Authors: Dusty Richards
Chuck arrived with a buckboard and four hands that Doan sent and twenty-one more horses. Matt was carefully loaded in the rig.
“Now you be sure that he’s going to be taken care of,” Chet instructed the young man. “Here’s forty dollars for the doc. Tell him I want the man alive, but if not, then have a Christian funeral and I’ll settle with ’em when I come back. Then you take your time and catch us. We’ll be headed north.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Byrnes.”
“Chuck. You take good care of him.”
“I will. sir.”
His new hands were Cosmo, Dyke, Jim Bob, and Bugle. They looked like typical drovers, and each said how proud he was to be on the trail again.
Bugle said he could cook, so Chet agreed to try him. They were planning to move out in the morning. After breakfast, they headed them up and began the drive. That afternoon, some thundershowers passed overhead and the cattle, all spread out to graze, made it through them. Still, that was no guarantee that the next time they wouldn’t jump up and stampede. The big steer’s bell was tied off until morning, and Sammy bragged on him as a good leader.
Bugle wasn’t Matt, but his food passed the boys’ muster. Heck showed him some things Matt had done and he used ’em.
Days straggled on, and the afternoon storms became more frequent. Two weeks later and what Chet considered halfway across the Nation, the creeks began to take on rock bottoms and there was less scrambling to unstick the chuck wagon at each crossing.
A wide expanse of prairie with wildflowers and dry grass, mixed with new growth, began to take over the landscape. Purple, yellow, and orange were part of the petal colors. White blossoms on the wild plum thickets and the emerging elm trees all spelled spring, like the noisy meadowlarks and killdeer scurrying about the land.
A dark black bank began to gather in the northwest at mid-morning. It would be close to dark by Chet’s calculations before it would strike, but it could sure have high wind, hail, and lightning in it. The herd grazed with only a head toss at a pesky fly or a bawl for a separated buddy.
“Don’t unsaddle or pick you out a fresh horse,” he told the lead riders. “Load your bedrolls in the wagon. We’re eating supper early and moving cattle tonight. We’ve got miles of rolling country ahead. If that black steer can lead us and we miss a tornado, it will damn sure beat riding down a stampede.”
He passed the word on to all the riders throughout the afternoon. This might be their greatest challenge yet. Bugle and Heck were ready. They were going to sit out the storm where they were at and catch up in the morning. Their mules were hobbled and everything was staked. Even the wagon was tied down to save it from blowing over.
Bugle looked grimly at Chet. “I had time, I’d dig us a cellar.”
“Times like these, it would be nice to have one,” Chet agreed.
The boys didn’t joke at supper. Three changed horses because their horses were acting worn out, and then Whip Malloy, in charge of them, said he’d head north before the herd and keep east of them. Chet trusted him and agreed.
“Think it’ll work?” Reg asked Chet where they were squatted on their boot heels drinking coffee.
“Ex-Texas Ranger Charlie Goodnight said last year in Abilene it was the best way. Get ’em on the move. It’s hell on men and horses, but so is a stampede.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“Find old Blacky and soon as that wind starts blowing, you jerk that rag off his clapper and head ’em north.”
“I’ll tell Sammy.”
“Good.”
On board Roan, he waited. Though a storm might look like it was barreling down on a person all at once, it usually took a slower pace. That let the tension mount higher in the individual waiting with baited breath for its arrival. Then the first cooler drafts swept in and struck Chet.
“Head ’em up!” he shouted, and the clear ring of Blacky’s thick silver bell rang across the land. Horned heads flew skyward, cattle got up and stretched, and then they began to bawl and horns knocked on each other. The wind grew faster, and in the distance thunder shook the air and ground. They were off and rolling.
Daylight soon began to darken, and the long trot of the cattle began to stretch out as their hooves rumbled with the thunder and pea-size hail began to beat on both hides and men’s hats. Blinding flashes and nearby explosions of air deafened him. Rain in sheets and torrents ran off Chet’s hat and down his chin.
His shouts at the herd were soon absorbed by the louder roar of the wind and the bawling of the cattle. Day turned completely to night. Temperatures dropped like a rock, and being under the rubber slicker turned from clammy-sweaty to chilly and caused gooseflesh on his arms. Riding hard beside the cattle was going well despite the discomfort. Lightning danced on their horns. Four hours later, things grew calmer and they began to slow. The storm went east, and his swing riders began putting the herd in a circle.
In the predawn, the exhausted night herders rode around the herd. The rest collapsed on the ground where they could find a mound and not a puddle.
“All hands are accounted for,” Reg reported as he swung down.
“Good. It worked—this time,” Chet said.
“Worked damn good,” Sammy bragged, and then he laughed. “Besides that, we’re thirty miles closer to Kansas.”
“You two ever hear where Earl, Shelby, and Kenny went after the raid?” Chet asked.
“No, but Earl was swearing at us that night. He said that we better not even consider going to Kansas because we’d never get there, they’d see to that.”
“Big threat, but he took our horses or had them taken. You boys figure that he might be laying up there waiting for us?”
“So much has happened, I have no idea,” Reg said. “Where would they be?”
“There’s some saloons and whorehouses north of the Arkansas River at a place in Kansas called Wichita. It ain’t nothing but a sin hole and a place to get robbed. When we get closer, I may ride up and see if they’re there.”
“Hey, I might like that place.” Sammy grinned big, and then he laughed.
“Hey, most of those women in those outpost brothels are so ugly a dog wouldn’t love them.”
“What about your wedding?” Reg asked.
“I put it off when we learned about the raid.”
“Damn, that’s a shame. I wondered what happened, but figured it wasn’t none of my business or you’d’ve told us.”
“No. She said she would be there when I got back.”
“Nice lady. That the one you sung to?”
Chet chuckled. “Yeah. But that was years ago.”
“I bet she ain’t forgot it either.”
“I never asked her.” He wasn’t going to either. “I had some more problems after you boys left. I shot Frank Dutton trying to run off our Mexican farm help.”
“Huh, why them?”
“Anything, I guess, to cause us trouble. I doubt that Earl knew about it happening, him being up here waiting for you all.”
“Who else was there when you shot Dutton?”
“Garland and, I guess, a hired hand. I never dreamed that they also planned to waylay you all once you got in the Nation.”
“What are we going to have to do?” Reg asked.
“Maybe move somewhere else. I don’t think as long as we live on Yellow Hammer Creek it will ever be the same again.”
“Hey, we were there long before those Georgia crackers came to Texas.”
“Won’t stop them.”
“When do you reckon the wagon will catch up? I’m hungry.” Reg rubbed his belly.
“Malloy is bringing in the horses.” Chet noticed them coming across the rise to the east.
“He’s half horse himself,” Reg said in disgust. “Should we go look for Heck and Bugle?”
“No. I hear ’em.” The sound of Bugle’s horn tooting came clear across the prairie, and the wagon was a dot heading toward them.
“Better build a fire or we won’t eat till noon.” Sammy shook his head in disgust and looked around. “Everyone up. We’ve go to find some wood or dry cow chips. Wagon’s coming and if we ain’t got a fire going, he’ll never get anything cooked till noon.”
“I’m going to ride ahead and see what I can find,” said Chet. “We move in the morning if I’m here or not.”
“Keep your head down,” Reg said after him. “Come on fellas, you heard Sam, getting this fire going is serious. We can rest all day after we do that.”
Rest all day
. When had he had that chance? Not since courting Kathren anyway. How was she doing? He hoped they had left her alone. If anything happened to her—he’d kill every one of them.
Dale Allen, doing the best thing in his life, lying in a cold grave. No, they’d pay. He short-loped across the soggy prairie thinking about Kathren. Several miles from his camp, he spotted a turned-over wagon. It was a farm wagon fitted with bows and a new canvas top. He rode over to see if the owners needed any help.
The closer he drew, the louder the crying became. When he rounded the wagon, a red-faced young woman screamed, “Savages!”
She clutched two small girls to her skirt. She couldn’t be over sixteen years old, and her face and nose were red from crying.
“Ma’am, my name’s Chet Byrnes.” He slipped off his hat and nodded to her. “I guess the storm did this last night.”
She bobbed her head woodenly and swallowed. “It kilt him, too.”
He went over and lifted the blanket to see the man’s face. Under the cover, he looked to be Chet’s age or older.
“That your husband?”
She agreed.
“I didn’t catch you name.”
“Abby for Abigail.”
“Yes, ma’am. And these pretty young ladies?”
“Tanya and Lana.”
“I guess you were going somewhere?”
“New Mexico.”
“I see. Where are your mules?” He searched around to look for them.
“No. They were horses and they ran away when the lightning struck Olaf.”
“Which way did they go?”
She pointed west.
“I’ll be back. Fix those girls some food and you eat, too.”
“But I can’t—”
“You have no choice, ma’am. You have to live for those two children.”
Woodenly, she agreed.
He bolted into the saddle and rode west. A pair of rusty red Belgiums raised their heads when he saw them and drew near. They were in full harness, he noted with grim approval. The horses and harness were there. All he had to do was upright the wagon and get the woman on her way. Maybe back to Missouri where she and those girls belonged.
Back at the wagon, he learned she had boiled some corn mush and fed the girls. When she offered him some, he decided to eat his own jerky. Seated on the ground while she ate from her bowl, she appeared to be in a better mental condition than when he’d found her.
“We must unload the wagon and then turn it over to see if there is any damage to the running gear.”
“I understand.”
“Unloaded, I think those horses can turn it back up. If not, I’ll go get some of my men and do it.”
“You have men near here?”
“Cowboys, drovers with a herd of cattle.”
“Oh.”
“Now help me unload it.”
They worked hard all afternoon, and had everything stacked up outside. Even the bows and canvas were taken off, and the sideboards. He hitched the horses to a doubletree attached to a chain tied on the far side of the wagon. Then, taking the reins, he clucked to the horses. They hit the collars and acted shocked. He spoke to them. They danced around.
“Get up!” he finally shouted with a hard clap of the reins on their butts, and the wagon tipped over on its wheels. He discovered himself skidding along on his boot heels to stop them. Eventually, they stopped.
He walked up and patted them so they would settle down. He turned, and the small woman was bringing the sideboards. The wagon still had to go back together. They recovered as much of the busted flour barrel as they could. That and the rest of her things were set back inside by sundown, when everyone collapsed on the ground. The bloody light flooded the plains and the ground around them.
“Do you have a wife, sir?”
“No, I have a fiancée at home.”
“Oh, she is a very lucky woman. Not many men would stop and help a woman with two children.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Three men rode by earlier today and wouldn’t stop. They even laughed at my plight.”
He looked hard at her. “Can you tell me about these men?”
“One of them had a bad arm. It just hung down and swung in the wind. I thought no one would ever come by and help me.”
“Abby, was he round-faced and heavyset and wore a gray hat with silk around the brim?”
“Yes, you know him?”
“Abby, did they say where they were going?”
She shook her head. “I can’t say what he said to that younger one.”
“What did he tell him?”
“It was bad. I can’t say those words.”
He reached over and took hold of her upper arms. “God will forgive you, Abby. Tell me what he said. I must know.”
“He said—Come on, Kenny, I’ll—I’ll get you a prettier whore than her to fu—in Washitaw.” She buried her face in his vest. “I was so scared.”
Inhaling deep, he hugged her tight. He could see Marla Porter’s bloody body all over again. How close Abby had come to death she would never ever know.
Nothing to make a cross out of. He promised Abby he’d do something later. When the burial was complete, to a crickets’ chorus, he said a short prayer over Olaf’s grave. Then she put the girls to bed under the wagon. Off in the starlit night, a coyote howled and another answered. She scurried back and sat close beside where he used a wheel for a backrest.
“I hate those wolves.”
“They’re only coyotes.”
“Sound like wolves to me. Mr. Byrnes, would you hold me in your arms?”
“Sure, but—”
“Mr. Byrnes, I don’t care about my reputation. I don’t care about anything. I spent all of last night shaking in the rain, trembling and so afraid, just knowing I was going to die. I knew my husband was dead. He was never coming back and I would soon be dead, too. And my girls torn apart alive by wolves. Now that I am safe, just hold me tight all night, please?”
Her calloused small hands squeezed his face and she kissed him. He felt himself caught in a web and pulled down by forces greater than he could resist.
Dawn came in a purple glow. She fried them mush for breakfast. There was no way he could let her go on by herself.
“I’m taking you with me to Abilene. You can help with the chuck wagon, and from there you can decide what you want to do. I’m sorry, Abby, I can’t be a part of your life. But I can’t let you and those little girls fall prey to the vultures on this prairie either.”
She swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”
His fingertips on her lips silenced her. “Nothing happened between you and me.”
“But—”
He shook his head till she swallowed and agreed.
“We’ll join the cattle drive today. I simply found you, buried your husband, and brought you with me. I have several nice young men who will be civil to you. I expect you to resist any advances. If you pick one, that could cause trouble.”
“I understand.” She bowed her head.
“Good, and when we get to Abilene, you can decide where you want to go, but that is near two months away. You are to help Bugle and Heck cook. I pay fifty a month for a cook.”
“I shall be very grateful—”
“No, Abby, I don’t expect a thing but what I asked.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Chet,” he corrected her.
Up on the wagon seat ready to drive the team, he looked off to the north. Those three Reynolds men were up there somewhere waiting for him, or at least his crew, to try to cross into Kansas. Ten days to two weeks away—maybe he needed to ride on ahead and settle with them.
Her hand on his arm, she said, “We’re ready, Chet.”
He nodded and clucked to the Belgiums. They stepped out in a jog that made the harness ring.
At mid-morning, J.D. rode up and swiped off his hat at the sight of her. “Chet, we were getting worried.”
“This lady’s husband was killed by lightning night before last. The wind turned over her wagon and we’ve been busy. You know where Bugle is taking the chuck wagon?”
“I do, sir.”
“J.D., drive her and these fine girls up there and tell those two she is the third cook. Hobble her horses and see she is all right. Her name is Abby Petersen, and they are Tanya and Lana.”
“Sure proud to meet you, ma’am. I’ll tie ole Hoot on the tailgate.”
Chet set the brake and tied off the reins. “That’s my nephew. He’s a polite boy.”
“Yes. Thank you so much again,” she said.
He short-loped back to the herd and told Reg who he’d helped and how the Reynolds riders were ahead somewhere waiting to intercept them. He waved to Sammy across on the far side of the point, and then rode back to see how the others were doing.
That afternoon while the cattle were grazing, he held a war council with Sammy and Reg. If those three were in Wichita, he needed to eliminate them before they hired some gunhands. Both boys were impressed with the small willowy girl-woman, and let him know that he could find gold in a junk pile.
“I couldn’t leave her out there alone, even with her wagon up and her all right.”
“You did the right thing. She’s cute,” Reg said, and then shook his head as if embarrassed at what he was thinking.
“Cute, hell—she’s pretty as a picture.”
“Boys, I need some help. We need to set this herd down for two days and ride up there and end this Reynolds business.”
“How close are we?”
“Over a week, I’d bet,” Sammy said.
“I thought two,” Reg said.
“In five days, if I haven’t found out, I’ll ride up there and locate them.”
“What will happen to Mrs. Petersen?” Sammy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. She said they came from Missouri and they were going to New Mexico.”
“Was her husband crazy?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know a thing about him. He looked a lot older than her. Maybe mid-thirties, but I never asked. Age of those little girls, I figured she must have gotten married at twelve. When we get to Kansas, maybe someone will drive her back to Missouri, or I don’t know. One thing for certain, her and those girls would not have survived long in the Nation on their own.”
“But those Reynolds men rode right by her wreck and never offered to help her?”
“Right. Earl promised Kenny a prettier whore than her in Wichita. She calls it
Washitaw
.”
“They just didn’t want to be bothered, did they?” Reg asked with a sour look written on his face
“Right. But Kenny may have been the main instigator in Marla Porter’s death, and them riding on may have saved Abby’s life.”
The two agreed.
“Well, we’ll all sure look out for her and them girls,” Sammy said, and Reg agreed.
Along the way, signs with mileage had been set on posts, and most were fairly accurate. Chet found one with several markers the next day. Wichita thirty miles. Abilene one hundred and twenty-five miles. Hell, a long ways. There were some others that he disregarded. Two days, the herd would be there.
He rode back and found the remuda. With his head high, Bugger stood out. Chet rode in, roped him, and brought him out.
“You needing a powerful horse, Mr. Byrnes?” said one of the riders with the remuda.
“Chet. Yes, I’m going into Wichita and try to find the men that killed Dale Allen.”
“My, my, sir, you be careful now. We all think a lot about you and sure won’t want anything to happen to you, sir.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks.”
“That sure is a big horse. My, my, he sure must be a handful to ride.”
Finally in the saddle after three tries on the circling Bugger, Chet dismissed his concern and loped off.
He joined Reg at the point. “Sign says thirty miles to Wichita. Stop at midday, make your assignment, and you two ride up there and look for me. You won’t miss Bugger.”
“We’ll be along.”
“Don’t rush. I’m going looking for ’em.”
He short-loped the big horse until the cottonwoods along the Arkansas showed up. Then he walked him to the ferry. A grizzly-faced old man came out of a shack made out of packing crates.
“Kin I help ya?” Then he spit sideways and the wind about took his crumpled cowboy hat, but his hand caught it.
“I’m looking for a man who can’t use his right arm. Him and two others cross here lately?”
“Come over an hour ago.”
“Going south?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” He spat again. “Him, some boy, a bad-talking dude. I hate cussing. He needed his mouth scoured out.”
“You have any idea where they went?”
“Went to Tom McCory’s Ranch. Biggest mess of outlaws and no-accounts hang out there. I think them three’s going to steal a cattle herd.”
“Where’s this ranch at?”
“You ever been to Preacher’s Spring?”
“No, sir.”
“Ride south till you come to the first main stream. There’s a broken-down wagon on the right and that road goes to McCory’s is right there. But I can tell you they’re tough as steel wire, they are.”
Chet tossed him a silver dollar. How much time did he have? “Two men riding bar-C horses come by here, tell them where I have gone.”
With a smile on his whiskered face, he nodded. “Bless you, sir. I’ll do that.”
He never saw the boys on his ride back, and found all kinds of activity in his cow camp. Reg and Sam were still there. The good horses and the men Jim Crammer sent had finally had arrived. Four top hands shook his hand. But then he asked Reg who the two men in suits were who were talking to Mrs. Petersen at the chuck wagon.
“Deputy U.S. marshals from Fort Smith,” he said in a lowered voice and with a fretting look on his face. “They’re asking if we know anything about five horse thieves that were hung.”
“What did you tell ’em?”
“It sure wasn’t us.”
“Good. I’ll go to meet ’em.”
“You find them Reynolds riders?”
“I think they’re at some outlaw hangout west of here. These men might help us.” He gave a head toss at the lawmen. “You mention Dale Allen’s death?”
“No, sir.”
“I will.” He set out to speak to them.
“Good day, gentlemen. My foreman says that you’re deputy U.S. marshals.”
“We are. I’m Roscoe Berry and that’s Jim Knight. We’re up here investigating a five-man lynching in the Choctaw Reservation north of the Red River.”
“I don’t know anything about that. But the three men who killed my brother Dale Allen Byrnes are nearby. I’m Chester Byrnes of Mayfield, Texas. This is my herd.”
They all shook hands.
“The ferryman told me the McCory Ranch was where those killers were going.”
“You have witnesses to this murder?” Knight asked.
“Six men here will testify that Earl, Shelby, and Kenny Reynolds were all in on the raid that killed Dale Allen, Pinky, Arnold, plus shot up Matt our cook.”
“This happened in the Indian Territory?”
“Yes. They’re buried fifteen miles above Doan’s store in the Indian Territory.”
“You can expect trouble any time if you go into McCory’s, you know that?” Knight asked.
“Myself and half a dozen of these men will back you,” Chet said. The men all agreed listening close.
“In the morning then, we will ride in and ask for those killers,” said Knight.
“What if they won’t come out or ride off?” Chet asked.
“We will have the place surrounded. But Marshal Berry and I have to bring them in alive to collect our expenses and fees.”
“Fine. I want justice for Dale Allen’s death. Now, since we aren’t going till in the morning, I need to see about things here.” He walked over to Heck, Bugle, and Mrs. Petersen. “Can you feed all these people?”
She smiled. “We made plenty. We won’t run out of anything.”
The other two agreed.
“Good. Gents, let’s eat, then we’ll decide who goes with who. Marshals Berry and Knight, you are our guests. Then Virgil, Tad, Bill, and Larry, who just arrived, are next. Then the crew.”
Abby brought him over a heaping plate of food and utensils. “Boss’s supposed to eat first.”
“Hey, I’m one of the boys here.”
She looked kinda peeved at him. “No, you ain’t. You’re lots more than that, ain’t he, fellas?”
“Damn right, ma’am.”
“Then you sit on the ground and eat this food. This outfit needs you. One day here and I can tell that.”
He obeyed her and, standing in line, they all snickered at her words.
The two marshals joined him. Knight led the conversation. “We are really here investigating the lynching of those five men down on the Choctaw Reservation.”
“Oh?” Chet said between bites
“Yes, parties unknown hung a bootlegger named Wallace suspected of several crimes but uncharged. Four others with known criminal records and warrants out for them were all hung in nooses and a chair was kicked out from underneath each one of them.”
“Sounds like the world won’t miss ’em.”
“Lynching is anarchy, sir. The Judge, Issac Parker, wants the law followed to the letter and all these lynching stopped.”
“Can’t help you there.” He took another forkful of Abby’s rich white gravy and mashed potatoes. She’d made it. Them two boys had never made anything that tasty in their lives. “But—” He used his fork to point. “These Reynolds men did murder my brother and two of my hands in that camp.”
“Your men will have to come to testify in Fort Smith, you know that.”
“I will pay their expenses out of my own pocket for them to go to the trial and to get back home.”
“You’re pretty serious about this.”
Chet stopped eating. “They murdered my brother. He has a wife and daughter. That boy over there is his son. He has two more sons in Texas younger than that boy. They’re all going to grow up without a father.”
“I understand. But like Roscoe said, we make our living bringing in live prisoners to the court in Fort Smith.”
“We won’t kill ’em unless they won’t give us another option.”
“Good,” Berry said.
“With this many men, we can surround the place and no one will escape,” said Knight. “I am entitled to hire you men who go over there as posse men for one dollar a day and ten cents a mile. I shall count it as two days and have forms for you to file unless it lasts longer,” Knight said.
Good, maybe they’d forget the lynching. Chet started to get up. Then Abby arrived with a piece of apple-raisin pie. “Dessert, sir.”
“Abby, I don’t mind being babied, but for gosh sakes, call me Chester.”
“Yes, I will, Chester.”
He was about to cut off a piece of the pie. Saliva was storming in his mouth in anticipation when one of the twins came by with a small kettle and refilled his coffeepot.
“Was your supper good?” she asked.
“Yes, it was.”
“I liked it lots, much better than corn mush.”
“I did, too.”
“You never ate any mush. You ate jerky.”
“Oh, that’s right. But this was much better, I agree.”
She nodded that he had things right and went on filling cups.
He better tell the truth or those girls would set him straight. In a few hours, he’d have all those Reynolds boys in the custody of the Hanging Judge’s men. Sounded too good to be true.