Texas Blood Feud (11 page)

If he ever found a woman of his own—maybe he’d build her a house down there and leave that smothering hacienda for the rest of them to argue over. No—he couldn’t do that to Susie.

“You see that flash?” Heck asked, looking around.

“Flash?” He’d missed it.

“Yeah, a flash off a mirror—”

“Ride like hell for them jacales. That could be a scope on a rifle pointed at us.”

They charged for the buildings, Chet’s back twitching the whole time, expecting hot lead in the muscles. Sliding in a hindquarter stop, they dismounted and quickly led their horses inside the first jacal to take cover.

A high-powered bullet struck the soft adobe and exploded into a cloud of dust. The whine of the long-range rifle rang across the countryside.

“We did some good thinking getting here,” Chet said, realizing how close they’d come to becoming victims.

“What should we do now?”

“Keep your head down. They’re a long ways away. That shot came from way over east on the hillside, I imagine.”

“Holy shit! That far?”

“Watch your language. Being bushwhacked is no call for cussing.”

“I’ve heard my dad say—”

“I don’t care—ten-year-old boys aren’t supposed to cuss around grown-ups.”

“Who can I cuss around?”

“The dog, but better be sure no grown-up hears you.”

What was he doing anway? Dodging bullets with a ten-year-old freckle-faced boy. Heck was not a grown-up, though at times Chet expected that from him. This Reynolds feud had become more than out of hand. It had reached a serious enough point where he needed to put a stop to it all.

“We going to wait him out?” Heck asked as they squatted inside the roofless jacal.

“Let them take a chance. Sometimes, ambushers get careless when you don’t fight back. They think they’ve won and then swagger into range to see all the damage so they can brag on it.”

“You think they’ll do that?”

“That or slip away. We ain’t on any job needs taken care of so bad we can’t wait a little and see.”

Heck agreed with a confident grin. “You ever been in a feud before?”

“Not unless you call the Comanche years a feud.”

“They were bad, weren’t they?”

“They took a toll and this will, too, if we don’t stop it.”

“Reg says we’ll have to kill all of them to ever stop it.”

“I sure hope not.”

“Why won’t they quit?”

“They can’t. They lost a son in the horse-rustling deal. Now the law’s after Kenny for Marla Porter’s death and they blame that all on us.”

Heck wrinkled the corner of his nose. “It’s hard for me to figure.”

“Heck, I’m three times older than you are and it don’t make sense to me.”

The shooter blasted the wall of another nearby adobe jacal. The shot reverberated off in a long echo.

“What would you do if I wasn’t here, Uncle Chet?”

“Oh, something foolish like creep out of here and try to get around behind him or get a shot at him.”

“Why can’t we do that?”

“’Cause I’m responsible for you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Chet shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

“I can tell that it’s eating you up with us being pinned down.”

Chet leaned into his sore back. “That’s beside the point.”

Another bullet struck the adobe wall.

“He ain’t shooting at us, he’s shooting so we stay put,” Chet said out loud. “I’d say he’s sent for more help.”

“Can I go get some?” The eagerness was written on his face as he waited for the answer.

Chet rose and looked things over. They could lead a horse out the backside and not lose the cover of the front wall. Then drop off the hill into the creek, which would be below the shooter’s view.

“All right. You lead Dobie out of here down to the creek. Mount him down there and keep to this side of the creek until you get to the ford, then ride like hell for the ranch.”

“I can do that.”

“Good, keep your head down and they shoot Dobie out from under you, scramble for cover. Tell your dad where the shooter is at so they can circle him.”

“I can. I will.”

Chet clapped him on the shoulder. The bone and socket felt too small for Chet to be sending him on such a mission. Nothing would do but to get it done.

With a pounding heart, he watched the boy drop off the hill leading the big horse, and soon heard the hooves on the gravel along the creek. If he made the shallow ford, he should be safe. Some crows cawed over the wind, and he recalled some close scrapes of his own with Comanche. Not much older than Heck when he had tangled with them either, but that was him, not his brother’s ten-year-old son. Damn.

He drew out his .44/40 from the scabbard and checked the receiver. It was loaded to the hilt. Staying low, he moved back and dropped under the brink of the hill. Then using a bushy cedar for cover, he came back on his hands and knees under it, trying to see the shooter’s location on the hillside. The wind was picking up and the whoosh through the boughs sent needles falling on him. With a strong smell of pitch in his nose, he worked the rifle in place until he had himself braced, and then set the sight for the height he’d need to ever reach the slope where he felt the shooter was nested.

A shot came from the hillside, and he saw a flash of a red shirt and then the round ball of black smoke. It took forever for the shot’s ring to sound out. Dust exploded on a jacal wall.

He replied, rapid-firing the Winchester at the source, knowing the range was great and the wind wouldn’t help. But a horse screamed and broke loose. Good. He knew he’d gotten close enough to put some fear in the shooter or his mount anyway. From the corner of his eye while reloading, he caught a fleeting sight of someone on the move in the brush after the horse. Raising the rifle, he had three shots to put in that direction. He laid them down and then retreated backward, expecting the next return bullets from the Sharps to be made at his location.

“I’m hit,” someone wailed. He could barely hear the cry over the wind. “Somebody help me.”

He’d help him all right—help him go to hell. More desperate calls, and no one moved in that area. It had to be a trap trying to decoy him out in the open for the shooter. He went back and found his horse, rode down on the creek, and circled around until he was behind the hill. Then he hitched him to a snag and scrambled up the steep bluff, making testing steps of exposure, then moving in that direction again. Nothing but crows and an occasional distant cow bawling for a calf.

Making Indian-like moves so he didn’t stumble on the wounded man or into his trap, at last he spotted the horse. It stood hipshot downhill, and all he could see through the cedars were its legs.

Where was the shooter? Easing his steps, he worked his way closer, six-gun in his fist. Then he heard a moan and slipped around the skirts of a cedar. He found him lying on his back, hardly more than a boy. Scotty Campbell wasn’t much older than sixteen.

“Don’t reach for a gun,” Chet warned him.

“Huh?” Scotty blinked in disbelief and moved around some to see him.

“Where you shot?”

“My leg.”

“Who went for help?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you who went for help?”

“Kenny.”

“Left you here to pin us down, huh?”

“Yeah. My leg hurts a lot.”

“Aw, Doc can saw it off. It won’t hurt much when he throws it away.”

“Aw, don’t tell me that.” He looked paler at the notion.

“Where did he go for help?”

“I don’t know. He said we had you pinned down and for me to keep you there by shooting every once in a while so you’d be there when he got back with help.”

“Where’s the Sharps?”

“I dropped it.”

“Never mind.” He’d get it later. “How did this all start out?”

“Kenny come by and got me early this morning. He said we’d go see what you all were doing and mess it up.”

“Where’s he been staying?”

“I don’t know, mister. I swear I don’t.”

“You know he’s wanted for murder?”

“He said he never done it. It was all lies that you people swore to.”

“You see her naked body all hacked up?”

“No.” The boy wouldn’t look at him.

“It would have made you sick. Now as for Kenny, you tell him if the law don’t get him, I will. He comes messing with me, I’ll show him pain—the same kind he gave poor Marla.”

“He said you were sweet on her.”

“What else did he say?”

“Not much. He’s real mad about you lynching his brother.”

“I’m mad about him killing Marla. So we’re almost even.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, when he’s dead, we’ll be even.”

“Mister, my leg’s bad.” He made a pained look and squeezed his upper thigh.

“I know, but if it was me in your place, you’d laugh at me.”

“I swear I wouldn’t—I swear I—”

Chet squatted down on his haunches. “You go with him when he raped her?”

The boy’s eyes bulged and his face looked ashen. “No.”

“You were there, weren’t you?”

“No—”

“Who else was there?”

“Mister, I had no part of nothing.”

“I guess I could let you bleed to death, or you could tell me the whole thing and then I could get you some help.”

“All right, all right, Kenny said she was your girlfriend, or anyway you and her were having an affair. Said he’d caught sight of you going there twice when her old man was gone. We was only going over there to scare her a little, Kenny said.”

“Scare her how?”

“Kenny said we’d tell her we knew all about you and her and would tell her old man.”

“What happened next?”

“Then she got mad, her and Kenny fought. I didn’t want to watch. He made me stay. Mister, my damn leg hurts bad.”

“You rape her, too.”

“No, I couldn’t—I was too afraid.”

“Who else was there?” There was something in the boy’s hesitation that told him the boy wasn’t telling it all.

“Just me and him.”

“No, there were others.”

“Mitch—” he admitted.

“He rape her, too?”

No answer. “Did he?”

“Ah-huh.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“I said so.”

“Felton there?”

“No, he had a bad toothache.”

“Three, four of you?”

“Three of us. Where’re you going?”

“Take the bridle off your horse and send him home, so they can come back and find you.”

“You—you ain’t—”

“Listen, you’re damn lucky to even be alive.” Chet jerked the bridle off Scotty’s horse and talked through his teeth. “I don’t know why I ain’t already shot the hell out you for being there when they killed her. It’s been tempting to me. But you can tell all of them, the Reynoldses and the Campbells, you’re the last one I’m ever leaving alive that bothers me or my people.”

“They may not find me—”

“Ain’t my problem. Built a big fire.” He slapped the horse on the butt hard enough that he went charging off the hillside and hit the bottom running.

Then Chet walked back to look for the Sharps rifle. Finding it and the boy’s handgun, he jammed the handgun in his belt, carried the long gun, and went for his horse. Ignoring Scotty, who was calling out that he’d die, Chet caught up his own horse and headed for the house.

A few miles north, he met his own “family posse” coming toward him. He reined up and waved them down.

“What happened?” Dale Allen asked, joined by Reg, J.D., and Heck.

“Scotty Campell’s shot in the leg back there. Just a boy.” He shook his head grimly. “I sent his horse home for help.”

“What else?”

“There was Kenny, Mitch, and Scotty Campbell at Marla’s house the day they killed her.”

“Aw, gawdamn them. Heck said there was a rider got away?”

“Kenny. He went for help, too.” Chet shrugged. “I don’t want any more shooting today. The law can handle Kenny. They come back and find Scotty shot, they may back off. I could have killed him. He knows that. He’s in as much trouble as his cousin is when the word gets out.”

“What’re you going to do with that Sharps?” Dale Allen indicated the rifle across his lap.

“Shoot back at them with it if they don’t quit.”

Dale Allen nodded and they rode for home. No one asked any more questions. Chet was grateful. He’d had all the warring for one day he wanted, and yet he knew it was not over. Not settled, and everyone in his posse knew it, too. They were a solemn bunch riding into the ranch.

Chet planned to drive into Mayfield and pick up some salt. Susie wanted to go along to look for some more material. He hitched up the buckboard before breakfast. Told the boys to stay close, split wood, and fix saddles. He even asked Louise if she needed anything for her trip, which she’d postponed to see how things turned out.

Of course she declined his offer to get her anything, but at least she was wearing the poncho on the cool mornings over to the house for her appearances there. He wasn’t sure she knew that the cape was his idea and not Susie’s. If she did, maybe she wouldn’t have worn it. His .44/40 Winchester was packed in the buckboard as well, just in case. He and Susie set out about eight. There was still silver frost in the low places on the wiry dry grass, and he huddled under a flannel-lined canvas jacket. She dressed warm and wrapped herself in a gray blanket. They crossed Yellow Hammer Creek at the ford and headed into the small village. Smoke from stovepipes streaked the sky when they drove into view of the cluster of buildings.

Inside Grosman’s Store, Chet pulled off his kidskin gloves and held his hands out to the radiating stove while nodding to the loafers sitting around on crates. Then he undid his jacket and let the heat seek his body while making small talk to the men.

“Sheriff Trent spent the evening here last night. Said he wanted to see you,” Wylie Cook said, and then he spit in the ash pan.

“Where did he stay?” Chet looked around. Susie and Mrs. Grosman were busy talking at the counter.

“I ain’t sure, but he should be showing up.”

“Bad deal on Mrs. Porter,” another added.

Chet nodded. They had no idea how bad it really was for him.

“Sheriff’s been looking for that Reynolds boy. I think he’s ran plumb off.”

“If he was smart, he did.” The conversation went on and Chet was barely part of it.

“One of them Campbell boys got hisself shot yesterday.”

“How’s he doing?”

“I ain’t heard.” The snowy-headed man leaned forward. “Anyone hear how he’s doing?”

“He’s over at Doc’s. They said he was alive last night.”

“You know anything about that, Chet?”

He nodded. “I shot him, and I will again if he ain’t learned. He shot about six times at me and my ten-year-old nephew with a Sharps yesterday on my place.”

“Was he b’ar hunting?” An older man got all choked up laughing about his joke.

“He’ll think he’s b’ar hunting. Next time I’m bringing them in feet first. Being shot at on your own land isn’t funny. But I can fight fire with fire.”

“Henry was just kidding.”

“I know, but when they shoot at a ten-year-old boy with me, it ain’t funny or a joke.”

Solemn faces around the stove nodded.

“They’ll get over it.”

“No, Chuck, they won’t. That’s what worries me. Earl blamed me for his boy stealing my horses. Then he blamed me in court for Kenny murdering Marla Porter.”

“I agree they ain’t very smart.”

Chet looked them over with a hard glare. “They’ll get smarter or deader.”

He left the stove and went over to tell Susie he was going looking for Sheriff Trent. His sister and Mrs Grosman were inspecting some checkered material off a bolt, and she looked up with smile at his words. “Be careful.”

The cool air struck his face when he stepped out on the porch; instead of buttoning his coat, he started across the street for the café. With a glare of the low winter sun in his eyes, he could hardly see the man who challenged him with, “Byrnes, you no-good sumbitch.”

The man was standing in the wagon in front of the spring seat and reached for a rifle. He even levered a cartridge in the chamber while raising it up. But despite his obvious thinking that he was fast, he wasn’t fast enough. The Colt in Chet’s hand barked twice and acid black smoke burned his eyes.

The man was struck hard. The rifle fell out of his hands, clattered off the iron rim, and he pitched headfirst in a dive that ended on his back in the street.

Chet’s heart beat so hard when he swung around that it threatened to come up his throat as he searched the empty street for more of them. Cold chills ran up the sides of his face. Shaken, he poked twice, trying to find the holster under the coat to put away his revolver.

“Hold your fire!” It was the sheriff coming out of the café. His hands high, he looked all around. “Everyone put their firearms up.”

Chet went over and squatted by the wounded man—Sycamore Campbell. He’d never had a cross word with the man before that moment.

“Gaw—damn—you—” the words came as the older man struggled to live. He had a heavy gray-streaked beard and hate-filled dark eyes. He coughed deep in his chest, and fresh blood came out on his plaid coat as he lay dying in the street.

“Someone get the doc.” Sheriff Trent looked around for him.

“Why did you try to shoot me?” Chet asked.

“Ya hung the poor boy and then ya blamed innocent Kenny fur her murder,” Sycamore managed.

Chet dropped on his knees and grabbed him by the coat. “Listen to me. You’re going to hell knowing who killed Marla Porter. Kenny and Scotty and Mitch raped and killed her. Scotty admitted it yesterday. They did that to her!”

Sheriff Trent’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Ain’t no use. He’s dead.”

Slowly, Chet’s hand unfolded to released his grasp on the wool coat and let the man fall back on the ground. His fingers were wet with the man’s blood. They began to dry and grow stiff. He rose to his feet and nodded. “I hope the sumbitch heard me.”

“You have proof of your accusations?”

“Go talk to Scotty Campbell. He tried to bushwhack me and Dale Allen’s boy Heck yesterday on my land.”

“He said a gun accident did that.”

“He lied to you. I shot him. He told me yesterday that him and Mitch Reynolds were there with Kenny when they raped and murdered Marla Porter.”

The lawman dropped his face in anger and defeat. “I was coming to look for you today. I of course haven’t done any good with my truce. Looking at him over there, I’d say that it’s escalated even some more.”

“He challenged me and went for that rifle. I was looking for you.”

“I heard it all in the café. Pretty damn foolish of him, I’d say.”

Chet gave a loud exhale. “And I almost buttoned up my coat. This is my sister Susie, Sheriff Trent.”

“You all right?” she asked Chet, then turned to Trent. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”

He removed his hat and smiled big for her. “Under any other circumstances, Miss Byrnes, I would certainly enjoy this moment meeting you.”

“Yes, it is a shame when you can’t come to town to shop and not be threatened.”

“Exactly.”

“Drop by our ranch sometime. We’ll treat you much more civil.”

“I’ll do that.”

“I’m going back shopping. Don’t get in any more scrapes, please.” She left them.

“Ain’t much we can do about him,” Doc said, putting up his stethoscope and rising from beside the dead man.

“Doc, do an autopsy on him. We need to have a justice of the peace hold a hearing, I guess in the morning. Chet, you’ll need to be there.”

“No problem.”

“I’m sending for a dozen men I can deputize. I’m afraid this thing will boil over into a an open war.”

Chet agreed. The Reynolds clan would be madder than ever. His life wasn’t getting any easier. Sheriff Trent excused himself and went with Doc upstairs to talk to Scotty. The boy was staying up there after Doc dug the bullet out of him.

In a short while, Trent joined Chet in the Red Horse Saloon. Chet was standing at the bar, sipping on his first beer and still in shock over the first killing of the day.

The lawman gave him a grim nod. “That boy told me the same thing I guess he told you about the killing. Then I asked him why in the hell he tried to ambush you.”

“What did he say?”

“Earl and Kenny told him to.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’m bringing Scotty before the justice of the peace tomorrow and charge him with assault and Marla Porter’s murder, then take him up to Mason to sit in jail till the circuit judge gets here.”

“You better have lots of backup to take him out of here.”

“I will. I’ve sent for a dozen men.”

“I hope it’s enough.”

“It will be.” Trent wiped his mustache with a handkerchief after he sampled his beer.

“I’ve never been in a feud before with white folks,” Chet said. “I fought the Comanche from age eleven on. But I think these people are insane.”

Trent gave a nod.

“I better go find Susie and get back to the ranch. I’ll be here for the hearing.” Chet finished his beer and set the mug down. “When’s your help coming?”

“Couple of hours.”

“You want me to stay until then?”

Trent shook his head. “I’ll be all right.”

Chet wasn’t certain about that, but he left the lawman and walked back to Grosman’s. He needed to hire some men. But who wanted to be in the cross fire between them and the Reynolds people? It wouldn’t be an ordinary job punching cows; he’d have to pay hazard wages, too. Damned if life didn’t take some hard twists. He should by this time be married to a good woman and raising a family, building a ranch big enough for his own heirs—if he ever had any.

In the store, he found Susie, and loaded up her things in the buckboard. A young man put the salt blocks in the rig. They drove in the warming morning with the meadowlarks and scurrying roadrunners accompanying them back to the ranch.

“Any trouble?” Dale Allen asked, coming out of the house and picking his teeth over lunch.

“Sycamore Campbell went for his rifle and I shot him.”

Dale Allen frowned hard at him. “That old man ran the sawmill?”

Chet nodded. “He’s dead. They are having an inquest tomorrow morning on his death and charging Scotty with Marla’s murder then too.”

“You’re thinning them out.”

“Oh, brother, I’m so damn tired of all this.”

Heck was on the seat ready to drive the horses to the corrals. “I’ll unload the salt.”

“Good enough.” Chet waved him on, seeing Susie’s things were out of the rig.

“There’s no end in sight, brother,” Dale Allen said, looking weary. “Louise wanted to leave in the morning. I’ll tell her to put it off a day.”

“That would be a good idea. I may go up to San Antonio myself next week and hire some hands.”

“And turn this place into an armed camp?”

“It is now.” He went on by his brother and washed his hands in the basin. Dale Allen went off toward the shop in his typical fashion to bury his head in the sand.
Armed camp
. They’d been living in one since the horse theft. And it wouldn’t get any better. When those three boys were tried for her murder, things would only get worse—Reynolds and their kin would blame him.

His hands dried on the stiff flour-sack towel, he went inside, and the heat from the hearth felt good.

“Señor,”
Astria called to him from the kitchen with a heaping plate in her hands. “Do you wish to eat in there?”

He shook his head and moved toward her. “I’ll eat in the dining room. Enchiladas?”

She nodded as if pleased.

“Muy bueno, gracias.”
He nodded to the girl. “How is the job going?”

“Well, I like it here. The boys tease me but in fun, and I love your sister.”

He straddled a chair and set the plate on the table, then put his weathered hat down on another chair. “Perhaps you have a relative needs work.”

“My cousin, Maria, who lives in San Lupe would like to have work.”

“How can we send her word?” He used the side of his fork to cut the rich-looking food layers oozing cheese and red sauce.

“I could send a letter along with you telling how nice you are to work for.”

“When I get things straight, I will go and get her. Write the letter.”

The girl looked excited. “
Si
, I would love to have her here with me.”

“I bet. These boys and I talk crude Spanish.”

“Oh,
señor
, they aren’t so bad.”

“I’ll put her on my list.” Louise would be gone in two days. When she got back, she couldn’t bitch about hiring more help since she did little anymore. Another girl might ease some of the load on Susie, too.

He’d need to go back to town in the morning. They’d need to check on their own cattle and be sure they hadn’t wandered too far. Besides gathering his own, he wanted to shift all the grazers that they could cut out off the place and drive them beyond the boundaries. This feud wasn’t leaving much time for anything that needed doing. Besides, he couldn’t send the boys out in different directions under the threat that they’d be attacked. They’d have to sectionalize their jobs and work as a team.

Maybe take the three boys, a packhorse, and work one area. It had been pretty cold at night for camping of late. Those boys didn’t give a hoot, but for himself, he sure wasn’t all that fired up about sleeping on the cold ground.

After thanking Astria for the food, he walked down to the corral. He found Reg riding Bugger and plow-reining him around.

“We figured you wanted him broke,” J.D. said, leaning on the corral.

“That’s fine—he buck much?”

“Naw, but we’ve had his hind foot tied up and been getting on and off him quite a bit before we tried to ride him.”

“Stout, ain’t he?” Chet asked Reg.

“I think he may be the most powerful horse I ever rode aside from our work horses. Easy, Bugger, easy.”

“He looks pretty light on his feet for a big horse.”

“I’m surprised about that, too. How did he spook her out?”

“I think Neddy simply knew he was too much for her and sent him to us.”

Reg patted his neck and made him walk around in the corral. “He ain’t pretty, but he’s a huge horse. I think he’s smart, too.”

“You boys don’t get too much in love with him. I think she wants him back.”

They laughed.

He went to his room and put some water on the small stove to clean his pistol. The new cartridge models were easier to clean than the powder-ball models he grew up with, and he sure liked the new ones better. Much easier to reload on the run.

With the revolver disassembled and spread on the small table, he used a brush to clean the two chambers in the cylinder and the barrel. A good gun was only as good as you kept it. Then he ran a rag through the Sharps rifle. From the soiled look of the rag at the receiver end, it sure needed cleaning. The rifle’s actions were about gritty from not being cleaned in some time, too.