The Yellow Rose (13 page)

As they played, Frisco Barr, without being at all pushy, carried on a conversation with the other men. He was a better card player than the other three and often drew out when Clay had a good hand. He also gave a good bit of information about the town and the surroundings. “Not much of a town now,” he said cheerfully, “but it’s a good spot on the river here. One of these days it’ll boom.”

“Not if the Comanches don’t agree to it,” Charlie Hake grunted.

“They pretty troublesome?” Clay asked, studying his cards.

“They can be pesky.” Hake shook his head. “They rode into town a year ago and just about held us hostage. Rode off with three women and one young boy. Never did catch ’em.”

“Hard to catch a Comanche,” Clay remarked.

At some point Clay mentioned that he had come from close to San Antonio, and at once Frisco asked, “That Alamo was quite a business.

Don’t suppose you were there?”

“No, I was at Goliad, though.”

“Goliad! That was a rough thing, from what I hear.”

“It was pretty bad. General Portilla’s men massacred most of us. I was lucky to get away. Not many of us did.”

Burdette took no part in the conversation, and his eyes often glanced at Clay as he studied his cards. He had thin lips that he kept pulled into a fine line except when he was speaking, and he threw his cards down violently whenever he lost a hand. His eyes seemed to glow with an inner fury.

Clay remembered this man well. They had not been partners, and at one of the meetings of the trappers, the two of them had gotten crossways.

They got into a fistfight, and when Clay had whipped him soundly, Burdette had pulled out a knife. Clay had pulled his own knife, and when Burdette had gotten a slash across his neck—the scar was still there—he had backed off. Clay was careful after that not to turn his back on Lou Burdette. He knew the man was like a wounded animal seeking an opportunity to strike back.

Burdette was drinking steadily, and after two hours, he was starting to get more aggressive. Clay remembered he was always belligerent when he was drunk.

Finally, Clay pulled in the biggest hand of the evening, and Burdette cursed and threw his hand down in anger. “You were always too lucky at cards to suit me, Taliferro.”

“Take it easy, Lou,” Barr said quickly. “Let’s keep it friendly.”

Burdette smiled and cursed again. “I’ve always said you cheated at cards.”

A silence began at the table and spread all around the room, for Burdette’s words had been loud enough for everyone in the saloon to hear. Clay was watching Burdette’s eyes. He saw them suddenly change and knew that Burdette was going to pull his gun. The men at the table did not even see Clay move. They saw Burdette hitch his arm up and pull his pistol half out of the holster. Suddenly, the gun was in Clay’s hand, aiming right at Burdette’s heart. Burdette paused and his face froze.

“I ain’t pullin’,” Burdette said.

Clay studied him for a moment and then reholstered his gun. “Second thoughts are usually best,” he said mildly.

Burdette glared at him, shoved his chair away, and walked stiffly out of the bar.

“Well, I take it you two don’t enjoy the warmest friendship in the world.” Frisco grinned.

“I never saw anybody do that to Burdette,” Prince Daniels said, staring at Clay. “It ain’t over, though.”

“It is as far as I’m concerned,” Clay said. He gathered his winnings, and Daniels and Hake stood up from the table and left.

Frisco said, “How about a drink?”

“Just one. I’m tryin’ to quit.” Clay grinned.

“Wise idea.” Frisco signaled the bartender, who brought over a bottle and two glasses and poured them full.

Clay took the glass and stared at it. Then he grinned and held it up.

“Here’s to clean living,” he said.

Frisco laughed. “I can see you’re a man of peace and would like things to be like that.” The two men drank, and then Frisco studied the other man who sat loosely in his chair. “Lou Burdette’s a pretty tough fellow, but I guess you already know that.”

Clay had decided that Frisco Barr was a man that could be trust-worthy, at least as trustworthy as any gambler could be. “Maybe you can help me out, Barr,” he said. “I’m lookin’ to buy a place.”

“What kind of a place?”

“Looking for a place to raise cattle. It’s not for me. It’s for a family down closer to the Gulf, an Austin settlement. They want a big place, but they don’t have much money.”

“Nobody in Texas has much money now. I’m about to starve to death at my trade.”

“You don’t know of anything?”

Barr poured himself another drink but did not touch it. He twirled the glass around in his fingers, studying it as if some sort of answer lay in the amber liquid. After a moment he said, “I may not be doin’ you a favor to tell you about a place I know.”

“Try me.”

“Well, Burdette works for a man named Kern Herendeen. He’s got the biggest ranch in this part of the country. He’s pretty big potatoes around these here parts.”

“He wants to sell his place?”

“No.” Frisco smiled. “He wants to make it bigger. He’s been trying to buy another ranch to add to his. It belongs to a fellow named Tucker Howard.”

“Howard’s place for sale?”

“Not to Herendeen. He’ll never sell to him.”

“Why not? Sounds like he’s got the money.”

“Bad blood between the two.” Frisco sipped his drink and then shrugged. “They had trouble over a woman a long time ago. Howard was going to marry a woman named Margaret Hendricks, but Herendeen came along and took her away from him. Married her. She died a year ago.

But Tucker hadn’t spoken to Herendeen since he stole his woman away from him.”

“How big a place he got?”

“Pretty big. I’m not sure. I think somewhere around ten thousand acres. Maybe more.”

“You know what he wants for it?”

“No, I don’t. He’s let it go down. He stopped runnin’ cattle. Most of ’em were run off by rustlers, or the Comanches took them.” He finished the drink and shrugged and said in a quieter voice, “There are some rumors that say Herendeen took some of them himself.”

Clay sat there for a moment in his chair. “Maybe I’ll talk to Howard.”

“Might work out for you. I hope so. Tucker told me he’d sell to the devil before he’d let Kern Herendeen have an inch of it. If you ride out to see Tucker, tell him I sent you. We’ve known each other a long time.”

“All right. Thanks. I reckon I’ll hit the sack.”

“Good luck. I hope it works out for you.”

Frisco watched as Clay left the room, and the bartender came over and picked up the glasses. “The fastest thing I’ve seen with a gun. He could have blown Burdette away.”

“Yes, he could,” Frisco murmured. “He’s thinkin’ about settling around here. Be interesting to see how him and Burdette get along, won’t it?”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

A
small tribe of Cherokee had lived close to the Hardin family in Arkansas. They had been peaceful, not like the Plains Indians, and were ready to learn how to farm and to become civilized. One of the recipes Jerusalem had picked up from them was Cherokee Indian bean bread. It was late afternoon, and she had thought about making a batch of bean bread, so she had boiled dried beans in water until they were tender. Now she poured boiling beans and some of the soup into a large pot. She had decided to make bean dumplings instead of baking it, so she lifted the pot and put it over the open fire in the fireplace. She covered the pot and went about preparing the rest of the meal. As she did, she could not keep from thinking about Clay and wondering if she had done the right thing. The choice had been hers, but now everything was in Clay’s hands.

For the next hour she worked in the kitchen, cooking up a huge bowl of grits and a batch of squirrels that Clinton had shot.

Bob had been lying in the doorway, as if dead, which both aggravated and amused Jerusalem. She walked over and picked up one of his heavy legs and then let it drop back. Bob did not stir. “You are the craziest dog I ever saw!” she exclaimed. She picked up his head. He opened one eye slowly and stared at her, but when she dropped his head, the eye closed, and he immediately went back to sleep. “I believe you’ve got the sleeping sickness.”

It was quiet in the kitchen, which was unusual. Clinton had insisted on taking Moriah, Mary Aidan, and Zane fishing while Brodie and Julie rode over to see the Lebonnes. The quiet seemed to seep into Jerusalem, for it was a rare thing in her world.

Suddenly, Bob rose up and faced the door, a low growl in his throat. “What is it, Bob?” Jerusalem asked. She walked over and put her hand over her chest when she saw Clay riding in at a slow trot. She stood there watching him, thinking about how this man had become such a part of her family. Jerusalem’s feelings for him were mixed. She was a lonely woman needing a man’s touch and a man’s presence, and this troubled her, but she could not seem to put the idea away.

Stepping out on the porch, she said, “Welcome home, Clay.” She waited until he stepped up on the porch and put out her hand. He took it and held it for a moment. She squeezed it and said, “Come on in. I know you must be worn out and hungry.”

“Well, I am, for a fact. It just come to me a minute ago, Jerusalem. I ain’t twenty years old anymore.”

Jerusalem smiled as he took a seat at the table in the kitchen, and she began to fill a plate for him. “What made you think of that?”

“Well, when I was twenty, I could have made a little ride like this and then gone and danced all night. That’s all passed me. I’m an old man, worn out and not much use for anything.”

Jerusalem laughed and set a platter full of fried squirrel in front of him and a huge bowl of grits. She put some fresh butter and salt out to mix with the grits and then dipped out some Cherokee bean dumplings. “Get on the outside of this. It’ll make you feel twenty again.”

“Cherokee bean dumplings, my word! I swan, that’s just what I need!

Set down and eat with me.”

“No, I’ll wait for the others.” She filled a glass up with buttermilk, and he drank it down without stopping. She refilled it, then sat down and said, “Don’t eat so fast. You’ll kill yourself.”

“Sure is good, Jerusalem.” He began to eat more slowly, and finally when he shoved his chair back, he nodded with admiration. “Plumb good, Jerusalem.” He smiled at her. “I got somethin’ to tell you, but I reckon I’ll wait for a spell.”

He often did this to tease Jerusalem, saying he had something on his mind, but he wasn’t going to tell her until the next day. She reached out, picked up his little finger, and bent it back. “You tell me right now, Clay Taliferro, or I’ll break this finger.”

“Stop that, woman. I need that finger!” Clay did not pull his hand away but held her, suddenly reversing the grip so that he was holding hers.

“You’ll have to ask me nice before I tell you.”

“Please tell me, Clay.”

Clay could not help but think of how much this woman had stirred him. He studied her for a moment, noting her long, composed mouth. He knew she had a temper that could charm a man or chill him to the bone.

The fragrance of her hair came to him then, and he noticed the swing of her body and even the warm tones of her personality. She made a provocative challenge. He had never met a more complex or unfathomable woman, and as he held her hand, he noticed her quick breathing and the color that ran across her cheeks. He also knew she was the kind of woman who could draw a pistol and shoot a man down if necessary and not go to pieces afterward, for she had a courage and simplicity that he had found only in Indian women.

“Tell me, Clay.”

“All right. I found a place . . .”

Jerusalem listened as Clay gave her the details but was aware that he was still holding her hand. He had strong hands, and she could feel the vitality that ran through the man.

“Well, it’s got a house and some outbuildings. It’s got good grass. But the best thing, Jerusalem. It’s right on the Brazos River. Won’t never have to worry about a drought.”

“It sounds wonderful, Clay. How big is it?”

“Well, ten thousand cleared and an option to buy another ten thousand.”

“Twenty thousand acres!” Jerusalem was stunned. “How much does he want for it?”

“Like I say, he won’t sell to Herendeen, who’s the only man that’s got the money to pay what it’s worth. I reckon it’s worth forty thousand, but Howard says he’ll sell for ten thousand. He just wants out, but he’s got to know in a month. He’s leavin’ and movin’ on.”

Jerusalem pulled her hand away. “Why, Clay, we couldn’t get more than two thousand dollars for our land here.”

“I know it,” Clay said. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “I found another place that we could get for about that, but it ain’t much, Jerusalem.”

Jerusalem sighed, knowing there was no way she could come up with that kind of money. “Thanks for going, Clay,” she said, standing up then and facing him. “I guess you’ll be going looking for gold pretty soon.”

“Oh, I guess I can hang around a little while. I ain’t in that big a hurry to get rich.”

None of the Hardins had any hope whatsoever of getting the Howard place in the north on the Brazos. Clay had explained it to the whole family, and Zane had stared at him. “Why’d you even fool with talking with the man? We’d have to hold up a payroll to get that much money.”

The others had been no more positive, and Clay grew glum. “I reckon I shouldn’t even have mentioned it, Jerusalem, but it’s about the nicest place I ever saw. I wish I had the money. I’d buy it for you.”

“That’s like you, Clay,” Jerusalem said.

“I can go look again if you want.”

“No, I don’t think you should. We’ll just wait a spell.”

As the days passed, Jerusalem thought of little else but the place Clay had found. She made him describe it in detail several times, and since he had a gift for putting things into words, she began to long for it. Dreaming of a place large enough to start a ranch where her family would have land for years to come made itself at home in her heart. She could almost see it the way Clay had described it. The sweep of the river moving in long, slow curves, and the tall grass spreading out as far as the eye could see. Even the house that Clay said needed a lot of work seemed to be just exactly what she wanted.