Texas Blood Feud. Dusty Richards
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waved J.D. away from the front of their horses.
“I’ll take these two. You bust that one,” he said to Reg. “Eeha!”
The three horses bolted away from under their riders. The ropes creaked. Two of their necks snapped like shots—Stevens gagged—dancing on his noose. His struggle was short-lived, but not before his bowels released and he fouled his pants.
“What now?” Reg asked, looking sick.
“Make camp—” Chet clapped the downcast J.D. on the shoulders. “It’s a tough world. Tough solution, but they’d only’ve laughed at us for letting them off. You going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, you’ll never be the same. But in time you’ll understand it better.”
Reg gave a hard sigh. “I kept thinking. Kept waiting. Hines, he never mentioned his wife Kathren or their daughter Cady.”
Chet agreed. “They must not have mattered to him.”
“Yeah, I guess they didn’t. What about their horses?”
“Horses’ll go home. Let them go.” Chet said, and started them back for their own mounts. “Daylight comes, we better gather our bunch and get back.”
“Yes, sir,” they said.
They’d never said that to him before. In disbelief, he blinked after them. Turning in the saddle, he looked back, and could see the three dark silhouettes swinging in the wind. Damn, what a day.
Chapter 4
Four days of horse driving later, the weather had warmed. Chet was grateful. They were fast approaching the home place deep in the live-oak-and-cedar-clad hills. When they broke camp that morning, Chet told the boys that the less that they said about the ordeal, the better it would be for all of them. Word would filter down soon enough. The rustlers’ saddle horses would wander back.
Along the way, they’d even found Sam Bass and he was sound again. Chet considered himself lucky—he had recovered every horse that had been stolen. When the last one went through the gate into the north pasture, they wahooed and fired their pistols in the air. Then, on the fly, they headed for the headquarters.
“I want a hot bath,” J.D. said, running side by side with Chet. “What do you want?”
“A good drink or two of whiskey.” Then Chet laughed.
“What about you?” J.D. asked Reg on the other side, ducking his head so he didn’t lose his hat.
Tall in the saddle, Reg grinned and shouted, “Some of Susie’s cooking.”
“He thinks our cooking’s bad,” Chet said to J.D.
“Aw, hell, he’s too hard to please.”
Chet nodded, filled with excitement, drew his Colt, and fired two more shots.
“What’s that for?” Reg asked as they pounded across the bottom between the rail fences and green oat field.
“To let them know we’re coming in.”
“You bet,” Reg shouted, and went to whipping his horse for the final leg of the journey. It was a horse race, and Reg let go of the black’s lead rope so he could concentrate on the last burst. Shoulder to shoulder, the three charged for the ranch gate, urging their mounts on. Roan began to gain on them. When they sped through the wide opening, he won by a nose. Sliding their mounts up to the hitch rack on their hindquarters in a cloud of dust, they faced a porch full of anxious onlookers.
“Well. You must’ve got them back,” Susie said, standing with her arms folded on the porch.
“Every damn one of them,” J.D. said, and went to brushing himself off.
“Better watch your language, Ma’s here,” Reg said under his breath.
“Oh.” He slapped his hand over his mouth.
Chet saw her first. His Aunt Louise, the boys’ mother, came storming out of the house. “Chet Byrnes, have you lost your mind taking my boys after those rustlers?”
He slipped out of the saddle and turned to Reg. “You two go get the black and unload him.”
Louise stood with her buttoned-up shoes planted underneath the many layered lace petticoats. Her feet were set apart on the rock-floored porch. Her face was black in anger, her dark hair pulled back so tight her eyes looked like slits. Hands on her slender hips, his late uncle’s wife looked mad enough to bite the head off a diamondback. Mark Byrnes had never come back from the war. Died or killed in Mississippi near the end. She never forgave him for not coming home either.
“You may run this ranch, but you are not ever again to haul my boys off on a vigilante ride. I suppose you hung them?”
He looked at her mildly. “Yes, Louise, we hung them.”
In screaming fury, she came off the porch and tried to pound him with her fists. He caught her wrists. “Listen to me. Those men stole our horses. They stole our horses that will drive our cattle to Kansas. Stand still or I’ll break your arms. Listen to me.” He forced her down to her knees. “Those horses were yours, mine, your boys’ and this whole family’s livelihood. We hung those rustlers. They were people that lived around here. No one needs to know what we did—do you understand me? No one—”
She broke into sobs. “They’re only boys. Only boys.”
“No one on this ranch is to ever speak about it ever again, Louise. Do you understand?” He looked hard-eyed at the rest for their nods. Then he released her.
“I—I understand, but Chet, for God’s sake, they’re only boys.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. They’re men.”
With Louise on her knees, crying in her hands, he went on inside the house. Susie scowled at him. “You know how she is. Why do that to her?”
“Because this may be the most serious thing ever happened to all of us. I don’t need her whining around about it all over. They’ll find out soon enough.”
“I was right about that paint horse then?” Susie’s hands flew to cover her mouth.
“Hell, yes. He wasn’t the only one in on it either.”
“Who else?”
“It doesn’t matter—no one is to talk about it ever again.” He threw his hat across the living room. “They stole our damn horses. That makes them no better than anyone else that steals horses.” He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. They had to understand him. This got out, it might be the worst thing that ever happened to the Byrnes clan. Rustlers or not, those thieves’ families might take up the sword of revenge.
Distraught, her face wet with tears, Louise ran by him sobbing. “They were just boys. Why did they have to do it?”
He started to reach for her, then at the last moment, dropped his hand and let her go on. “Susie, go tell her so she understands. They aren’t boys anymore. We all have to grow up in this harsh world. And how important her silence is.”
Without a word, Susie nodded and ran after her aunt, who’d disappeared back in the dining room. He shook his head and fetched his hat. He had to think for too many people. Hat on his head, he stormed out the front door and headed for the barn. He wasn’t ready to hear his demented father’s repeated lectures or his poor mother’s ranting.
He took a quick shower in the bathhouse. The water was icy cold, but it woke him some from the dullness that had invaded his brain. He put on clean underwear, a clean shirt, and canvas pants. He wished he could shave, but there was no heated water down there. The temperature had warmed the past few days, but he put on a jumper to cut the oncoming night’s cold.
In a short while, he saddled a fresh