Читать книгу Texas Blood Feud - Dusty Richards - Страница 11

Monday morning, a light frost hung in the air; Neddy’s big Roman-nosed bay was a stout three-year-old. Snubbed to the post in the center of the corral, he had a head-slinging fit. His nostrils flared open. He could have been breathing fire out of them. He was also too handy with his front feet, pawing and striking at Chet. But the hemp rope was looped around his flank, then between his front legs and through the ring on the halter, and every time he flew back, it was pinching down on his back and kidneys.

Hazing him with the saddle blanket was lesson number one.

“What does she call him?” Ray asked as he and his brother Ty sat on the fence to watch the operation.

“I call him Bugger.”

“He’s not very friendly.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll get that way if we sack him down enough.” Chet waved the blanket, and Bugger showed him the whites of his eyes and flew back again. This was not going to be a fast training process. But he agreed with Neddy on one thing. The big horse broke would be a helluva powerful roping horse and could drag off the world.

After an hour of messing with him, Chet left the gelding tied and gathered the boys. From there on, Bugger would get his water and feed when Chet led him to them. They went to the main house to see if Susie had any hot cinnamon rolls left lying around.

“Uncle Chet?” Ty asked. “There going to be bad trouble for us?”

“Who told you that?”

“Daddy told May there would be a war.”

“I hope not, boys.”

“Were you in the war?” Ray asked.

Chet shook his head. His father and mother both were too disturbed for him to leave them alone on the place. His Uncle Mark went, but Dale Allen was too young. They’d stayed home to fight Comanche and rustlers.

“What’s war like?”

“Bad. People get killed.”

“We don’t want you killed.”

“I don’t either. Let’s not talk about it anymore.” He opened the back door and stuck his head in. “Any rolls today?”

“Oh, for loafers, no,” Susie teased, coming to meet them.

“I’ve got two bronc busters with me. We’ve been taming Neddy’s bad colt.”

“Oh, well, I have rolls for bronc busters. Come in my kitchen.”

“There we go,” he said, and herded his boys into the kitchen’s warmth.

“I may need to go to Mason and get some supplies this week,” Susie said. “And the choice of material at the Maysville stores is so limited.”

“Take Reg and J.C. along.”

Helping the boys up on chairs, she turned and frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t want anyone out by themselves from here on.”

“Do they know?”

He shook his head for the boys’ sake. He and Susie could talk later.

She agreed, and the four had a fun time eating cinnamon rolls. She fixed him some tea with honey, and he sipped it by the window as sunlight poured into the room. When the two little ones finished, they went out to play and to keep an eye on the Bugger for him.

“Don’t go in the pen with him,” he said as they went outside.

“We won’t.”

“Why should I take the boys along?” she asked, closing the door behind her back.

“They’ll find out sooner or later about our remuda being stolen and us going after the rustlers.”

“But they’re boys.”

He shook his head. “You grow up fast in this world we live in.”

“Then you feel it will be more than Earl’s blustering that he did at the dance that Ryan Thomas told me about.”

“Lots more. Take the boys. You hire anyone to help?”

“I thought I’d find someone in Mason.”

He nodded. Then, sipping on her sweet tea, he looked across the yard and watched the small puffs of dust the rising wind picked up. The wreck was coming. He only wondered when.

Late afternoon, he checked on his oat patches. The oats were a few inches tall and waving in the ruts. He might need to graze them if the warm weather held on. Once the plant grew past the first joint, a sharp freeze could kill it. Plenty of deer were coming in and eating the oats. Their hoofprints were all over. After checking his fields, he spotted a fat deer moving across a hillside, and slipped the .44/40 out of the scabbard. Taking aim, he downed it. The deer fell downhill and he rode up to it. Roan snorted at the blood, so he hitched him to a bush. Rifle in the scabbard again, he drew out his skinning knife and cut the deer’s throat. The blood ran out and soaked into the grass and rocks. It was young, so he could lift it and strap it on behind his saddle. Then he mounted up and took in some more range, circling around until he was satisfied he had no one watching him. Then he carefully dropped off into Marla’s country. From atop the ridge, he used his glasses. The team and buckboard were not in sight. Gone to San Anton. Good. A red-tail hawk screamed and circled on the wind looking for a meal. A smile crossed Chet’s face as he dropped downhill.

The roan hitched behind the outhouse in the cedars, Chet eased his way to the back door. When he knocked, he heard her hurrying across the floor. She cracked the door, and a pleased look crossed her face as she opened it wide. “Well, you did come.”

“I shot a fat deer coming here. We better gut and skin it. I guess he got gone, all right?”

“For five days.” She threw open her arms and hugged him.

I figured you could always use the meat.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll get a pan for the liver and things and some knives. We can hang him in the shed and do it there.”

“Won’t cause you any problems, will it?”

“I shoot deer when they get in my garden. What will be the difference?”

“I mean,” he said, leading roan over there, “will he ask a lot of questions like how and why?”

“I’ll shoot that old single-shot rifle off when we get to the house. He can smell the barrel when he gets home, and he knows I’m capable.”

For the next thirty minutes, they worked shoulder to shoulder to eviscerate the strung-up deer. The air was filled with the copper smell of blood and guts as she worked right beside him. The blood dried on his fingers and stiffened them. They separated the heart, liver, and kidneys into her pan, along with the lacy fat. Then, working as a team, they pealed off the hide, and soon the deer was dressed and its red muscles shone in the light.

“He’s fat enough.”

“Been eating my oats.”

She laughed as Chet tossed the heavy hide on a bench. “It’s fine right there. I’ll tan it later after I scrape the fat off the inside. Get an ax. I want his brains for that job.”

This was the first time he’d ever worked beside her doing anything like this. Her efficiency and skill impressed him. When the deer was pulled up high enough and tied up so a varmint couldn’t reach it, she nodded her approval. “Thanks, some fresh meat won’t hurt me. Let’s go wash up.”

She brought hot water out on the back porch and poured some in the basin. They went to work side by side, washing their hands and forearms with lye soap. With a big grin, she bumped his hip with hers.

“You ain’t half bad help. Jake Porter would have squatted on his boot heels and let me do it all.” After they rinsed, she flung out the water and handed him the flour-sack towel.

“Let’s go inside. When you get out of that sun and you ain’t working, it ain’t real warm.”

“I been thinking—” He came inside behind her and closed the door.

She looked up and blinked her eyes at him. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you get a divorce and marry me?”

“Your conscience bothering you?’

He shook his head. “No, but I’d like to stop having to sneak around to see the woman in my life.”

“You know there’s a lot more attached to being the woman who divorced her husband than for a man who divorces his wife.”

“You talking about them shunning you?”

“That and the rest.”

She moved up against him, untying his kerchief and fussing about him. “I say we get in bed and then we can talk about it there.”

He looked at the kitchen ceiling for help. He gathered her in his arms and shook his head. Their conversation was going nowhere. She wasn’t going to leave Porter. No way on earth to ever convince her.

It was sundown when he rode off for home, taking a wide circuit. He rode in when twilight shut down, and Reg met him at the corral. “I led ole Bugger over to the water tank and feed him two measures of oats and tied him back up.”

“Thanks. That’s all he needs.” Chet dropped heavily out of the saddle.

“He’s a handful, isn’t he?”

“I’d call him a double one. He strike at you?”

“Yeah, he did bringing him home, too.”

“We’ll get that out of him.”

Reg made a face. “What in the hell was that old woman doing with him anyhow?”

Chet laughed. “She’s broke tougher ones than him before.”

“She must be wiry.”

“She is. Good gal. Just don’t get her mad.”

“We’ve got two strange horses in the north end. They took up with the mares. Two saddle horses. One’s got a blotched brand and the other a YT on his shoulder. They don’t belong around here.”

“Cut them out and we’ll corral them. We can cut a notice and tell the brand inspector. Thirty days we can claim them.”

“I just wondered why they showed up.”

“We ain’t missing any horses, are we?’

“Why’s that?”

“Someone on the run may have traded us them for fresh ones of ours.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way. All those mares were at one time broke to ride, but they ain’t been rode since then. Wow, I bet they bucked.”

They both laughed and washed up on the back porch. Susie had two heaping plates ready for them and placed the food on the table. “You two are getting around slow tonight.”

Chet stopped astraddle his chair. “I’ve been checking oats and Reg’s been checking mares.”

“Sounds busy. Reg, we’re going to Mason tomorrow to get some material. The boss says you and J.D. need to attend our trip.”

Reg poised his fork and looked over at Chet. “How come?”

“We need to be prepared,” Chet said.

With a shrug, Reg gave her a grin. “Sure. J.D. and I can watch you girls and watch the ladies over there as well.”

Susie shook her head. “You men.”

“On second thought—” Then Chet laughed at his sister’s disapproval.

“You two want some pie?”

“Do we look like we want some pie?”

“Can I tell her about the apple crisp we made?” Reg asked.

“You two made?”

“We did. At a place we stopped at. We made it for Hilga.” Reg told her the whole story while she served them slices of her dried apple-raisin pie.

“My, my, I bet she was shocked at what she found.”

“Take me back. Take me back,” Reg mimicked.

They all laughed about it.

After breakfast, Louise got on the spring seat with Susie driving the buckboard, and the boys rode along on horseback. Chet and the small ones went to give Bugger another lesson. May was left doing dishes, and Dale Allen was going to do some repairs on the hay wagons.

Bugger was a little less feisty, but he still had a ways to go. Chet hitched him back to the snubbing post, then looked up when he saw a rider coming.

He walked over to the fence. It was Jim Crammer.

“Get down, Jim. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t have time. Got to get back. I’ve got a mare trying to foal. I need to save her colt. She’s a daughter of Sam Houston and there aren’t many left of that bloodline. I just came from Mayfield. I wanted you to know that Earl Reynold’s saying you hung his boy.”

“Boys, you go find you father and help him awhile.” He waited until they were out of hearing.

“I never said I did or didn’t,” said Chet. “Rustlers are rustlers. It was no joke. They stole my entire remuda, and I caught up with them this side of the Red River, somewhere west of Fort Worth.”

“You don’t need to explain it to me, but you better watch your back is all I can say.”

“I just wanted you to know how it happened.”

Jim made a sharp nod. “Sorry, I understand, but it looks bad. I better get back and check on my mare.”

Chet watched him ride out. Dale Allen joined him. “What did Jim want?”

“Reynolds knows who hung their boy.”

“Son of a bitch.”

It was only a matter of time until he knew anyhow. Hell, Chet had whipped the Comanche. How much worse could those loud-mouthed Georgia crackers be?