Between Hell and Texas (8 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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“You ever been on an ocean sailing ship?” May asked her.
“Once from New Orleans to Houston, and I believe we were farther there from the ranch than we would have been had we came up river on a paddleboat. Oh, Mark and I were both seasick the entire journey. No, I don't wish to sail the seven seas.”
The men went to the barn after lunch and put up the work animals, satisfied they'd be alright for the trip. The orphan calf was bawling a lot, but the two younger boys told Chet they'd fed him plenty of milk that morning.
“Guess he misses his dead maw,” the little one said.
Chet agreed. A nice warm spring day. He told the pair they could check on the cattle up Yellowhammer Creek on their ponies. The two rushed off to get them.
“Curry them down first,” he shouted after them.
“We will, Uncle Chet,” they promised.
Chet made certain the shower tank on the roof over the bathhouse was full and the second one was filling. He hoped the water would be warm enough to bathe in. Wintertime, they heated water with wood heat, but it had to be hauled in buckets to the tub. Solar and gravity power took over when winter wound down.
After supper he planned a bath and to shave for his visit the next day to invite Kathren to the dance. That made two baths in one week—he'd do the same thing over again to get ready to go to the schoolhouse festival. He looked forward to getting out and talking to his friends. Hell with them Reynoldses.
Chapter 11
In the morning, Chet saddled Fudge before he went to breakfast. A cooler wind had came up from the Gulf, and clouds were low and thick. He'd probably want his slicker before the day was out, going over to see Kathren. He wrapped the Winchester in an oilcloth and put it in his saddle scabbard—in case he needed it. That all settled, he hitched Fudge at the house rack and hurried inside. Hat on the hook, he heard Reg asking for grace and nodded in approval.
He waited until the prayer was over, then came into the dining room and took his seat. “Thanks, Reg, for the grace, and my apology for being late. I didn't plan well enough.”
His words drew a few chuckles and Ray told him, “it will be alright, Uncle Chet,” which added to the amusement. Chet picked up his coffee cup, anxious for a sip and knowing it was tongue-scalding hot. He blew on it and then tried a sip. Still too hot. He set it back down and went to doctoring his plate of flapjacks with butter and lick. Everyone was so engaged they barely heard someone calling from the front door.
“Chet, someone is here,” Reg said as he wiped his mouth on his napkin, then rushed to open the door.
Chet wasn't far behind. He saw past Reg, Raul holding a bloody cloth to his head and trying to get his breath. “Bandits, señor. They've attacked us this morning with several men. They hurt several of our people.”
“You know who they are?” Reg asked.
“One I think was Toby Brown. He has a pinto horse with funny markings.”
“He one of them?” Chet asked Reg.
Reg nodded. “What should we do?”
“Get some medical supplies and take Susie and May down there. We need to send for the sheriff. We want this all to be legal.”
Chet turned to Heck on the porch. “Saddle a fast horse, Heck, that you can handle, then ride to Mason and tell the sheriff he needs to come on the run. They've attacked the ranch and hurt several of our people. Louise, we'll hitch a buckboard, you go to Mayfield and bring the doc back.”
“J.D., you're in charge here. They come here, you be sure everyone is safe, the children and the girls. Don't worry about fighting them. Just keep everyone safe.”
“I can do it. I'll get Maw the buckboard and then I'll barricade the gate with wagons and hayracks.”
“Good idea. We'll be spread thin, but everyone has a job.”
“Raul needs stitches,” Susie said, examining the man's wound.
“We need a wagon hitched to take you women and Raul back down there. He won't bleed to death. We may have worse-hurt ones down there to see about. Reg, get the mares, not the mules,” he shouted after him.
“I will.”
Outdoors, he swung onto Fudge as Heck came from the corral on the horse he chose. A big, leggy thoroughbred that could run and was a handful.
“Don't kill him going up there,” he said.
“I won't. May I go now?' Heck asked as the impatient horse danced around under him, and he checked him severely to hold him there.
“Be careful,” Chet said and nodded.
The big horse they called Run-Away lived up to his rep. Like he had been challenged by others, the muscled horse swooped out of the yard and his thundering hooves soon were out of hearing. Heck sat like a feather on his back, but he was jockeying him hard.
Chet dismounted to check the hastily thrown-on light harness while J.D. helped his mother onto the buckboard's spring seat. “These horses are fast, Louise, but don't have a wreck. We'll have enough patients as it is.”
“I will be careful and have doc back here as soon as I can.”
“Take him directly to the camp.” Chet stepped back and Louise left, wearing a wide straw hat held on by a large ribbon tied under her chin and carrying a buggy whip in one hand. She slapped the horses with the reins in the other hand, then drove off sharply.
Chet kneeled down and told the small boys to stay in the compound until he came back and to help J.D. They agreed with grim faces. That done, he saw that Susie, May, and the house girls were loading the wagon with their needs. No way to make Raul stop from helping them either. The man was eaten up with concern about his people. Reg stood behind the seat, holding the reins and keeping the big mares in place.
“Get Reg a horse,” he told J.D. “Susie can drive those mares.”
Chet hurried over and used his hands as a stirrup for them to put one foot in, and tossed both women and Raul up into the back of the bed. Reins at last in Susie's hand, Reg bailed over the sides and took off for his horse that J.D. was saddling for him. He returned in a few minutes.
Chet, back in the saddle, gave a head toss to Reg and they rode hard for the village. There were some tall plumes of smoke that worried Chet. The cluster of small houses where his farm help stayed consisted of fifteen jacals spaced around in a semicircle and several squaw shades called
remadas.
Many people in Mexico and south Texas used them as their houses, especially in the summertime. These gentle people were part of the ranch. The families and their children all came from Mexico to the ranch during the growing season and to work on the farmland, crops, gardens, and the fencing.
Mother Isabella, the matron of the village, ran out, crying, to hug Chet. “They were vicious. They took one of the girls away with them. Two men are dead. Others wounded. They murdered a baby's mother.” She closed her wet eyelashes as he held her in his arms.
“I am sorry. Help is on the way. Where is your husband, Oscar?”
Isabella dropped her chin and sniffed. “He is among the dead.”
They had killed a good man and the notion stabbed Chet's heart. He hugged her tight. “Oh, I am so sorry. How did this happen?”
“They came in the night and they ordered all the men outside. It was dark, but once most were out there they went to shooting at them. Women rushed out and some were shot at. This place was a living hell. They kidnapped some women they wanted and raped them not far from here. One is still missing. I fear they killed her.”
“Who were they?”
“Gringos.”
“Did you hear any names?”
“It was still dark. I was afraid. I never heard any names.”
Susie ran over. “Two of the men have gunshot wounds. Did she tell you about the women they hurt?”
“Yes.” Chet handed Isabella to her. “Try to comfort her. She's lost her husband. I better go help them fight the fires that everyone is trying to put out.”
He could see a chain of children and grownups in a bucket line as flames consumed four of the ramadas. Looking over the fires, he held his hands up to get them to stop. The fires would consume the roofs, mostly hay and brush. The covers could be replaced easier than their inadequate fire department, who faced a failure at dousing them out in these cases.
He waved his arms and soon had the exhausted ones stopped. “We can rebuild them.”
Weary men, women, and children nodded in agreement and began to move about like defeated warriors. He went back to find Susie and Isabella.
“Has anyone eaten anything?” he asked them.
Isabella shook her head.
“Then lets get the women to start making food. They need to eat.”
Isabella agreed and the two women began calling to others. Chet went looking for Reg. He found him squatted beside two men digging a second grave.
“There are several to bury,” Reg said.
“You hear any names of the ones responsible?”
“Gringos.” Reg shook his head. “They were so shocked by the attack they couldn't think. Can you imagine?”
“It was hell, that was for sure. Go look for the tracks of their horses. Maybe we can track them down. I want these killers rounded up.”
Reg agreed and went for his horse. Still in a daze, Chet headed back to talk to others. May came carrying a baby.
“They kidnapped its mother and she has not came back.”
“Are there other relatives here?”
“In Mexico.” May looked close to tears.
“Go talk to Isabella, she will know who can help you with the child.”
He closed his eyes. The clock was ticking and the ones who caused this horrible attack were getting farther away.
Reg came loping back on his horse. “They all rode south.”
“How many?”
“I figure four.”
“We have things here under control. Let's go find them.” He went and caught Fudge, who was grazing. The reins picked up, he swung into the saddle and rode over to where Susie was overseeing the food-making process.
She used her hand to shade the bright sun from her eyes. “You going after them?”
He nodded. “Tell Trent.”
With a grim nod, she agreed. “You two be careful.”
He promised they would and sent Fudge after Reg, who'd already set out. No telling what they'd find. These men were cold killers and needed to be stopped. If they did this to get even with him, they'd learn how tough he was. No, those Reynoldses had never been stopped by the punishment dealt to them, whether the law hung them or by those killed in recovering the herd up in Kansas. Not even the deaths of those three who tried to ambush him had halted their obsession with getting to the—
Thicker clouds moved in and the chance of rain looked closer. He and Reg, coming over a small range of hills, approached an abandoned farmstead on Gibson Creek. It was the old Nelson place, which had been left empty for many years after a rash of Comanche raids had struck the area. Through the live oak and cedar from the ridge, Chet could see the weathered house, outbuildings, and pens. He reined up and took out the field glasses to check out a horse's tail.
“You see something down there?” Reg came back and stood in the stirrup to better view the place.
“Yes, there's a horse in one of those sheds.” He could see the black tail switching flies; then the horse went farther behind the cover, out of his view.
“Think someone's hiding him?”
“Why else put him in a shed?”
“It means there's at least someone down there.” Reg took off his hat and scratched the thatch of brown hair on his head.
“Maybe four?” Pretty damn brave for them to den up this close to the crime. This could be another trap or simply stupidity.
Too easy
. Instead of running like hell, they stopped—why, they might not even be the raiders. No, it would be them—the incriminating hoofprints led there.
“Right. There might be four of them if they're all here.” Reg made a grim face. “This is sure where they were headed.”
Light rain began to soak through Chet's shirt. He and Reg shook out their slickers.
“Just remember, these men could be desperate when we move in on them. Keep your pistol cocked. We better slip in on foot, since we don't want them to know we're coming.”
Horses securely tied, they started through the pungent cedars. The moisture enhanced the smell. A tick of the droplets on his hat sounded like small birds pecking on it. The way downhill proved steep. He could see the buildings clear enough through small windows in the cedar boughs, and he still had not spotted any sign of an individual since they had begun their descent. They reached the base and slipped to the west to where they could use the outbuildings for cover to get closer to the main structure.
Chet had been in the old house several times. The roof, made of clay tile, had shed Comanche fire arrows, and was the reason it stood this long. The only windows on the first floor were slits in the mason walls. An attacker could not get inside through them, but it was easy to shoot from them. So they must have come in from the south porch to the front door to enter. The staircase to the second story was inside. Undiscovered, he and Reg eased into the shed where four horses stood hipshot. The prominent paint was in there.

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