Texas Blood Feud (14 page)

“What’s he asking for him?”

Jim Brooks, a bearded man, nodded from across the circle. “Two-fifty.”

“What’s the best offer you got so far on him?”

With a shake of his shaggy face to dismiss that notion, Brooks said, “I’m asking two-fifty.”

“He should make a fine stud.” Morgan said, and heads bobbed in agreement.

“Raising a stud is lots of work, boys. You can’t turn him out; he’ll get in a fight or get eat up by wire. The saddle horses’ll pick on him and kick him. So you raise him in a stall, and then he ain’t fit to ride two hundred miles ’cause he don’t know how to rustle a living away from a feed box and hay manger.”

“You’ve kept some before.”

Chet agreed. “Now I’d rather pay the stud fee and let someone else mess with them feisty stallions.”

“You ever see a better prospect? His mother can run.”

“Who’s his sire?”

“A Barbarossa stallion.”

Chet knew that line of horses and how few outside horses were ever bred to one of their studs on the haciendas in Mexico. “How did you do that?”

“His dam beat a hacienda horse in a race. If I won, I got her bred to one of their best stallions. He was a clay-bank that they called Golden King in Spanish.”

Rey de Oro. Chet had seen that horse once at a race meet. That was also the horse in the painting, too.

“A hundred now and a hundred when the cattle drive money comes back,” he said, causing grins of discovery around the circle.

“I have had many expenses getting him to here. Two-fifty.”

“I don’t have that much money on me. Bring him to the ranch Sunday or Monday and I’ll pay you.”

Brooks rose stiffly and shook his hand. “Thanks, you will have a great horse.”

“I’ll hope so paying that much.”

Chet wasn’t certain, but he thought the boy was about to cry over the sale as he led the colt off. On his toes, the frisky buckskin was a handful. Brooks trailed him shooing the colt when he hesitated.

Chet hoped the family liked him as much as he did. Whew. Lots of money for a young horse. In the distance, he could hear Nancy Brant’s laughter—he’d have someone to dance with anyway. No sign of the Reynolds clan so far.

“He’s a Barbarossa Colt?” Reg asked, sounding impressed as they ate supper.

“Yes. I think he’s a dandy. They’re bringing him to the ranch next week.”

Sammy had joined them, and spent some time introducing himself to Susie like Chet expected. Introductions went around the campfire as Sammy took his place in the ring and J.D. elbowed Chet.

“Ain’t his brother married to a Reynolds?”

“Yes, but he told me that he wasn’t married to them.”

“Good.” J. D. went back to eating.

Chet shared a private smile with Sammy, who’d obviously heard their conversation. He acted at ease.

In a short while, Chet was dancing with Nancy Brant and she was telling him all about a new colt. They waltzed across the floor that was lubricated with cornmeal, and the notion struck him that he wouldn’t ever get to dance with Marla Porter again. It had been his chance to hold her in public and they could talk about anything. More than likely, though, she would ask when would he come by to see her. Damn, that made him nauseated. Even as he danced with the tall carefree woman, it saddened him—a lot.

“You feeling bad?” she asked.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I bet you do. There’s two of them dead. One in jail. Two on the loose.”

“It’s real serious business. They’ll shoot at anyone, even a ten-year-old boy.”

She nodded and then looked seriously at him. “You miss her?”

“I guess she wasn’t mine to miss.”

“No, Chet, she was yours.”

“I doubt that.”

“Nooo. I saw it when you two danced together. You couldn’t hide the pride.”

“Hmm. I thought it was a good secret.”

She winked and wrinkled her nose at him. “A woman knows. A woman knows before a man can even think about it.”

He thanked her and they parted.

The walls closed in on him. He sought some fresh air. Taking his gun and holster down, he strapped it around his waist. Out on the porch, the fresh air off the storm slammed him in the face and threatened his hat. Several women, hearing the thunder, hurried outside to run off to protect or cover something in their camps. The storm was fast approaching. He crossed the schoolyard for their camp to be certain it was staked down good. He saw a corner of the tarp fly loose, and began to run.

No way that could come loose. His hand went to his six-gun butt when he saw someone bent over the next one.

“Get the hell away from there!” he ordered.

“Go to hell!” Another part of the tarp flew up in the wind, and the figure with his knife drawn was headed for the next one.

Chet stopped, aimed, and fired. The tent attacker screamed he was hit. A rider leading another horse bolted out in the opening to get the wounded one. Chet aimed at him and the pistol cracked and he fell off his horse.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

“Who in the hell are you?” He jerked the first one up by the collar. A damn kid. Then he saw the flames behind the canvas. He dropped him and hurried inside to see what he could do about the fire.

He grabbed a blanket and began beating out the fire. Joined by others, he soon had it down to smoldering.

“There’s two kids shot out here?” someone asked.

“They were cutting the tarp loose and had set the damn fire inside,” Chet said. “Who in the hell are they?”

“Billy and Sally Campbell.”

The rain began in cold hard drops.

“Get them inside,” Chet ordered as his own boys fought the tent down by making a cut, inserting a rope, and retying it. More thunder.

“How bad are they shot?” Susie asked Chet. Ryan Thomas was with her.

“I have no idea. They had set a damn fire and were cutting the tent loose when I got here in the dark. I told them to quit. They told me to go to hell and I shot ’em.”

“She’s just got a bad scratch. But he’s got a bullet in him.”

Chet moved into the candle lamplight. The smoke still coming off the things they had set on fire burned his eyes.

“Who sent you?” he demanded.

“My Uncle Earl.”

“Good, he can answer for this. Rains stops, I’m taking them to Mason to the sheriff and he can swear out a warrant for Earl.”

“That boy needs a doctor,” a young man said, sounding concerned.

“He’ll get one in Mason.”

“If he lives that long.”

“I’m not concerned. He took on an arson job. He didn’t care who he hurt or damaged.”

“Hell, he’s just a boy.”

“So was my nephew Heck, and they shot at him, too. With a damn Sharps rifle. It’s pretty damn sorry when you send kids out to do your dirty work, ain’t it?”

“Let someone take the boy to Mayfield,” Susie said.

Chet looked around. “Anyone here willing? I’ve got to warn you, if he dies, Earl will damn sure blame you.”

“We’ll take him and he gets well enough to travel, take him to Mason.” It was the young man who’d spoken out before about his concerns for the two kids.

“What’s your name?”

“T.R. Hornby. My wife’s named Scrotter.”

Chet nodded to them over the sound of the hard rain on the tarp. “You better wait till it lets up some or he may drown in your wagon.”

The womenfolks had bound up the girl’s arm. Dejected-looking, she sat on a folding chair wearing a sling. Maybe sixteen, but older than the boy. The whole thing turned Chet’s stomach sour. He was down to shooting kids—but he couldn’t tell who it was in the dark and they wouldn’t quit.

“What did they burn up?” he asked Susie.

“Not much, some wooden spoons, a few paper pokes. It damaged my dry sink pretty bad.”

“Lord, I went in here to fight it, I thought all we owned was on fire.”

“Are you really going to take that poor girl to the sheriff?”

“Hell, I’ll make her go with them and Doc can look at her, too.”

Susie nodded in approval.

“Take her with you,” he said to Scrotter, whose husband had already left for their wagon.

“Ja,”
she said with her strong accent.

“Here’s twenty dollars for your troubles.” He gave her a gold double eagle.

“No. I can’t take dat.” Her eyes bugged out at the sight of the coin in her palm.

“Yes, you can take it.”

“Vell, all right, but if dere is change, I give it to you next time.”

“Fine,” he said. Was that the kind of woman that Susie wanted him to marry? No, thanks. She’d be like a tobacco shop wooden Indian as a wife.

The wounded ones were loaded in the wagon and sent off for Mayfield, and the musicians went back and began to play. But somehow, the spirit and fun had been dampened by the incident. Chet sat on a canvas chair. Now they had to even guard the tent at the dance. It wasn’t worth it. Shooting kids niggled at his conscience—why didn’t they stop? No telling.

Susie brought him coffee. “Kinda ruined the evening, didn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. Where did your fella go?”

“I sent him back to the dance. Told him I had things to do.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

She shrugged. “I was out of the mood.”

“Hell, it wasn’t hard to get that way.” He put his face in his hands and shook his head.

“Is this going to be our life from now on?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Tell me something. Did it show to you when I danced with Marla up here that we were having an affair?”

Susie blinked and frowned at him. “Whoever told you that?”

“Nancy Brant did. You know she’s my dance partner. I like Nancy. Her husband won’t dance with her. Said she could see it.”

Susie smiled at him. “A person can always see things better after they learn the truth. No, I never saw it.”

“Just wondered.” He went to the edge of the tent and watched the streaks of lightning dance across the Texas night sky. Kinda like their lives—fireworks going off everywhere.

“You boys seen the mules down south?” Chet asked them at the breakfast table Monday morning. They hung around an old mousy-colored mustang mare and she seldom went far, but he hadn’t seen them in some time. The notion struck him earlier that he’d have to pick two teams for the chuck wagon and he’d need some more teams for the corn planting in the spring. A job he dreaded overseeing, but it fell to him, too, since he was sending Dale Allen north.

“It’s been a spell,” Reg said.

“Well, after breakfast we’ll go mule hunting.” He sure hoped that no one had stolen them. The mules had never before left the country, but with this feud and all going on, there was no telling. Time to find the jackasses.

“Well, we never seen ’em down south sorting out those strays,” Dale Allen said.

“Good, that eliminates that part of the ranch.” Chet cradled the warm tin cup in his hand. “Split up. Take the west side today. I’m taking a buckboard down to San Lupe and get Astria’s friend Maria to help Susie and May.”

“You might speak to Don Miguel when you’re down there,” Dale Allen said, “You can tell him to line up the families that usually come up to plow, plant, and cultivate the corn as well as put up in the oat hay. You’ll need as many as we had last year.”

“I’ve been thinking farming. Thanks. Susie, you better go along with me. Matt can watch the place today and fix supper if Astria needs anything.”

The bearded man nodded his approval.

Why hadn’t Chet worried about the damn mules before? Too much going on. Dale Allen should have thought about them. Chet had to do everything around that ranch—by himself.

After breakfast, they left in the buckboard. The team set in a good trot. They went south, and the cool November morning made him turn up his collar. Susie was wrapped in a blanket over her wool coat. Frost shone on the grass and short plants in the low places. Maybe the past rain would help his oats.

There were soft places in the road where the buckboard wheels sliced into the mud. Better than dust anyway. They crossed some low hills clad in cedar and live oak, and he stopped on top of the third crest to let the horses catch their breath and set Susie down. The sun had warmed enough so when she returned, she folded the blanket.

“Going to be a nice day,” she said.

“Not bad.”

“You think they’ll find the mules?”

“We’re going to have to.”

“You think the Reynolds clan is behind them being missing?”

His jacket unbuttoned, he helped her up on the spring seat.

“I have no damned idea. Since the Comanche war let up, I’ve not worried much about stock stealing, but hell, those three took the cavy in broad daylight. No telling about our mules.”

“That will cost you to replace them.”

“Yes. Good mules are high priced.”

She buried her face on his shoulder. “It never ends, does it?”

He clucked to the team. “Never.”

Late morning, they arrived in the village of jacales clustered around the small chapel. A large spring fed some ditches that watered small farm plots. This village had been established back when Texas was under Spanish rule, and these people had lived at San Lupe for over a century.

“I see Don Miguel,” Chet said, and nodded toward the man coming from the cantina’s batwing doors.

Chet reined up the team, and the broad-shouldered man smiled brightly at them and removed his sombrero for Susie. “
Mis amigos
, what brings you to our humble village?”

“A young woman named Astria who works for us said she had a friend here who would like to work up there, too.”

“Ah, Astria. A beautiful girl. Her friend Maria asked me if you needed more help,
señor
?”

“My sister Susie says that she does. How can I find her?”

“Come inside the cantina and I will send for her.
Señorita
, you may come too as nothing bad is going on in there.”

Susie shook her head, amused at his flirting ways. “I would not be afraid.”

“No one would do a bad thing in the presence of such a lovely woman.” He took her arm in his and led the way.

Smiling after them, Chet tied the team to the rack and followed them into the cantina. They had taken seats where the heat radiated from the beehive fireplace. Don Miguel had ordered her some wine and him some mescal.

“Will you need the usual families to work this spring?” Miguel asked.

“Yes, my brother is going Kansas with the cattle this time. I will be the farm boss.”

“You will plant lots of corn?”

“Yes. Oat hay, corn, and Susie’s big garden. I’ll need six good men.”

“When should they be there?”

“After Christmas. Oh, second week in January. We can begin plowing the corn ground.”

“You are a good employer and do good by these families. There will be six hardworking men at your hacienda on January fifteenth.”

“I’ll look for them.”

“How is your
padre
?”

Chet shook his head. “He has a few good days.”

“I was a boy and I worked with him on building those walls.”

“Yes, I recall him telling me about that.”

They sipped their drinks, and soon a sniffling woman and a girl in her teens came in with the girl’s things in a bundle.

“Ah, this is Reya and her daughter Maria,” Miguel said, standing up and waving them over.

“
Señora
, this is my sister Susie,” Chet said. “Astria is very excited about your daughter coming to the ranch and helping her.”

“He is the
jefe
at the ranch where Maria is going,” Miguel said to the woman.

“
Señor
, look after my girl. I will be sad when she is not with me.” The woman sniffed into a rag.

“She will be part of my family while she is up there,” Chet said.

The woman nodded and hugged her daughter. “I must go now. I can’t stand to see her go away.”

She made the sign of the cross and left, shaking her head and crying.

Maria was a short girl in her mid-teens. Her large brown eyes dominated her slender face. She nodded and swallowed. Susie took her aside and they talked in soft tones as the men finished their drinks.

Don Miguel ordered lunch and they ate bean burritos with fiery red sauce. Maria looked ready for her next adventure after Chet paid the bartender for the food and drink and tipped Miguel two dollars for his assistance.

“Your help will be ready when you need them,” Miguel promised, and they drove back to the ranch.

They arrived home at sundown and the crew formed two lines. The showoffs all swept off their hats and bowed for Maria to go to the house between them. Astria was laughing so hard, she had to cut it off with her hands before she hugged her friend.

She introduced everyone like a whirlwind and they went inside.

“Find the mules?” Chet asked Dale Allen on the porch, where they waited to wash their hands after the rest.

“Four of them.”

“That mousy mare with them?”

“No, she and the rest aren’t around. After all the ground we covered today, I think someone stole the rest.”

Chet scowled. “It’s damn strange they didn’t get all of them.”

“These that we brought in are the youngest and wildest ones. They aren’t even broke to work. I figure they got away.”

“You know people remember mules. Whoever took them left a trail, and I’d bet they also took that mousy mare.”

Dale Allen shrugged. “They could be clear to California by now.”

“I’m going find them.”

“Sure, go ahead and do that while we’re in a bloody feud. Trying to get ready to make a drive and you’re going looking for mules.”

“I’m going looking for a thousand dollars. Besides, I hate a thief.”

“Do whatever you have to—” Dale Allen washed his hands and went inside.

I will
. He followed them into the house without any appetite. There was lots of excitement over the new girl during the meal, and she blushed often as she helped to serve and refill cups with coffee. But Chet saw she also enjoyed the attention despite her discomfort.

After supper, the crew drifted away. Chet went in the kitchen and had a last cup of coffee. The two hired girls were busy washing dishes and jabbering like crows in Spanish. Susie tidied up things.

“Well, you must have something on your mind,” she said, slipping into the chair opposite him.

“Mules.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’m going to have to go search for them.”

“Taking anyone with you?”

“Much work as there is here, I better not.”

Her blue eyes stared a hole in him. “I guess if they shoot you, they would bury you someplace.”

“Thanks for thinking about me.”

She laughed and then reached over to tousle his hair. “You be damned careful.”

“I will. I’ll need a batching kit in the morning.”

“I think we can do that. Can’t we, girls?”

They both turned from the dishes, smiled, and agreed.

He went on to the bunkhouse, making plans. When he lit the lamp in his room, he heard someone coming down the hall.

“Did you decide to go look for them jackasses in the morning?” Matt asked, scratching the whiskers on his jaw with the ball of his thumb.

“Plan to. You want to go?”

“I thought I’d offer. I ain’t doing much for my pay here.”

“Be lots of riding.”

“I think I can stand it.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll be ready. Pick me an easy horse. I ain’t much on buckers with this leg.”

“I savvy that. See you in the morning.”

Dawn came early, and Chet caught Reg and J. D. before they left for breakfast. “Saddle Strawberry for me. Put a packsaddle on that black we used. He leads good. And catch Dobie for Matt.”

“I’ve got my own saddle and pads,” Matt said, lugging it along with his limp.

“Get it from him, J.D.,” Reg said. “We’ll bring them up to the house.”

Chet tossed him his bedroll with his heavy coat wrapped in it, and nodded. “Thanks.”

“You own a thick coat?” he asked Matt as they were going to the house.

“I got one.”

“Better get it. It may be cold or hot where we’re going.”

“Sure.”

“We’ve got rifles.”

“Good. I got this cap-buster.” He clapped the revolver on his hip as he walked stiff-legged toward the house.

“I may take that Sharps as well. We need any long-range shots, that might do them for us.”

“I shot some buffaloes with ’em. They’re amazing rifles.”

Chet paused at the porch. The chill in the morning air snuck under his woolen shirt as he looked out the open front gate at the brown hill country. He hoped that all of this place was still there in one piece when he got back.
Lord help them
.

Inside, he stopped behind Dale Allen’s chair. “I traded for a stud colt from Jim Brooks. He’s supposed to bring it by this week. I expected him yesterday. The price is two-fifty. Susie can get you the money out of the safe.”

“Kinda high-priced, ain’t he?”

“Wait till you see him. He’s out of that Mexican Gold stock. He should throw some great colts.”

“What color is he?” Reg asked, passing the platter of fried eggs and meat.

“Buckskin. Dark points. Striped hooves.”

A nod of approval went around the table.

“I’ll handle it,” Dale Allen said.

If his brother ever got enthused about something, he might enjoy living more. He was a wet blanket at a roaring fire. Oh, well. Chet pulled out his chair and took his seat.

“Where you going to start looking?” Reg asked.

“West by southwest.”

Reg nodded at his reply and took up a flour tortilla to load with eggs and meat.

“Maria made those,” Susie whispered, going past.

“They’re real good,” Reg said extra loud, holding his wrap up. “You figure they went that way?”

“Just a hunch. You boys work east and do some looking. I think we’d’ve heard if they were taken that way.”

Reg nodded with his mouth full.

Chet hoped he was right. There was lots of country to cover.

The two rode out after breakfast. The black horse was in tow, with their bedding and a batching outfit, plus the Sharps rifle wrapped in a flannel blanket under the canvas and diamond hitch. Dobie was a dun horse with a little age and better natured than a dozen others, big enough to bear Matt in a long trot beside Chet and Strawberry. Fresh shod, the red roan would do to take to hell and back. It was noon when they watered them at a cypress box buried in a dry creek. The box was set down in the sand and captured the under-surface flow. The ranch had hundreds of them. Most of them Chet had planted in his youth. Each one took about two days to dig, set up, and be sure that they worked.

The cattle in the area were mostly steers and they looked edgy. Moved aside at the sight of the riders and then took to the brush. Some even threw their tails over their backs and ran off like a haint was after them.

A half-eaten salt block was close by. He’d remind the boys to scatter them farther out. Made the cattle range more.

In the saddle they rode on. Chewing jerky for lunch, they reached a small settlement west of the—
C
boundary. A few jacales, some burros, a couple of skinny dogs, naked brown children, chickens, and goats populated the ranchero. Some women came outside and used their hands to shade them from the glare.

“Buenas tardes,”
he said, removing his hat for the gray-headed woman who looked in charge.

She returned the greeting in Spanish.

“In the past month did anyone come through here with several big mules?” He hoped his Spanish was good enough that she could understand him.

“Big mules?”

“Yes, big mules.”

“
Si.
They had maybe a dozen?”

He nodded to encourage her. “Did you know these men?”

“
Bandidos
. They demanded we butcher a goat for them and cook it for them.”

“Did you know them?”

She shook her head.

“Did you hear their names?”

“
Sí
, Gill was the boss. Toledo was a Mexican. Napoleon was the other gringo.”

“You know them?” Chet asked Matt.