Chapter 6
After his bath and shave, Chet had the boys saddle Scamp, a big bay, and then he went to the house to get some things to put in his war bag. Susie packed two more ironed shirts and his best pair of pants in it. He’d talked to Reg and J.D. about what they needed to do. For sure to keep the cattle out of the oats so they’d have hay next spring, and the Mexican work force could start plowing the corn ground, because before long they’d need to plant it. Susie and the house crew waved good-bye and he headed for Mason.
The winding road went through the live oak and cedar-clad hills, with cleared fields opening up wide farmland inside of stake and smooth-wire fencing. Most other oat fields looked green, the small blades tossed by the wind. Lots of threats recently, but not much serious rain, and they could sure use some.
With distractions talking to others on the road about finding drovers, he finally reached Mason in late afternoon and went by the jailhouse. The jailer told him that Trent was across the street at Han’s Diner. He thanked the man and crossed through the wagon and buggy traffic for the eatery.
“Well, Chet, what brings you to town?” Trent asked, seated in one of the first booths, eating a late lunch or early supper.
“I came by to test the water about the inquest.” He hung his hat on the hook above his head, and then, at the sheriff’s invite, joined him.
“Not much water to test. Judge Heingardner took our deposition and off the record asked for our opinion. The prosecuting attorney won’t be here for another six weeks, so I think it is all quiet here. You said you weren’t taking a herd north this year?”
Chet shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
“With an outfit like yours it is kinda hard not to go up there, isn’t it?”
“It usually makes money, but it’s twelve to sixteen weeks of hell to earn it. Then the long trip back.”
“How’s your sister?” Trent ducked back to spear a piece of the cut-up pork chop on his plate.
“She sent her best.”
“I don’t know why. I make a pretty poor suitor.”
“Ah, you can’t tell.”
“I can.” Trent used a piece of bread to sop up some gravy. Before he put it in his mouth, he added, “We’ve both got big jobs.”
“Amen.”
“I’m sorry,” the skinny teenage waiter said to Chet. “I was busy and didn’t hear the doorbell ring. Can I get you something?”
“Bring me the plate special and some coffee.”
“I can do that, sir. Thank you.” He left.
“What are you really doing over here?” Trent asked.
“Seeing if I needed to go find a lawyer for this business.”
“No, not yet. I’m sure that the family will raise cain in San Antonio about the courts and the law doing nothing. But what can they do? Send a ranger down here. I’d welcome him.”
“Grossman at the store told me there were three strangers in Mayfield the last few days. Closemouthed, but he felt they were gunhands looking for work or already hired.”
Trent rubbed his finger over his mustache. “Damn, I’ll need to get a deputy back down there. I thought things were getting down to a simmer on your deal—I mean after the shootout and all. But it’s only got worse, huh?”
“There ain’t any end to them. If every man in the clan was dead, the women would come after me.”
Trent shook his head in disappointment. “I have another one north of here that’s festering over a milk cow and a dispute over who owns her. It has only come to fistfighting so far. But killing is next.”
“Thanks,” Chet said as Trent got up to leave.
“I hear anything, I’ll send word to you. No need to go to San Antonio, unless you just wanted to.”
“No need in that—” Chet leaned back as his meal arrived. The young man apologized and told him he’d be back with his coffee.
“See ya. Oh—” Trent stopped and turned back. “Tell Susie I gave you my best for her.”
Chet agreed. Damn shame he was a little older, but he’d be a good man for his sister and she’d be good for him.
Meal over and paid for, he discovered the winter sun had already set when he led Scamp over to the livery and entered the lighted hallway. He planned to get a room at Maude’s when all at once the hallway light went out. He only had a flash of it coming when someone struck him over the head from behind. He went to his knees and could hear several men cussing him, their boot toes trying to cave in his ribs. His world swirled. Later he awoke, hardly able to breathe from the pain in his chest. Mouth full of dried horse shit and dirt, he tried to spit it out from his smashed lips.
Someone far away was talking to him.
“Chet? Chet?”
“Yeah,” he managed. “Who were they?”
Then three faces appeared in the coal-oil lamp held high enough that he could make out their faces: the old livery man, the town marshal Hinkle, and another man with a badge shining in the yellow light.
“I never seed them. They grabbed me and tied me up in the back room,” the old man said.
“Whoever they were, they rode out before we could catch them,” Hinkle said. “Lay still. We’ve sent for Doc.”
“You recognize any of them?” the deputy asked, shifting his weight, and squatting on the ground beside him.
Chet tried to sit up, but instead, with the sharp pains his movements caused, he dropped back onto the ground. “I need some water to wash out my mouth. I must have ate a ton of this dry horse shit.”
The old man said he’d get it.
“You know anyone who would do this to you?” the deputy asked.
“Not unless his name was Reynolds,” Chet mumbled.