Texas Trails 1

by Patrick E. Andrews

With nothing to lose, Tim went along.

  “I got my eye on you,” Hank said. “What’ve you got, boy?”

  Tim grinned in embarrassment. “Only a pair o’ sixes.”

  Everybody howled and threw in their cards. “Damn!” Hank said. “What lucky star was you borned under, boy?”

  Tim raked in the money. “The North Texas Star, boys,” he said with a laugh.

  “Imagine winning on a lousy pair o’ sixes,” Shorty complained.

  Hannah walked over with a bottle of rye and filled everyone’s glasses. “Big Ed’s in a good mood,” she said. “He’s buying, boys.”

  Tim said, “Go tell him I just won a pot on a pair o’ sixes!”

  “Sure, honey,” Hannah said, walking away.

  They played four more hands with Tim winning two of them. Hannah kept the rye flowing as the cards were dealt, played, dealt again, then studied once more to see who had the best hand for each pot.

  Big Ed MacWilliams didn’t pay much attention to the game. He went back to his chair on the porch and watched the town of Duncan ease into the new night. A few lantern lights came on, as did the ones inside the Deep River Saloon. Before long the entire street was dark except for the rays of illumination coming from windows.

  A figure stepped from the gloom. “Howdy, Big Ed.”

  Big Ed turned to see a familiar face. “Howdy, Dan.”

  Sheriff Dan Sims glanced inside the barroom. “Seems kinda quiet.”

  “Just a poker game and somebody drinking real quiet,” Big Ed said.

  Sims nodded. He was a tall man in his forties. Rail-thin with thick black hair, he moved in a slow manner that suggested he was only relaxing before getting ready to explode into action. “Is young Tim Hawkins in there?”

  “He sure is,” Big Ed answered.

  Sims grinned. “I reckon he’s prob’ly doing real well at the game, ain’t he?”

  “I don’t hear him complaining none,” Big Ed answered.

  “The boy has talent,” Sims said. “Maybe he should take up gambling as a profession.”

  “Maybe he should,” Big Ed said. “Want to bankroll him?”

  “That might not be a bad idea,” the sheriff said. “Ill see you later. I got to make my early rounds.”

  “See you, Dan.”

  The game inside continued with occasional shouts and exclamations. Now and then either Rosalie or Hannah came out to keep Big Ed company. He always asked how the gambling was going.

  “Tim Hawkins is cleaning ’em out again,” Hannah said.

  “Lucky boy,” Big Ed said.

  “Sure he is,” Hannah said.

  Big Ed studied the quiet, dark street that ran in front of his saloon. “Did you ever figure you’d come to this?”

  “Come to what?” Hannah asked.

  “Sitting in a little Texas town with nothing to do and no place to go,” Big Ed answered.

  Hannah shrugged. “What the hell! All I been worrying about all my life is getting that next bite o’ food. Never mind where I been, where I am, or where the hell I’m going.”

  “Things is simple for you, Hannah,” Big Ed said.

  “Feeding myself is a simple thing to do,” Hannah said. “And after all the hungry times I’ve had, it’s the most important. Once I’m fed, I’m happy. Damn all-the rest of it.”

  “Whoring feeds you so whoring is good, huh?”

  “You damn right,” Hannah said. She didn’t like it when Big Ed started that kind of talk. “I’m going back in and watch the game.”

  She went back through the batwing doors and walked slowly up to the table. A thick cloud of smoke floated just above it as the intense poker players kept at their game. Rosalie Kinnon looked up at the older woman, then turned her attention back to the contest.

  More whiskey was poured as the time eased by. Finally Shorty Clemens stood up. “I’m busted,” he announced. He abruptly left the table and went outside. He lit a cigar. “Things is winding down, Boss.”

  “Right,” Big Ed said. He got out of his chair and took a slow stroll into the interior of the Deep River Saloon. He stood at the table and waited until the hand being played was finished.

  “Gimme that money! “Tim Hawkins whooped, scooping his winnings toward him.

  “Game’s over,” Big Ed announced.

  “Aw! I’m going too good to quit,” Tim protested.

  “You can get more another night,” Big Ed said. Without hesitating, he methodically picked up Tim’s money. “I’ll put it in the safe.”

  “Hell!” Tim said grinning drunkenly. “At least leave me a dollar to take Hannah upstairs.”

  Big Ed gave him the money, then headed back toward his office. “The last round is on me, boys.”

  While the players stumbled to the bar, the saloon owner continued on to the safe. Once more, as he had many times, he put all the money Tim had earned into his safe. By the time he went back outside, most of the lanterns were turned down as his men quietly sipped the liquor. Big Ed glanced upstairs toward the four rooms that opened on the landing.

  A weak light came out from under Hannah’s door. Big Ed went to the bar, where he was served a drink from his own special bottle. Once more his thoughts turned to what a hell of a situation it was to be living there in the little town just off the Diablos Range.

  Four

  The scrambled eggs—hot, yellow, and steaming—were heaped onto the platter. Nancy Hawkins had gone out to the hen house and gathered them less than an hour earlier. After cooking the food, she’d piled it on a platter with bacon.

  Rawley Pierson and Chaw Stevens waited in eager anticipation for the young girl to join them at the table after setting the skillet back on the stove. She retrieved a pan of hot biscuits and brought them to the table.

  “Miss Nancy,” Chaw said in pure delight. “I truly feel like I’ve died and went to heaven!”

  “And we had such a delicious supper only last night too,” Rawley added.

  “Thank you,” Nancy said. She liked to cook for appreciative, hungry folks. She sat down, and her father Zeb bowed his head. “Lord, we thank thee kindly for what we’re about to receive. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Nancy.

  The food was passed around. Tim’s chair was noticeably empty. Zeb poured himself a deep cup of coffee, then gave the pot to Chaw. “Can’t start the day without strong java.”

  “Them’s the truest words spoke by man,” Chaw said in agreement. The whiskered old codger liked his coffee black, thick, and argumentative.

  “This really is delicious, Miss Nancy,” Rawley said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had biscuits this good.”

  “I’m glad you like them, Mr Pierson,” Nancy said smiling. “Sometimes we have trouble getting decent flour out here on the Diablos. Anyhow, it’s a pleasure to cook for hungry men.”

  Rawley laughed. “Then you’ll like cooking for Chaw. He’s always hungry.”

  “That I am!” Chaw said, eating with gusto. Although Nancy was delighted with the reaction to her cooking, she was bothered by her brother’s absence. “Did you call Tim?” she asked her father.

  “I did,” Zeb answered angrily. “At least a half-dozen times. But I know he’s up. I heard him stomping around in his boots.”

  Nancy said nothing, but the expression on her face plainly showed both anger and disappointment in her young brother. She stabbed at her eggs with her fork, eating rapidly.

  “I reckon we’ll be rounding up them cattle that was scattered yesterday,” Rawley said, nibbling on a crisp piece of bacon.

  “Yeah,” Zeb Hawkins said. “That I’ll be finishing up the job that Jim and Duane started yesterday afore them bushwhackers moved in on ’em.”

  “We got to keep the herd closer to the ranch,” Rawley said. “And mount a guard to keep watch.”

  “You’re right about that,” Zeb agreed. “But that would take stretching this little crew pretty far. That’d mean you, Chaw, Tim, and me would pull about six hours of guarding a day aside fr
om doing the reg’lar range work. We’d be lucky to last out the week.”

  “I could help out, Papa,” Nancy said.

  “Honey, you got to fix grub for us and other things,” Zeb pointed out. “And I don’t think we’ll be able to hire on a cook any more’n we can get more hands to work the herd.”

  “But I could at least put in two hours sometime in the middle of the night,” Nancy insisted.

  “I’ll think on it,” Zeb said.

  Tim Hawkins stumbled into the room. His hair was slicked down but carelessly combed back, and it was evident he hadn’t shaved. The young man said nothing as he sat down heavily in the chair opposite his father.

  “How about a ‘good morning, ever’body’ from you?” Zeb said.

  “Good morning, Pa—Nancy,” Tim mumbled.

  “Is Rawley and Chaw invisible?” Zeb asked.

  Tim gave them a sullen look, then let his gaze sink to the tabletop.

  “Want some eggs?” Nancy asked.

  Tim shook his head. “Coffee. That’s all.”

  “Get it yourself,” she said.

  Tim gave her a look of exasperation, but got to his feet and walked across the room to the stove. After returning to the table, he slurped a couple of swallows and moaned.

  “You got a headache, boy?” Zeb asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you better eat something,” Zeb advised his son. “We got lots o’ hard riding and rounding up to do today. We prob’ly won’t have no noontime meal.”

  “I ain’t hungry.”

  “I’ll bet you ain’t!” Zeb snapped, “That’ll learn you to go into town drinking during the week.”

  Tim said nothing. He drank more coffee, wishing he. could tell his father of the money in Big Ed McWilliams’s safe in the Deep River Saloon. In a couple of more months they’d have enough of a grubstake to get off the Diablos and into friendlier country to do their ranching.

  Chaw, who was as fond of liquor as the next man, was amused by Tim’s hangover. To the old range rider, a bad morning was a normal part of living. But he’d gone to sleep cold sober the previous night and his stomach growled for food. He noted the eggs left on the platter. “It’d be a shame to let them go to waste.”

  “Help yourself, Mr Stevens,” Nancy said.

  “Thank you kindly, Miss,” Chaw said. He dumped the entire amount on his plate and consumed it in three bites.

  Tim groaned and rubbed his temples.

  Zeb gave him a sharp look. “Are you gonna be able to ride today, boy?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tim said. “I always carry my weight, Pa.”

  Zeb nodded. “That you do. I can’t fault you on that.” He sighed. “Well, you’re a man, so your own time is your own business. If you want to start out each day with a headache and an upset stomach, you go right ahead.”

  “He will,” Nancy said.

  Tim, feeling a bit better as the coffee pepped him up some, grinned at his sister. “Big Ed MacWilliams told me to say hello to you.”

  “I don’t care what he said!” Nancy snapped.

  Tim finished his coffee. “He’s got a good business in town, sis. I’d say Big Ed does real good for hisself.”

  Nancy frowned furiously. She grabbed her empty plate and took it to the kitchen counter. Then she returned and angrily began clearing the table.

  Now Tim was feeling better. “You ever notice how hard a woman starts working when she gets upset?” Zeb stood up. “Well, speaking of work, boys. Let’s go to it.”

  “I’m set,” Rawley Pierson said.

  The men got up and gave Nancy some final compliments on her cooking abilities, then headed directly for the corral to saddle up for the day’s big chore.

  “We’ll find the herd up on the north side,” Zeb said. “At least that’s what I figger from what you told me about where the gunfight went on.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rawley said. He threw his saddle over his horse’s back and began cinching it down. “You reckon we’ll meet them dry-gulchers again?”

  “Hard to tell,” Zeb answered. “They come and go as they please. We can get by for a coupla weeks without no trouble out on the Diablos Range. Then they come back with a vengeance. I just wish we could track down where they’re hiding out.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to leave Miss Nancy here by herself?” Rawley asked.

  “So far they ain’t hit no ranch houses,” Zeb said. “All they want to do is keep the cattle scattered.”

  “Nancy can take care of herself,” Tim said. “Don’t worry about things that don’t concern you, Pierson.”

  Zeb spoke up sharply. “Watch your tone! If it wasn’t for Rawley and Chaw, that herd could have been run off a hell of a lot worse.” He looked over at Rawley. “Nancy can shoot as good as any man. She can take care of herself.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Rawley said. Under normal circumstances he might have carried the situation a bit farther with Tim. Rawley Pierson was not the type of man to take much guff off another. But out of respect for Zeb Hawkins he let the matter drop.

  Chaw also kept quiet, but knew that the possibility of a blowup with the young hothead was in the offing.

  After saddling up, the quartet galloped out of the ranch yard and headed out onto the Diablos to begin the search for the scattered Circle H Bar cattle.

  After going a mile out onto the range, they spread out far in a line. Each man could barely seethe other on his flank as they rode easily across the rolling terrain that dipped and rose gently. It was a pleasant day with the warm spring sun gently basking the earth. A breeze, easy and intermittent, brought the scents of the reborn land with it. If it hadn’t been for Nancy’s strong coffee, the riders would have dozed off in their saddles as the morning drifted by.

  But each man kept alert, his eyes searching the prairie for sign of the herd or some individual cattle that might have wandered a ways from their companions. Even then, the main body would be close by.

  “Ho!”

  The call from Tim Hawkins drifted and echoed across the prairie.

  “Ho!” he shouted again. “There they are yonder!” He stood up in his stirrups and pointed to the northwest. After making sure he’d been seen and heard, the young man kicked his horse into a gallop.

  Rawley, Chaw, and Zeb Hawkins followed. The ride took them into an arroyo and up the other side, where they broke out on another wide expanse of deep-grass country. The herd was there, held loosely together through bovine instinct as they grazed the lush countryside.

  “Start out on the north and swing ’em south!” Zeb Hawkins yelled.

  Rawley pulled on the reins and headed in that direction. Chaw, riding hard now, came in behind him, swinging out a bit. Off to the side, in toward the herd, Tim Hawkins leaned in his saddle as his own mount began the rounding-up process.

  The cattle started to move then, the horsemen’s actions heading them off in the right direction. Sensing they were about to be disturbed, some bawled and mooed as the movement began.

  Tim reached the outermost point first and turned in sharply, waving his hat. “Hyah! You sonofabitches! Hyah, you dogies!” he yelled.

  On the opposite side, Zeb Hawkins held the herd in. In spite of his age, he rode hard and well as he stuck in the saddle as if born with it attached to his rump.

  Now Rawley and Chaw were well situated in the drag position and they moved in. Chaw, happy to be a working cowboy again, joyfully yelped at the cattle, sounding like an excited collie dog.

  “They’re moving!” Zeb yelled. “Settle back!”

  The herd was allowed to calm down some. Since the cattle headed in the right direction and could easily be controlled, the four-man crew eased their efforts in order to let the animals pick their own pace. Now and then a stray wandered out, but one of the riders quickly took care of the errant cow, forcing it back into the mass.

  The ride out and roundup had taken longer than the crew realized. By the time they were halfway back to the ranch it was already mid-aft
ernoon. The trail dust rose out of the grass, settling back on man and animal alike until it seemed as if they’d been sprinkled with a light cover of brown powder. Sweat from hat brims trickled down faces and stung their eyes. With the excitement over, the drovers treated their previously ignored thirst with deep drinks from canteens. Although the water had grown lukewarm since being drawn from the ranch well, it was as sweet as nectar to throats parched by hard, fast riding.

  Zeb took the point to check out the direction they followed across the terrain. Tim and Chaw each rode flank while Rawley stayed in the drag position. Everything seemed routine and easygoing. Now the thoughts of hot supper a couple or so hours away began to drift into their minds. It had been eight hours since they’d devoured Nancy’s eggs, bacon, and biscuits.

  Rawley caught the movement up on the crest of a shallow hill to the north. A horseman showed himself as if by accident, quickly turning away to get out of sight. Rawley pulled his carbine from its boot. When two more men appeared he could easily see they wore hoods. He fired a quick shot.

  “To the left!” he shouted.

  A dozen riders now came into sight, firing rapidly as they charged down on the drovers and the cattle. The animals immediately bolted in panic, breaking into a run and turning toward the south.

  Chaw, nearest the attackers, went for his pistol. Firing rapidly and defensively at them, the old man turned and headed in the same direction as the herd. Rawley and Zeb covered him as best they could as he galloped for safety. Out on the right flank, Tim Hawkins was forced to run with the cattle in order to avoid a collision that would throw him beneath the herd’s heavy hooves.

  The attackers spread out more, keeping up a steady staccato of fire. They concentrated their efforts on the unfortunate Chaw, who now gave up any chance of being able to effectively defend himself. He rode hell-for-leather in a slightly zigzagging course while Rawley and Zeb closed in on him. The pair fired at the pursuers to take some of the pressure off Chaw.

  Within a short five minutes, the entire cattle drive had been blown completely to hell. The herd was scattered and running madly in a senseless, instinctive flight. Tim Hawkins was finally able to turn back to join his companions, but by the time he linked up with them the fight was over. The bushwhackers had turned and ridden off, the purpose of their attack accomplished.