The Breckenridge Boys

by Carlton Stowers

  Standing shoulder to shoulder, Clay and Jonesy said little as they watched the celebration going on around them. The wonderful smells of all kinds of food wafted through the air. “Bet there’s not a single bowl of soup to be found,” Jonesy said.

  “Lord, I hope not.”

  Jonesy waited until the women left to find glasses of sweet tea before asking his friend how he was feeling. He was pleased to hear that Clay was again riding.

  “Ain’t nothing that’ll heal things faster than being home,” Jonesy said. Without even thinking, he rubbed the shoulder where he’d been shot. “Been a real strange experience,” he said. “A while back, we first rode out for Tascosa, young and full of beans, planning on making everything in the world right. Now here we are finally back, two older men proud to be alive and standing under this shade tree.”

  Clay extended his hand. “Having a friend like you means a lot,” he said. “I don’t think I ever thanked you proper for all you done to help me.”

  Jonesy, unable to think of a response, just gripped Clay’s hand. “If you’re feeling all that obligated,” he finally said, “maybe you could let me wear that hat sometime.”

  The mood had lightened by the time it was announced that contestants for the race should assemble. The men made their way toward where the judges were already in place at the finish line.

  “I have to admit, I ain’t been this nervous in a long time,” Jonesy said.

  Soon, they were cheering wildly. Without thinking, Clay tossed his new hat into the air. He raised his arms in celebration, letting his cane fall to the ground. Then he and Jonesy were hugging and jumping up and down.

  Lonnie, now the fastest man or boy in the county, had won the race by two full strides.

  EPILOGUE

  NOW ONLY BOOT Hill remains, windblown and unkept, its leaning headstones the lonesome reminders of those who once called Tascosa home.

  As they grew older, Clay and Madge rarely left the farm except for occasional visits to the Pate ranch. Ruben came to get them in the buggy and always delivered them back home before dark. Clay walked with a limp for the remainder of his life but did discard the cane. He died in his sleep at age eighty-eight, some say of grief rather than of poor health. Madge had passed away a year earlier when she fell from a ladder while trying to mend the roof of the henhouse.

  Though they never had children of their own, they delighted in sharing Lonnie with the Pates. He was regularly invited for supper and often rode Maizy over to spend weekends doing chores Clay was no longer able to.

  Clay and Madge were buried on the farm, next to Clay’s parents and brother. Years earlier, when old age had finally claimed Sarge, he was afforded a resting place at the foot of Cal’s grave.

  Jonesy Pate lived to be almost a hundred, though his final years were spent staring out the window of an old folks’ home, because he was no longer aware of what was going on in the world around him. Like Clay, he’d lost his wife several years earlier when Patricia contracted pneumonia.

  Long before their deaths, they had visited an Aberdene lawyer and officially adopted Lonnie.

  In time, they were all gone. Marshal Dodge Rankin, long retired, had a heart attack one evening while sitting on his back porch, smoking his beloved pipe. Doc Franklin retired after a young doctor from back East arrived in Aberdene and agreed to take up his various practices. He was later killed in a hunting accident.

  Eli was shoeing a horse when it kicked him in the head. He lingered in a coma for several days, then died.

  After finishing school, Lonnie married Ginger Dudley, the butcher’s daughter, and together they kept the Pate ranch going. Ginger later gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. At Lonnie’s request, they were named Nester and Cora, after the Callaways, who had lovingly cared for him back when Breckenridge and Pate first traveled to Tascosa.

  For a time, Lonnie studied mail-order courses in hopes of one day becoming an author. After the rejection of several short stories by a New York editor, he gave up on the idea of writing fiction and took a job as editor of the weekly Aberdene Record.

  And for five years straight, he held the title of Fastest Man in Grayson County.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks for the opportunity to Berkley editors Tom Colgan, Jennifer Snyder, and Rebecca Brewer. Having friends Jeff Guinn and James Ward Lee, and the lady of the house, Pat Stowers, read along provided much appreciated help. Encouragement and counsel from agent Jim Donovan also lit the trail.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Ralph Compton stood six foot eight without his boots. He worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist. His first novel, The Goodnight Trail, was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was the USA Today bestselling author of the Trail of the Gunfighter series, the Border Empire series, the Sundown Riders series, and the Trail Drive series, among others.

  Carlton Stowers is an award-winning journalist and the author of more than two dozen books, including Comanche Trail, which was named a finalist for both the Western Fictioneers and the Texas Institute of Letters best first novel awards. He lives in Cedar Hill, Texas.

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