The two men continued to negotiate, until Gorman agreed to pay ten dollars. After that, Gorman went to the bank and withdrew five thousand dollars.
Amon Kilgore, Sid Gorman, and Leonard Chestnut who worked for Sid, rode out to the herd of cattle that were trailing to Abilene, Kansas. They could hear the cattle before they could smell them, and they could smell them before they saw them. When they did see the herd, it was like a large undulating island on a sea of grass. Seeing the three men approach, Jerry Alcorn rode out to meet them.
Do we have a deal?” Alcorn asked.
“That we do,” Kilgore said, “and this here’s the man who made it. Jerry this is Sid Gorman and his man.”
“And how much is in it for us?”
“Jerry, Jerry . . . you’ve got to have patience in this game,” Kilgore said.
“Well how much?” Alcorn continued. “It’s got to be worth my while to cheat old man Dennis.”
“Does five hundred dollars sound about right?”
Alcorn nodded his head. “I think all the boys can live with that. How many is our friend gonna take?”
“I agreed to take five hundred off your hands,” Gorman said.
“Good, it’ll just make our job easier,” Alcorn said. “We’ll cut ‘em out right now. Don’t suppose you’re too finicky about the brands you’ll be gettin’.”
“Can’t say that I am,” Gorman said. “Where these are goin’, nobody cares.”
While Kilgore and Gorman watched, Chestnut joined Alcorn and several of the other men as they quickly cut out five hundred head of cattle. When they had them separated, Alcorn returned to the two men.
“Now that you’ve got the critters, what you goin’ to do with ‘em?” Alcorn asked. “You and Chestnut gonna herd ‘em by yourself?”
“He’s got a point,” Kilgore said. “What are you going to do with ‘em?”
“I’ve got a place staked out no more’n ten miles from here,” Gorman said. “I thought you might see to it that I got them there.”
“I think with the two of you, it wouldn’t take but a couple more to handle five hundred cows,” Alcorn said.
“What about it, Amon? Can you let a couple go for a day or two?”
“If you’ll pay them fifty dollars apiece.”
Gorman hesitated a moment, then he nodded. “Damn, Kilgore, you trying to get every cent you can.”
Amon Kilgore smiled. “Hell Sid, it ain’t for me. It’s for my men.”
“Sure it is. I’ll bet the damn punchers don’t see a penny of this hundred dollars.” Gorman took out a wad of paper money and pulled off the necessary payment. “One of these days, you’re gonna run up against someone who won’t let you take advantage of ‘em.”
“Keep your money. I’ll keep my men.”
“No, no. If I can’t get these cows to the holding pen, I’ve lost them.”
“That’s how I thought you’d see it.”
Kilgore turned his horse and trotted off toward the remaining herd that now numbered close to eight hundred. He had started out with fourteen hundred cows, and up to this point, he had lost fewer than a hundred head. He had to admit he had done a good job acting as the trail boss for the Rocking D and a part of him felt some remorse. But then he thought of the one thousand dollars that he now had in his pocket. By sharing the money with the crew, and he thought he was being extra generous, not a single one of them would ever report back to John Dennis just how they lost so many cows. He could hear their stories now: Indian raids, stampedes, hailstorms, river crossings, and rustlers.
He chuckled. Nobody would mention that ‘they’ were the rustlers.
"Come on Barney," Cade McCall said as he coaxed his horse off the train at the Galveston, Houston and Henderson depot. "We're almost home. You'll have a dry stable tonight, and I'll have a comfortable bed."
He saddled the horse quickly but didn't bother to mount, deciding instead to lead him through the streets of Galveston. Even though he had been gone for less than four months, the city had changed, and everywhere he looked he saw construction. There were more and more businesses opening, and bigger and bigger houses, all built to accommodate the new millionaires. Galveston had become the main port for the export of Texas products, the principal one being cotton. Most anything that was needed on the Texas mainland was imported through here, and money was flowing causing many to nickname the city the Wall Street of the South.
He smiled when he saw what he was looking for, and he hurried toward an establishment called The Red House. He was half owner of this boarding house, but it was not his half of the business that enticed him to return to Galveston--it was the owner of the other half that drew him.
His partner was Arabella Dupree, a beautiful Cajun from New Orleans, to whom French came easier than English. She spoke with an accent that Cade found most appealing.
Their relationship had a most inauspicious beginning. Cade had met Arabella at a bar in New Orleans. She was using the name Chantal at the time. Arabella had set him up to be shanghaied. And though she hadn’t set out to steal from him, he had left behind almost fifteen hundred dollars, which she saw fit to appropriate. For any reasonable thinking man, he should hate this woman--but that was definitely not the feeling he had for her now, and he couldn't wait to see her.
"Well if it isn't the rooster come home to take over the henhouse," a man called when Cade got to the boarding house.
"Mr. Bowman, you know that's not true," Cade said as he tied his horse to the hitching post. "It's Arabella who rules this roost."
"That she does," Bowman said, "and just you wait 'til you meet the new person she's brought in."
"A new resident? Has he taken over my room?"
"Not a he."
"Then it's a woman. That's good," Cade said. "There are too many men living in this house. Mrs. Rittenhouse and Miss Baker must be happy."
"We all like her--we like her a whole lot, but she kinda . . . ."
"Kinda what?"
"She tells us what to do, even more than Miss Arabella does." Mr. Bowman picked up a paint brush. "You see this here brush? Miss Magnolia says you can't call this place The Red House unless we have more red. I'm supposed to paint the porch railings to match the shutters and the roof. Why she even thinks I should paint a rocking chair or two."
"Miss Magnolia is it? Well, it will be interesting to meet her."
When Cade went into the house, he saw Arabella sitting at the piano, and it was positioned in a bay window in a way that made her unaware of his entrance. She was playing a piece by Chopin, and because she was obviously lost in the music, Cade didn’t interrupt her. He waited until the last chord resonated, then he applauded, softly.
Arabella turned, and seeing Cade she jumped from the piano bench and rushed to him.
"You're back," she said throwing her arms around him.
"I take it you missed me," Cade said as he kissed her. She was a very attractive, petite young woman with dark hair and flashing black eyes.
"Oh I did," Arabella said. "But now you are back." Her eyes opened wide. "Or will you have to go again?"
"Not this year. I'm here to take over the chicken coop."
Arabella contorted her face. "I do not know what you mean—this poulailler, chicken coop," she translated quickly.
"It's nothing. Just something old man Bowman said. By the way, he says we have a new tenant."
"Not exactly. She's a new employee."
"Oh?" Cade said, "And she lives here?"
"She does. Come, let me introduce her."
Arabella led Cade to the kitchen where an attractive young woman was standing at the stove, stirring a pot. She was taller than Arabella, and her coloring was a bit darker, but she was quite attractive in an exotic sort of way.
"Magnolia Trudeau, meet Cade McCall."
"If what I'm smelling is thanks to you, I'm happy to meet you, Maggie."
"It's Magnolia," Arabella insisted, hitting Cade on the arm. "I believe you may have met her once b
efore, but you didn't know her name."
"Oh?" Cade said as he raised his eyebrows.
"I worked with Arabella at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar in New Orleans," Magnolia said. "When I had a customer that . . . ."
"You don't have to say anything more," Cade said, holding up his hand to stop her. "I know Arabella is happy to have an old friend join her here in Galveston."
"Thank you, Mr. McCall."
"No, no. It's Cade." He stepped to the stove and looked down into the pot. "What is this concoction you've put together?"
"It's coq au vin," Magnolia said. "I hope you like it."
2
Rocking D Ranch, Matagorda County, Texas:
Amon Kilgore was reporting to John Dennis, owner of the Rocking D Ranch. Like Cade McCall, Kilgore was a contractor who took herds north.
“I’m sorry to say that we reached Abilene with only seven hunnert ‘n ten cows,” Kilgore said.
“Seven hundred and ten cows out of fourteen hundred?” Dennis said. “That’s one hell of loss!”
“Yes, sir, but it was a real rough drive. We lost three hunnert ‘n seventeen to rustlers. ‘N we lost another hunnert ‘n forty one drownded in the Brazos, the river bein’ high ‘n all. We had two bad stampedes, ‘n in the first one we lost eighty-seven cows, ‘n and the second, we lost forty-two. The rest of ‘em was cows that just died on the trail from thirst, or one thing ‘n another. ‘N then the injuns up in The Nations, why, them sorry bastards would sneak in at night ‘n take ten or twenty head without nobody even noticin’ it. Hell, I didn’t know we was that far down ‘till it come time to sell ‘em to a broker. We got twelve dollars apiece for the seven hunnert ‘n ten head we had left.”
“Twelve dollars a head? Linus Puckett got fifteen dollars a head for his cattle.”
“Yes, sir, that’s on account of he got his herd there first. By the time we got there, truth is, they was pretty full up ‘n wasn’t hardly buyin’ no more. After expenses, ‘n my charge, you come up with $4,140.”
Dennis shook his head. “Four thousand dollars for a year of payin’ wages ‘n tendin’ to the cattle? That’s damn little for a year’s operation,” he said.
“Yes, sir, well, seein’ as I only get paid for them cows that I actually deliver for you, well, truth is, I didn’t make out none too well myself neither,” Kilgore said, as he slid the money across the table to the rancher. He smiled. “But, if we get us a good, early start next year so’s that we’re near ‘bout the first ones to get there, we’ll get a real good price for ‘em, I know we will.”
“Assuming we get enough cattle through,” Dennis replied.
“You can’t go blamin’ none of that on me,” Kilgore said. “You been in the business long enough to know that sometimes things like that happens. Hell, I’ve known ranchers that, some years, winds up actual losin’ money.”
Dennis ran his hand through his hair, and let out a long sigh in disappointment. “That’s true,” he said. “I suppose, under the circumstances, I should take some comfort in the fact that I didn’t actually lose any money. Thank you, Mr. Kilgore.”
“We’ll do better next year,” Kilgore said with a reassuring smile.
As Kilgore rode away from the ranch, the smile on his face grew broader. Even after paying off the men, he had wound up with more money than the owner. And the drovers, whom he had personally selected, wound up with four times as much money as any other drover made during the entire season. It was that increase in their pay that bought, not only their compliance in his rustling scheme, but also their silence.
Galveston, Texas:
I
t was getting on into late September, and during the time since Cade had returned from the cattle drive, he had invested much of his share of the income into expanding The Red House. He was building an additional wing that would allow them to double the number of residents they could accommodate. Of course, that meant enlarging the kitchen, and the dining room as well.
He also owned 40% interest in the Bell and Sail, a ship’s chandler near the Galveston docks. His interest in the business was economic only; he took no part in managing it, though he did visit the place frequently. He had a connection to the business because Cade had been a sailor at one time. He wasn’t a sailor by choice, he had been shanghaied at a bar in New Orleans, and wound up on board a ship that was bound for San Francisco, by way of the horn. Jumping ship in Argentina, Cade made his way back to the States.
As Cade stood on the dock, he noticed that the sea was rolling in, in long, flat, swells, indicative, he had learned, of a storm far out in the Gulf. He saw a ship, sail up, over the distant horizon. He watched the ship until it was hull up, then he stepped back into the Bell and Sail.
“Stan, you got ‘ny idea what ship that might be, coming in?”
“It’s probably the Success,” Stan Virden replied. “It’s supposed to make port here, today.”
“The Success? Hmm, I’ve got a friend on the Success. I wonder how long she’ll be in port?”
“I think she’ll be here at least a week.”
“Good.” Cade walked back to the window and looked out over the Gulf again. “Have you seen the water? The long swells like that? That doesn’t look good.”
“Oh, I expect it’ll be nothin’ more ‘n a few hours of blow ‘n some rain,” Virden replied.
Cade left the Bell and Sail, then stepped over to the Island Lumber Company to buy some more building material for the expansion of The Red House. After arranging for a livery, he returned to the dock where he saw the Success, sails now riffed, being towed in by a screw powered tug boat. He stood on the dock and waited as the ship was brought into its berth, watching the sailors bustling about on deck, getting ready to drop anchor.
“Linemen, fore ‘n aft!” someone shouted, and Cade smiled, because he recognized Josiah Burke. Cade had sailed with him on board the Fremad. “Pops” as he had been called was then one of the able bodied. On board the Success, he was an officer.
When the ship lay along dock secured by large hawsers, fore ‘n aft, shore leave was granted. With a yell, the watch, which drew the first shore leave, came hurrying down the gang plank. Burke was the last one down, and seeing Cade he smiled, and came toward him.
“I was hopin’ I’d get a chance to see you while we were in port.”
“It’s damned good to see you, Pops, or can I still call you that now that you’re an officer?” Cade asked as the two shook hands.
“That depends. Is there a drink in it for me?”
“You can count on it. Come on. I’ll buy.”
“Of course you will,” Pops said. “A boarding house and a ship’s chandler. Next time I come you’ll be ownin’ a cotton factor.”
Although there were many saloons in Galveston, the two that Cade visited most often were the Saddle and Stirrup, and the Anchor Saloon. The Anchor was frequented by seamen, both those to whom Galveston was their home port, and those to whom Galveston was but a port of call.
“So, tell me lad, when will ye be goin’ to sea again?” Pops asked, as he took a drink of his grog.
“When the sun rises in the West and sets in the East,” Cade said resolutely.
“Aye, well, your time at sea wasn’t a good experience for you, I’ll grant ye that. But, if you’re servin’ with a good captain and fair officers, ‘n if you’re sailin’ with a good crew, there’s no better place to be in the world than on the deck with the spray in your face, the taste o’ salt water on your lips, ‘n the sweet soundin’ whisper of the wind in full sails.”
Cade laughed. “I swear, Pops, you can almost make it sound good, but you forgot to mention being tossed about in heavy seas, baking under a scorching sun, or sailing with cruel officers.”
“But I’m a first mate now, ‘n you know I’d be fair.”
“Too bad you weren’t first mate when we were on the Fremad together,” Cade said.
“I know your experience at sea wasn’t all that good, but I’d be willin’
to wager that the cow business has its own problems.”
“Oh, you mean hostile Indians, rustlers, going days without water, sick cows, stampedes, lawless cow towns, and hands that wander off?” Cade replied. “Well, yeah, there is that, I mean, if you want to dwell on it.”
“’Tis not the Fremad, I’m speakin’ of,” Pops said. “’Tis the Success, and I’m sure you know that it belongs to Tait Shipping Line.”
“I know. Have you seen young Willoughby?”
“That I have. ‘Twas none other than he, hisself, who put me on the Success as first mate.”
Willoughby Tait had been shanghaied along with Cade, and was aboard the Fremad. The ironic twist was that Willoughby’s family was the owner of a large competing shipping line that sailed out of Boston. It had been the inhumane treatment of Tait that had caused Cade to kill a man while on board ship. With Pops’ help, Cade and Bento Hernandez, another of the shanghaied crew, had jumped ship near Buenos Aires and made their way back to the United States.
“How’s the boy doing?” Cade asked.
“He’s as fine a man as you’d ever want workin’ in the office of the company you’re sailin’ for,” Pops said.
“Good, I’m glad for him, and for you, for getting such a good position. If for some reason I did have to go back to sea I could think of no better berth than to be on the Success with you as first mate.”
“So, tell me, Lad, are you buttoned down for the storm?”
“What storm?”
“Did you learn nothin’ while sailin’ before the mast? Can you not read the sea, lad?”
“I’ve noticed it,” Cade said. “Looks like there’s a storm out there, somewhere.”
“More than just a storm, ‘tis a hurricane that’s comin’,” Pops replied. “It’s goin’ to be a big one, ‘n I expect there’ll be damage done. I’ve seen ‘em like this before.”
“What makes you think it’ll be a hurricane, rather than just a storm?
“Have you checked the barometer lately?”
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 22