Texas Trails 1

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “Just like we planned,” Shorty said, lighting his cigar.

  Witherspoon got up and went over to the batwing doors and peered inside. “I see Big Ed is keeping an eye on things.”

  “He’s just making sure none o’ the boys pull in anything for themselves,” Shorty said.

  Witherspoon turned and walked over to him. “I know a way you could get an extra couple of hundred.”

  Shorty looked at him. “How’s that, Mr Witherspoon.”

  “I want you to have about three of those rascals camping out there on the range to go to the Circle H Bar and finish off Pierson,” Witherspoon said.

  Shorty shook his head. “Big Ed won’t put up with that. There’s too much danger to the Hawkins girl. If something was to happen to her, the feller that done it could be sure of getting stomped to death.”

  “If Big Ed isn’t careful, he’s going to find himself on the outside looking in,” Witherspoon said. “The only way this deal is going to be wrapped up—and the big payoffs made—is to ruin those ranchers. If the drive to Kansas is made, you can forget about any success for at least a year. And with Pierson around, that might not be possible. Get my drift?”

  “Sure, Mr Witherspoon,” Shorty said. “But I’d hate like hell to get Big Ed riled at me.”

  “I’ll give you one hundred dollars to set up a raid on that ranch and a hundred each to the gunmen who do the actual shooting,” Witherspoon said. “Do you think that makes it worthwhile?”

  “Yes, sir,” Shorty said. “But if there’s gunplay around the house, Nancy Hawkins might accidental get shot like I said.”

  “Do you really give a damn, Shorty?”

  Shorty grinned. “No, sir. But Big Ed is gonna give one great big damn. Count on it.”

  “I’ll take care of Big Ed, don’t worry about that,” Witherspoon assured him. “The question at this point is: Do you want that money?”

  “I sure do, Mr Witherspoon. It’ll take a coupla days to set things up.”

  “Then get to it,” Witherspoon said.

  Shorty nodded. “I’ll get started first thing in the morning, Mr Witherspoon.”

  “Don’t forget,” Witherspoon said.

  “For a hunnerd dollars? It ain’t likely!”

  Seventeen

  Rawley walked unsteadily, his arm around Nancy’s shoulders while she held onto his waist as they made their way slowly from the parlor back toward the bedroom.

  “Don’t try to rush,” Nancy said. “Let’s take our time.”

  The big man fought the waves of dizziness that swept over him. The sensation was so strong that it made his vision blur.

  “Keep going, darling,” Nancy urged him. “Just a few more steps and we’ll be back to the bed.”

  He took a deep breath and finally made it to their destination, sitting down for a moment before lying back. “Now that was a job, wasn’t it?”

  “It’s your first time out of bed, darling,” Nancy said covering him up. “That walk to the parlor and back was just what you needed.” She adjusted his pillow, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “An infection like you had saps the strength something awful.”

  “I sure thought I’d be a lot more stronger’n that,” Rawley said in a discouraged tone. “I been eating right good. I figgered that was enough to bring me out of it.”

  “Your appetite is fine and that’s a good sign,” Nancy said. “But you still have a ways to go.”

  “I come out of it a coupla days ago,” he said. Rawley struggled to sit up, but couldn’t quite make it. “Aw! “ he exclaimed in disappointment. “Damn! By all rights I should be doing a lot better by now.”

  “Not necessarily. And don’t you try to push it,” Nancy cautioned him. “How about some more soup?”

  He nodded. “If that’s what it’s gonna take to get the fire back in me, then bring it on.” He frowned. “Has Tim been around looking for me to get back to work?”

  “Don’t you give that brother of mine another thought,” Nancy told him. “He came back from that last trip into town a couple of nights ago and went straight out to the cattle camp the next morning. With you gone, he’s probably got to do some work for a change.”

  “He never seemed to like it out there too much,” Rawley said.

  “I’m glad he’s got to stick to his job,” Nancy said. “That card playing of his causes me too much worry.”

  “He ain’t been betting any ranch belongings or land, has he?” Rawley asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy said. “But as the male heir he can do anything with the property he wants, and there’s no way I can stop any foolishness.”

  “I’m sure Tim ain’t gonna do nothing that stupid,” Rawley said.

  “We’d better stop talking and let you rest,” Nancy said standing up. “I’ll go get you that bowl of soup.”

  “That’s what I need,” Rawley said. He closed his eyes as she left the room. The walk around the house had worn him out more than he would admit. Between dizziness and weak legs, he hadn’t been sure he was even going to make it.

  A few minutes later Nancy was back with a bowl of hot chicken soup. She’d put in some wild onions and summer peas to flavor it up. “Can you sit up now?”

  “Lemme try,” Rawley said. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to get up to a sitting position. He leaned back against the headboard. “Ain’t I strong? I sat up all by myself.”

  “You’re a good boy,” Nancy said, smiling. She spooned up some of the soup and fed him. “How’s that?”

  “Delicious,” Rawley said sincerely. He took a couple of more mouthfuls, then leaned back to rest a bit. “The way I figger things, we can get hitched right after the drive to Kansas, right?”

  “If that’s what you want,” Nancy said.

  “O’ course I do,” Rawley said. “And if the Good Lord’s willing and the creeks don’t rise, I’ll have my pay for us to start out on. The only thing is deciding just what place we’re gonna go to.”

  Nancy looked around the room. “I hate to leave this house. I was born in it and lived here all my life.” She fed him some more soup.

  “Well, darling, I reckon we can’t stay here,” Rawley said. “Tim wouldn’t put up with that.”

  “I’m ashamed he’s my brother sometimes,” Nancy said bitterly.

  “He’ll grow up later on, dear,” Rawley assured her. “It’ll all work out in the end. You wait and see. Him and us will end up visiting a lot with each other. And I bet it won’t take too long neither.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Nancy said.

  “Sure I am.”

  “I was kind of hoping that we could stay on here and you could be the foreman,” Nancy said.

  “I think we better think on starting our own spread,” Rawley said.

  “That will be difficult on the Diablos,” Nancy said. “There’s about as many ranches now as this area can support.”

  “There’s always the Cherokee Strip,” Rawley suggested. “A feller can get a good deal on land from the Indians up there. I’ll have enough money to get a few head o’ cattle.”

  “Perhaps Chaw will go in with us on the venture,” Nancy said.

  “You wouldn’t mind that?” Rawley asked hopefully.

  “Of course not!” Nancy chided. “I think old Chaw is a perfectly delightful man.”

  “I’ll ask him,” Rawley said. “I reckon he’ll go along with us. With him chipping in on it, we’ll have a bigger herd. He and I can do some looking in on this while we’re up there in Dodge city. There’s fellers in that town that know all about what’s going on in the cattle business in any part o’ the country you care to look into.”

  “Here. Take some more soup,” Nancy said.

  The meal, small as it was, made Rawley feel better. A pleasant warmth spread through him, and the trembling weakness that had plagued him moments before eased up a bit.

  “How’s that shoulder?” Nancy asked.

  “A little sore,” Rawley said.

/>   “That means it must hurt a lot,” Nancy scolded. “You always cover up when you’re in pain.”

  “Well, I could sure complain about the way it itches, if you want to know the truth,” Rawley admitted.

  “That’s a good sign,” Nancy advised him. “It means it’s clean and healing nicely.”

  “Can I scratch it?”

  “No!” She kept feeding him for another ten minutes until the bowl was finished. “Want some more, darling?”

  Rawley shook his head. “I reckon as to how I’m full. Maybe later.”

  Nancy glanced outside at the growing dusk, “It’ll be dark soon. You probably should go to sleep.”

  He settled down on the bed as she fixed up the pillow again. “A good night’s sleep sounds like heaven itself,” he said. “I’ll be stronger in the morning and really walk around this old house.”

  “We’ll see,” Nancy said, arranging the quilt.

  “Why, in another coupla days I’ll run all the way down to Mexico just to fetch us some chili peppers,” Rawley said.

  Nancy laughed. She bent down and kissed him on the mouth. “Go to sleep, darling.”

  Rawley smiled as his eyes slowly closed. He listened to the sounds of Nancy’s soft footsteps as she left the bedroom and walked across the parlor. The extreme fatigue made slumber sweep over him fast and deep. Within moments he was lost to the world, his breath even and deep as he slept.

  Rawley didn’t dream. He had sunk into a heavy, natural unconsciousness that his body used as it continued going through the process of healing itself and recovering from the infection and trauma of being hit by a large caliber rifle slug. He finally came awake some hours later when it was completely dark outside.

  Rawley turned his head and glanced out the window, noting that the moon was behind clouds. At that moment he realized what had awakened him. He felt a stirring to relieve himself. Rawley fought it as long as he could, but finally had to answer nature’s call. Slowly, laboriously he slid from under the covers until he was on his knees on the floor. Reaching under the bed he pulled out the chamber pot, breathing in relief as he urinated fully and forcibly. No doubt about it. The dehydration from the fever was gone. Letting go of that much water meant things were back to normal in that part of the process of getting better.

  When he finished, he slid the pot back and leaned against the bed resting. Suddenly a sense of uneasiness flashed through him. There seemed to be no reason for the nervousness, but it was too strong to be denied.

  Rawley held his breath as he listened, but could hear nothing. Reaching out to where his pistol sat on the lower shelf of the bedstand, he grasped it and brought it close to him. He slowly got to his feet. When he was fully erect, he felt another wave of dizziness, but he angrily fought it. This was no time to let a weakness take over.

  Moving deliberately he went to the window and peered out into the ranch yard. It was dark and moonless, the features of objects barely visible in the deep gloom. But he could perceive no movement. Rawley still realized he was acting on naked instinct, that he couldn’t be sure that he’d actually heard anything, but he’d damned well felt some sort of sensation that made him nervous. The cowboy realized it could be nothing but edginess due to his injury, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He decided to walk around the house.

  He’d just reached the bedroom door when the window behind him broke and a half-dozen rapid shots blasted in from outside. Rawley whirled and caught the glimpse of a man in the sudden, bright flashes of gunfire. He raised his pistol and squeezed the trigger. The recoil of the weapon tipped him off balance and, in his weakness, he staggered backward into the parlor to collide with the sofa before hitting the floor.

  “Rawley!” Nancy’s scream seemed to fill the house.

  “I’m all right,” he yelled back. “Stay put!”

  “The hell if I will!” she retorted. Seconds later, her shadowy figure appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Where are you?”

  “By the sofa,” he answered in a whisper. “Keep your voice down. I think there’s several of ’em outside the house.”

  She joined him on the floor, cradling a Winchester carbine. “What happened?”

  “Some sonofabitch tried to shoot me in bed, but I was at the door,” Rawley said.

  He noted the weapon she held. “Where in the world did you get that?”

  “I always have one by my bed,” she answered. “Anyhow, what were you doing here in the parlor? You know you’re not supposed to walk around.”

  “Sweet love,” Rawley pointed out, “if I hadn’t been walking around, I’d be a bloody mess in there right now.” He put his hand on her mouth. “Don’t talk. We got to listen.”

  There were no sounds for a few moments, then some scuttling could be heard on three sides of the house. Finally there was some quick, whispered speaking before silence settled in again.

  “There’s more’n one of ’em out there, all right,” Rawley said.

  “We’ve got a fight on our hands,” Nancy said. “I guess those raiders finally decided to hit a ranch instead of a cattle camp or isolated cowboys.”

  “I’d say you was right,” Rawley agreed.

  “How’re you feeling, dear?”

  “I was dizzy,” Rawley said. “But right now I figger that’s the least o’ my problems.”

  Nancy started to speak, but she stopped. “Shhh!”

  “The front door,” Rawley whispered.

  The portal rattled slightly. Like all the ranch houses, this one was never locked. The intruder slowly pushed it open and stepped inside.

  Nancy raised the Winchester and fired. The bullet, flying at an upward angle, hit the man under the rib cage. He was flung back out the door to sprawl onto the front porch.

  More noise came from another part of the house. Nancy grasped Rawley’s arm. “The kitchen! They’re coming in through the kitchen!”

  Rawley, on his hands and knees, turned in that direction. Once more the insidious dizziness hit him hard. He tried to ignore it, but he lost his balance and tumbled over on his side. Rawley could hear the sound of scuffling boots on the kitchen floor, moving fast toward the door that separated him and Nancy from the interlopers.

  “I don’t like uninvited people in my kitchen!” Nancy hissed under her breath. She raised up as the first man came into the parlor. The Winchester discharged, and the explosion was followed by a lightning-quick working of the cocking lever. The carbine blasted again.

  “Oof!” A man spun around and staggered across the room toward the open front door. He almost made it before sprawling across the parlor floor.

  Now Rawley was on his feet. He lurched unsteadily toward the door, damning the dizzy feeling and fighting it with every ounce of inner strength he possessed. He charged into the kitchen and saw a man’s silhouette faintly framed in the window. He fired a snap shot.

  A blast filled the room as did a quick flash of light. The doorjamb by Rawley’s head exploded, hitting him with splinters. Desperately he emptied his revolver in the direction of the attack.

  A thud on the floor was so heavy and sudden that it shook the house. Rawley instantly squatted down to make himself as small a target as possible. But no other shots followed. The only sound in the kitchen was shallow, labored breathing. Rawley knew he’d hit the raider bad.

  “Darling?” Nancy’s voice sounded from the parlor.

  “I’m all right,” Rawley said. “Be quiet. We got to listen.”

  Several long moments passed without a sound. Finally Rawley cautiously went to the window and peered out. Nothing seemed to move in the ranch yard. Exercising a great deal of caution, he went to the back door and stood quietly in apprehensive vigilance. After a few minutes he went back toward the parlor and called out to Nancy, “Bring a lantern.”

  Moments later, Nancy came in with the illumination. They walked over to the man in the kitchen. He was an enormous fellow, and a quick examination showed he’d be dead in moments. The thick scent of wood smoke h
ung over him, giving evidence he’d been out camping for some time. They went back to the parlor and found the man Nancy had shot in the house. He was a smaller man, but shared the same campfire odor with the other.

  Next they went to the porch and checked the man out there. He too was dead, and also smelled of smoke.

  “You done for him too,” Rawley said. “There should be one more by the bedroom window.”

  They walked cautiously around the house and found the first man. Even Rawley winced at the sight in the lantern light. Most of his face had been blown off his skull. From the pistolero’s nose down was nothing but a gaping, red wound.

  Nancy was too concerned about Rawley to care much about the horrible spectacle lying at their feet. “Are you sure you’re all right, darling?”

  “I think that weakness kinda went away in the excitement,” he said. “Maybe that’s what I needed—a damn good scare.”

  “That’s four of them gone,” Nancy said in a weak voice. “I hope that’s enough to finally put a stop to all this trouble.”

  Rawley shook his head. “I don’t think so. But it’s going to really bring this range war out into the open and it’ll end up one way or the other pretty-damn quick.”

  “One way or the other?” Nancy asked.

  “I’ve seen these situations before, sweetheart,” Rawley said. “And there’s always a winner and a loser. No draws. And right now it’s a toss-up as to how it’ll end for us.”

  Eighteen

  Rawley, in old Zeb Hawkins’s former bedroom, put the rest of his things in the saddlebags and carried them out to the kitchen. “Well,” he said to Nancy. “I’m packed up and ready to settle into the bunkhouse.”

  “It doesn’t take much for a cowboy to pack up and move, does it?” Nancy asked.

  “It sure don’t,” Rawley agreed. “Or in my case, I reckon you could say the same thing about a feller that was a sheriff once. You don’t collect much luxuries in that line o’ work neither. Just about all a feller’s belongings fit real well into a coupla saddlebags.”

  It had been three days since the raid on the ranch. Rawley’s recovery had gone quickly after the excitement, and he felt almost as good as new.