Texas Blood Feud (20 page)

Two weeks before Christmas, he busied himself splitting stove wood. It wasn’t like busting big blocks of firewood, but he had healed a lot and planned to go back to the ranch in the morning. Kathren brought him a cup of coffee from the kitchen, wearing the fluffy blue dress he liked. He sat down on the chopping block grateful for the reprieve.

“I guess Cady will be glad to be coming back home with you again?” He winked at her for the cup, and took the warm metal container in his hands. The daytime sun was heating up, but the air still held the coolness of night.

“She didn’t sound that excited. She asked if you were going to stay with us. And when I told her you had to go home and work on your own ranch, she said, ‘Ah, dang.’”

He nodded and blew on the coffee. It was hot.

“I think she thought you’d be a fixture here.”

“What did you think about that idea?”

For a moment, she looked uncomfortable at answering his question. Then she nodded slowly. “I have tried to put it all in place. You and I. Was I so starved for the comfort of man, any man, or were you this tall handsome man that rode in my life like a fairy tale?”

“What did you decide?”

She raised up and blue eye gaze met his. “You let me laugh. I never thought I’d ever laugh again. I thought I’d lost all the humor in my life forever.”

“Is that good?” He sipped some of the coffee.

“Of course.”

“I’ve got cattle to drive up from Mexico. A cattle drive to get ready for. I’ll be busy till spring—”

She stepped in and hugged his arm. “You will always have cattle to drive, Chester Byrnes. You will always be busy. That’s how God made you. These days you’ve been here, I’ve seen how you tick better than I ever have in my life. Things like your zeal that I thought were flaws are really strong points because you above all are loyal.”

“Now you’ve said all that, can you and Cady come to the ranch for Christmas?”

“No. We need to be at my parents’ house for that. You need to be at your place. But the day after Christmas—you’ll be much better by then—”

He waited.

A look of impatience spread over her face. “I don’t have to spell out what I’m offering you, do I?”

“You and me? Here?”

“Yes.”

“Count me in.”

He set the cup down and held her. He still hurt, but the sharpness of his body’s aches and pains had dulled a lot—in fact, he felt so good, he forgot all about them for a moment.

Close to her ear, he whispered, “I’ll be here.”

“Good. Make sure you’re in one piece then, too.”

He squeezed her to him and they both laughed.

The dogs greeted him when he drove the buckboard into the ranch compound. Still stiff, he eased off the spring seat in the warmth of the bright sun. Susie soon joined him at the corral gate, where he unhitched the team.

“Don’t lift that harness,” she ordered. “Put it down, those boys can do that later.”

“I can’t leave everything to them.”

“Yes, you can. Tell me about Kathren.”

“She and her nine-year-old are fine.”

“That’s not what I wanted to know.”

He smiled at her. “We’re kinda letting it ferment. No rush. We never argued much and we laughed a lot. You’d never believe, but Luther told her on their wedding night that laughing was for kids, not for grown-ups.”

“Really?”

“Yes. At Thanksgiving, she laughed in our house for the first time in a decade. What’s happening here?”

“Dale Allen is finally taking charge. He and the boys are really getting things done. You need to brag on them.”

“I will. Where’s Matt?” He searched around for a sight of him.

“Busy building me new cabinets in the pantry. You know those rough-cut boards that have been in there forever? Well, I’m getting smooth ones. No more slivers. He’s really a good carpenter.”

“Sounds like you have things going well.”

“Uncle Chet’s back,” Ray announced as he and his younger brother Ty climbed up the far side of the corral like two squirrels. Then they looked for the horses at the other end, and made a fast descent and rushed over to scale that side.

“We sure missed you.”

“I missed you boys.” He patted them on their backs. “It’s good to be home. What’s been happening?”

“No much. We found a burro to ride for a few days, but Dad said cowboys rode horses and made us turn him loose. That old burro just came here,” Ray said. “Probably some Mexican couldn’t feed him, huh?”

“I bet. So what’s he doing to replace it?”

Ray looked up at him with a frown. “Replace what?”

“Your burro.”

“He wasn’t ours,” Ty said crestfallen. “He belonged to some damned old Messican.”

“Ssh. Susie’s here,” Ray said.

“I never heard that,” she said.

“Good thing,” Ray said.

“Dad called him that.”

“We ain’t supposed to cuss.”

Ty agreed with a nod.

By damn, he’d find them a pony in short order if Dale Allen couldn’t. Best to buy just one and make them share it. If they had two, they might ride off to Mexico or someplace like the big boys.

“You three wash up. We’ll have lunch shortly.”

“We’ll do that, Susie. You boys hungry.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, we’re going to cure that in a few minutes.” He turned to Susie in the doorway. “What about Louise?”

“She’s not coming home until after Christmas. Wants to spend this holiday with her parents.”

“That’s fine.”

“I thought so, too. What’re your plans?”

“Oh, I’m going over the day after Christmas to see Kathren and we’re going to celebrate then.”

She nodded in approval. “Robert may be here for Christmas dinner. Depends how busy he is at his job, I guess.”

“Good.”

The next morning at breakfast, he explained to them about the steers he had contracted for in Mexico. He wanted to go get them the end of January. Then they’d only be on the ranch six weeks before the drive north, and not eat up all the grass that he might need later.

“Reynolds men have stopped driving cattle on us.” Dale Allen said.

Reg waved his fork down the table to get their attention. “I heard they’ve been real busy trying to trap all their fattening pigs that got loose.”

It was good for a round of table laughter.

“I’ll check the oat fields and, Reg, you and the rest can check cattle today. I’m sending Dale Allen off to buy a pony.”

His brother blinked at him.

“Ray and Ty need a horse if they’re ever going to be cowboys.”

May smiled, pleased, and whispered something privately to her husband. He nodded. “We can do that.”

The two younger boys kept their heads down, busy eating, but they were like racers at the starting line, ready to run. Coffee mug in his hands, Chet wondered what Kathren was doing. Probably saddling up by this time to check on her cattle, making sure they stayed on her range. She’d done that religiously while he was there—returning about noon to do her house chores unless she had a problem out there. That must have been her job when Hines was alive, too. He spent lots of time away. No one ever knew where he went when he was gone, but there’d always been plenty of speculation.

The fence looked in good shape as he circled the fields, and the oats were coming along. He could see the tracks where the deer were jumping the boundaries made of tight wire and upright cedar stays closely woven in them. An expensive enclosure, but it was the only fencing available besides wooden rails. A few blacksmith shops made wire with barbs or rowels on it, but his fencing was better than that—besides, that barbed stuff would sure scar up a horse or colt if they got in it. He didn’t need anything that encouraged screwworm flies either.

It was past noon when he stopped to eat the cinnamon rolls that Susie had sent along. He was on a small bluff over a wide creek bottom planted with oats. A large eight-point buck crossed the open field below, then tested the air in search of some doe he’d missed breeding earlier in the season. The stag paused at the edge of the patch to rake a few small cedars with his antlers to mark his territory. Flat needles flew in the air. Then he raised his head and curled back his lips to strain his nose and tried again to locate her. That fat buck would make good eating, but Chet didn’t have the strength to butcher him or even load him over the saddle. He’d get him another day. The cinnamon rolls drew the saliva into his mouth. While he ate them, he noticed some carrion birds in the sky.

Several buzzards circled in the west, and he decided to go check on what they were doing. The dun cat-hopping uphill and skidding on his heels down the steep slopes jarred him some. But soon, he could see the buzzards’ interest was in a dead cow critter, probably, from the smaller horns, a young cow or heifer.

But what he saw and did not like was the fact that she’d been
slow-elked
. A term to indicate that they’d only taken the hindquarters and loin and wasted the rest. She should have been suckling a milk-fat calf, but he couldn’t see any sign of one. If it was around there, it would be bawling its head off for her. They must have rustled it as well.

Dismounting, he squatted down in some discomfort and studied the horse tracks. The copper smell of death assailed his nostrils. Three ponies had been there. He’d bet they’d used the unshod one for packing. Some runover boot heel and sole prints were indistinguishable.

He picked up two spent .45 casings from in the grass. No doubt they’d shot her at close range between the eyes. The other bullet was for her calf. The rustlers left headed west. If he didn’t ache all over so bad, he’d’ve tracked them. He still had lots of mending to do. With the loss of the cow noted in his logbook, he and Dun headed for the house.

Ty and Ray were riding double on a fat Welsh pony in the corral when he dismounted. They didn’t even see or hear Chet ride in. Beside the corral, hugging his wife May, Dale Allen beamed at his sons. He nodded at Chet. “I found one.”

“Looks good to me.”

“He acts like he likes the boys, too,” May said, looking excited, and Chet agreed.

“What did you find?” Dale Allen asked.

“Fences look in great shape. I rode them out. Someone
slow-elked
a cow up above the pea patch in a canyon, and I guess they got her calf as well.”

“How long ago?” Dale Allen looked upset.

“A day or two ago. Some tracks, but they were cold.”

“Learn anything else?”

“They used a .45. Two casings.” He leaned his back against the corral to find a comfortable place for his back, and braced his boots out in front of himself. There wasn’t any place he could escape the aching.

“You’re hurting?” Dale Allen asked.

“No worse than I’ve been.”

“Sorry you had to take that beating for all of us.”

Chet clapped his brother on the shoulder. “I’ll mend. I’ve got some whiskey in those saddlebags. I think its time for me to have a drink. You want one?”

“Sure. You think they did it? I mean the cow killing?”

“Proving it might be tough. They left the hide.”

Dale Allen got the bottle out and they both took a swig. His brother turned down any more, and led Dun off to put him up, talking softly to May as they went.

Still braced against the fence, Chet took another swallow of the smooth liquor and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Does that help?” Susie asked.

“No. But it makes so you don’t care.”

“You look tuckered out. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll have the boys get you for supper.”

“You know what?”

She shook her head.

“I let a fat eight-point buck go by this morning ’cause I couldn’t load him on a damn horse by myself. And Dale Allen really wanted to ask me why I didn’t follow those faint tracks—” He tried another shot of the whiskey. It was beginning to numb things. “’Cause I could barely get back on my horse.”

“Good thing you didn’t then.”

He agreed, and took another one out of the neck of the bottle. Drunk, he wouldn’t care how bad he hurt.

The next day, still sore from the day before, at Susie’s insistence he tried to rest and stayed around the place. A jittery feeling of missing something made him restless, and he decided that he didn’t have Kathren to talk to. Strange how their few weeks together had built a bond that drew on him that hard. It felt so natural for him to be around her. Her hand on his shoulder—her attention—small kisses—damn, he had it bad and two weeks left to go.

He cleaned firearms and when that was done, he went back in the kitchen and drank fresh coffee the girls made for him. Both of Susie’s helpers acted happy about their jobs, and chattered in Spanish while he blew on the steam and tried to figure what he would do next. The books could wait—he couldn’t sit still that long.

“There is a man at the front door for you,” Astria said to him.

“Thanks.” He rose and went through the living room. Hat in hand, Warren Hodges stood waiting inside the living room. A thin man in his forties who ranched south of Mayfield, he nodded, and his Adam’s apple bobbed like he had trouble swallowing. He was wearing a heavy coat, and Chet told him to hang it up and come in and have a seat.

“Well, I heard about them beating you up in Casey’s.” He narrowed his blue eyes, taking a seat in the chair opposite Chet. “I can’t figure that bunch out. But I came over to tell you about my situation. Earl’s brother and some tough gunny came by my place and told me I better not ship any cattle up north with you if I knew what was good for me. That made me mad, you know?”

“Would me, too. When did they do that?”

“Yesterday. They got me mad, you know? I grabbed my old shotgun by the door and told them to haul out or I’d perforate them with it.”

“What happened then?”

“Shelby said I’d live to regret that, too—” Hodges shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Boy, oh, boy, I had a hard time not giving them both barrels. Ain’t no one telling me what I can and can’t do, you know?”

“I understand, Warren.”

“I was a Ranger, you know?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I ain’t taking that crap. I need to sell cattle as bad as anyone, and they damn sure ain’t telling me who I can send them with.” His hands were close to shaking in his lap.