Between Hell and Texas (7 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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Chapter 9
Two weeks later, on a Monday, Kathren drove him back to the—
in her buckboard. The morning sun was warm. They stopped for the mail in Mayfield and she went to Grossman's store and brought back a big sack of hard candy for the ranch bunch. The south breeze sweeping them was a harbinger that spring sat around the corner.
Chet hoped to talk to the Johnson brothers, who were taking his cattle to Kansas. He knew it was getting close to time for them to leave for the north. Most of the way back, his gut-roiling concern was about not getting that chance to talk to them.
“I'd ask you how you felt, but you'd lie to me,” she said over the beat of the horses' hooves and the whirl of the narrow rims.
“I never said I was well. I'm better; that's it.”
“If I didn't—love you so damn much, I'd take you back and keep you.”
He blinked at her in disbelief. “You never said anything like that before.”
“Well, I never felt this way about anyone in my life like I do about you.”
“We been having an—yes, you call that an affair—that we've had for two years, and damn near got married once.”
“We should have, the day you came back from Kansas.”
“You want to get married today?” he asked her.
She relented. “Let me get things straight with my parents. Dad's doing some better. You don't have your plans straight either, to go or stay. I'll work on mine harder.”
“I will, too.”
He reached over and took the reins from her. The horses stopped; he put his arm around her and kissed her. For a long time. Then she sat up and drew in a deep breath. Without a word, she took the reins back and made the horses go faster.
He sat back as if he had won a major battle in a war. His complaining muscles never felt sore or anything—she had agreed to marry him.
Heaven help them
.
Chapter 10
Two days later, Chet sat on the nail keg and the two Johnson brothers, Rod and Elgin, squatted in their knee-high boots with their pants tucked into the tops. Reg and J.D. were both in that audience.
Rod was shorter, and the toughest man with a reata that Chet knew. Freckle-faced, he always grinned, and his rep as a ladies' man was true. Lankier Elgin looked much plainer, and was the business partner of the deal.
“I ain't giving you advice. I'm telling you what I know. Injuns want some beef for crossing their land, give them a couple of limpers. I figure most stampedes ain't set off by a lightning storm. They are caused by folks, Indian or white, that want to steal a few head and figure you won't get them all back.
“Let them rain-swollen rivers go down all you can afford before you cross them. And don't let your cattle get swallowed by another herd or yours do the same—or you've lost a week's worth of work sorting them.”
“We had that the first year,” Rod said. “Our herd got mixed with some guy's from Waco at the Red River. They wanted to drive them across and go on north to separate them on some plains in the Indian Territory. That was two weeks later, and we busted our asses for eight days separating them. It was a mess.”
“Good luck, boys,” Chet said. “Thanks for taking Kathren's cattle along, and your outfit for getting them up for her.”
“No problem. Mr. Byrnes, we also appreciate the horses and the credit. Without your horses and the bar-C cattle consigned to us as well as the people you recommended, we'd have had a mighty small drive. This way we all can make a profit,” Elgin said, as he stood to shake Chet's hand and the other two.
Chet felt glad he wasn't going north that spring. His body still ached and probably would for six more months—the sharpness was down to where he could handle most of it. He headed back for his room—a short siesta might make him stay awake a while longer after supper.
On his bunk, he stared at the ropes of the bed over him. The smell in the bunkhouse reeked of old socks with the windows closed all winter. Soon they'd all be open and the smell of horses and livestock would drift in. He rolled over; he'd be ready for spring....
“Chet,” Reg called him from the doorway. “Supper is on at the house.”
“Oh, guess I overslept. I'll be there.” He mopped his face in his calloused hands and shook his head as he sat up.
“Good.”
They had waited, and he felt embarrassed finding them standing there, held up for him to arrive as he told them to bow for a prayer. His brief words of their gratefulness to the Lord ended with amen. Everyone sat down.
The bowls of food soon circled the table and everyone worked to select their choices. Susie joined them as the two kitchen girls refilled the bowls and poured coffee. It was good and bad for him to be home. He was eating food seasoned and cooked like he knew it—but Kathren wasn't there. He missed her picking on him. Little things. No way to explain—he simply missed her.
Mashed potatoes and rich flour gravy made a big hit on his palate. The rest was mouthwatering. The meal over, he lingered in the house while the girls cleaned up. Sipping coffee, he tried to lay out things the outfit would need to do before summer.
“I need to get some supplies this week,” Susie said. “You want to go along?”
“I reckon.”
“Good. We'll go right after breakfast.”
That settled, he thanked them and started for the bunkhouse. The temperature outside was pleasant. He walked along thinking about what he'd need to do to be sure everyone was safe. Those other two gunfighters had vanished after Kathren shot the one at her place. He hoped she was doing alright. Too much to think about.
Chet's night was fraught with wild dreams and things he couldn't save—he dreamt they'd taken one of the females in the family as a hostage. But he couldn't see who she was that they kidnapped. He woke up in a cold sweat. His sleep was worse than reality.
After breakfast, he and Susie left for Mayfield in the buckboard. A leather scabbard on the dashboard carried a loaded Winchester, in case. Clouds were rolling in and the temperature was muggy. Some good rain wouldn't hurt the newly planted corn or the oats. That morning, the Mexican crew was busy planting Susie's potato eyes in the three acres they had broken for her garden. He left Reg in charge of that operation. J.D. and Heck were going after an orphaned calf to raise on a milk cow. Things were close to settled down again, and he was mending faster by the day.
Mayfield in mid-morning looked busy for a weekday. Two delivery rigs were at the store unloading. Both saloons had customers with hip-shot, ungroomed horses at their hitch racks. Two farm wagons were at the blacksmith's shop, no doubt repairing farm machinery.
“Gonna rain?” Buddy Fracker asked as Chet started to enter the store's open doors.
“Clouds don't look thick enough,” he told the middle-aged man wearing a cowpie-looking wool hat as he headed out.
“See ya. Glad you're getting around better.”
“Thanks. I'm about fine.”
“Yeah, you's look it, Chet.”
“Tell Ollie hi.”
“Oh, I will. You be coming to the dance Saturday night at the schoolhouse?”
Chet considered it and nodded as the man went on out with his arms full of purchases.
Susie turned back. “Are we going?”
“Yes.”
Walking up the aisle ahead of Chet, she rocked her head from side to side, obviously wondering about his change of mind. His order from months earlier was that the family should not attend the supper and dance because it was too dangerous, so they had stayed away all winter from the neighborhood affair. He stood behind her as she waited for a gray-haired woman who was giving the young clerk her order.
“What made you change your mind?” she asked under her breath.
“Our family has lived here for years. We should have the right to go where we want.”
She agreed with Chet and smiled at the lady in front, arguing that the price for an elixir was too much. The poor youth was red-faced. “Sorry, but that is the price marked on it, ma'am.”
Grossman, hearing the problem, came over and told him not to charge her at all for the medicine. He smiled and told her he was sorry things cost so much, and waved at Chet, then went off to solve another problem. At that point Chet knew he could never run a mercantile—he didn't have the patience for the job. Her shopping began to look lengthy, so he excused himself and went over to Casey's Saloon and spoke to the bartender himself.
“Good to see you,” Casey said. “Missed you dropping in lately.”
Chet agreed and ordered a draft beer. He turned and looked over the dimly lit card game. Several unemployed cowboys and a few gamblers around the table were making bets and tossing in hands. No threat in those men, he turned back to enjoy the beer.
“You miss not going to Kansas?” Casey polished the glass in his hand.
Chet looked at him and shook his head. “I miss it like I would a dog biting me and he let go.”
Casey laughed. Chet saw the flicker in his eyes when the swinging doors creaked. Slow like, Casey cast a gaze at the two men who came in and then turned back to the polished glass in a stack.
“Who are they?” Chet asked, not recalling them.
“Kyle Denton and Dick Reckles,” Casey said softly “They're kin to the Reynoldses somewhere.” He moved down the bar to serve them.
“I didn't know you let shit like him in this place?” one of the pair asked.
“Watch your tongue,” Casey said. “You don't like my customers, take your business elsewhere.”
“By damn, we will. I ain't drinking with a damn boy-killer. Come on, Dick.”
When they were behind Chet's back, the younger one challenged him. “You got the guts to draw on a real man?”
“You go for that gun, Denton, you won't live one second,” Casey said.
Chet could see the saloon owner was already armed with a sawed-off shotgun pointed at Denton. The bartender's speed shocked him, but it might have saved him from being shot when he turned around.
“Casey, you chose the wrong side,” the youngest shouted, and they hurried out the batwing doors.
Chet dropped his face. He couldn't even drink a simple beer in peace in his own town. He slapped a dime on the bar and shook his head. “Sorry, Casey, I simply wanted a beer.”
“Don't apologize. He ain't worth two cents. No loss for me.”
He thanked the man and went back to the buckboard, but not before searching the street for any sign of them.
Susie came off the store porch, holding up her dress hem. “You get into something?”
“Two of them chose not to drink in a saloon I frequented.”
“Who?” she asked, looking around as he helped her into the spring seat.
He glanced back, but saw no sign of them. “Couple of their kin or in-laws. Denton was one's name.”
“You sure that we should go to the dance?” she asked under her breath.
He stepped up and took the reins. “We're going.”
That said, he drove home.
The next days, the dance was on everyone's mind and purpose. Reg and Heck unrolled the large shelter-tent sheet and made sure the mice had not eaten any holes in it. Rolled up, it required J.D. and the stable boy to help them load it into the wagon. The canvas was suspended on a main rope that was tied high up from tree to tree. Then with poles that made the side walls and the ropes off those poles stretch skin-tight on large stakes.
Susie's crew made desserts that would not spoil. A menu was listed and the items needed were written on paper for loading in the two wagons—one would not be big enough. Reg volunteered to guard the home place. May was also staying behind to take care of the house, baby, and Rocky. Both the kitchen helpers were remaining, as well.
Chet wished he had at least a couple more ranch hands. The money outlay concerned him—their entire income rested on the five hundred steers headed north. If the brothers were successful, the ranch financially would be in good shape. In case of a total loss of them, he'd be at the bank borrowing money before another year would allow him to take cattle to Kansas. Lots rested on their success. Squatting in the shade, he watched Heck drive the Belgium mares around the large lot, walking behind them. He must have settled down under Reg and from being separated from his stepmother.
Reg and J.D. were driving the big mule teams they used on cattle drives, so they didn't act high all the way to the Warner schoolhouse and cemetery. They had taken the mules down the valley an hour earlier for a two-hour trip. Each team was hitched to a wagon. Reg and J.D. could do any chore on a ranch—Chet was lucky to have them.
“I guess everyone is pleased we're going,” Susie said, joining him to watch the boys drive the mares.
“I imagine the Reynoldses won't be.”
She gave him a glare. “Nothing will please that bunch.”
“I don't aim to.” He rose and put his arms over the fence. At least he was about over most of his soreness.
“Will Kathren be there Saturday night?”
“I plan to ride over tomorrow and invite her.”
“Good,” she said, pleased. “I better get back. Tell Heck it is lunchtime and to get washed up.” She shaded her eyes with her hand to look around. “Those big boys coming back?”
“They should be back here anytime.”
“I'm glad you're civil again.”
He frowned at her, but she had already headed back to the house, holding her hem out of the dust. Maybe he needed to listen more. Nothing like his sister to line him up. Guessed it was her job.
The two older ones drove in during lunch. From the sounds of their shouting at the mules, they must have had a race or two. Both soon were washing their hands on the porch and laughing as they came inside to eat.
“Sorry we're late,” Reg apologized as they streamed in the back door.
“Those mules snorty?” Heck asked.
“They'll be fine by Saturday.”
“You didn't use them plowing the corn ground?” Chet asked, wondering why they didn't use the large turning-plow on iron wheels.
“No, they're too fast for our Mexicans. They like oxen better.”
“Take you forever to get to Kansas with oxen,” Heck said in disgust.
Reg agreed. “I know. We seen them oxen-wagon outfits last year going to Kansas. Can't hardly keep up with the herd.”
“I have even seen some who used
caritas
,” Chet added. “Those squeaking axles about drove me crazy.”
Everyone had some fun with the ways to travel during the meal. Even Louise chimed in. “I like passenger trains, myself. That is how civilized people go about this country.”

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