LAND OF STARS: The Texas Wyllie Brothers (Wilderness Dawning Series Book 2)

by Dorothy Wiley

  In a serious flood, Samuel knew his cattle could be carried away by fast-moving waters and many would likely perish. Especially if his hands got cut off from the cattle behind fast-moving walls of water. Calves were especially vulnerable.

  “I’ll go with you,” Samuel said. “I want to see for myself.” He was tired of bookkeeping anyway. He reached inside for his hat and coat and swiftly donned them. He gripped the upturned collar of his deerhide coat as he stepped outside.

  As they stomped through the mud and pools of water between his home and the horse shed, he heard a rider.

  “Anyone want to dig a well? I think we’d only need to dig down a couple of feet before we struck water,” his brother Thomas called as he rode up.

  “We’d be better off buildin’ a raft,” Hollis said.

  “Mornin’ brother,” Samuel called.

  Thomas glanced toward where Steve and Adam were still working. “Looks like they’re already digging a well.”

  “They’re digging a trench trying to keep the water from going inside the clinic,” Samuel said.

  “What a muddy mess this rain is making of everything,” Thomas said.

  As he stepped inside the horse shed to saddle Samson, Samuel had a terrible feeling that mud might only be the beginning. “We’re just heading out to check the river’s level.”

  “I’ll join you,” Thomas said. “I’m getting kind of worried myself. And Abigail is a growing more uneasy by the minute.”

  Leading their horses, Thomas and Hollis stepped behind Samuel and into the large horse shed to get out of the rain.

  “Where’s Father going?” Thomas asked. “I passed him on the way here, but he didn’t stop.”

  “To the settlement for supplies,” Samuel answered as he threw a black and brown woven wool saddle blanket over his gelding.

  “The men in town are fretting and troubled,” Thomas said.

  “Don’t blame them one bit,” Hollis said. “This is a real gully washer. I seen a lot of rainstorms ‘fore now, but this just might be the worst.”

  “They’re not just worried about the weather,” Thomas said. “Apparently, a band of Mexican bandits attacked the Jonesboro settlement yesterday.”

  Jonesboro was less than thirty miles away.

  “What happened?” Samuel asked.

  “They stole a couple of good horses, a solid black and a spotted gray, and robbed all the men gathered at the tavern there in Jonesboro,” Thomas said.

  “Was anybody hurt?” Hollis asked.

  “Indeed, they pistol-whipped several of the men and attacked a woman.”

  Samuel frowned at Thomas. “You should have stopped Father and told him.”

  “He didn’t seem inclined to talk. Besides, he’ll find out when he gets to town.”

  “We’d best keep an eye out for trouble,” Hollis said. He took a handkerchief and wiped the water off his thick, dark mustache and brows.

  It was a wasted effort. As soon as they stepped outside, water cascaded down their faces, their hats doing little to stop the windblown rain.

  They mounted their horses and turned them toward the river. As soon as they got past the thick trees, they could see the clouds that hung like a pack of lurking beasts in the distance. They just hung there ominously, black and steel-gray, along the horizon. They weren’t budging or they were traveling so slowly he couldn’t see them move. Would those beasts creep this way? Or suddenly hurtle toward them? Either way, from the direction the wind still blew, they were coming.

  “Those are the ugliest clouds I’ve ever seen,” Thomas said pointing.

  “Darker than any I seen before,” Hollis agreed. “And they’re not movin’ much.”

  Samuel guessed it was forty degrees cooler this morning than it was yesterday morning. The norther that rushed in yesterday afternoon caught them all by surprise. One minute he was sweating as he worked and in a matter of minutes, he was shivering from the cold and needed to don a jacket. Not long afterward, the rains had started.

  Hollis pointed to the line of black clouds sprawled across the sky. “Remember how muggy and heavy the air was before the norther hit? It’s my opinion that blue norther that swept down on us yesterday collided with a warm storm that’s comin’ up from the Gulf. The norther has stalled out over us and keeps triggering heavy thunderstorms over and over. It’s goin’ be one hell of a brawl and it won’t stop raining until the fight is over.”

  Caught in the middle, they would be the losers.

  Storms coming from the Gulf coast always dumped a lot of rain on their own. And when combined with the high winds and the temperature drop of a norther, severe storms were inevitable. Double trouble.

  Since it was only a short distance to the river, it didn’t take long for them to reach the riverbank. With its high, impressive tree-lined banks, when the water was calm, the Red was a flowing blue-green ribbon decorating the fabric of this beautiful land. Fish crowded the river and deer and buffalo roamed its banks. The upland soil on either side of its banks was rich and grew sturdy timber, lush grass, and abundant crops.

  Over the past few years, Samuel had seen the Red so low in the summer it was little more than a trickle. And after spring rains it would sometimes become a torrent, charging by its banks. But never before had it threatened them. Never before had it imperiled the settlers of one of the country’s most picturesque, still wild places.

  When they reached the bank, he understood how the river got its name. The rushing water carried so much upriver soil it churned with the color of rusty nails.

  “She’s a rip-roaring and running wild,” Hollis said. “Up to about twenty-five feet. If those clouds bring the deluge I think they will, my experience with rain events of this sort tells me that the hands and I will have to move the herd to higher ground soon.”

  “Our Mexican neighbor to the south has threatened to shoot any of my cattle he sees on his land,” Samuel said. “I’ve tried to reason with the hothead, but there’s no reasoning with him. We’d have to skirt around his land and hope that other landowners further south are more hospitable.”

  “No, he’s not neighborly,” Hollis agreed. “If one of our cows drops a cow pie close to his place and he sees it, he waves his fist and shouts some curse at us. I don’t speak much Spanish, but I can tell he’s cussin’ at us. It makes me want to squat on his place and leave him a meadow muffin.”

  Samuel grimaced, but he couldn’t disagree. “How soon do you think we’ll need to move the herd?”

  Hollis studied the sky. “We got about a day at the most to get out. Maybe less.”

  Samuel squeezed his eyes shut at the prediction. Hollis was as good a man as any he’d ever known at reading Mother Nature. He wouldn’t bet against him. The man had warned him of the approach of many a storm on their cattle drives to various forts. His almost spiritual ability to read nature and weather was nothing short of uncanny. For a man who spent his life and made his living out of doors, it was a valuable gift.

  “Get out?” Thomas asked. “You mean leave entirely? Maybe even today?”

  Just last year they’d all helped to build the newlyweds a home, one of the sturdiest around here and Thomas and his new wife loved their home.

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Hollis told him. “At least get the women out before the mud gets too deep for wagons. Otherwise, Mrs. Louisa and your Mrs. Abigail will be traveling horseback.”

  “Louisa can’t do that,” Samuel said. “She’s too far along. And I can’t have her just stuck on the road. There are no cities between here and Nacogdoches.”

  “Then I’d suggest you make plans to get her to Nacogdoches as soon as possible. See what your father says,” Hollis said. “If he agrees, you should start movin’ the ladies out of here this evenin’ while you can still see. Tomorrow mornin’ may be too late if the river comes up durin’ the night.”

  “Samuel, if you want to stay to see if it actually floods, I could take Louisa with my wife in my wagon,” Thomas offe
red.

  “I may need to stay. But, if I know Louisa, she’s not going to want to leave ‘till the water’s lapping at the door.”

  “My wife feels just the opposite. Abigail is ready to leave now,” Thomas said. “She’s terrified right now because she can’t swim and she’s worried the river will come up without warning. In fact, I should hurry back to her. I promised her I would never let her drown. And I intend to keep that promise.” Thomas nudged his horse and took off for his home.

  “I just wish the rain would stop,” Samuel said as his brother rode away.

  “Wishin’ it will stop won’t make it stop,” Hollis said. “I know neither one of you wants to leave, but when you face danger, you gots to do what you gots to do. No way around it.”

  From the bluff, Samuel studied the current. Ragged white streaks of foam floated on the top of the fast-moving water. The current swirled against exposed tree roots and rocks and moved haphazardly over the river’s cut banks. Already it was washing away the soil around the trees that held the bank together. But it was still hard for him to believe that the river could really swallow up their homes and pastures. That it could destroy the settlement too. Carry away all the farmers’ freshly planted crops.

  “Do you really think the river will get out of its banks?” he asked Hollis.

  “Upon my oath lad, I think it just might,” Hollis answered. “That sky holds nothin’ but water. And lots of it.” Water dripped from the foreman’s thick mustache as he spoke.

  Hollis, who was only about fifteen years older than Samuel, had called him lad from the first day they’d met. Samuel had hired him for their first cattle drive to the Arkansas Territory and it had been the best hire he ever made. Hollis was more like a good friend now than an employee and Samuel trusted the man.

  “I’ll be heading back to the herd and the other hands. Remember what I said about keeping a sharp eye out for bandits,” Hollis cautioned.

  “You too,” Samuel told him. “Use your judgment, Hollis. If the herd needs to be moved, just go ahead and do it. Don’t wait. But don’t take them up the Trace. Settlers may need the road.” Trammel’s Trace, was the road that led south into Texas. It ran from the Red River to Nacogdoches where it met the Camino Real de los Tejas, the Old San Antonio Road.

  With a nod, Hollis took off and Samuel turned back toward home.

  Every muscle in his body tensed as a streak of hot silver split the sky and thunder rumbled yet again in the distance. In front of him, he saw their home place and though sodden and gloomy at the moment, he saw it for what it was—a charming and scenic place to live. A place where he’d hoped his children could grow up. If only he could save it. There had to be a way.

  He hurried to get Steve. The two of them would go into town together and find Father.

  He found Steve in his cabin changing into clean clothes. While his brother finished, he poured himself a hot coffee. But his first sip was bitter and his stomach didn’t need any more aggravation.

  “The river is still rising,” Samuel told him. “Not knowing what’s going to happen—if we stay or leave—is making me loony.”

  Steve nodded. “Me too. Or maybe it’s just all this never-ending rain.” His brother tugged a fringed buckskin shirt made from native tanned hide over his head. The leather would keep him warmer and drier in the rain.

  Samuel wished he’d thought to wear his buckskins. “Do you have an extra buckskin? My shirt is soaked.”

  “Sure.” Steve reached into his trunk and pulled one out.

  While Samuel changed, he said, “Hollis thinks we need to get the women out of here today. If we wait too long, we won’t be able to take them in wagons. And I don’t want Louisa to ride a horse. Abigail probably shouldn’t either. But the thought of putting Louisa in a wagon on a lengthy trip in these conditions is troubling.”

  Steve nodded and pushed the wet hair off his face. “We need to discuss this with Father. He’ll know what we should do.”

  “The sooner the better. Let’s go find him,” Samuel said.

  “He should have been back by now. We only needed coffee and flour.”

  Since Father left early and, in the rain, to go into the settlement for supplies, Samuel suspected that he’d already come to the conclusion that they would be leaving soon. “If I know him, he’s buying all the supplies we’d need if we have to abandon our homes. He’s not the kind of man who faces a crisis ill-prepared.”

  They donned their coats and hats again and went to saddle Steve’s horse, Stardust.

  As Samuel rode through the pelting rain toward the settlement, a cold knot formed in his stomach and his mood darkened. Had he made the biggest mistake of his life building their home where he did?

  Chapter 3

  Mid-morning Monday

  Father must have decided the tough decision to abandon their homeplace needed to be washed down with a strong drink. Their father’s wagon team stood tied outside of the Red Buffalo Tavern. A securely tied tarp covered a good-sized load of supplies. Samuel also saw several new large tarps stacked in the back of the wagon and a bulky folded-up canvas tent.

  Yup, Father was definitely preparing to leave Pecan Point. Did his father’s itchy feet contribute to his readiness to leave? A desire to see what was beyond the horizon had always been a part of his father’s nature.

  But the thought of leaving made Samuel’s mood turn as gray as the rainy world around him.

  He and his brother tied their horses beside the wagon. As Samuel stepped under the overhang and onto the porch, he noticed a Mexican leaning against the side of the building. Wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, the man held the reins of four mounts. Why didn’t he just tie the horses on the hitching rail and get out of the rain?

  Then he noticed the color of the mounts and he knew why. So the mounts would be ready for a fast getaway. Two horses were an ordinary brown but one was a solid black and another a spotted gray.

  Samuel caught Steve’s attention and inclined his head toward the Mexican.

  “Bandits,” Steve whispered.

  “Father’s in there.” They had to go inside, weapons drawn. But their pistols needed fresh powder. With all the rain, loading powder in them would have been pointless.

  The two of them quietly stepped under the overhang, well out of the line of sight of the Mexican. In wet conditions, the odds were high that their pistols would misfire. They dumped the damp powder charge and reloaded their four pistols with fresh powder and ball.

  “Ready?” Samuel mouthed.

  Steve nodded.

  The instant Samuel stepped inside the tavern he sensed the tension sparking around the room. In a split second, his mind and senses raced to assess the situation.

  Father sat at a table to their left, a fiery, angry look on his face. His hand rested on one of his two big flintlock pistols. His father’s longrifle leaned against the table next to him. Had Father taken the time to put fresh powder in his weapons? If he knew his father, he had.

  A group of settlers, mostly unarmed farmers who had likely come to bellyache about the rising river, stood near the bar, their wet clothing dripping onto the muddy dirt floor. They stood there, paralyzed by this latest storm in their lives—thieves.

  The tavern owner stood behind his bar, his features hardened, his body bristling with resentment. Samuel knew the man kept a musket within reach under the counter.

  None of the settlers or the tavern owner looked at Samuel or Steve as they entered. All of their eyes were resolutely fixed on the other side of the room. Without blinking, Samuel’s eyes darted to the three dangerous bandits.

  One of the three stared back at Samuel with a vicious glare.

  Carlos Soto.

  Samuel recognized him immediately. A tall, lean man, Soto drew his thick, black brows together as his cold, dark eyes narrowed. A mustache and goatee surrounded his knife-scarred lips.

  His family loathed Soto. And it had nothing to do with him being a Mexican. The bandit had killed a good frien
d of theirs named Wayne Jones and afterward butchered one of his family’s beefs for a feast. The settlement had no sheriff or other law so when the murder was discovered, the local militia, including his father and Samuel, had given chase. About twenty miles out from the settlement, Mexican soldiers stopped them from pursuing any further saying they would take care of Mexican bandits themselves.

  His father and the others suspected Soto bribed the soldiers to look the other way whenever they encountered the bandits.

  Known in Tejas as Bandido Supremo, his band’s every visit to the Pecan Point Settlement resulted in mayhem.

  Two of Soto’s swarthy, mean-looking men sat beside him. One had a pock-marked face and the other a toothy snarl. All three looked as dangerous as rattlesnakes. All three held heavy flintlock pistols in their hands. Soto held two.

  Several empty glasses sat on the rough pine table before the three Mexicans, which might explain why they didn’t fire their weapons as soon as Samuel and Steve came in. Whiskey had a way of slowing things down. Or perhaps the bandit was smart enough to realize the threat Samuel and Steve posed.

  “Are you robbing these folks?” Samuel asked Soto.

  The question seemed to incite the bandit. Quick as a cat, the Mexican raised his pistol toward Samuel. “¡Manos arriba!” barked Soto.

  Having learned a fair amount of Spanish over the last few years, Samuel knew what Soto’s words meant.

  “He says ‘hands up,’” Samuel said.

  “Keep your weapons,” Father ordered from behind them.

  “¡Pongan su dinero en mi mesa, ahora!” Soto demanded.

  “He wants all of us to put our money on his table,” Samuel said.

  Several seconds ticked by. None of the grim-faced men in the room moved to comply with Soto’s demand. These were not men who gave up easily. And they would give up their hard-earned money even less easily. Or not at all.