The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  Cade laughed. “He won’t know unless someone tells him. He couldn’t remember a thing.”

  “Oh, you can be sure there’ve been plenty of people who’ve enjoyed telling him all about it,” Puckett said, “which means he might have it in for you.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “So, all I can say is you keep an eye open for him.”

  “I will,” Cade promised.

  “Now what about the company, have you got it assembled?” Puckett asked.

  “Yes, sir. All we have left is the final gather, and as soon as the other ranchers get their cows collected, we’ll be ready to go.”

  “That’s good,” Puckett said. “You know some of the others are questioning your fees. They swear you and Jeter are going to make as much if not more than they are from this drive.”

  “And what do you say, Mr. Puckett?”

  “I’m not complaining. It’s a good comfortable feeling staying at home, and knowing that my cows are in good hands. I’m glad to have McCall and Willis in charge.”

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll try our best to earn your trust.”

  When Amon Kilgore walked down to the freight wagon yard, he saw Bull Kolinsky walking across the lot with a huge wagon wheel under each arm.

  “I thought you said you could handle ‘im,” Kilgore said.

  “What ya talkin’ about?”

  Your fight with McCall. If you can call it a fight.”

  Bull nodded his head. “Some of the ones in the Horn Toad told me I was in a fight, but I don’t remember nothin’ about it. It’s like one minute I was just standin’ there at the bar, ‘n the next minute I was wakin’ up on the floor. I don’t remember nothin’ in between, ‘n wouldn’t have no idea there‘d even been a fight, ‘ceptin’ for people tellin’ me about it.”

  “Does that mean you also forgot about the fifty dollars I paid you?”

  “Fifty dollars?”

  “Yeah, I gave you fifty dollars to make it so McCall couldn’t make the drive. Are you telling me you don’t remember that, either?”

  “Wait a minute, I do sort of remember talking to you about somethin’ like that.”

  “Well, you didn’t get the job done, so I guess I’m just out my fifty dollars,” Kilgore said.

  “No, you ain’t out,” Bull said. “If I took the money from you to do somethin’, ‘n I didn’t do it, I’ll give you back your money.”

  Bull put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” Kilgore asked.

  “I . . . I don’t know. I must’ve spent it, or lost it, I don’t know what happened.”

  “So, what you’re sayin’ is, you beat me out of forty dollars.”

  “No, wait here. I’ll get the money from the boss. He’ll loan it to me.”

  Fifteen minutes later Kilgore, with a smile spread across his face, left the freight yard forty dollars richer. He took a risk, cheating Bull out of the money like that; Bull could break him into little pieces if he wanted to. On the other hand, Bull wasn’t very smart and Kilgore was certain he would always be able to outwit him.

  11

  LP Ranch:

  “All right, men,” Cade said, addressing the cowboys when all were assembled for the first time. “The McCall and Willis Cattle Company for the Combined Herd Drive of 1870 will get underway as soon as the last of the cattle get the road brand.”

  “Men?” Mudd said with a snicker. “We got at least three boys here, who’s still wet behind their ears.” A few of the other cowboys laughed, while Ponder, Hastings, and Jones, the three youngest, flushed in embarrassment.

  “Mr. Mudd, if Mr. Ponder, Mr. Hastings, and Mr. Jones do their jobs, then they are men,” Cade said.

  “Damn right,” Rollins said.

  “Now, to get on with it. You’ll all be staying in the bunkhouse, and the Colonel will be feeding you while you’re here. I know a few of you are short of money, but you won’t be needing to spend anything while you’re here.”

  “What about beer ‘n pretty girls? Is the Colonel gonna provide that?” Muley Morris asked.

  Cade and the other cowboys chuckled. “My guess would be, no.”

  “Well then, I’m goin’ to have to spend a little money, ‘cause I don’t aim on settin’ out on any three-month trip without somethin’ to remember while I’m gone.”

  “I’m afraid, gentlemen, that you will be on your own, on that score.”

  The gather for the drive was made somewhat easier because the other ranchers, who were bringing their cattle to join the herd, had already done the roundups at their own ranches, separating the cows that would go, from those that would stay.

  Each cowboy going north was assigned at least five horses, and counting Cade and Jeter, that meant that no less than seventy horses would be making the drive. One man would be assigned the job of horse wrangler, and Cade selected Timmy Ponder.

  If the cow ponies were well trained, they would stand in position for a long time, the reins having been dropped to the ground in front of their feet. The goal was that the horse and rider would be comfortable with each other, so the first week at the ranch was generally spent with the cowboys selecting and getting to know the string of ponies they would be riding. Then the wrangler would work to acclimate the animals to a rope corral that would enclose the horses at night.

  The next order of business was to apply a road brand to every cow in the herd. This unifying brand made the recognition and counting of the cows much easier, and the physical application was much simpler. The cattle were driven through a chute, and a large two-headed arrow, which was the brand chosen by the owners of the combined herd, was applied on the side of the cow.

  “Have you found him yet?” Cade asked as he brought his horse to a stop beside Jeter. The branding operation was in process and the protesting bawl of the animals was in the background, making it hard to hear one another.

  “Not yet,” Jeter said. “I’ll give ‘em all another look through; maybe one of ‘em will jump out at me.”

  “What ya’ll lookin’ for?” GW Jones asked.

  Jeter raised his eyebrows and turned to Cade for his response. Most trail bosses might consider GW’s question impertinent but Cade knew the boy couldn’t learn if he didn’t observe, and ask questions.

  “We’re looking for the most dominating steer in the entire herd,” Cade said.

  “What for?”

  “Once we find him, we’ll put him in front; then the others will follow him.”

  “Oh, well, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for, that would be him, right there.” Jones pointed to a big, reddish-brown steer. He had an enormous spread of horns, at least seven feet from tip to tip. “He’s been bossin’ the others around ever since he got here. I call him Goliath.”

  “Goliath, huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You think he can get the other cows to follow him?”

  “I know he can.”

  “All right, I’m going to leave that up to you. Cut ‘im out, we’ll get him ready.”

  “You want me to cut him out of the herd?”

  “Think you can do that?”

  GW smiled broadly. “Mr. McCall, you just watch. I got me the best cuttin’ horse in the whole bunch.”

  GW saddled, then mounted his horse, and rode into the herd. Heading toward Goliath, horse and rider began to move as if sharing the same musculature, twisting, turning, making sudden stops, then darting forward, varying the pace.

  “That boy is one hell of rider,” Cade said.

  “I told you he was,” Jeter said. “Remember, he’s the boy who snatched a handkerchief up from the road, while he was ridin’ full gallop.” Jeter turned his horse and rode toward GW.

  Once Goliath was clear of the herd, Jeter had his lariat whirling over his head. He let the rope play out until he had an oval shaped noose, some seven feet in diameter. Just before he made the throw, he drew his arm and shoulder back, then shot his
hand forward. The noose cleared Goliath’s horns, and fell down around Goliath’s neck. The giant steer fought against it, but Jeter wrapped his end of the rope around the saddle horn. He was riding a horse that was well trained and experienced for these situations, and it squatted down on its back legs so that when the steer hauled back on the rope, it was held tight.

  By now Cade had joined them, and he, too, dropped a rope around the steer’s neck. When Goliath realized he couldn’t fight both of them, he quit trying and allowed them to put him into a separate pen. When he settled down, Jeter turned in ten relatively domesticated cows and watched as Goliath began to dominate the others. The purpose of this was to allow Goliath to establish his leadership, and when they started the drive, with ten of the cows already following Goliath, the rest of the herd would tend to fall in behind.

  “Oh, no, is that Weldon?” Art Finley asked when the chuck wagon came into sight. “If I’d knowed he was gonna be our cookie, I might not have signed up.”

  “I tried,” Cade said. “Believe me, I tried.”

  “All right, I guess we survived his cookin’ last year, so we can do it again, but I can tell you one damned thing, I ain’t gonna be happy.”

  “I know,” Cade said, “but he’s the one. Now that he’s here, get your gear ready, and if any of you have a mind to go into town, now’s the time to do it. I’m thinking we’ll be getting underway first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Yahoo!” a couple of the cowboys yelled.

  “Last year we would’ve been right with ‘em,” Jeter said as he watched the men scatter.

  “But not this year,” Cade said. “I expect you’ll want to tell Maggie goodbye, won’t you?”

  “You’re damn right I do!”

  “Well then, what do you say we head over to the MW for this one, last night?”

  “Do you think they’ll have somethin’ special cooked for us?” Jeter asked.

  “I don’t know,” Cade replied as a smile crossed his face. “You think the sun will come up in the East tomorrow morning?”

  Eight of the cowboys went into town on their last night. It was nine, if you counted Weldon, but he was a cook, not a cowboy, and neither he, nor the cowboys thought of him in any other way.

  “Yes, sir,” GW was telling the others. “We won’t have to do nothin’ but just ride alongside ‘em, ‘n them cows will walk up to Abilene near ‘bout all by themselves.”

  “Now, just how the hell is that goin’ to happen?” Timmy Ponder asked.

  “Goliath is goin’ to lead ‘em all the way. ‘N I’m the one that handpicked ‘im, and I’m the one that cut ‘im out of the herd too.”

  “GW, you’re as full of shit as a Christmas goose,” Troy Hastings said.

  “No, he’s right,” Boo Rollins said. “On ever’ drive, the first thing you do is choose the steer that the other cows will follow.”

  “Well, I’ll be damn,” Troy said. “Who would ‘a ever thought of somethin’ like that?”

  The eight cowboys—Boo Rollins, Art Finley, Petey Malone, Muley Morris, Mo Bender, Timmy Ponder, Troy Hastings, and GW Jones, were holding their conversation in the Bit and Spur Saloon. Ike Weldon had come into the bar as well but he was sitting at a table apart from the others.

  The Bit and Spur was a lively place. The piano player, an unlit cigar protruding from his mouth, was wearing a bowler hat and a white shirt, with garters around his sleeves. He shifted the cigar from side to side as he pounded away on the piano. Whether the off-key notes were the result of the piano being out of tune, or the lack of skill by the pianist, no one could discern. Some were aware of the frequent inharmonious notes however, and the clients who actually had an appreciation of music would cringe until the discordant interlude had passed.

  “I’m goin’ to get me a beer,” Ponder said. “I ain’t never had me no beer before, but now that I’m a man, I aim to get me one.”

  “Ha! You’re a long way from bein’ a man,” Petey Malone said.

  “Leave ‘im alone, Malone. As long as anyone rides with us, he’s a man,” Boo Rollins said, resolutely.

  “Where’s Weldon?” Mo Bender asked.

  “Do you expect a cook to be with common cowboys?” Morris asked. “Look at ‘im over there in the corner, talkin’ to the ladies.”

  “Looks like all the ladies are really a’ likin’ ‘im,” Jones said.

  “Boy, as you get a little older, you’ll learn that the ladies like any man who has money in his pocket.”

  “Where’d Weldon get money? We ain’t been paid yet,” Hastings said.

  “He gets enough money to put the chuck wagon together a’ fore we leave,” Rollins explained. “If he shops real smart, he’ll sometimes have a little left over.”

  “You mean if he don’t spend enough money to feed us proper,” Finley said. “They’s a reason they call ‘em belly robbers.”

  Timmy Ponder returned to the others, carrying a glass of whiskey.

  “Damn, Timmy, when you said you was goin’ to get a drink, I figured it would be a beer.”

  “No, I’ve actual had me a beer before,” Ponder replied. “But I figured I’d have me a man’s drink tonight.”

  He turned the glass up to his lips and took a deep swallow. Immediately thereafter he spewed it out in a coughing, hacking spray.

  The others laughed.

  “How do you like it?” GW asked.

  With a sheepish grin, Ponder put the glass down on the table. “I think I’ll get me a beer,” he said.

  MW Ranch:

  Maggie wanted to cook something special for them on their last night, so she cooked beef that she had marinated in red wine. Beef Bourguignon.

  “Oh, Lord a’ mighty, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” Jeter said. “And you’re tellin’ me this came from a cow?”

  “Oui,” Maggie said. “Yes,” she added with a little laugh.

  “I’ve been around cows all my life, I had no idea you could get meat like this from a cow.”

  “It isn’t the meat, it’s the way the meat is prepared,” Arabella said. “It’s called Beef Bourguignon.”

  “I don’t care what you’re gonna call it, it sure is good,” Jeter said as he tore off a piece of hot sourdough bread and dunked it in the juices.

  “I’m glad you like it, Monsieur Jeter,” Maggie said.

  “Can’t we drop the mon sewer thing, and you just call me Jeter?”

  Maggie smiled. “Oui . . . Zheter.”

  They had finished their meal and Maggie was getting their desert, when there was a loud knock on the door.

  “Mr. McCall! Mr. Willis!”

  “That’s Boo Rollins, isn’t it?” Cade asked.

  “Sounds like ‘im. I wonder what he wants?” Jeter said.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Cade said as he headed for the door.

  Rollins was standing there, with a very troubled look on his face.

  “Boo, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “We got trouble, Mr. McCall. We got bad trouble. I ‘spect you’d better come back to Texana with me.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Weldon. He’s in Texana. Actually, he’s in jail in Texana is where he is.”

  Sheriff Boskey shook his head. “There’s nothin’ I can do about it, Cade. Weldon ‘n a man by the name of Meacham got into a row about some whores over in the Bit and Spur, ‘n the next thing anyone knew, Weldon grabbed a chair ‘n brung it down hard on Meacham’s head. I’m holdin’ Weldon for assault and battery, but if Meacham dies, it could be murder.”

  “Is Meacham likely to die?” Cade asked.

  “I don’t know. Right now he’s down at Doc Presnell’s office. The doc said he got his skull broke, ‘n that’s real serious. You can see how I can’t let Weldon go, can’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Cade replied quietly. “Yeah, I can see why you can’t let him go. Damn.”

  “Does this put you in a tight position?” Boskey asked.


  “I’d say it does. We’d planned to head out tomorrow, but now I’ll have to find a cook.”

  “I’m sorry,” Boskey said.

  “No need for you to be sorry, Sheriff. You were just doing your job. It’s Weldon who is sorry, and I don’t mean apologetic. He’s just one sorry-assed son of a bitch.”

  Victoria:

  Amon Kilgore was having a beer with a whore named Blissful in the Last Chance Saloon, when he saw someone come in that he didn’t expect to see.

  “What are you doing here?” Kilgore asked. “I thought you were leaving tomorrow.”

  “We gotta talk,” Jeremiah Mudd said.

  “Honey, maybe you didn’t notice, but I’m already talkin’ to ‘im,” Blissful said.

  “This is important,” Mudd said.

  Kilgore drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then took out a five-dollar bill and gave it to Blissful. “Will this hold you for a few minutes while me ‘n my friend talk in private?” he asked.

  A broad smile spread across Blissful’s face. “Honey you just bought yourself as much privacy as you want,” she said.

  Kilgore watched her walk away with an exaggerated swing of her rear end.

  “You ever seen an ass like that?” Kilgore asked.

  “Weldon’s in jail,” Mudd said, not responding to Kilgore, but getting right to the point.

  “What?”

  “He tried to kill someone.”

  “That dumb son of a bitch! What’s gonna happen now?”

  “The drive sure as hell ain’t goin’ to start ‘til McCall ‘n Willis find ‘em a new cook.”

  “Damn! Do you have any idea who they might get?”

  “Hell no. If they can’t find somebody they’ll likely pawn it off on that old fart, Campbell.”

  “That’ll make it harder.”

  “It don’t matter who the new cook is. It don’t even matter that Weldon’s in jail. What was he gonna do anyway? He didn’t make the deal for us to get twenty dollars a head, now did he? And he wasn’t goin’ to be no help cuttin’ out the five hundred cows Gorman said he could take, now was he?”