Texas Trails 1

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Rawley shoved his carbine back in the boot. “Are you all right, Chaw?”

  “Yeah,” Chaw said. “They didn’t hit me, but I’m damned if I know why not.”

  Zeb watched the last remnants of the herd disappear over the prairie. “All of today’s work was for nothing.”

  “We ain’t ever gonna get the herd to Kansas, Pa,” Tim said. “Something’s got to be done.”

  “It will be,” Zeb said. “And there’s only one way to do it.”

  “What do you have on your mind?” Rawley asked.

  “Something that should’ve been did a coupla months ago. I’m gonna call together the rest o’ the ranchers on the Diablos and form up to fight back,” Zeb said.

  Rawley knew how individualistic most ranchers were. “Do you think you can get ’em to agree to a single course of action and stick to it?”

  Zeb shook his head and shrugged. “Who knows? I’ll be the first to admit we’re a hard-headed bunch. But we got to do something or this’ll be the last season for any of us.”

  “It’ll be dark afore we can round up the herd again,” Tim said.

  “Forget the herd,” Zeb said. “Instead o’ cattle, round up the ranchers on the Diablos. We’ll have a meeting tomorrow on the Circle H Bar.”

  “What time you want ’em there?” Tim said.

  “Make it high noon,” Zeb said. “There ain’t any sense in busting our butts out on the range till this thing is cleared up for good.”

  Tim galloped off to tend to the chore while Rawley, Chaw, and Zeb headed back for the ranch.

  Five

  The yard of the Circle H Bar was crowded with blackboards and horses by noon the next day.

  Every rancher on the Diablos Was there: Slim Watkins of the Lazy S; Doak Timmons, who ran the Diamond T; Fred Blevins, ramrod of the Double Box; and Ted Lawson, the Flying Heart owner.

  Wives and kids also had arrived, making it a near-festive scene in spite of the seriousness of the meeting. Nancy Hawkins would have liked to stay with the men and discuss the problem of the raiders, but as first lady of the Circle H Bar, she was required to spend her time with the other women. The ladies quickly set up baskets of food with tables brought in the conveyances as a feast underwent quick organization.

  The men, leaving the women to their chores, went inside the ranch house. Although the meeting was nowhere near a fancy occasion like a wedding or a funeral, and didn’t call for any fancy duds, the rough men who moved into the living room were all dressed as if going to church.

  Zeb Hawkins produced some-liquor, and others added to the supply of intoxicants. Within a few minutes, the front of the house filled with cigar and pipe smoke, while the ranchers consumed straight whiskey in large swallows.

  Tim Hawkins sat off to one side while his father introduced Rawley Pierson and Chaw Stevens to the Diablos cattlemen. The cattlemen were a gruff, friendly group who gave firm handshakes and looked a man in the eye when they learned his name.

  Zeb Hawkins gave everyone a chance to settle in a bit more before beginning the meeting. He went straight to the heart of the matter. “Gentlemen, we’re on our last legs.” He looked around from man to man. “Anybody want to argue about that?”

  No one said anything. The type of men who settle into a wilderness to carve out cattle kingdoms for themselves did not like to admit anybody had pushed their backs to the wall.

  “I ain’t in an impossible situation,” Ted Lawson said. “I just need a full crew to set things right.”

  “But you ain’t got one,” Zeb countered. “And you ain’t gonna get enough hands neither.” He pointed to Doak Timmons. “What about the Diamond T?”

  “Same thing,” Timmons said, smoking a cigar. “But at least my cook has stayed on.” He chuckled. “That might not be much of a blessing for what’s left o’ my crew.”

  Zeb turned. “And the Lazy S and Double Box? Are you boys doing fine?”

  “You know we ain’t, Zeb,” Fred Blevins said. “I’ve had two good cowboys kilt and the others left.” He shook his head. “I can’t hardly get enough help to run my damn chicken coop.”

  “Them raiders is eating us up one at a time,” Zeb said. “And there ain’t but one way to stop it. We got to quit being separate and get together and form us an association.”

  “I ain’t much for belonging,” Blevins said. “I always liked doing things on my own.”

  “Goddamn it, Fred!” Zeb exclaimed. “So do I! I come out here to get away from crowds and towns and all them rules and agreements you got to have when you live and do business with a whole bunch o’ people. But I’m getting run outta business by some masked sonofabitches I can’t get my hands on. They come and go as they please, and now I can’t even muster enough hands to herd cattle; and fight back at the same time.”

  Rawley Pierson said, “The bushwhackers are trying to break up the roundups for the drive up to Kansas. They do just enough to keep the cattle scattered, then they pull back and wait for someone else to try to get organized.”

  “Hell, mister! We know that,” Blevins said. “That’s been going on out to the Double Box for the past six months.”

  “Don’t it tell you something?” Rawley asked.

  “Sure!” Blevins retorted. “Do you think I’m stupid? It tells me that someone’s trying to ruin my damn ranch.”

  “It should tell you more’n that,” Rawley said. “It should tell you that all these raiders are interested in is to break up the roundups to keep the cattle drives from starting. They ain’t killing unless they have to, and they ain’t hit the ranch houses yet, have they?”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Watkins said. “The Lazy S is in one piece.”

  Blevins looked at Rawley. “If you’re so smart, why do you think they want to keep us from making the drive up to Kansas this year?”

  “I don’t know that,” Rawley said. “If I did, I could figger out who was doing it.”

  “What are you, a range detective or something?” Timmons of the Diamond T asked.

  Chaw jumped in. “You just listen to him, mister! When he was sheriff down to Benton, he figgered out a coupla robberies and a killing.”

  “I didn’t come to the Diablos on purpose,” Rawley said. “But now that I am here, I intend to stick around and help out.”

  “How come?” Watkins asked bluntly.

  “That’s my style,” Rawley replied.

  “And mine,” Chaw added.

  “Simmer down, ever’body,” Zeb Hawkins said. “These two gents kept two of my cowboys from getting killed a coupla days ago. After they quit, Rawley and Chaw said they’d hire on to help out. And that’s what they been doing. It ain’t often you’ll find a pair of fellers willing to jump in and help out strangers like this.”

  “I just wish I knowed for sure why all this is happening here on the Diablos,” Doak Timmons said.

  “It’s a range war,” Rawley said. “And you might as well face up to that fact. What you got here is an out-and-out range war.”

  “It ain’t real wise to throw them two words around,” Blevins said. “They got a terrible meaning.”

  “Right,” Lawson agreed. “A range war is something that don’t end quick or pleasant.”

  “You got one whether you like it or not,” Rawley said.

  “He’s right, boys,” Zeb said. “Just be glad we ain’t fighting each other.”

  “If we was, we’d at least know who to shoot,” Timmons suggested sarcastically.

  “What the hell can we do about it?” Blevins asked. “We got a bunch o’ masked strangers that outnumber us and are bound and determined to either run us off the Diablos or kill us doing it. And we can’t find hide nor hair of ’em when we go out looking.”

  “Like I said before,” Zeb remarked. “If we stay separate from each other, they’ll pick us off one by one. But if we get together, we’re one big strong bunch it’d take an army to defeat.”

  Slim Watkins poured himself another drink. “You mean form a catt
lemen’s association?”

  “I mean form the Diablos Range Cattlemen’s Association,” Zeb said.

  “That is gonna take some discussion,” Lawson said.

  The group of rugged ranchers, though not sophisticated or particularly articulate, settled in with a natural practicality as they began to deliberate on the procedures necessary to organize a mutual-defense group.

  Meanwhile, the ladies had already finished setting the tables for the outdoor meal. With calico cloths covering the food to keep the flies away, they settled down into little groups to exchange the latest gossip along with the exciting news of products available at both the general store and in the Sears Roebuck catalog that had arrived from the East.

  Two riders rode into the ranch yard, considerately slowing down to avoid kicking up dust over the scene. They nodded to the ladies and politely tipped their hats. Big Ed MacWilliams and Sheriff Dan Sims took their horses up to the hitching post in front of the barn and dismounted.

  Sims, his long face wearing its usual solemn expression, surveyed the sight in the ranch yard. “Almost looks like a hanging, don’t it?”

  “All we need is a gallows,” Big Ed said. “Sure you ain’t got a pris’ner we could haul out here and string up?”

  Sims, who didn’t like jokes, made no reply.

  Big Ed looked around, and spotted Nancy Hawkins speaking with some other ladies at one of the tables near the barn. “Wait here,” he told Sims. The bar owner walked through the small crowd, and removed his hat as he walked up to the young woman. “Howdy, Miss Nancy.”

  Nancy turned. Her smile faded at the sight of the big man. “How do you do, Mr MacWilliams?”

  “I’m fine, thank you kindly,” he said. “Hello, ladies.”

  The two women, Nora Watkins and Penny Blevins, merely nodded. Being frontier women, they felt no snobbishness toward MacWilliams because of any social standing, but they didn’t approve of saloons that separated poor, drunken cowboys from their miserable wages. They quickly excused themselves, leaving Nancy and Big Ed alone.

  “Looks like quite an occasion,” Big Ed said.

  “The ranchers have finally decided to fight back against the masked cowards that have been attacking us,” Nancy said. Then she quickly added, “What brings you out here, Mr MacWilliams?” She noted Dan Sims standing over by the horses. “And with the sheriff.”

  “We heard about the meeting,” Big Ed explained. “As it happens, I may have a solution to offer. And, of course, Sheriff Sims is inter’sted in law and order out on the Diablos.”

  “But not interested enough to come out and give us a hand fighting the raiders,” Nancy quickly added.

  “He’s only one man with a part-time deputy, Miss Nancy,” Big Ed said. “There ain’t a lot he can do.”

  “He could do more,” Nancy said.

  “Maybe,” Big Ed allowed. He gestured at the picnic-like scene. “Sure seems like a pleasant enough afternoon, don’t it?”

  “If you have an answer to the problem, perhaps you should go in and discuss it with the men,” Nancy said coldly.

  Big Ed nodded. “I reckon you’re right. It was nice talking to you.”

  “Good day, Mr MacWilliams.”

  Big Ed walked toward the house, signaling Sheriff Sims to join him. Sims looked over at Nancy, who had rejoined the women. “I don’t think that gal cottons to you, Big Ed.”

  “Maybe not now,” Big Ed said confidently. “But she will by and by.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Where things concern me, I’m always sure,” Big Ed said. “C’mon. Let’s see what them ranchers is up to.”

  The pair walked up to the porch of the ranch house, and tapped on the front door before walking in. All the ranchers gave Big Ed a friendly greeting. His Deep River Saloon was their only recreation for drinking, card-playing, and some dallying now and then with one of the girls working there. Sheriff Dan Sims got a colder, yet polite reception.

  “I hear you boys have decided to finally do something about the range raiders,” Big Ed said.

  “We sure have,” Zeb answered. “We just now formed up the Diablos Range Cattlemen’s Association.” He held up two pieces of paper covered with writing. “And we writ down some of the rules and agreement we’re gonna foller.”

  “Well, gents,” Big Ed said with a wide grin. “I could have saved you all that trouble if’n I’d got here sooner. I got a damn good answer to your problem.”

  The group was interested. Sheriff Sims stayed by the door while Big Ed strode up to the front of the room where Zeb Hawkins stood.

  “What the hell’s on your mind, Big Ed?” Slim Watkins asked.

  “I got a letter from an old pard o’ mine,” Big Ed said. “I ain’t seen him since we run a place down in San Angelo a few years ago. When we sold the place, he took his money and went back East where he come from.” Big Ed laughed. “I reckon the cowboys unsettled him some.”

  “They can do that!” Fred Blevins said with a guffaw.

  “At any rate, he got hisself into a real estate firm and he’s been doing real good in New York,” Big Ed went on. “Him and his comp’ny has decided to expand and they’re looking for some land investments out West.” He paused and peered around as if looking for eavesdroppers. “Gents,” Big Ed continued in a subdued voice, “I know for a fact you can get a good price for your spreads out on the Diablos. You could take them profits and go somewhere that bushwhackers ain’t running wild and taking over. Hell! Let them smart Eastern dudes have to deal with ’em.”

  Zeb Hawkins held up his hand. “Hold on, Big Ed! You don’t seem to understand something. In the first place, them bushwhackers ain’t taking over.”

  “Well, now, Zeb,” Big Ed said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “And none of us come out here and busted our asses in the boiling summer and freezing winter to sell out and go somewheres else,” Zeb said.

  “That’s right,” Fred Blevins said, echoing the sentiment. “These here are our ranches and we damn well mean to keep ’em and work ’em till eternity splits open the Texas sky!”

  “Gents, you’re missing out on a good chance,” Big Ed said. “Them Eastern fellers is rich and have got more money than good sense.”

  “And we got more guts than good sense,” Zeb said. “And from this moment on, the Diablos Range Cattlemen’s Association is gonna use pistols and carbines to put a final end to them bushwhackers and their game.”

  “Enough said!” Doak Timmons yelled. “We’re formed up and ready to go. The ladies has got food waiting, and there’s more liquor too. This is cause for a celebration.” He looked around. “Ted, did you bring your fiddle?”

  “I sure did,” Ted Lawson of the Flying Heart Ranch answered. “And my boy has got his accordion.”

  Yelping now in the Texas tradition, the crowd abruptly went outside to begin the festivities. Zeb took Big Ed’s arm. “You’re welcome to join us.” He looked at the sheriff. “You too, Dan.”

  “I got things to tend to,” Big Ed said. “Thanks just the same.”

  Rawley Pierson and Chaw Stevens were the last to leave the house. They walked behind Zeb Watkins as he stepped off the porch. The three watched Big Ed and Dan Sims mount up and ride away. As they rode out the gate, two more horsemen came in.

  “Damn my eyes!” Zeb Hawkins said. “Look who’s back!”

  Jim Pauley and Duane Wheeler, the two cowboys, came up. They reined in and looked down from their saddles with sheepish grins.

  “Howdy, Mr Hawkins,” Duane said. “Me and Jim was wondering if we could have our jobs back.”

  “We felt real bad about walking out on you like that,” Jim added. “We’d be proud if you’d call us Circle H Bar hands again.”

  “Hell, yes! “ Zeb said. “And you’re as welcome as can be.”

  Duane and Jim nodded to Rawley and Chaw. Duane said, “What made us change our minds ’bout leaving was thinking of you two staying on. That kinda shamed us. You don’t mind us riding
with you, do you?”

  “We’d be proud,” Rawley said.

  “You bet!” Chaw added. He nudged Rawley. “By God! There ain’t nothing like a coupla proud, honest cowboys. You’d never see nobody like that in a town.”

  “You’re right,” Rawley said.

  “By damn!” Zeb said happily. “Getting them two back and having the cattlemen’s association means things is really starting on the Diablos now.”

  “That’s right,” Rawley said. “A range war.”

  Zeb looked at him. “If that’s what it takes.” Rawley nodded. “That’s what it takes.”

  Six

  The big, complicated task of organizing the Diablos Range Cattlemen’s Association slowed down normal ranching activities. A lot of last minute agreements and arguments had to be ironed out by the new organization’s five highly individualistic and expressive ranchers. Plenty of quarreling and cuss words marked the occasion before the stubborn cattlemen reached that final settlement they were all willing to sign and—most importantly to them—shake hands on.

  While the owners stormed and raged, their crews of drovers took advantage in the lapse of activity to enjoy some well-earned relaxation. With work down to a low level and a couple of easy days in the offing, Rawley Pierson and Chaw Stevens decided to go into town and check out what pleasures and diversions in the Deep River Saloon had to offer to a couple of weary drovers. After those two weeks on the trail and a few days of hard ranch work, the pair of friends needed to ease up and take a breather.

  But they stuck around the ranch at least long enough for one of Nancy’s suppers. Good grub was something not to be passed up even when there was a real strong hankering to blow off some steam. After wolfing down the food and mumbling quick compliments to the young woman, they wasted no time in saddling up and riding off the Diablos.

  Rawley had gone to the trouble of taking a bath before eating, which was something Chaw would never do. As they continued toward town, Chaw looked over at him and remarked, “You’re as about as slicked down as a drowning coyote, ain’t you?”