Texas Blood Feud (8 page)

At the woodpile, he let the boys work the bowed handsaw to cut short blocks off the post oak logs he put up on the cross-bucks for them. “Be careful.”

With those two busy, he began to bust the shot sticks into easy kindling wood on top of a large block cut out of an ancient oak. The double-bit ax raised high over his head and the kindling flew. The sound of someone pounding iron came on the wind. Dale Allen was working in the blacksmith shop, replacing or repairing some parts on the chuck wagon. He also was making extra single- and doubletrees out of some ash blocks they’d bought at the mill.

His brother was handy at blacksmithing. Never minded working alone, and did good craftsmanship. Suited Chet fine. He busted off some more kindling. Using the big ax gave him time to think, consider what the Reynolds clan would try next, and use his muscles. The pile began to grow, and the boys were cutting them faster than he could make them into kindling.

They began giggling over how far ahead of him they were.

“Oh, my gosh, you boys better take a break.”

They agreed and sat down in the sawdust, hugging their knees to watch him work. At last he sunk the ax in the block. “We better carry some up to the house.”

“We get a pony, I’ll train him to pull a sled and we’ll haul it up there.” Ray said.

“Now that’s thinking,” Chet said, and loaded up his arms with the short wood.

“You boys haul some more up there on the porch after this. I need to go do something.”

At the house, he stuck his head inside and told his sister he was going scouting and would be back later.

The boys agreed to pack more up there, and he paid them a nickel each. He walked to the pen and took the feedbag off Bugger and caught Strawberry. Porter’d come home, but maybe he’d be gone to town to play cards. When the horse was bridled and cinch tight, Chet swung up in the saddle and rode off.

Maybe talking to Marla would help—she could usually cheer him up.

Twice, he stopped and listened. Was it wind or someone? Maybe he was just getting apprehensive about it all. Their plan to ambush the Byrnes family was worthless. Those boys probably couldn’t hit a barn door. Their rifles he collected had not even ever been fired. What did Grandpa Cooney say?
Don’t send a boy when you need a man
.

He reined up and sat on Strawberry with his own rifle across his lap in a pungent-smelling cedar thicket. Crows were calling loudly that something or someone had upset them. Nothing showed up out of the ordinary. He scoped the house twice with his field glasses. Maybe his nerves had got jangled by all that had happened. A snort of whiskey would go good at the moment. When had he had his last drink? Years ago, he’d fallen in love with the bottle, but he’d whipped that. No time to start back now.

When he set out again, he felt that someone was looking at him. Who and why, he had no idea. Could be them. But where were they watching him from? He diverted up a side canyon, and came out on top watching his back trail and the valley. Nothing. Still, his intuition had always worked when Comanche hunting.

He broke off the hillside and short-loped across the wide basin. Setting Strawberry down in some more cedars, he used the scope again. Nothing.

Satisfied, he went to her place, slipped in behind the outhouse when he was certain that Jake wasn’t there. With Strawberry hitched, he went through the weighted self-closing gate, crossed the yard, and knocked softly on the back door.

“Coming,” she said. “Well, how did it go after the funeral?”

“No problem.”

“I was afraid he’d shoot you in the building.”

“Bad deal. Earl had a fit, drew a gun to bar us from the schoolhouse, and someone broke his arm. Then three of the boys tried to jump us at the ford when we were going home.”

She went for her coffeepot while indicating a chair at the table. “Tell me more.”

“He’s in town?”

She nodded, then set a tin cup down and poured the dark coffee in Chet’s cup. “Tell me more,” she said.

“I slipped up behind those ambushers and made them undress. Told them they had to run down that creek or I’d shoot them.”

“Undressed?”

“I didn’t want them to forget their foiled ambush.”

“They walked home soaking wet?” She bowed over and kissed him on the mouth. “Porter got back yesterday. But I’d almost swear he has a woman stashed somewhere.”

“Strange. Today, I thought someone might be following me. I doubled back twice and waited for twenty minutes each time for them to show.” He shrugged it off. “Years ago, I was like that, always imagining Comanche were trailing me.”

The coffee tasted all right, and simply being in her company brightened his outlook. He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I guess I’m in a safe haven for now.”

She jumped up and came over to sit on his lap. “Safe as you can get it.”

His mouth closed on hers and her arms surrounded his neck. He knew any minute they’d be swept up in a clothes-shedding whirlwind. Damn, that was what in the hell he came for. That and to forget the whole blasted damn day. Oh, God bless you, girl.

Coyotes were serenading the stars when he left her place. Strawberry picked his way in a jog trot up the canyon. He tried to use a different way each time in and out so his tracks weren’t obvious. Some of her other horses stayed around that gate so some fresh piles there wouldn’t be telltale. The home place was near dark when he came in the gate.

“That you, Chet?” Susie asked, coming out on the porch packing a rifle.

“Something wrong, sis?”

“They chased Reg and J.D. in the yard when they were coming back from checking the mares. Three of them pulled up out there and they fired some bullets at the wall. I wouldn’t let the boys shot back at them.”

“Recognize any of them?”

“They were cowboys is all I could tell. Had masks pulled up.”

“Any fancy horses?”

“No, just bays.”

“Next time don’t stop the boys from shooting at them. They think we’re weak, they’ll get bolder.”

“I know, but they probably were only boys.”

“Boys can kill you.”

“All right. I won’t do that again. You see anything?”

“No. I sat waiting for them and they didn’t show.”

“You look better. More relaxed.”

“Good, I must have rode it out. You better get some sleep. I’ll sleep out here on the porch. They can’t slip past the dogs and me.”

She hugged him and went inside. Rifle in his hand, he went to put up Strawberry. Something of Marla still clung to him—her musk, slight perfume. Susie probably didn’t miss it. He’d have to fest up with her about Marla before this was all over.

At morning’s cool predawn, she brought him coffee on the porch. He threw the blanket cover back and sat up.

“No trouble?”

“Nothing.”

“I better ride up and look at those mares today.” He used the porch’s post to lean on. Brazen bastards riding up out there and challenging them. They’d be dead if they ever tried it again. If Susie hadn’t told them to hold their fire, those boys would have counted coup on that bunch.

After breakfast, Reg and Heck joined him for the trip. Rifles loaded in their scabbards, they left out on fresh horses. Two days into this deal and already the Reynolds clan was acting very open in their hostile moves toward them. They short-loped their way up into the north pasture beyond where they kept the remuda horses. Reg bailed off and opened the gate.

Chet searched the open country. Nothing.

“When we shut that gate last night, they busted down here on us from over there.” Reg pointed to a cluster of cedars.

“I wanted to stop and shoot it out with them, but J.D. wanted to go home and get help. I agreed, but when we got home, Susie wouldn’t let us shoot at them.”

“I changed that—next time shoot to kill. That’s self-defense.”

They rode across two sections of hill country to what they called Hornet Springs. There were several big-bellied mares grazing. They raised their heads and studied the invaders. The ditch carried a good supply of water that spilled over the rock-lined pool built back before the war. Then the water source ran into Yellow Hammer Creek.

“What the hell?” Chet shouted, standing up in the stirrups. Two bloated bay mares were floating in the pond. He spurred Sam toward them, and then he reined him in a sliding stop.

“It’s the Ranger mares.” Two of his prize brood animals heavy in foal. He jerked loose his reata, whirled it over his head, and roped a hind foot, then dallied it on the horn and began to pull the mare out. “Reg, get a rope on another leg. It will be lots more pull when we get her over to the dam.”

Soon, they had the two dead mares out on dry land and he dismounted, coiling his rope. Damn them. He bent over and saw where they’d stabbed the first one’s jugular vein in the neck. They’d led the mares into the tank and then murdered them. He took his hat off and sat on the ground. Close to tears with a knot in his throat, he couldn’t swallow. With the side of his fist, he beat the ground.
You’ll pay. You’ll pay
.

“What do we need to do?” Heck asked, tears streaking his face.

Reg was looking off at the way north and beating his leg with his hat. “I should have shot them
coyotes
.”

“Nothing we can do here. The rest of the mares appear to be fine. Wait, walk around and look for anything they might have dropped.”

“There’s a brass whorehouse token,” Reg said, bending over to pick it up. “Reckon one of them dropped it?” He tossed it to Chet.

“Marie’s in Fort Worth. Worth five bucks.”

“Got a big cock rooster on the back.”

“Wait,” Heck said. “There’s a fancy knife in this pond. I just saw it.” He sat down, shed his boots and socks, then slid in the pool and bent over to get the knife. “They must have lost it after they killed the mares and couldn’t find it in the night. Says right here, ‘Made for Kenny Reynolds.’”

“That son of a bitch,” said Reg.

“I know we don’t have a case in court,” said Chet. “It would be our word against theirs. We know who lost the knife, but did we see their faces? No. So someone stole his knife and they were the ones killed our good mares.”

“That’s the way the law works?” Heck asked, looking confused.

“That’s why so many rustlers get hung. The law isn’t liable to prosecute very hard. Lawyers mess the witnesses up. Some friend of the accused is on the jury.”

“I thought law was law.”

“Heck, you’ll learn lots before this is over.”

“You mean if I killed your horses and lost my knife beside the dead horses, I could get off scot-free?”

Chet nodded.

“How are we going to even the score?” Reg asked.

“Old Man Reynolds has six young pure-blood Shorthorn bulls. Cost him a fortune. I was in Mayfield when they delivered them in freight wagons from Austin last summer.”

“What about them?”

“We can bait them away for the house place and castrate four of them. We’d trade two good mares and what would have been two great colts for them. We’d be close to even then.”

“What about the knife?” Reg asked.

“I may use it on their bulls.” He eased it in his saddlebags.

“Suits me fine. When we doing it?”

“In a week. There will be enough moonlight by then. Don’t say anything about it. We boil over about this, they’re liable to do some more harm. Less they know about our reaction, the better it will be.”

“My first reaction is to cut their damn hearts out,” Reg said. “You had promised me one of the colts or a choice if they were horses.”

“I forgot. We’ll find you one.”

“I don’t want that ugly-headed Bugger’s Roman-nosed bloodlines.”

“You can laugh, but that horse is going to be a tough one.”

“He’s double ugly, too.”

Chet shook his head. “In a while, you’ll be begging Neddy to give you that horse.”

“Not likely.”

“You know,” Heck said, looking over the group of brood mares around the water hole, “I think one of those horses they traded us out of is the snip mare. I ain’t seen her in the past week.”

Chet agreed. “I haven’t seen the coon-tailed mare either.”

Both boys agreed.

“Let’s head back in. That damn Kenny Reynolds better not kill any more of our stock or I’ll stick his knife up his ass.”

“Worse than the damn Comanche, aren’t they?” Reg asked.

“Every bit as bad and it ain’t over yet.”

Feuds could go on forever—generations even. This one wasn’t over when they killed two good brood mares. That only fanned the flames of revenge. Chet didn’t want to think about it. The anxiety that coursed through his veins during the Comanche days was back.

Susie came out on the porch when they rode in. “What did you find up there?”

“They murdered two of the best brood mares.”

“Oh, no. Chet, what can we do?”

“I may ride up and see Sheriff Trent at the courthouse. He needs to know what’s going on.”

“Can he do anything?” she asked.

Chet shook his head. “He’s only got a handful of part-time deputies.”

She hugged her arms as if she was cold. “What can we do?”

“We’ll work on it, sis.”

“Give me your horse,” Heck said. “I’ll put him up.”

Chet thanked him and gave him the leather reins. He climbed on the porch and went inside with her.

“Killed some brood mares?” his father demanded, rocking in his chair. “I was younger, I’d ride over there and clean them Reynolds out. We done that once with some Mexican horse thieves. We found then denned up on the Llano. Shot ’em all.”

“Easy, Pa. We’ll get them. Don’t get your heart worked up.”

Rock went to mumbling to himself.

In the kitchen, Chet looked back. “We’ll have to be calmer around him. Where’s Louise?”

“In bed. Said she had no reason to get up today.”

“Susie, I’m sorry. How is the new girl?”

“She tries hard and is learning a lot. Big help to me. But since I got her, Louise does nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“I reckon she’s got us both buffaloed.”

“Don’t say anything.” Then she looked around and lowered her voice. “You were right about her and Dale Allen.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. There was no end to his problems.