and said, “Pike! Yer a stinkin’ murderer … and we’re all witnesses!”
The meat packer stepped in closer to the securely tied Roscoe, and with a sly smile told him, “You’ll all be DEAD witnesses by sunup, smart guy.”
He turned back to Bull.
“Hold out about twenty of those longhorns,” he cackled. “We’ll be using their hooves to cover up any evidence.”
The big man sneered, nodded that he understood. Then he turned to the two women, Rod, and Henry Ellis.
Suddenly, there was a loud groan from Charley.
Roscoe’s head jerked around. He turned to Holliday and whispered, “Snake shot?”
The old gunsil whispered back, “Lightest load they make … sure ain’t gonna kill nobody with it, that’s fer sure.”
A look of relief crossed Roscoe’s face as Charley moaned once again.
Henry Ellis’s eyes widened.
“Grampa!” he shrieked.
Flora Mae looked up.
“He’s alive!” her voice echoed.
Charley’s eyes fluttered and then opened. He attempted to sit up himself. Flora Mae and Kelly gave him some assistance.
“Of course I’m alive,” Charley clarified, brushing himself off. “I must’ve hit my head when I fell. Knocked the wind outta myself, too.”
Flora Mae and Henry Ellis threw their arms around Charley’s neck, almost pulling him off balance.
Pike checked the cartridges in Holliday’s gun. He turned to Bull.
“Geeze.” He winced. “These aren’t real bullets at all. They’re just little BBs and some cardboard. Give me your gun, damnit,” he ordered.
He tossed Holliday’s weapon aside, taking Slim’s pistol. He turned to one of his extra men.
“Go on,” he commanded, “finish tying up the rest of them. And that old man, too. On the double!”
One of the men reached for Flora Mae and she resisted violently.
Rod stepped forward to protect her, but Slim knocked him down with a punch to the back of his head.
Pike fired his newly acquired gun into the dirt beside Flora Mae. The reality of the spiraling rooster tail stopped the woman cold.
“These,” he reminded them all as he held up the gun, “are real bullets.”
Charley turned to Flora Mae.
“Better do what the man says, darlin’,” he urged.
The gang members finished tying Flora Mae, Kelly, and the woozy Rod and Charley.
Then they turned to the boy.
“Him too.” Pike said as he nodded. “Go on. Just because he’s a kid doesn’t make any difference.”
Henry Ellis rolled away from the men’s reach, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed the pot of cold beans beside the fire, flinging them at the rustlers. Then he threw a canteen that hit one of Pike’s men in the shin.
The quickness of the youngster’s movements allowed him to shove his way past the surprised Bull and Slim—and he disappeared into the murky darkness that surrounded the camp.
Bull, Slim, and the others started after the ten-year-old.
“Leave him go,” snarled Pike. “No time to worry about a frightened little kid now; he’ll never get past the men at the road.
“Go on, Bull,” he continued. “You and these other two boys go give them a hand out there with the longhorns. And tell them all to keep an eye out for the kid … if
they haven’t already caught him.”
Bull nodded and moved off into the night. The other men followed.
At the picket line, Henry Ellis moved stealthily between the horses’ legs as Buster tagged along quietly. The campfire glowed behind them through the foliage.
The anxious youth finally managed to get to the horse he had been using. He untied the lead rope.
The boy stood silently, muzzling the animal’s nose with one hand.
Signaling for the dog to follow, Henry Ellis quietly led the horse away from the camp and into the night.
KELLY KING
by Henry Ellis Pritchard
Kelly King is possibly the nicest female lady I have ever met in my entire life—except for my mother, of course. Kelly is allowing me to interview her for a sidebar in one of her series of articles about the Colorado to Texas Longhorn Cattle Drive. She has also taught me to use her typewriter, a newfangled invention that prints letters on paper when you press a key with your finger. When Kelly types her stories on the machine’s keyboard, she uses both hands and all of her fingers. When I use the typewriter I can only use one finger to press one letter at a time. Anyways, here is my first attempt at writing a newspaper interview for the paper.
Tell our readers a little bit about yourself, Kelly, where you were born and where you grew up? “I was born in the great state of Texas,” she says, “on a ranch in the south-central area of the state. I grew up there all my life except for the time I spent in college in New York City. When I was twenty-one years old, I wrote a sample news story, a sample human interest story, and a sample sports column. Then I submitted them all with my work applications to every major New York newspaper. Not one hired me. But the editor of one of those newspapers took a liking to me and he suggested I travel to a smaller state and an even smaller town and then try to obtain work on a local newspaper. I chose the state of Mississippi and the little town of Ruleville on the Delta where I found employment immediately as the editor of their local newspaper’s women’s section. All I was ever allowed to do was write about social events. But I did get to meet a lot of influential people through my writing of that column—actually it was the wives of the influential people I got to know. And because of that, I became good friends with the mayor, the entire city council, the police chief, all the pastors of the town’s three Protestant churches, the Catholic priest, the rabbi, plus most of the merchants and businessmen. One day one of the nearby levees happened to collapse. Pure luck had me right near there. I had been visiting a friend who lived on the river and when the levee broke I was able to write firsthand accounts of the catastrophe, which included the rescue efforts, the personal tragedies, the heroism, plus the individual stories of those who lost their homes and loved ones to the flood that followed. Later on my editor allowed me to write a feature story drawing on my original articles. When it was finished, he sold it to the National News Syndicate and my story was published not only nationally through syndication, but internationally as well. After that, the National News Syndicate received literally thousands of letters telling them how much they had enjoyed my story, and how they were waiting for my next syndicated feature personal account. The owner of the National News Syndicate made me an offer, which I took. I was extremely happy to join the ranks of other female journalists of my era like Nellie Bly and Winifred Bonfils. But my family back in Texas wasn’t that excited about my new career. Grandmother knew that it would keep me from settling down with a husband and family, like all the girls I had grown up with had done or were doing. My grandmother, who is the matriarch of our family, at that time even forbade me from traveling back to New York where I would be starting my new job with the syndication service. That was when I broke all ties with my family and somehow was able to travel across the country all by myself to start my job with the news syndicate. Then, wouldn’t you know, my fifth assignment brought me back to my home state, Texas—and though the ranch where I was born and raised is still some distance from where we are right now, I haven’t let any of them know I’m here.”
What was life like growing up on a ranch in Texas when you were my age? I asked her. “My grandfather passed away when I was ten years old,” she told me. “Your age,” she added.
When I heard that, I almost broke down crying … I guess that’s because I’m ten right now myself and I don’t know what I’d do if my grampa Charley died.
Kelly went on. “My grandmother took over running the ranch, and although it was one of the largest spreads in south-central Texas at that time, my grandmother’s persistence continued to help it grow larger.
“I didn’t walk to school like the other kids from our town did every day—I was driven to school and picked up afterward in a fancy carriage by one of my grandmother’s hired hands who made sure I got home safely. If I wanted to play with any of my friends after school my grandmother made sure they would be picked up and brought to our ranch and then dropped off later at their own homes … I was only allowed to play with my friends at our house. My grandmother didn’t think it was proper for a child of my social status to mingle with the local ranchers’ children away from our ranch.”
What made you want to write a story about the cattle drive, Kelly? “Well, it started out as an assignment from my boss in New York City. He had been told about the upcoming longhorn auction in Denver and asked me to take Gerald, my photographer, with me and write a human interest story on the auction and the people who made the highest bids on the cattle. Like you and your grandfather, we were led to believe the longhorns would be auctioned individually, not as an entire lot. So we loaded our darkroom on wheels and our horses onto a train, then, along with ourselves, we headed for Colorado, where we met up with you, your grampa, Rod, and the others. When it became clear that your grandfather had bid on the entire herd and was the highest bidder, I told Gerald that the real story was just beginning. And when you got absolutely no cooperation from anyone in Denver concerning your transportation problems, and your grandfather agreed we’d drive them to Texas, that was when I came up with the idea to make my little human interest story into a series of on the trail tales, all about the Texas Outfit and their daily struggles along the way with their herd of longhorns. You know the rest of my story, Henry Ellis. It just keeps unfolding with every mile we go.”
I want to thank Kelly King for helping me with grammar, spelling, the typing, and just about everything else it takes to write a sidebar for a newspaper story.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
A half hour had passed. Pike and Slim were perched on a large rock beside Flora Mae’s carriage, some distance away from the Texas Outfit.
Rod and Feather had managed to find several small, sharp stones. As all of them had been tied back to back, it was easy for him to work undetected, sawing away at Roscoe’s and Holliday’s bonds.
Charley, Flora Mae, and Kelly had also braced themselves, back to back. They, too, worked with nimble fingers, trying to loosen each other’s bindings.
Flora Mae winked, whispered to Charley, “I thought you always carried yer gun in yer boot, handsome.”
“Ever try to quick-draw a gun out of a boot top when you’re hog-tied?” he reminded her.
From Pike’s and Slim’s position, the bunch appeared to be quite immobile.
Outside the camp, Henry Ellis walked his horse slowly through the longhorns, stopping abruptly when he heard voices. He pointed at Buster, shaking his finger, silently instructing the dog to be quiet, too.
Not more than yards away, the longhorn herd was still being gathered together by Pike’s men.
Bull stood nearby talking to one of the rustlers.
“Keep watchin’ the road inta Juanita,” he advised. “The boss don’t want that kid sneakin’ over there an’ bringin’ back the law.”
The rustler nodded, moving off toward the roadside, where he parked himself next to a sign that read JUANITA, TEXAS—4 MILES.
Henry Ellis continued to observe from between the milling cattle, confu
sed as to what to do next.
Suddenly, an idea swept his face. He silently mounted his horse, motioned for Buster to follow, then reined around and moved back through the herd, heading in the opposite direction from Juanita.
When Henry Ellis had gone far enough so not to be heard or seen, he spurred the horse. Hooves dug into dirt and the dog darted after him.
When the dawn finally came, the early morning sun cast its rays across the open Texas plain to where Pike’s men had the three hundred longhorns surrounded.
There were about ten mounted men in all gathered around the herd.
Bull moved over to the rustler sitting beside the mileage marker, asking him a question. The man shook his head.
Bull moved back toward the clump of trees that concealed the Texas Outfit’s last roadside camp.
Roscoe’s and Holliday’s hands were almost free—the ropes nearly cut through. They had been working on Feather’s and Rod’s knots with the sharp stones for some time.
Charley, Flora Mae, and Kelly continued to work at their restraints, which had loosened considerably. Charley was almost untied. He worked painstakingly on the sturdy rope—pulling, pulling.
Pike napped on the inside passenger’s seat, his feet protruding through the window of the carriage.
Slim stood guard beside the chuckwagon.
There was a rustling from the bushes and then Bull entered the compound.
The big man called out, “Mr. Pike, we’re ready. All the cattle have been rounded up.”
Pike snapped awake. He climbed out of the carriage, joining Slim.
Bull moved over to them.
“The twenty head you wanted gathered up,” he pointed, “are right over there … just like you asked.”
Pike smirked.
“Good work,” he told the man. “Now, where’s that kid?”
“No sign of him all night,” answered Bull. “He’s probably still hidin’ in the weeds somewhere nearby … too scared to show himself.”
Pike drew his gun and moved over to the captives, followed by the two henchmen. He waved the barrel of the pistol at Charley and the others.
“All right,” he demanded. “All of you … on your feet!”
Charlie Sunday's Texas Outfit Page 27
