CHAPTER 32
Harper left Chadron Turner in charge. The men saddled up in the cool predawn and under his new man’s orders divided up forces to make the first roundup while he rode off to handle the land deal. He and the old man used his buckboard and team to head into town and find him a house.
When they reached town he bought the old man lunch in a café and sent word to his land man, by a boy, to tell him where he was. Clare’s Café was busy, and Tommy Snyder, lawyer and land man, soon joined them. Tommy ordered lunch while Harp explained, between eating his chicken-fried steak, what he needed.
“I have one house close to the river we can go look at.”
“Can you guarantee him he will catch fish?” Harp asked when the man said the house sounded like it would suit him fine.
“If he can’t catch any, we can always use a blasting stick for it,” Tommy said.
Erickson closed his eyes, laughing.
Between looking at the house, and the lawyer drawing up the papers, the business ate up the entire day. He fed the old man, put him in a hotel room, and drove out to the ranch in the dark. When the dogs barked, lights came on and his dad came out on the porch.
“Just me unharnessing,” Harp told him. “I will be up there in a few minutes.”
“Naw, boss let me put them up,” a hand said, taking over the job.
“Thanks. Please grain and water them. They’ve been harnessed all day.”
Katy tackled him on the porch. “What is wrong?”
“Oh not much—” He kissed her. “I bought another ranch, made Chaw foreman. He got so excited he ran off to Mason to tell some girl they could get married. I told him you’d buy her a dress.”
“Of course. What else?”
“I left Mr. Erickson, who is selling us his ranch, to sleep in a hotel and decided I would drive out here and sleep with my wife.”
“Wonderful. You hungry?”
“Don’t go to any trouble.”
“It won’t be.”
“What ranch?” his father asked as he and his mother joined them.
“Erickson’s ten sections south of town.” Lord sakes, by then everyone was up. All he wanted was to sleep with his wife.
Up at dawn, he drove the rig back to town, met the old rancher, and they had breakfast. They went to see the snug house and ten acres again. The cost was fifteen hundred dollars and later at the lawyer’s office, the papers completed, he drove Erickson back to the ranch.
He saw the dust. His bunch was bringing in the first drive of cattle and it looked big. Once at the ranch, he was amazed at the numbers being pushed into the corrals. He let the old man off at his house—a typical shotgun Texas ranch home—and asked if he’d be all right.
“Fine. Fine. My lands. Them boys must ah went to Mexico to find that many cattle.”
“There’s no telling.”
Holy Wars told him that he’d put the team up and gave him a saddled horse to ride.
“Those boys got a bunch didn’t they?”
Holy was laughing. “I bet Chadron wants the next foreman’s job is my thought.”
“He’s gaining on it.”
The two men parted laughing.
He found his headman, wearing a kerchief for a mask against the dust. When they met he pulled it down and the Texas dust rolled off it.
“Lots of cattle,” Harp said to compliment the man.
“Ah, some of them are branded. We can cut them out and drive them off.”
“No problem. We aren’t cattle rustlers.”
“Right. I met two angry ranchers about daybreak. They threatened me. I told them we only wanted the mavericks. Nothing come of it but they were mad as hell about us being down here.”
“Not the first or the last.”
“Oh, I knew that.”
“We better get to sorting huh?”
Chadron looked around. “Yeah. I’ve been expecting Chaw to be back.”
“He will. I can help meantime.”
“I guess so.” Chadron shrugged and they joined the crew.
He made the two cousins Sly and Jimbo as the cutting riders. Things were moving along.
When Ira rang the triangle for lunch, they had most of the branded ones outside and the holding team split to take turns eating lunch. The plans were to drive the branded ones off the ranch.
The remaining wild cattle needed to be worked. They quit branding at dark that evening. Ira had lanterns hung for light on the meal. One man drew night watch. He was to wake another in two hours and so on. Harp’s eyes felt sunburned. Dust scratched and he was anxious to finish the meal and find his bedroll.
Chaw arrived and slid onto the bench beside him, his plate full. “Lucky you guys worked late or I’d have starved.”
“No. Ira would have fed you. We worked late and still have some two hundred head to work tomorrow. Excuse me, how’s Calamity?”
He put down his fork. “She is excited. She is real excited that we can be married. I told her you would buy her a wedding dress—”
“My wife Katy will.”
“Oh, okay. No problem. What do I need to do with Erickson?”
“When we finish working cattle tomorrow, move him to the house I bought him in town. Take a few boys, hire a wagon, and get him settled. Get your gal to Katy, and we will take them to town to find a dress.”
“Good. I am really grateful for this opportunity.”
“Let’s get these cattle worked first.”
“Yes, sir. Get some sleep; you look tired.”
“I am.”
Harp fell asleep when his head hit the saddle seat he used for a pillow. It was a groggy wake-up call. He could sure use his brother there to spread some of this load off on to. No telling about him or what he was up to; he simply hoped he was breathing and taking nourishment somewhere.
He ate breakfast and drank the good coffee. They worked cattle till noon. Chadron had the tally book and read off his numbers. They had found 100 cows and 70 calves with Erickson’s brand. Then they branded another 150 maverick cows and 25 springing heifers. They turned 180 bulls into steers, and there were 85 yearling steers and 75 yearling heifers.
Chadron said there were a lot more in the region they were working. They took the afternoon off. Most everyone was so damn tired they slept. Erickson said he was in no hurry so the next day they made another drive and brought in a lot more—sorted the branded ones, drove them off the ranch, and worked the rest that day and another half day. Mother cows and springing heifers made another 110. There were 150 steers and 120 mixed-sex yearlings. The number of mother cows impressed him the most.
Chaw and Darvon Studdy thought a regular crew there on that ranch could get the rest. So it was set up that some would go home, some were assigned to move Erickson, and Harp and Kate would help Chaw get some furniture and his bride find a wedding dress. A regular crew was left to keep an eye on the place and still work cattle, but two men were to stay on the place at all times. Harp had a notion if anyone knew the O’Malleys had bought it, they might burn it down to get even.
* * *
Erickson’s things were loaded in two farm wagons Harp hired. Some of the crew and Ira’s supply wagon followed. The old man drove his buckboard at the rear. When they got close, four men went with the old man to help unload his stuff. The rest rode into Kerrville.
It was at the Keystone livery, where they were hitching their horses near mid-day, when hell broke loose. Someone in the loft doorway was firing a Winchester at them. Horses, in panic mode, broke reins, reared, and ran. Shots were exchanged and some of Harp’s men, he knew, were shot. Harp had emptied his pistol, got knocked down by his horse breaking away, and managed, after he scrambled up, to get a rifle out of another scabbard. He shot it at someone firing a pistol across the pen of horses; the animals were stamping up dust, charging around, trying to escape the shooting.
Then silence rang in his ears. Two of the ranch’s downed horses broke the silence with screams of pain from bullet wounds. The dust raised up by the penned horses clouded the air.
“Who’s shot?” Harp asked, his guts roiling, him wondering who had done this.
Sly came to him, holding his bloody left arm. “Scratched is all.”
Two boys were on their knees. “Frank Wayne’s dead, boss.”
Holy Wars was hatless and shook his head, stumbling out of the dust. “Them worthless bastards have shot Candy.”
Hatless, Ira carried her limp form in his arms.
“She dead?”
Ira was so angry, his jaw was set tight. “Why in the hell did them sons of bitches shoot her for? She’s dead, Harper. Dead. And she never did a damn thing to any of them.”
“Some of you boys, help him.”
“No. I am going to carry her to Neal’s Funeral Home.”
“Holy, go along and you boys reload your pistols.”
“Boss, come here.” Chaw waved him to the big open doors of the livery.
The owner, Kelsey Hale, and two of his men were tied to wooden kitchen chairs and had been gagged. Chaw began cutting them loose.
“Who did this?”
“They were five of them. Rode in an hour ago, I knew one. Phil Holland. He was a hired gun, but from the blood leaking out of my loft, I figure he’s well on his way out of here.”
“They tell you why?”
“I heard him tell the others to kill both of them O’Malley boys.”
“Who hired them?” He’d cut Hale free.
“I never heard.”
The other two workers, rubbing their wrists from rope burns, shook their heads.
“I’ll go see about the one in the loft,” Chaw said.
About then two town marshals arrived, carrying sawed-off shotguns.
“Harp, what’s happened here?”
“Hale just told us. Some men came, tied him and his men up, and ambushed my bunch when we rode up. I have at least one dead cowboy and a dead girl.”
“Dead girl?”
“They shot an orphan girl that helped my cook Ira. He took her body to the undertaker.”
“We missed him hurrying down here. Why did they do this?”
“Flat out I’d say to stop us from catching any more mavericks.”
“You know who’s behind it?”
“I don’t. But I promise you if you don’t learn it, I will.”
“Where is your brother?”
Harp shook his head. “He might be climbing the Rocky Mountains. He split off to see some new country when we left Abilene.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” the lawman said.
“I think there’s more dead guys lying around.”
“Herb, go out back and see what you can find,” John Tyler said to the other man.
Two of Harp’s cowboys were dragging someone by the arms, coming from behind the barn.
“Who’s he?” Tyler asked.
“He says he’s Allen Capps,” Virgil, one of the new boys, said. “But he says Phil Holland hired him to catch some rustlers named O’Malley.”
“Watch out. This one’s dead,” Chaw said from up in the loft, and rolled that shooter’s body out to plunk on the ground in front.
“Who’s this one?” Tyler asked.
The liveryman Hale said, “Phil Holland. I knew him from years ago.”
“There’s two more dead out back,” Virgil said.
“Damn. How many of your men are wounded?”
“Sly, one of my point riders, was scratched. Candy and one of my boys, Frank Wayne, dead. Lost some damn good horses. You need us?”
“I guess not. What next?”
“A couple of boys can help Holy get his remuda gathered. Chaw, go see what you can do for Ira at the funeral home. Tell him I’ll take care of expenses. I am taking Sly to the doctor. He’s black but he is vital to us as a point rider. I want to be sure and have him fixed him up right.”
Tyler nodded.
“Chadron, go check on Erickson and those boys we sent to help set him up. This is a damn mess, and I want to get to the bottom of it after the doc’s. They even shot one of my best working horses. Damn. This all really makes me mad.”
“I damn sure want this ended, too, Harp.”
“Thanks. Now I need to get my man to the doc.”
Sly didn’t want to go see a doctor; said his cousin Jimbo had already bandaged it.
Harp wouldn’t listen and the three set out on foot for the doc’s house a block away. A grumpy attendant told Jimbo to stay outside since he wasn’t shot.
Harp caught the man by the sleeve. “That man works for me. He’ll be in here or you will be on your ass out on the lawn.”
“Yes, sir. I just—”
“I know. They both stay in here.”
An older woman showed them into a side room. Sly shook his head. “I knowed they wouldn’t—”
Harp cut him off. “We talked a long time ago. You are my men and color don’t count.”
“Not if you work for the O’Malley brothers it don’t.” Jimbo laughed.
Doc Randolph cleaned the wound, stitched it, and bandaged it. “He will be fine.”
While Harp paid the doctor, Tyler’s men brought in the wounded outlaw.
Tyler said the other two had died. He didn’t know their names, but promised to send word if he learned any more. Harp thanked him.
Holy had left three saddled horses at the hitch rail out front of the doc’s office for the men to ride back to the ranch. That boy thought of everything. They rode back and a worried Katy ran out to hug her husband.
“They tried to kill you?”
“Yes. But they failed. Sorry it worried you.”
“You sure you are not hurt?”
“No. Sly was scratched. A young cowboy, Frank Wayne, was killed. They got my good horse, Comanche, too. Marshal Tyler is trying to find out who hired them, but their leader is dead and two more with him.”
“They are having Candy’s funeral tomorrow,” Katy said.
“We will all be there.”
“How is Ira?”
“I imagine not very well. She was like a daughter to him.”
“She never recovered mentally did she?”
Harp shook his head. “But she didn’t deserve to die, either.”
He hugged his wife and tried not to, but some tears escaped his eyes. “Damn, Katy, all of our successes and this had to happen.”
He recalled the time, as a boy, when his welch pony Briar died of colic. Oh, he’d been heartbroken and his dad had hugged him and said in his brogue, “And into every man’s life there shall be a tragedy and it will cause a tear to fall maybe two. But the living must go on.”
How true on this sunny late fall day.