Читать книгу Texas Blood Feud - Dusty Richards - Страница 10

By Saturday at noon, the women had loaded the food, utensils, cooking gear, bedrolls, and a tarp for a fly in the army ambulance that had been converted into a chuck wagon. The wooden barrels on each side of the wagon were full of fresh water. Hat cocked back on his head, Reg sat on the spring seat, the lines in his gloved hands, and he kicked off the brake. He clucked to the big team of black mares with feathered hocks, and they stomped out the gate in a high-stepping trot.

On the buckboard sat Louise and Susie, who was driving the team of matched bays. Dale Allen; May, who was holding the baby; and J.D. stood on the porch, holding back the two young boys. All waved of them at the group’s departure. Heck and Chet rode out after the buckboard, waving good-bye to the people on the porch.

The Warner School House served as the social beacon for the countryside. Mason, the county seat, was thirty miles away. Besides serving as a church, the school also boasted a community cemetery. There wasn’t enough water close by to suit the Baptists, so they rode clear over to the San Saba River for their submersion of sinners. That’s why they named the branch that ran beside the school Methodist Creek.

The Byrnes set up in their usual place on the west side of the schoolyard. That gave them some cottonwoods to hang ropes between to make the fly work as a tent, or a shield against the north wind if it should it blow in. Reg had the chuck wagon wheels scotched and the backboard down for the women to prepare supper on. Susie was soon there to help him. Chet and Heck strung the ropes for the tarp. Heck held the bridle of Strawberry, a big red roan, and Chet stood on the saddle to get the ropes tied high enough on the tree trunks.

Louise came by on her way to go see Maude Mayes, another war widow. ”I don’t think it’ll rain, but it’ll be nice to have that up anyway.”

“I’d hate installing it in a storm,” Chet said, tying the side off, and Louise moved on.

Ten-year-old Heck grinned big. “So would I.”

The last rope strung, Chet slid down easily into the saddle and off the roan. “Thanks, Heck. Now we have to haul up that tarp and stake it down.”

“Lots of work making camp for women,” Heck said.

“Oh, I’ve seen the time I’d’ve gave my soul for a tent to get out of the rain under one.”

“When do you think they’ll let me go up the trail, Uncle Chet?”

“Year, maybe two, why?”

“I want to go. I want to go with you and the others.”

Reg was helping them unroll the large canvas. “There’s still going to be drives when you’re twelve.”

“I’m just itching to go.”

“So was I,” Reg said. “Now I been there, I can take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t been there.” He was pulling with Chet on the tarp slung across the ridge rope to start it over.

“Here, I’ll get Strawberry and let him pull it.” Chet ran for his horse and returned in the saddle. He soon had the rope dallied on the horn, and the gelding made short work of getting the tarp in place. Then Reg went to flipping it to spread it out overhead. He and Heck soon had it in place and the staking process began. In a short while, the shelter was up and secured.

Wade Morgan came by and squatted down on his boot heels to talk to Chet. “I guess you’re going north come spring?”

“I’m counting on it. We’ve got several head promised besides our own. You got some?”

“Not many, maybe two hundred steers.”

“I can take ’em.”

“What’ll it cost me?” Morgan was close to forty. Short, squat built man did some blacksmithing and had the shoulders for the job.

“About twelve bucks a head.”

“That’s higher than others’ve been quoting me.”

“I’ve not missed delivering them. My losses so far have been low. The prices I get there are all the market will allow. The France boys sent their cattle up two years ago with a man cheaper than I was, and they never saw that fella again. Lost everything.”

Morgan exhaled deep and nodded. “I know. I know. Five years ago, I send two hundred steers north with a fella named Sears and got the low price on fifty head. Said the others stampeded into a river and drowned.”

“So we’ve discussed the bargain deals. I may lose all of them. But I’ve paid life insurance of four hundred dollars on every hand I’ve lost, if they had an heir, plus their wages for the whole trip.”

“Hell, I know you’ve been fair, but I need all I can get out of’em.”

Chet clapped him on the shoulder. “So do I. And I can’t guarantee I can come back with a dime, but it won’t because I didn’t try.”

“Mark me down for two hundred.”

Chet took the logbook out and on the page marked “Drive of 1873” he wrote down, “Wade Morgan 200 head.” “We’ll be road-branding them in early March. The grass breaks loose, we’ll go north.”

They shook hands on the deal.

Morgan left him, headed back toward the building. Chet noticed Marla Porter drive by seated beside her husband on the buckboard. Porter’s fine team of matched horses were trotting along in step. Straight-backed, she sat head high, with a wide-brimmed hat and a tight-fitting jacket that emphasized her figure. Her posture drew a hidden grin from Chet. The sight of her also made his guts roil. She was like a bad habit that he needed to quit—but he couldn’t—damn her anyway.

Louise came back looking stern-faced, and after looking around, talked to him from behind her hand. “The word is that Felton and Mitch Reynolds went north yesterday with a wagon for three bodies. One of them, they said, is Roy. The other was Luther Hines, Kathren’s husband. And the third was a Dab Stevens, some cowboy worked around here.”

“So?”

“Those were the men you hung?”

He looked around, then hustled her aside. “Shut your gawdamn mouth. Now, I told you this was going to get volatile. Those men were common thieves. What they got they deserved.”

“But they were men you knew—my boys went to school with Roy.”

“Louise—”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“All right, but your damn mouth is going to get your boys killed. That’s not a threat, that’s a promise.”

Her brown eyes flew open and she put her hand to her lips in pale-faced shock. Teary-eyed, she pushed past him for the wagon. “Damn you, Chester Byrnes. Damn you.”

Shaking mad, Chet went to the fire ring and poured himself a cup of fresh coffee. Susie came from the fly on the wagon, her hands white with flour. “What did you tell her?”

He looked off at the late afternoon sun shining through the high mare’s-tail clouds. “That her mouth would get her boys killed if she didn’t shut up.”

“What set that off?”

“She came back babbling about them going up north after three bodies.”

“Who?”

He blew on his coffee. “A couple of the Reynolds men.”

“Who were they going after?”

“Roy, Dab Stevens, and Luther Hines.”

“Oh, my Gawd. That’s who was in on it?”

He nodded.

“I wonder how Kathren is taking it.”

“I have no idea. I can say this. He never mentioned her or the girl. It was like he’d turned his back on them. Even the boys wondered about that.”

“Bad deal. You know Louise may want to go home tonight after your confrontation.”

“Sis, she’s been a thorn in my side for years. I didn’t send Mark to Mississippi to fight. But we’ve all had to bow to her wishes ever since. I am tired of it.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and made a disappointed shake of her head at him. “Why don’t you go up to Mason and find you a nice plump little German girl who will raise you some kids and smile whenever you come home to her?”

“How’s that going to help me?”

“I don’t know, big brother. I don’t know, but you do need a wife.”

“I don’t need one.”

“All right, you say you don’t. I’ll have supper ready shortly. They’ll start dancing soon.”

“Stanton going to be here?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe you need a husband?” He wondered how serious Ryan Thomas Stanton was about her anyway.

“I have enough to say grace over now,” she said.

“Try to have a good time.”

“Why? Do you think it is our last chance to have any fun?” She frowned at him for an answer.

“No, but I know how hard you work. You need to relax for once.”

“I’ll get back to work then.” Susie laughed at him and left for her cooking.

Reg and Heck came back to camp for supper. Heck looked pleased to be getting to tag along with an older boy. He was busting to get off the place and see more of the world. Chet could read it in his eyes. The most inquisitive ten-year-old he’d ever seen. He wondered where he came by those footloose ways.

Susie asked Reg if he’d seen his girl, and he nodded. “I’m going to dance with her later. Those lessons you gave me should work.”

Chet laughed. “They will. Sis is a great dancer.”

She shook her head and began forking out the sourdough biscuits from the Dutch oven. “Time to eat, men.”

After the meal, Susie sent the rest on, refusing any help washing the dishes. Chet wandered across the schoolyard, which was full of excited children running and playing tag. Someone had built a bonfire for light and some heat as the cooler night set in.

“Any word on cattle prices?” Elmer Stokes asked Chet when he joined the ring of men.

He shook his head.

The older man nodded. “You hear they think Hines, a Reynolds boy, and some cowboy named Stevens were hung a week ago way up north in Palo Pinto or Parker County?”

“I heard that.”

“I wonder what they were hung for.”

Chet looked hard at the orange and blue flames consuming the wood sticks. “I imagine for rustling.”

“Damn, I can’t imagine them stealing stock.”

“Gawdamn you, Byrnes. My son Roy wasn’t rustling nothing. I can damn sure tell you that.” Earl Reynolds went to elbowing people out of the way like an angry bear until he faced Chet.

“I suppose he was riding full out and accidentally got his head in a noose. Folks up there must not take to rustling. I’m sorry for you over the loss of a boy, but you know the law.”

“Law? That’s murder.”

“I guess those three men that ran out of a place to walk down on Calahan’s place last spring were just unlucky, too.”

“They were gawdamn horse thieves and caught red-handed.”

“Maybe you answered that yourself, Earl.”

“How do you know so much about this?”

“Word of mouth, Earl. I heard this morning you sent for their bodies.”

Earl waved his threatening finger in Chet’s face. “I’m going to find those killers and get every one of them.”

“Better get on your horse and ride up there where it happened. Take plenty of ammo and your funeral suit.” He’d had his fill of having the larger man in his face, but he didn’t want a ruckus with all the women and children around.

“Funeral suit?”

“I imagine those folks aren’t going to take your murdering them as a friendly act.”

“They’ll pay! Everyone that was there at that hanging of that poor boy will pay with their lives.”

“Back off,” Chet said. “There’s young folks here don’t need to hear this.”

For a few seconds, he thought the larger man might take a swing at him. On the balls of his feet, he was ready to duck and drive a fist. But that moment came and passed when others in the circle began to solemnly agree with his comments. Not the right place…

Earl left, threatening everyone within hearing of his voice that his poor boy’s death would not go unavenged. Many shook their heads warily, and the crackling of the fire was the only sounds, save for the music of a fiddle coming from inside the schoolhouse. The dance was about to begin.

Chet headed for the lighted doorway and climbed the stairs, deep in concern. They’d learn in time. Those Reynolds—

“Susie coming?” the lanky Ryan Thomas asked, standing on his boot toes, looking all around.

“She’s coming. Finishing the dishes.”

“I’ll go see about her then.” He smiled big at Chet and started off. “Thanks.”

It would be nice to be twenty-some years old and innocently in love. He nodded to a few that he knew who were standing around watching the dancers, and found a peg on the wall for his gun belt and hat. Since the Comanche threat had eased so much, folks hung up their guns—made thing more peaceful.

“I want a dance later, cowboy,” Nancy Brant said. The tall broad-shouldered wife of a neighbor always danced with him a time or two, since her husband Ralph seldom shuffled his feet. He agreed, and shook hands with Jim Crammer, a short, soft-spoken, man who ranched west of their place.

“I thought Earl was going to drag you into a fight earlier.”

Chet nodded. “He’s like a sore-toed bear. Shame about his son, but he knows the law.”

“It’s hard to accept things when they touch you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He ain’t going up there and shoot up anyone. Why, those folks won’t stand for it.”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“A boy gets mixed up in bad company and that’s what happens.”

“I agree. I better dance with Nancy. They’re playing a waltz.”

“Always good to see you, Chet. Tell Rock hi.”

“I will.”

His movements around the room with the tall woman were easy flowing. She talked about her three children and a new colt. Lighthearted, she laughed about some wreck she’d had with a goat. As usual, it was a fun few minutes with a good dancer.

Next, he asked Marla to dance—the one time they would dare to make contact during the evening.

“Bad about the Reynolds boy.”

His hand in the middle of her back, he could feel the familiar muscles under his palm as they went around. “Yes.”

“How’s Kathren Hines? I haven’t seen her.”

“I don’t think she’s here.”

Marla shook her head. “Poor thing. Husband hung for rustling, I guess.”

“I guess.”

“When will you come back and see me?”

“Next week, I guess.”

“He’s going to San Antonio Monday. Be gone all week, he says.”

“I’ll see how things go.”

“Two trips over wouldn’t hurt.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, politely returning her to her place along the wall. Damn, he felt cheated that that was as long as he got to hold her. If she was his wife, he wouldn’t leave her home by herself to do all the chores. Then he kept the smile to himself and nodded to Neddy Coleman.

“Dance with me cowboy?” the straight-backed woman asked him.

The seventy-year-old rancher in her divided skirt and man’s shirt still showed lots of the beauty her late husband Wye had seen in her years before. She was the picture of a west Texas take-charge-when-the-man-is-gone woman. Able to ride and rope with any male, she had the look of a lovely younger woman with her movements and still soft features.

“I see you haven’t found a woman yet. Old bachelors are not that swell. Find you a woman.” Her hand on his waist gave him a small squeeze. “Besides, a good woman can push you into better things.”

“Neddy, I’d ask you in a minute to marry me.”

She shook her head in disapproval. “I’d be about as much fun as a wind-broken, stifled horse. You know what I mean.”

They both laughed. She damn sure got to the point in a hurry.

He saw Susie and her man dancing and talking to each other. What would Chet do without her? He might have to—cross that river when he got to it.

“I have a tough colt needs the edge took off him. He’s out of good stock but—well, if you don’t have time to mess with him—”

“Did you bring him along, Neddy?”

“Yes, I thought—”

“We’ll take him home and curry him down some.” The dance was over.

A smile spread over her handsome face as they stood on the floor. “Bend down.”

He did and she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a darling, boy.”

Drinking sweet lemonade, he watched Marla dancing the next set with a rancher from over east. Sometimes, being this close to her made him fidgety—even jealous. Why couldn’t he find a woman of his own? Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough.

Early in the evening, he excused himself and went back to camp. It was empty when he flung out his bedroll. Clear sky full of stars, no need to sleep under the tarp, so he planned to sleep in the open beyond the buckboard. Seated on his butt, he took off his boots, unbuckled his gun belt, and wound it up so it be by his head, then crawled inside and looked at the stars. How much trouble would he have when Earl Reynolds discovered the truth? Time would tell.