“How do I know you got twenty dollars? A stranger just ridin’ in here. You look like you don’t even have the price of a drink,” Penrod replied.
“I’ve got the money,” he said. “Are you up for the bet? Or were you just runnin’ your mouth?”
“Mister, nobody talks to me like that,” Penrod said, angrily.
“I just did. Now are you goin’ to bet, or not?”
“You’re willin’ to put up twenty dollars just to see that boy scoop up a handkerchief from the street?”
“Yes.”
“Mister,” the boy said. “I don’t know you. I don’t want to take a chance on losin’ your money.”
“My name’s Jeter, Jeter Willis. And what’s your name?”
“Jones. George Washington Jones, but most folks just call me GW.”
“All right, GW. Now tell me, do you think you can pick up the handkerchief, same way you did the hat?”
“Yes, sir, I’m pretty sure I can do it. But what if I can’t? Then you’d lose your money.”
“You let me worry about that, GW. If you think you can do it, I’m willin’ to back you.”
GW smiled. “I can do it.”
“Good,” Jeter said. “Now, Penrod, I think I heard you called. First thing I want from you is the five dollars you took from the boy. The second thing I want is for you to put your twenty dollars right here, under this rock.” Jeter put a twenty-dollar bill on the boardwalk, then picked up a rock from the street.
“And the third thing is a clear understandin’ of the rules. The bet is, this boy, GW, can scoop up a handkerchief from the middle of the street without leaving the saddle. And that means any part of the saddle.”
“All right,” Penrod said as he put his money under the rock. “Let’s see what he can do.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dropped it in the center of the street.
By now the little group of ten or twelve, who had watched the first bet, had grown to a small crowd.
GW smiled at Jeter and dipped his head. He rode to the far end of the street, and then turned his horse. For a moment he just sat there.
“He’s a thinkin’ he can’t do it,” a man said. “He’s gonna chicken out.”
Then all at once the horse exploded in a full gallop as horse and rider barreled down the street. There was a gasp when GW disappeared from the saddle and some thought he had fallen off. Jeter saw exactly what he had done, and was amazed with the boy’s agility.
GW had swung his leg over the saddle and was now riding with one foot in the stirrup and the other stretched out behind him. He was hanging on to the cantle with one hand, while the other hand was but an inch above the ground. He scooped up the handkerchief, then without remounting, brought the horse around, and back, where he stepped down onto the ground.
Those who had gathered to watch the performance applauded.
Jeter saw the way GW was holding the handkerchief, and he went over to retrieve it.
“Mr. Willis . . .” GW said.
“I’ve got it, GW,” Jeter said, smiling at the boy. He reached down to take the handkerchief, from the top, holding it the same way GW had been holding it. He saw what many others had not yet noticed. When Penrod had put the handkerchief down, he put it over a horse apple.
Jeter walked over to Penrod. “I believe this belongs to you,” he said, shoving the handkerchief turd into Penrod’s hand.
“What the hell?” Penrod shouted, angrily, dropping the handkerchief on the ground, which left him holding a palm full of shit.
The others laughed.
Jeter picked up the two twenty-dollar bills, pocketed one, and gave the other to GW.
“Tell me, son, do you have a job?” Jeter asked.
“No, sir, not really. Mostly I just do odd jobs and such as I can get.”
“How would you like to make a trail drive to Kansas?”
The smile on GW’s face grew even broader. “Yes, sir, I’d love to do that!”
“You’re hired,” Jeter said.
When Cade and Arabella got back from Galveston, he was pleased to find that Jeter had come up with enough men to round out the crew.
“It’s good that so many of our old drovers are going up with us again,” Jeter said.
“Yeah, I like to know my men,” Cade said. “Is there anybody who caught your attention—anybody who might be a troublemaker?”
“I don’t think so. But there’s one kid that’s gonna be good for entertainment,” Jeter said as he proceeded to tell about how he had met GW Jones. “Oh, by the way, who’d you get for the cookie?” Cade asked.
“Me? I thought that was your job?”
“I hired Ike Weldon last year and ever’ body grumbled the whole trip. I think it’s your turn to hunt one down,” Jeter said. “But you’d better do it right quick, cause seven of the men are already in Mr. Puckett’s bunkhouse raring to get on the trail.”
“I’ll be out on the hustings first thing in the morning.”
Cade rode out before sunrise, going to every community in Jackson and Matagorda Counties. The cook was without doubt the most important position to fill, and he had hoped Jeter would have been successful. Rufus Slade had been the cook on Cade’s first drive up to Abilene, and he had taught Cade a lot—where the best bedding grounds were, where the best crossings were, where to get the best price for supplies, and even what bars to visit along the way.
As it turned out, Rufus had been a man with a past. Ruthless, as he was known then, had been a gunfighter who roamed the Southwest. When the cattle drive reached Abilene, they found the town was dominated by an evil despot, who used a gunfighter by the name of Enos Crites as his enforcer. At one time Rufus and Crites had been cohorts, having ridden the outlaw trail together. Now, in Abilene, they found themselves on opposite sides, and circumstances caused the two men to meet, face to face in the middle of Texas Street.
“We had some good times together,” Crites said.
“Yes, we did.”
“But I always knew I was better than you.”
Rufus turned in such a way as to present himself to Crites in profile. “Prove it,” he said.
Crites pulled his pistol so fast that Cade couldn’t even follow it. There was a jerk of his shoulder and the gun was in his hand. Cade’s eyes had been on Crites, rather than Rufus, so he missed the fact that Rufus’s draw had been even faster. Rufus fired first.
Crites caught the ball high in his chest. He fired his own gun then, but it was just a convulsive action and the bullet went into the dirt just before he dropped his gun and slapped his hand over the wound. He looked down in surprise as blood streamed through his fingers, turning his shirt bright red. He took two staggering steps toward Rufus, then fell to his knees. He looked up at Rufus.
“How’d you do that?” he asked in surprise. “How’d you get your gun out that fast?” He smiled, then coughed, and flecks of blood came from his mouth. He breathed hard a couple of times. “I was sure I was faster than you.”
“Looks like you were wrong,” Rufus said easily.
After defeating the best that the despot had to offer, it appeared as if the battle had been won. But a cowardly rifleman, hidden on the roof behind the false front of the saloon, killed Rufus from afar.
Cade went on to win the ultimate battle, but at the loss of a friend, and the best cook who had ever taken a chuck wagon up the trail.
By comparison, last year’s cook, Ike Weldon, came up woefully short, and Cade was determined to find a cook that would meet the expectations of the men.
Remigio Vasquez was his first choice. Vasquez was the cook for the Lazy L Ranch, and his wagon was always one of the most popular during the gathering when all the herds were separated in the spring. At first, Cade had thought the hot peppers and chili powder were a little overpowering, but the men couldn’t get enough of it. If he could hire Remigio away from the Lazy L, he wouldn’t have to look any further.
Vasquez, who was in his sixties, was bald, with a gray bea
rd. He was rolling out dough for biscuits as Cade was talking to him.
“I appreciate the offer, Mr. McCall, and the money sounds good,” Vasquez said. “But I’m just real comfortable here. Mr. Lyman’s a good man to work for, and to tell the truth, I just don’t know if I’m up to makin’ another cattle drive. They’re awful tirin’, ‘n my bones is gettin’ awful old.”
“I understand,” Cade said. “I came to you because you were very highly recommended by some of the men who had made drives with you.”
“I’m just real pleased that they appreciated me,” Vasquez said. “You might try Max Rand. I broke him in some years ago, ‘n he took to cookin’ just real good. Don’t know if you can hire him away, though, seein’ as how he took hisself a real good job cookin’ for the cafe over in Matagorda.”
When Cade found Rand, he wasn’t interested in the job. He made three more attempts to find someone, but no one was interested.
That left two possibilities: either one of the cowboys would take over the wagon, or he would look up Ike Weldon. Inquiring about Weldon, Cade was told he would find him cooking in a saloon in Bacliff, a town about fifteen miles from Galveston.
“Yeah,” Weldon said, when Cade confronted him. “I heard they was a drive bein’ put together. So, you’re a’ wantin’ me to cook for you again this year are you?”
“I do need a cook,” Cade replied, dodging the issue of whether or not he actually ‘wanted’ Weldon.
“I hear tell you been askin’ aroun’ tryin’ to find someone else. How come you didn’t come to me first?”
“I heard that you had a job, and I wasn’t sure you’d be interested.”
The discussion between Cade and Weldon was taking place in the kitchen of the Six-Shooter Saloon which, in addition to serving drinks, had a limited menu.
“Yeah, well, I ain’t got a job no more,” Weldon said as he took off his apron and lay it on the cutting table. Even as he did so, there were two strips of bacon, twitching in a pan on the stove. “When do I start?”
“Aren’t you going to finish the meal you’re cooking?” Cade asked.
“It ain’t my problem,” Weldon said. “Like I just told you, I don’t work here no more.”
“I have to tell you, Weldon, that’s not the kind of attitude I like in someone who’s working for me. I value loyalty.”
“I ain’t bein’ disloyal to you, I’m bein’ disloyal to Arnie Frank. He’s the one that owns this place, ‘n to tell the truth, I never liked that son of a bitch anyway.”
“You don’t understand. When I’m talking about loyalty, I’m talking about loyalty to your obligation,” Cade said.
“I was loyal to you last year, wasn’t I? Hell, you should like it that I’m more loyal to you than I am to Arnie. Besides which, where you goin’ to get yourself another trail cook? Nowhere, that’s where. If you could’a got one, you’d ‘a already had one ‘n you wouldn’ a’ come to me.”
Cade didn’t respond right away. He knew that Weldon was right; there was no other trail cook available.
“All right. Get out to the LP and start puttin’ your wagon together. I want to head out by the end of the week.”
LP Ranch:
It was now time for Kilgore to put together the second of his money-grabbing schemes. The stage robbery had filled his immediate needs but he wanted more. It was his intention to assemble an outfit to take a combined herd up to Abilene. But, as before, when he had taken the Rocking D herd, only about half the cows would actually make it all the way to the rail head. Kilgore smiled as he contemplated the plan. It was much safer to take cows this way than to risk getting killed by cattle rustling.
When Amon Kilgore knocked on the front door of the “big house” at the LP ranch, it was answered by a Mexican woman.
“May I help you, Senor?”
“Yeah, I wanna see Puckett.”
“And who are you, Senor?”
“The name is Kilgore. Amon Kilgore.” Kilgore tried to step into the house, but the woman stopped him.
“Wait here, Senor, I will find Senor Puckett.”
“What do you mean wait here? I ain’t goin’ to just stand here ‘cause some Mex told me to.”
“Please, Senor, wait here.”
Kilgore nodded. “All right,” he said. “Seein’ as you asked me real nice, I reckon I can stay here.”
As Kilgore waited, he stepped out to the edge of the porch to take in the ranch. Colonel Puckett was a very wealthy man, and his ranch was an obvious display of his wealth. One day, if things worked out well for him, he, Amon Kilgore, would have a ranch just as nice as this one.
“Senor Kilgore, Colonel Puckett will see you now,” the woman said when she returned to the porch.
Kilgore was led through the well-appointed great room, and into a smaller room. Kilgore was impressed that a man could be so rich as to have an extra room in his house that wasn’t used for anything but an office.
Puckett was sitting behind his desk, and without rising, he made a motion toward a chair that sat across from the desk. In one corner of the office, Kilgore noticed, there was a small seating area, with two leather chairs. There, too, was a silver coffee service and he could smell the coffee, but none was offered.
“What can I do for you, Kilgore?” Puckett asked.
“I read in the paper that all the cattlemen are combining their stock for the drive this year,” Kilgore said.
“Yes, since we all lost so many cows in the storm, that’s what we’ve decided to do.”
Kilgore smiled, and nodded. “Yes, sir, I’ve been sayin’ that same thing, tellin’ anyone who’d listen, that the best thing for all the cattlemen would be to combine the herds.”
“Well, I’m glad that you agree,” Puckett replied. So far Puckett had shown only the most cursory interest in the reason for Kilgore’s visit.
“Yes, sir, well, here’s the thing. I got me a real good outfit put together, ‘n what I’d like to do is be your trail boss.”
“You’re saying you want to contract your services to take the cattle to Abilene?” Puckett asked.
“Yes, sir, ‘n seein’ as I heard they’d all be combinin’ their herds with yours, well, I figure you’re the one that’ll be makin’ the decision as to who will be doin’ it for you.”
“If you read the story in the paper, then you also read that I’ve already made my decision,” Puckett said. “I’ll be going with McCall and Willis.”
“I know that’s what the paper said, only, you ain’t left yet, so it ain’t too late for you to change your mind.”
“Kilgore, last year you took a herd up for John Dennis, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“And from what I understand, you lost so many cattle en-route that John barely broke even on the year.”
“Yes, sir, but you can’t be a’ blamin’ me for all that. They was a lot of things that just happened, is all.”
“That may be so, but those things didn’t ‘just happen’ with McCall and Willis. Those two men got nearly all my cows through, and in time to make the best deal possible.”
“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Kilgore said with a conspiratorial grin. “Iffen you’d go with me, I’d charge you a dollar less per head, ‘n you wouldn’ have to tell none o’ the other owners. You could just let ‘em think it was still four dollars a head that it was costin’ ‘em, ‘n you could pocket the difference.”
“Thank you for your offer, Mr. Kilgore,” Puckett replied, stiffly. “But I would not be interested in cheating my fellow cattlemen. I’ll go with McCall and Willis. I’ll have Fernanda escort you out.”
9
Texana:
Jeter was at the blacksmith shop when he saw GW Jones and two others riding into town. He stepped out into the street to flag them down.
“You lookin’ for me, GW?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, what I was wantin’ to know is if you’d have room for two more hands,” GW said. “This here’s Timmy Ponder and h
e’s Troy Hastings.”
Neither of the two looked as old as GW.
“How old are you two boys?” Jeter asked.
“Does it matter how old we are if we can do the work?” one of the two asked.
“Which one are you?”
“I’m Troy Hastings.”
“Well, Troy, no, it doesn’t matter.”
“They’re both good boy . . . uh . . . men,” JW said. “I’ve worked with both of ‘em before.”
“What kind of work did you do?”
“Me ‘n GW loaded ‘n unloaded freight wagons,” Hastings said. “Timmy, he took care of the horses ‘n mules.”
“Why’d you quit? Or were you fired?”
“Wasn’t neither one,” GW said. “Mr. Matthews only hired us when he needed us, ‘n he said we did real good while we was workin’ for ‘im. You can ask ‘im.”
“I may do that,” Jeter said.
“Uh . . .” Hastings started to say, and he looked at the other two before he went any further.
“You may as well tell ‘im, Troy, he’s liable to find out some other way, then it’ll be even worse,” GW said.
“What is it you need to tell me?”
“I kilt a feller,” Hastings said.
“What?”
“My ma ‘n pa is both dead, ‘n I was livin’ with my sister. She was about six year’s older ‘n me. Anyhow I was just comin’ back from choppin’ some wood’ ‘n I heard her a screamin’ ‘n such. When I run into the house, I seen a man cut her throat with a knife he was holdin’. I still had the axe in my hand so what I done was…I chopped his head open. I kilt ‘im right there.”
“What about your sister?”
“She died. She tried to say somethin’ to me….I could see her mouth movin’, but she wasn’t makin’ no sound.”
“The sheriff, he didn’t make no charges or nothin’,” GW pointed out.
“I would think not,” Jeter said. “If ever there was just cause for a killin’, that would be it.”
“I just wish I’d got there a minute quicker ‘n I could ‘a kept ‘im from killin’ Lily like he done.”
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 28