They sat together on a pile of hay as Pate explained his hope that Lonnie would consider becoming part of his family. He’d been rehearsing the speech since they’d left Tascosa. He talked about his wife, described the ranch, and noted how close Lonnie would be to Clay’s farm. Aberdene wasn’t far away, close enough for him to ride Maizy in and resume his schooling and meet others his own age. In the summers there was a town baseball team he might even like to join. If Lonnie wanted to learn the cattle business, he’d gladly be his teacher. If he was more inclined to be a farmer, Mr. Breckenridge could provide pointers.
Jonesy tried not to make things sound too idyllic. “I ain’t promising it’ll be perfect. My wife and me can’t no more replace your ma and pa than the Callaways have. But we can give you a home that’s permanent and has a lot of love in it if you’re of a mind to accept it.”
Lonnie was silent for a moment as he rose and walked to the doorway of the barn. He looked toward the cabin for some time. “I wish there was more I could do to pay back the Callaways for all they’ve done for me. They’ve given me a place to live and fed me. Treated me good. She’s even sewed me clothes.”
“I think you’ve paid them back more than you know. Folks get old, and it’s nice having somebody young around. You being here has brought more joy to their lives than you can ever know.”
“He’s gonna die soon, you know,” Lonnie said. “It ain’t just Mr. Callaway’s coughing and trouble breathing. You can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice.”
“And you’ll be one of the good memories he takes with him.”
Lonnie turned and smiled. It was his answer.
“Let’s go up to the house and tell them what you’ve decided,” Jonesy said.
Cora Callaway was watching through the window and saw them walking from the barn, arm in arm. They looked happy.
“Oh, my stars,” she said, “we’re going to have to have us a special dinner tonight to celebrate.” As expected, she again had tears in her eyes.
* * *
* * *
IN TASCOSA, ELI Rayburn had been in a foul mood for days. He’d had no idea how much he would miss the company of Clay Breckenridge and Jonesy Pate. And Madge. A couple of times a day, he would walk down to the mercantile to say hello to Jennie and find she was also in the doldrums.
“At the rate things are happening,” he told her, “this place will soon be a ghost town, which, I suppose, won’t set too many folks to crying.”
He was on the way back to the livery when he saw two horses out front. Neither had a saddle. Their bridles were poorly fashioned from rope.
He was stunned when he walked in to see Ben Baggett and another man standing there. Both were dirty and looked exhausted. “Thought maybe you were closed for business since nobody was around,” Baggett said.
“Something I can do for you?”
“We’re in the need of two saddles, all the riggings, and blankets. I have to ride one more mile bareback, I’m liable to shoot the horse and just leave him lie.”
Rayburn was at a loss for words. He looked at Baggett as if he was seeing a ghost. Same with the man standing next to him. He was familiar to Eli, but Eli couldn’t put a name to the face.
Baggett’s raspy voice jolted him back to attention. “Saddles? You got any?”
“I’ve got a couple stored in a shed out back. Let me go get them.” Rayburn didn’t tell him that one had come off the horse Paul Price had recently brought in—the one Top Wilson had left down in the gulley.
“They’ll do,” Baggett said, barely looking at them. “We’re going to walk down to the laundry and see about getting ourselves cleaned up and more presentable. Then we’ll visit the mercantile to see about new clothes and provisions.”
“If you don’t see Paul soon as you arrive at the laundry, just give a loud holler,” Rayburn said. “He’s sometimes down in the woods, still on the lookout for Indians.”
Baggett showed little interest in the remark. “While we’re gone,” he said, “maybe you could feed our horses and give ’em a good brushing. I’ll pay when we get back. Got any whiskey?”
“Might have a sip or two,” Eli said.
“I’ll buy that as well,” Baggett said.
Rayburn nodded. As they walked away, he called out, “Where you gonna be heading?”
Baggett turned and gave him a hard look. “As far away from Palo Duro Canyon as we can get,” he said.
PART FOUR
HELL’S HALF ACRE
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Five months later
CLAY AND MADGE were married in God’s Place Chapel in Aberdene. Jonesy and Patricia were there, accompanied by Lonnie, who was wearing the first store-bought clothes he’d ever owned. Once the brief ceremony was completed, they had walked to the town park, where a celebration was underway.
There were tables filled with fried chicken and sweet potato pies, fresh bread and jars of lemonade. Children were pitching horseshoes and having sack races. Grown-ups sat on benches and blankets spread in the shade of huge pecan trees, talking and watching the kids. Laughter could be heard everywhere. Lonnie had never seen anything like it.
That day, the look on his face pleased the Pates and the newlyweds, assuring them that he was adjusting well to his new home.
Now, months later, they still talked fondly of that “wedding day.”
Ruben had done a good job tending Clay’s farm in his absence, and the spring rains had continued into the summer, lending an emerald luster to everything. Sarge had been glad to see Clay and quickly welcomed Madge into the family.
She and Patricia became immediate friends and visited each other regularly, as did their husbands. Rarely was Tascosa mentioned, except to wonder how Eli or the Broders were. The money, buried on Boot Hill, was never discussed.
One Sunday, after riding Maizy over for a visit, Lonnie happened upon the graves of Clay’s parents and brother and asked about them. His mother and father had been much like Lonnie’s, Clay said, loving, hardworking people. When remembering Cal, he spoke only of good times and good deeds.
“Losing family’s hard. It leaves an empty place that’s difficult to fill unless you’re lucky enough to find others,” Clay said. “You and me, we’ve been fortunate to have new folks come into our lives and bring us new happiness.”
They walked to the fence line of the pasture and picked wildflowers, then placed them on each of the graves. Lonnie didn’t mention it, but he wished the resting place of his parents was closer.
Seeking to lighten the mood, Clay asked about school. “You’re now in grade seven as I recall,” he said.
“Eight,” Lonnie said. “They put me ahead a grade after I showed my teacher I was good at reading and writing. I can thank my ma for seeing to that.”
He talked about how much he liked Miss Cochran, his teacher, and his classmates. He bragged that he was the fastest runner in school and admitted there was one girl, named Ginger, he especially admired.
What he didn’t mention was the stranger he’d seen riding past the schoolhouse several times recently, his hat always pulled low on his forehead.
* * *
* * *
FOR BEN BAGGETT, thoughts of the past were constantly on his mind. Somewhere, somebody still had the money Top Wilson had stolen from him, and he was more determined than ever to find it. Through a process of elimination, he’d considered the possibilities.
He had no reason to think that the livery owner in Tascosa might have it. His place was the same run-down barn and corral it had always been. If he had somehow gotten the money, he would have shut the doors of his business and been on his way, headed out West probably. Instead, he continued to eke out a living renting tents to passing cattle drivers and blacksmithing.
Wilson had no friends. There was no way one of the others living in the canyon had gotten their hands on the
money pouch. Even on the off chance someone had, his secret was forever safe, thanks to the Comanches. The girl he’d been sweet on had repeatedly rejected him and was now working for her grandpa in the mercantile, and her pa was still raising goats. They’d not likely received any financial windfall. After speaking with the strange-acting fella who ran the laundry and bath, he was scratched from the list of suspects.
Somehow, somebody, Ben had decided, had made off from Tascosa with his money. From what he’d learned from Paul Price—when he wasn’t talking crazy of another potential Indian raid—the fella named Breckenridge and his partner, along with Madge, had left for a place called Aberdene over in East Texas.
Find them, Baggett thought, and they would lead him to his money.
First, however, he needed to locate somewhere new and get his life back in order. The money he’d put away in the cave wouldn’t last forever. Once clear thinking had returned following the murderous attack in the canyon, he decided to head for Fort Worth. It was a cattle town, and he still considered himself a cattleman, however outside the law he operated.
Fort Worth, he knew, was the major stopping place for those driving longhorns along the Chisholm Trail toward Kansas City. Once the site of an old army outpost, it had grown into a bawdy, no-holds-barred town where an area known as Hell’s Half Acre was home to notorious outlaws hiding from the law for various reasons. A bigger Tascosa. It would be the perfect place for Baggett to begin rebuilding his gang and a good place to headquarter.
For the moment, however, all he had was Calvin Dunning, a partner he considered half-witted and of little use, a survivor of the canyon raid thanks to his cowardice. Baggett would keep him around only until he found someone better.
Still, while he got acquainted with the men in Hell’s Half Acre, he did have one assignment he felt Dunning would be capable of carrying out.
“Once we get ourselves settled,” he said, “I’ll be wanting you to ride over to this place called Aberdene and locate some folks. Might be interesting for you, seeing as how one of them’s your wife. Meanwhile, I think we need to go find us a place to drink some whiskey.”
After hearing what his boss wanted him to do, Dunning badly needed a drink.
* * *
* * *
BAGGETT FOUND THE city life invigorating. He liked the lights and noise, the constant movement of people. There were numerous saloons to choose from and places where you could order a steak well into the night. No one ever seemed to sleep. It brought to mind his days in Brownsville, on the Texas coast, and he regretted spending so many years in a place as remote as Palo Duro Canyon.
At the first saloon they visited, they saw two fights break out. In another, a drunken cowboy won a poker hand and, in celebration, pulled his pistol and fired several shots into the ceiling. Few patrons even bothered to look up from their drinking. Things were freewheeling and apparently lawless. The latter was just what Baggett was looking for.
Dunning, meanwhile, wrestled with mixed feelings. He was glad to be riding out of the city, alone for a while, but was anxious about the job he’d been given. He had no wish to see Madge and considered ways to avoid her. Hopefully, the bushy beard he’d grown would provide some disguise.
He’d felt relief when Baggett had instructed that he only determine that Clay and Jonesy were there, not approach anyone. Just find them, then report their activities and location back to him. Once that was done, Baggett would figure out the next step.
Dunning, aware that his boss didn’t hold him in high regard, hoped it would not involve him.
It was easier than he’d anticipated.
The first day in town he was having breakfast in the hotel when he heard Jonesy Pate’s name mentioned by a man at a nearby table. Dunning went over, introduced himself as Haley Johnson, and said he’d overheard the name of an old friend.
“I’m just passing through,” he said, “but if Jonesy’s living anywhere nearby, I’d like to drop in on him.”
He was immediately given directions to Pate’s ranch. “You’re in luck. Him and his friend returned from a trip somewhere out West a few months back,” one of the men said. “And Jonesy came back with a youngster who’s now living with him and his wife.”
“Lordy mercy. Jonesy’s got himself a son?”
“Oh, no. As I hear it, this boy’s an orphan who Jonesy took a liking to and invited to move in with him and Patricia. Nice-looking young man. Don’t recall his name, but I’m sure you’ll meet him.”
“I look forward to it,” Dunning said. “Now, once again, which road is it I want to take to get to his place?”
The man pointed his napkin in the direction of the kitchen. “Go north and just follow the one that runs out past the schoolhouse. It ain’t far. You’ll first come to the Breckenridge farm. Then Pate’s place is just a mile or two on down the way.”
As if feeling left out of the conversation, the other breakfast eater spoke up. “Clay Breckenridge, he’s who went on the trip with Jonesy. And, believe it or not, he came back home with a lady he married just a while back. Real pretty woman.”
In five minutes, Dunning had learned everything he wanted to know and more, thanks to the gossipy old men. Not only had he found out that Breckenridge and Pate were, indeed, there, but also that his wife had married again.
For reasons he couldn’t fully explain, the latter didn’t interest him nearly as much as Pate taking in an orphan.
Later that day, he was hiding in a creek bed near the caliche road entrance to the Pate ranch when Lonnie rode past. Likely returning home from school, Dunning thought.
On the way back into town, he decided against trying to get a glimpse of Clay or the new Mrs. Breckenridge. Instead, he rode past the schoolhouse several times the following day, trying to get a better look at the boy. He had begun formulating a plan that he thought might put him in the good graces of his boss.
The orphan, he thought, could well be the key to finding Baggett’s stolen cash.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHEN CALVIN DUNNING returned to Fort Worth, he found Baggett sitting at a corner table in his favorite saloon. There was a half-full bottle of whiskey on the table and two cutthroat-looking cowboys across from him. Dunning didn’t even wait to be offered a drink before he began telling his boss he’d located the people he’d been sent to find.
“Everybody’s there, just like you thought, living right outside of Aberdene. I can draw you directions right to their front door,” he said. “And I’ve got some additional information you might find of interest.” He glanced across the table toward the two strangers, who had not spoken a word.
“You can talk freely,” Baggett said. “These boys have just joined up with us.”
Feeling confident, Dunning took the liberty of pouring himself a drink. He told Baggett of Pate bringing an orphan home with him. “The boy looks fifteen, maybe sixteen, and he’s attending school there in Aberdene,” he said. “Way I was told, he’s thought highly of by both Pate and Breckenridge.”
“Where did he come from?”
“That I wasn’t able to learn.”
“So what’s he got to do with my money?”
It was the question Calvin was hoping to hear. “Hardheaded as Pate and Breckenridge are likely to be,” he said, “I’m betting they ain’t going to be inclined to readily discuss the location of what you’re looking for. But if they were to fear harm might come to . . .”
Baggett was way ahead of him. “We kidnap the boy,” he said, “and hold on to him until I get my money.”
From across the table, the silent strangers smiled.
* * *
* * *
THE TWO MEN were brothers named Doozy and Alvin, short and stocky, both barely in their twenties when they started robbing stagecoaches and wagon trains. They had never been much good at it and had spent several stretches in various Texas jails. Just recen
tly released by the Callahan County sheriff, they had come to Fort Worth in hopes of starting a new and more financially rewarding career.
They had stayed drunk for several days and gotten into a few fights before they met Ben Baggett.
He could tell an outlaw when he saw one. He’d introduced himself, bought them a couple of drinks, and asked if they were looking for work.
In chorus they said, “Yessir.”
Baggett sealed the deal by buying them a bottle of cheap whiskey and said he would be back in touch in a couple of days. “I’ve got to do some thinking,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about a job I’ll need you to do.”
The following day he sent Dunning in search of Doozy and Alvin.
“Calvin here’s got directions to where you’ll be heading,” he said as they sat at the same table. This time there was no liquor since he wanted them stone-cold sober when he gave them instructions. “He’ll also describe a young’un who comes and goes from school every day. Your job will be to grab the boy without being seen and bring him back here. I’ve written out a message you’re to leave behind.”
Dunning spread a piece of paper on which he’d drawn a map that showed the directions to Aberdene. On one side he’d drawn a route to the East Texas community. On the other were the locations of the school and the ranch where Lonnie lived. He thought his role in the plot was over until Baggett had a final thought.
“Now that I think on it, it might be best if Calvin accompanies you so you don’t get lost,” Baggett said.
Dunning’s heart sank. Baggett slapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Why don’t you go down to the café and tell them to cook us up some steaks?” he said. “Don’t want you boys riding out on empty stomachs. Me and these boys will discuss their pay, then be there shortly.”
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