CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
From Shamrock to Abilene, west of Fort Worth, was a week of campsites and sparse meals of beef jerky and beans, washed down with strong trail coffee. Rather than ride into Fort Worth, he avoided the hustle and bustle of the larger town and opted to stop in Abilene to restock.
Abilene was small but busy, probably due to some spillover from the nearby larger town. It was the first town he had stopped in since Shamrock, but his goal was the same. A short respite for the sorrel and a good, hot meal for himself. He felt that the condition of his broken-down old bones was improving, but he still needed a decent meal every so often.
There were more choices than there had been in his previous stop. He was determined to stay away from saloons, as they were often places where trouble simmered and eventually boiled over. He also ignored some of the larger eateries on the town’s main street, and eventually found one that appealed to him. It was small, but as he dismounted, the smells coming from it were mouthwatering.
He tied the sorrel off and went inside. Apparently, the place was not a popular location for lunch, as there were plenty of tables available. After a week of beef jerky, Jake went for a chicken lunch, and enjoyed it. When he paid his bill and stepped outside, he found two men standing by his horse. One was older, in his forties, built thick in the middle. The other one might have been his son.
“This yours?” one asked.
“That’s right.”
“Nice animal.”
“Thanks.”
“New in town?” the other asked.
“Just passin’ through,” Jake said. “Figured to have a meal, pick up some supplies, and move on. You the law?”
“Us? Naw, we’re just appreciative of good horseflesh,” the first man said. “I got a ranch outside of town, and raise horses.” He touched the sorrel’s neck. “This one sure is nice.”
“Again,” Jake said, “thanks.”
“You wouldn’t be interested in sellin’ him, wouldja?” the man asked.
“Afraid not,” Jake said. “Just bought him myself a couple of weeks ago.”
“You don’t look like the type to drift,” the man said.
“Had a ranch for a long time down around Brownsville,” Jake said.
“That a fact? I pretty much know who most of the big ranchers are in Texas. My name’s Dan Paxton, this is my son, Joe.”
“Glad to meetja,” Jake said. “Jake Motley.”
“I knew it!” Paxton said, snapping his fingers. “Big Jake Motley, right? The Big M?”
“Used to be the Big M,” Jake said. “I don’t know what the new owner is callin’ it, these days.” That wasn’t quite true, but the truth didn’t much matter, at this point.
“You just have a meal in there?” Paxton asked.
“I did. It was okay.”
“Like I said, you don’t look like you’re driftin’.”
“I’m not,” Jake said. “Drove my last herd to Dodge, and now I’ve got some business back around Three Rivers way.”
“I tell you what,” Paxton said. “Why don’t you let me show you some hospitality? A good meal, a comfortable bed, and you can get started again in the mornin’.”
“Why would you do that?” Jake asked.
“I like men who know horses,” Paxton said. “And you have a reputation for knowing horses and cattle.”
“Didn’t know I had any reputation left,” Jake said.
“I don’t know what’s goin’ on in your life,” Paxton said, “but the Big M used to be known in Texas, and so did Big Jake Motley, but everybody falls on hard times somewhere along the line. Lemme just show you some appreciation.”
Paxton’s son, Joe, hadn’t said a word yet, but now he commented, “Give this fine animal a night off.”
Jake took a deep breath. He could use a night in a real bed.
“Okay, Mr. Paxton,” he said, “I accept your invitation.”
“The name’s Dan,” Paxton said, extending his hand.
The Paxtons were in town to pick up some supplies, so Jake walked over to the general store with them.
“We’re buildin’ another corral,” Paxton told Jake. “And my wife gave me a list. She’s a helluva cook.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jake said. “I’ve gotta pick up a few things myself.”
“Save your money,” Paxton said. “We’ll outfit ya tomorrow before you leave.”
So Jake stood by while the Paxtons made their purchases, helped them load their buckboard, and then followed them from town to the Paxton Ranch.
When they reached the ranch it reminded Jake a lot of the earlier days of the Big M, when it was still growing. There was a two-story house he was sure Paxton had built himself, a large, new-looking barn with a corral in front, and a few hands working some horses.
“Do you have any cattle?” Jake asked.
“No,” Joe Paxton said, “what Pa does is raise horses, pure and simple. That’s our business.”
The Paxtons drove their buckboard right into the barn, and a few of the men came trotting over.
“Get this stuff unloaded,” Dan ordered, stepping down from the seat. “This is Mr. Jake Motley. Take care of his horse, and treat him well.”
Jake could tell that Dan Paxton was a good man with horses, because he referred to the sorrel as “him” and not “it.” Only dedicated horsemen did that.
“Come on, Jake,” Paxton said. “We’ll go up to the house and I’ll introduce you to my missus. Joe, get one of the men to bring Ma her supplies.”
“Right, Pa.”
Jake collected his saddlebags from his horse and followed Paxton.
“Any other kids, Dan?” Jake asked as they walked.
“No, just Joe. But he’s a good one. You?”
“We never had any,” Jake said.
“And your wife? Is she waitin’ in Brownsville for you?”
“She died some years back,” Jake said. “Things went downhill from there.”
“I’m sorry,” Paxton said. “I didn’t know.”
When they reached the house a handsome, middle-aged woman came out onto the porch to greet them. She wore a simple blue dress that reminded Jake of the kind Abby used to make for herself. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure this was such a good idea.
“Jenny, this is Big Jake Motley, from South Texas,” Paxton said. “Used to own and run the Big M down there. He was passin’ through and I invited him to eat with us and spend the night.”
“You must be ridin’ a fine horse, Mr. Motley,” she said. “My husband enjoys people who know horses. Welcome. Please come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Where’s Joe?” she asked as they entered the house.
“He’s seein’ to your supplies,” Paxton said. “Probably puttin’ them in the kitchen as we speak.”
The house had obviously been furnished to the lady of the house’s taste—frilly and clean—and, thankfully, did not remind Jake of Abby’s preferences. Jenny Paxton’s taste was more girlish than Abby’s had ever been. Jake had input into what went into the house, probably more so than Dan Paxton did.
“How about a drink?” Paxton asked.
“Daniel,” Jenny Paxton said, “why not let Mr. Motley wash up and see his room before you ply him with liquor?”
“She’s right, as usual,” Paxton said. “Let’s get that done and then I’ll pour you some good brandy.”
Jake got washed up and put on a clean shirt to have supper with the Paxtons. When he came downstairs Paxton handed him the promised brandy.
“You strike me as a beer man,” the rancher said, “but try this.”
Jake sipped and said, “It’s very good.”
“Let’s sit,” Paxton said.
He had a desk in the front room, by the window, which reminded Jake of his own, but other than that the furniture was different. The chairs and sofa in his own house had been more rustic and handmade. This furniture looked like it was bought from a catalog. It was also cushiony, which was meant to be comfortable, but he didn’t like the way he was sinking into it.
“What was it like?” Paxton asked. “I mean, your last trail drive.”
“It was sad,” Jake said, “and hard, but also very satisfying. I hadn’t been on a drive in a while, leavin’ that to my younger hands. Took my bones a while to get comfortable in the saddle again.”
“With that sorrel?”
“No,” Jake said, “I bought that one when I left Dodge. I decided to spend some of my herd money on a good animal.”
“Well, that’s a good one, all right.”
Joe Paxton entered at that point, looking freshly scrubbed, which made him appear eighteen rather than in his twenties, which was what Jake had first figured.
“Can I have some of that, Pa?” he asked.
“One glass, son,” Paxton said.
Joe poured it and sipped it appreciatively. He took his drink to a chair and sat.
“We were just talkin’ about Jake’s herd,” Paxton told his son.
“How many head did you drive, Mr. Motley?” Joe asked.
“I only had six hundred for this final drive,” Jake said. “Far cry from the days when we drove two or three thousand.”
“Wow,” Joe said, “that musta been somethin’. I’ve taken horses to market in Fort Worth, but I’ve never been on a cattle drive.”
“It’s very different,” Jake said.
They went on to talk more about the differences between driving a herd of cattle and a herd of horses, until Jenny Paxton came in and announced supper was ready.
The conversation continued over supper as Joe Paxton asked question after question.
“I just wish the cattle drives weren’t gone,” he said eventually. “I’d sign up for one in a minute.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Jenny said. “Your father needs you right here.”
“It’s backbreakin’ work, Joe,” Jake told him. “You’re not missin’ anythin’.”
After supper Joe excused himself to go and do some chores.
“Maybe we can talk some later?” Joe said to Jake.
“Sure thing,” Jake said.
After Joe left and Jenny was in the kitchen, Paxton and Jake sat at the table and drank coffee.
“Sorry about all the questions,” Paxton said. “The boy’s startin’ to think he’s missin’ out on somethin’.”
“That’s okay,” Jake said. “If I can discourage him, I will.”
“I appreciate that,” the rancher said. “I really don’t need him goin’ off on his own right now. Maybe in a few years, when he’s older.”
“How old is he?”
“Nineteen,” Paxton said.
“He’s still just a boy,” Jenny said, coming in from the kitchen.
“He’s a young man, Jenny,” Paxton said, “but I still don’t want him to leave.”
“I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen,” Jake said. “Might be why I’m so tired, these days.”
“You seem to have done all right for yourself,” Jenny said. “The Big M and all.”
“It was goin’ well for a time,” Jake admitted. “But then my wife died, my best friend left . . . everything fell apart. I can tell Joe all that, if you like.”
“I’m sorry,” Jenny said. “I know that’s all very personal, but if hearin’ it will keep him home—”
“We’ll keep ’im home, Jen,” Paxton said. “There’s no point in makin’ Jake talk about his troubles.”
Jenny sat across from Jake and asked, “So what are you up to now?”
“I’m huntin’ a man.”
“Taken up bounty huntin’, then?” Paxton asked.
“No,” Jake said. “During the drive, down around Three Rivers, he tried to take my herd, and killed my best friend.”
“What will you do when you find him?” Jenny asked.
“Kill ’im,” Jake said.
She stood up, said, “Please don’t tell Joe that story,” and went back to the kitchen.