Blood Bond 3 (4 page)

Gene and Noah busted out laughing.

Cindy glared hatred at Sam.

No points gained there, Matt thought.

“So you're the famous gunfighter,” Cindy said, directing her venom toward Matt. “You'd better watch your step around these parts. There are men around here who'll take those guns away from you and feed them to you.”

“Cindy!” her mother said, giving her a look that should have shut the brat's mouth immediately.

It didn't. But before she could spew any more poison, Matt said, “There are men who have tried that,” as he spooned mashed potatoes on his plate and covered them with chicken gravy. “I'm still here and they're cold in the ground. Now why don't we move the subject to something more appropriate for the dinner table?”

“I agree,” Nettie said, looking at her daughter. “Cindy, tuck your napkin in your bodice and fill your mouth with food!”

Noah grinned and winked at Matt.

“What's the word down at Pecos?” Jeff asked the boys.

“Saw half a dozen hardcases head out, riding this way,” Noah told the man. “Saloon man said one of them was Hart, that Oklahoma gunslinger.”

“Then Kingman won't be far behind,” Matt said. “They're buddies.”

“You know them?” Ed asked.

“I put lead in Kingman a few years back while I was scouting for the Army.” He was very aware of how attentive Cindy had become. “Hart backed down. Both of them despise me. Did the bartender know any of the others?”

Noah shook his head. “No. But he said he'd heard that Dan Ringold was comin' in.”

“That's bad news,” Sam said.

“You know him?” Jeff asked.

“We both do. He's poison mean and a back-shooter. Uses a .44-.40 and is a crack shot.”

“That's a pretty dress you have on,” Lia said to Cindy, in an attempt to change the subject.

“It's old,” the girl pouted. “I wanted a new one. Maybe I can have one for the dance.”

“What dance?” her father asked.

“The shindig John Lee is throwing at Crossing,” Gene said. “We heard about it all the way down to Pecos.”

“We sure won't be going to that,” Ed said quietly but very firmly. “Besides, I doubt that John Lee will offer any of us invitations.”

“I don't ever get to go anywhere!” Cindy shouted, her face turning red. She threw down her fork, splattered mashed potatoes on the table, shoved back her chair, and stomped out of the room, swishing her butt like a hurdy-gurdy girl.

“I apologize for her behavior,” Nettie said. “It's very lonely for her out here.”

“Why don't you send her to a finishing school back East?” Sam suggested.

“You know,” Ed said, laying down his eating utensils. “That's the odd thing. We were going to do that. Had it all arranged. Then she refused to go. I swear, I don't know what's come over this younger generation. I think they're goin' to wrack and ruin.”

“You think I should go talk to her?” Lia asked her mother.

“No!” Ed said, before the mother could reply. “She'd probably give you a cussin'. That girl's gettin' a bad mouth on her. Pass some of them beans, please.”

Red came into the dining area, hat in hand. “Boss, that girl's done throwed a saddle on a horse and tooken out. Hiked her dress plumb up to her—” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, she's gone.”

Ed waved a hand. “Don't let it worry you, Red. She's gone back to the ranch, cuttin' cross-country. I just hope there ain't no renegade Comanches roamin' around this night.”

“They wouldn't catch her,” Red said, a mournful expression on his face. “She throwed that saddle on Lightning.”

“That bitch took my horse!” Lia squalled, jumping up from the table.

“Lia!” her mother said, fanning herself vigorously with her napkin.

“You watch your mouth, young lady!” her father told her.

“What'd she call our girl, Mother?” Ed asked, looking a bit confused.

Lia didn't pay any of them the slightest bit of attention. She turned to face Red, preparing to let him have ol' Nick for letting Cindy take Lightning. But Red had seen it coming and had hit the air.

“We'll just take our plates and sit out on the porch,” Matt said, both he and Sam rising—quickly—and grabbing another couple of pieces of chicken.

“Did she call our girl a bitch, Mother?” Ed said.

 

 

Jeff waved Sam and Matt out of the bunkhouse early the next morning. “Lightning didn't come home last night. Lia loves that damn horse more'un she does me, I think. She and Lisa are having horses saddled up now to go searchin'. You two go with them.” He grinned. “How was your supper last night?”

“Excellent,” Sam said. “Once we got out on the porch.”

Jeff walked away chuckling.

The brothers were sitting their saddles when the girls came out. They knew then what those split skirts were for. Riding astride.

“Lord have mercy,” Matt said.

It didn't bother Sam at all. Indian women always rode astride. But his mother never did. She always rode on a sidesaddle.

“We don't need nursemaids!” Lia fired the first salvo. The brothers could tell she was in a dandy mood.

“Your daddy told us to come along, so we're coming along,” Matt told her.

“Well, you better tell the cook to fix you something to eat in case we have to noon. We only brought enough for the two of us.”

“We did,” Sam said.

“Well, aren't you the smart one?” Lisa said, swinging into the saddle. “Let's ride!”

The girls were gone in a cloud of dust.

“We'll just poke along behind,” Matt said. “Their horses can't take much of that. They're just showing off for our benefit.”

The brothers fell in behind the girls, riding at an easy canter, keeping them in sight but staying far back until the girls stopped their showing off and gave their horses a chance to blow. It didn't take long. The girls reined up at the crest of a long-swelling hill.

The day was one of those Texas days, the sky so blue it hurt your eyes and the visibility so fine you'd think you could see for a thousand miles.

“It's a good two-hour buggy ride from ranch to ranch,” Lia said. “But we'll cut that in half going cross-country.”

“Ever see any hostiles out here?” Sam asked innocently.

“You mean Indians on the warpath?” Lisa said.

“Yes.”

“Not in about a year. There are a few renegade Comanches left and some Apaches, but the 'Paches usually stay well south of here. They still have some trouble along the border, but up here we've been lucky—so far,” she knew to add. She looked at Sam, questions in her eyes. “You would kill an Indian?”

“Hell, yes!” The question startled him. “Would and have. Color has nothing to do with staying alive. My father, Lisa, banished me from the tribe, declaring me forever to be a white man. He knew that for me to get anywhere, as far as having any kind of future, I would have to adopt the white man's ways. I'm not saying he was right, or that I agreed with it, but I did it out of respect for my father.”

“Riders coming,” Matt said, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. “About a half a dozen of them.”

“It's a cinch they aren't our hands or any of the boys from the Flyin' V,” Lia said.

“They're Broken Lance riders,” Lia said, standing up in the stirrups and squinting her eyes against the sun. “And they're on Circle S land.”

“Blackie, Val, and Childress,” Sam said. “Those are hired guns with them.”

“Things are about to get real interesting,” Matt said, slipping the hammer thongs from his .44's.

Both Lia and Lisa shucked rifles from saddle boots and levered in a round. Lia said, “My sister and me stood beside our parents since we were old enough to handle a rifle and fought Apaches, Comanches, and outlaws when they attacked the ranch. I'll be damned if we'll back down from a bunch of scum workin' for John Lee.”

Sam smiled. “About to get very interesting, I should say.”

Bam Ford was one of the hired guns. Neither Matt nor Sam knew the other gunslicks. All told there were six Broken Lance riders: three punchers and three gunhawks. And none of the six liked those Winchester rifles in the hands of the girls—especially since they were pointed at their bellies, the hammers back.

“We was just cuttin' across your range, missy,” Blackie said.

“This range is posted and has been for years. Can't you read?” Lia challenged.

“You need to have your butt jerked outta that saddle and spanked,” a gunslick told her. “You got a smart mouth and a real bad attitude.”

Lia shot him. She gave no warning, did not change expression, and did not flinch when she pulled the trigger.

The slug hit the hired gun in the shoulder and knocked him slap out of the saddle.

Matt and Sam had cleared leather before the gunhawk left the saddle. Bam Ford had a very sorrowful expression on his face as he looked down the muzzles of two rifles and two six-shooters. He and the others had been caught flat-footed and knew it.

Bam said, “He spoke for hisself, missy. I ain't never abused no woman in my life, nor talked ugly to one.” Which was probably true. Bam was a hired gun, but like most Western men, had a deep respect for women . . . especially one who was as quick on the trigger as this young hellion.

“Fine,” Lia told him. “I'm glad to hear it. Now get that thug back in his saddle and get off the Circle S range.”

“John Lee will not like this one bit,” Blackie said.

Lia proceeded to tell Blackie where John Lee could put his opinions, his gunhands, his ranch, and his horse. It would have been a very tight fit, unpleasant for the horse, and extremely uncomfortable for John.

Bam's mouth dropped open at her language. Blackie's eyes widened in disbelief. The other punchers and gunhands sat in their saddles and stared and listened in awe. This little lady knew all the right words and got them in proper order.

When Lia wound down, Bam said, “Missy, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

She levered another round into her carbine.

“Whoa!” Bam said. “We're gone!”

And they got gone, the shoulder-shot gunhand holding onto the saddle horn and hollering in pain.

Matt looked over at the strawberry blonde. “You'll do,” he said, paying her one of the highest compliments that could be offered on the frontier.

She smiled at him.

Matt blushed.

Lisa giggled and batted her eyes at Sam.

“Oh, my word!” Sam said.

 

 

“Figured you'd be over today,” Ed said to Lia. “Lightning's all right. He's in the barn. Nettie put Cindy to bed. She come down with the vapors or something. Probably caught it from the night air. She's been vomitin' in the mornin's.”

The girls exchanged glances. Matt and Sam just stood there looking stupid and wondering what was going on.

It was obvious that Ed was still miffed about his daughter being called names by Lia. He did not invite them in nor did Mrs. Carson make an appearance.

Standing outside the barn, the girls told Noah what had happened on their range that morning.

“So it's started,” Noah mused. “Hell, it's time, I reckon. Lia, you know John will strike back. He's got to do it or lose face.”

“You better warn your dad, then. He's not very happy with me as it is.”

“All you did was call her what she is,” Cindy's brother said. “She sure has been actin' funny for the past month.”

“How long has she been throwing up in the mornings?” Lisa asked.

“Several weeks. Every morning. Mama looks real worried about it and pa don't seem to know what's goin' on.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Neither do I.”

“Sounds like to me she might be pregnant.” Lia dropped it bluntly on him.

Noah jerked his hat off his head and threw it on the ground and cussed. When he wound down, out of breath, he said, “Boy, that's all we need. That'll really put the icing on the cake, light the candles, and blow them out.”

“It's just a guess,” Lisa said.

“But probably a good one. Mama will take to bed and Daddy will get a gun and go lookin' for Nick, sure as the world, he'll do that.”

“That's crazy!” Lia told him. “It takes two, Noah. It can't be done alone, you know. Or maybe you don't.”

Noah blushed a deep crimson, starting at his neck and traveling all the way to his forehead. He grinned and shuffled his boots in the dirt.

“That's all right, Noah,” Lia told him. “That just means you're a good boy and you've stayed away from the shady ladies at drive's end.”

“I reckon,” the young man said. “I'll go fetch Lightning for you.”

On the way back, Matt said, “You girls had best talk to your mother about Cindy's . . . ah . . . suspected condition. Maybe she can get through to your dad about how serious this thing is.”

“I shouldn't have shot that gunfighter this morning,” Lia said. “I may have gotten us all killed. But no man talks to me like that. Especially some low-down hired gun who's out to destroy everything my family has worked for.”

“I think you did just fine,” Matt told her.

“It might just make John Lee step back and think about what he's doing,” Sam said. “Or,” he added, “he might decide to attack the ranch tonight.”

“You're just a real bundle of joy, aren't you?” Lisa asked.

Sam smiled. “I wouldn't use that term around Cindy if I were you.”

 

 

Jeff was shocked when Lia and Lisa told him what had happened on the range, and he was speechless for a few minutes after they told him—at their mother's urgings—that it was a good chance his best friend's daughter was pregnant by the son of the man who had vowed to destroy both ranches.

“Ed'll kill that snot-nosed smart aleck,” Jeff finally said.

“Or get killed,” his son told him. “Nick's fast, Dad. Real fast. And he likes to use those guns.”

“Who knows about this?” the father asked.

Lia said, “Me, Lisa, Matt and Sam, Noah, and now Dodge.” The foreman was in the living room with Matt and Sam. “But it'll get out, Papa. You know that. Tomorrow, next week, next month. She's gonna start pokin' out any time.”

Jeff grimaced at his daughter's language. None of the others dared tell him what she had suggested that John Lee do with ranch, opinions, gunhands, and horse.

“I have a suggestion,” Sam said.

“I'm sure open for one,” Jeff looked at him.

“We can't bunch the cows close in; it probably takes fifteen acres of graze for one steer in this part of the country. Let Matt and me ride for hands. If you're willing to pay fighting wages.”

“Gunhands, Sam?”

“No, sir. Just punchers who are willing to ride and fight for top wages.”

“We need ten, but eight will do it,” Matt said. “I know you're paying the hands that are left top wages, so they'll be no hard feelings there.”

“Where will you go?”

“East. Dodge says there's little settlements all along the stage road east of Pecos. If you decide to do it, we'll leave first thing in the morning. We'll have to have some cash up front so the punchers will know we mean business.”

Jeff sighed heavily and pushed up from his chair. He went into his study and came back with a small leather sack filled with greenbacks and gold coins. He tossed it to Matt. “Don't whitewash nothin', boys. Level with these men. Tell them there's a damn good chance they'll be buried right here on Circle S range.”

“We'll leave before first light,” Sam said.

“I'll have Conchita fix you a bait of food,” Lisa said. “We'll have breakfast ready for you at four.”

Jeff turned to Dodge. “Have the boys stay on our range, Dodge. Ride in pairs and have plenty of .44's and .45's. Tell them to put an extra six-shooter in their saddlebags, loaded up full. You and me, ol' hoss, we've seen range wars in our time. I don't think any of them have. Not like the bloody one that's about to erupt around these parts. I want every barrel filled with water and situated around the buildings in case John tries to burn us out. Get to it.”

Matt and Sam left their own mounts stabled and chose two horses out of Jeff 's herd. They were animals bred in and for this part of the country. They were gone long before first light.

They crossed the Pecos and headed south by southeast, moving across country. By midafternoon they swung down from the saddles at a small settlement many miles from the home range of John Lee. They walked into the saloon part of the big general store and ordered beer.

“You boys look like you been hard-travelin',” the barkeep remarked.

Matt drank half his beer before replying. “Yeah, you're right. We're looking for punchers with a good sand bottom who aren't afraid of a fight if it comes to that. And we're payin' top dollar.”

A chair was pushed back within the shadows of the room and jingling spurs approached the bar. Matt turned around. A cowboy who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties was staring at him.

“Name's Barlow,” the cowboy said. “I drifted up this way from down on the Rio Grande. Ranched down there for ten years. Fought Apaches, Comanches, and outlaws. Damn drought finally done me in where nothin' else could. Who you boys ride for?”

“The Circle S. Up on the Pecos northwest of here. Range war shaping up there.”

“Is that right? Tell me more.”

“Want a beer?”

“I'd drink one. Let's sit over yonder.”

The conversation was short and blunt. Matt and Sam pulled no punches.

“This John Lee shapes up like a rattler that needs stompin' on. But then, I ain't heard but one side of the story.”

“I'm not known for telling lies. My name's Bodine. Matt Bodine.”

“Heard of you. I ain't no fast gun.”

“We're not looking for fast guns. Just punchers.”

Barlow sat for a moment, then drained his mug. He looked at Sam. “You got Injun blood in you?”

“I'm half Cheyenne. That make a difference to you?”

“Not unless you try to lift my hair some night. Then I might get hostile.” He smiled. “If we leave now we can make a little no-name town east of here by evenin'. I know an ol' boy over there name of Gilley. He can ride anything with hair on it, he's good with a rope, there ain't no back-up in him, and he's a fair hand with a gun.”

“You got a horse?”

“I damn shore didn't walk up here!”

They made the settlement just at dusk and stabled their tired horses. The three of them arranged with the hostler to sleep in the loft and then went to the saloon for a drink before eating supper at the small café in the settlement.

“Lookin' for a cowboy name of Gilley,” Barlow told the saloon keeper.

“He's around. Tryin' to find work. I think he's choppin' wood for his supper.”

“Got a swamper you can send to fetch him?” Matt asked, placing a coin on the bar.

“You bet.”

Gilley was in his late thirties. His boots were patched and run down at the heels, and his clothes were old, but he carried himself proudly and wore his six-shooter like a man who knew how to use it. And more importantly, would use it.

After the introductions, Barlow said, “Hard times befall you, Gilley?”

“You might say that. Man I was ridin' for lost it all and I ain't found steady work since. You hirin' your gun out, Barlow?”

“I ain't no gunslick; you know that. Man up north and west of here got range trouble. He's payin' top dollar for men who won't back up. You interested?”

“Only if you feed me first,” Gilley said with a grin. “I ain't et since yesterday.”

The four of them pulled out the next morning. They rode nearly forty miles before finding a small five-building town with a saloon.

They had a beer and a cold roast beef sandwich while they were looking around the saloon.

“I'm looking for punchers,” Matt said, and the room fell silent. “Men who don't look under the bunk every night for ghosts and who don't have to be nursemaided. Is there anybody like that here who wants to earn top dollar—fighting wages?”

“Feller was in here about six weeks ago, sayin' the same thing,” a cowboy said. “I didn't like him a-tall. His name was Lee. John Lee, I think it was.”

“I ride for the brand John Lee is trying to put out of business,” Matt told him. “John Lee's hired him about fifteen top guns and looking for more. If you sign on, it's for the duration, and you best notify your next of kin.”

“You talk mighty tough, mister. You got a name?”

“Matt Bodine. This is my blood brother, Sam Two Wolves. You got anymore questions?”

The man stood up and his buddy rose with him. “My name's Compton and this here is my pal, Tony. I'm with any man who stands up to that damn arrogant John Lee. Are we gonna stand around here all day or ride?”

Six men rode out of the town, looking for about six more. Anyone looking at the riders knew at first glance they were men with a mission. Before leaving town, Matt had spent some of Jeff's money outfitting the new hands. Every loop was filled on their gunbelts, the brass twinkling in the hot Texas sun. Their saddlebags were filled with supplies and clothing and other possibles. They rode abreast, unless meeting a wagon, a stage, or other riders.

They cut south, heading for a settlement that Compton knew about, where a friend of his was working as a smithy's helper, and hating every minute of it.