Texas Blood Feud. Dusty Richards
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left, threatening everyone within hearing of his voice that his poor boy’s death would not go unavenged. Many shook their heads warily, and the crackling of the fire was the only sounds, save for the music of a fiddle coming from inside the schoolhouse. The dance was about to begin.
Chet headed for the lighted doorway and climbed the stairs, deep in concern. They’d learn in time. Those Reynolds—
“Susie coming?” the lanky Ryan Thomas asked, standing on his boot toes, looking all around.
“She’s coming. Finishing the dishes.”
“I’ll go see about her then.” He smiled big at Chet and started off. “Thanks.”
It would be nice to be twenty-some years old and innocently in love. He nodded to a few that he knew who were standing around watching the dancers, and found a peg on the wall for his gun belt and hat. Since the Comanche threat had eased so much, folks hung up their guns—made thing more peaceful.
“I want a dance later, cowboy,” Nancy Brant said. The tall broad-shouldered wife of a neighbor always danced with him a time or two, since her husband Ralph seldom shuffled his feet. He agreed, and shook hands with Jim Crammer, a short, soft-spoken, man who ranched west of their place.
“I thought Earl was going to drag you into a fight earlier.”
Chet nodded. “He’s like a sore-toed bear. Shame about his son, but he knows the law.”
“It’s hard to accept things when they touch you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He ain’t going up there and shoot up anyone. Why, those folks won’t stand for it.”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“A boy gets mixed up in bad company and that’s what happens.”
“I agree. I better dance with Nancy. They’re playing a waltz.”
“Always good to see you, Chet. Tell Rock hi.”
“I will.”
His movements around the room with the tall woman were easy flowing. She talked about her three children and a new colt. Lighthearted, she laughed about some wreck she’d had with a goat. As usual, it was a fun few minutes with a good dancer.
Next, he asked Marla to dance—the one time they would dare to make contact during the evening.
“Bad about the Reynolds boy.”
His hand in the middle of her back, he could feel the familiar muscles under his palm as they went around. “Yes.”
“How’s Kathren Hines? I haven’t seen her.”
“I don’t think she’s here.”
Marla shook her head. “Poor thing. Husband hung for rustling, I guess.”
“I guess.”
“When will you come back and see me?”
“Next week, I guess.”
“He’s going to San Antonio Monday. Be gone all week, he says.”
“I’ll see how things go.”
“Two trips over wouldn’t hurt.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, politely returning her to her place along the wall. Damn, he felt cheated that that was as long as he got to hold her. If she was his wife, he wouldn’t leave her home by herself to do all the chores. Then he kept the smile to himself and nodded to Neddy Coleman.
“Dance with me cowboy?” the straight-backed woman asked him.
The seventy-year-old rancher in her divided skirt and man’s shirt still showed lots of the beauty her late husband Wye had seen in her years before. She was the picture of a west Texas take-charge-when-the-man-is-gone woman. Able to ride and rope with any male, she had the look of a lovely younger woman with her movements and still soft features.
“I see you haven’t found a woman yet. Old bachelors are not that swell. Find you a woman.” Her hand on his waist gave him a small squeeze. “Besides, a good woman can push you into better things.”
“Neddy, I’d ask you in a minute to marry me.”
She shook her head in disapproval. “I’d be about as much fun as a wind-broken, stifled horse. You know what I mean.”
They both laughed. She damn sure got to the point in a hurry.
He saw Susie and her man dancing and talking to each other. What would Chet do without her? He might have to—cross that river when he got to it.
“I have a tough colt needs the edge took off him. He’s out of good stock but—well, if you don’t have time to mess with him—”
“Did you bring him along, Neddy?”
“Yes, I thought—”
“We’ll take him home and curry him down some.” The dance was over.
A smile spread over her handsome face as they stood on the floor. “Bend down.”
He did and she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a darling, boy.”
Drinking sweet lemonade, he watched Marla dancing the next set with a rancher from over east. Sometimes, being this close to her made him fidgety—even jealous. Why couldn’t he find a woman of his own? Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough.
Early in the evening, he excused himself and went back to camp. It was empty when he flung out his bedroll. Clear sky full of stars, no need to sleep under the tarp, so he planned to sleep in the open beyond the buckboard. Seated on his butt, he took off his boots, unbuckled his gun belt, and wound it up so it be by his head, then crawled inside and looked at the stars. How much trouble would he have when Earl Reynolds discovered the truth? Time would tell.
Chapter 6
Monday morning, a light frost hung in the air; Neddy’s big Roman-nosed bay was a stout three-year-old. Snubbed to the post in the center of the corral, he had a head-slinging fit. His nostrils flared open. He could have been breathing fire out of them. He was also too handy with his front feet, pawing and striking at Chet. But the hemp rope was looped around his flank, then between his front legs and through the ring on the halter, and every time he flew back, it was pinching down on his back and kidneys.
Hazing him with the saddle blanket was lesson number one.
“What does she call him?” Ray asked as he and his brother Ty sat on the fence to watch the operation.
“I call him Bugger.”
“He’s not very friendly.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get that way if we sack him down enough.” Chet waved the blanket, and Bugger showed him the whites of his eyes and flew back again. This was not going to be a fast training process. But he agreed with Neddy on one thing. The big horse broke would be a helluva powerful roping horse and could drag off the world.
After an hour of messing with him, Chet left the gelding tied and gathered the boys. From there on, Bugger would get his water and feed when Chet led him to them. They went to the main house to see if Susie had any hot cinnamon rolls left lying around.
“Uncle Chet?” Ty asked. “There going to be bad trouble for us?”
“Who told you that?”
“Daddy told May there would be a war.”
“I hope not, boys.”
“Were you in the war?” Ray asked.
Chet shook his head. His father and mother both were too disturbed for him to leave them alone on the place. His Uncle Mark went, but Dale Allen was too young. They’d stayed home to fight Comanche and rustlers.
“What’s