Mark Greathouse
Nueces Justice
Copyright © 2019 Mark Greathouse
(Defiance Press & Publishing, LLC)
Printed in the United States of America
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1-948035-30-9 (Hard Cover)
ISBN-13: 978-1-948035-31-6 (eBook)
Published by Defiance Press and Publishing, LLC
Bulk orders of this book may be obtained by contacting Defiance Press and Publishing, LLC. www.defiancepress.com.
Public Relations Dept. – Defiance Press & Publishing, LLC
281-581-9300
[email protected]
Defiance Press & Publishing, LLC
281-581-9300
[email protected]
DEDICATION
Dedicated with love to my wife, Carolyn,
and to our two sons, Mike and Matt.
THEME
Justice:
The quality of being just, impartial, or fair; the principle or ideal of just dealing or right action; conformity to a principle or ideal.
THE CAST
Lucas “Long Luke” Dunn – Soon to become one of the greatest Texas Ranger captains ever, Luke escapes the Great Famine in Ireland to seek his fortune on the Nueces Strip. He gains repute as an Indian fighter and respected lawman.
George Whelan – A dutiful and well-intended sheriff of Nueces County. His weakness for the ladies lands him in trouble.
Elisa Corrigan – Loses her family to frontier rigors, including fighting off Comanche. She takes over her parents’ farm and soon meets and sets her heart on Luke Dunn.
Doc Andrews – The alcoholic Nuecestown doctor is the rheumy conscience of the town.
Bart Strong – “Bad Bart” Strong is a notorious killer Luke is assigned to hunt down and capture or kill. Strong seeks to add Luke as a notch on his gun.
Clyde Jones – Texas Ranger who served with Luke Dunn in the early Rangers.
Three Toes – Comanche Chief, son of famous Penateka Comanche War Chief Santa Anna and favored by Buffalo Hump. He develops a friendship with Luke that contradicts tribal ways.
Dirk Cavendish – Cav, as he’s called, grows up with an abusive father and weaves a path of murder and mayhem while luring Scarlett into his web.
Carlos Perez – Cattle thief and killer embarrassed by Luke. Perez stalks his nemesis, seeking revenge. He blames Luke for the loss of his eye.
Scarlett Rose – Red-headed prostitute from Laredo who latches on to Luke Dunn for protection but hankers for black-clad mystery man, Dirk Cavendish. Her conflicted interests and bad choices of men could prove deadly.
Bernice & Agatha – Nuecestown town gossips with hearts of gold who run the boarding house.
Colonel Horace Rucker – Retired U.S. Army veteran and secessionist who becomes one of Scarlett’s nemeses.
MAP OF THE NUECES STRIP
Nuecestown, established in 1852 by English and German settlers, was developed by Corpus Christi founder Colonel Henry Lawrence Kinney. It frequently serves as a setting for Tumbleweed Sagas. Thanks to being passed by the railroad, it’s now a “ghost town” marked only by historical markers. All that remains is a preserved schoolhouse and the Nuecestown Cemetery.
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
THEME
THE CAST
MAP OF THE NUECES STRIP
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
The Nueces Strip of the 1850s was mostly a vast prairie of tall grass and loamy sands stretching far as the eye could see and then some. Technically, it stretched from the Nueces River south to the Rio Grande. Occasionally among the wiregrass would spring a motte of live oak or mesquite. Mostly dry creek beds and arroyos meandered throughout, eventually feeding into Nueces Bay and…farther east…Corpus Christi Bay.
When it rained, folks were at the mercy of flash floods. The summers were brutally hot and made even hotter by the humidity. The breezes from the Gulf of Mexico didn’t reach near far enough inland to matter much. The weather was about as changeable as a woman’s mood.
Fauna and flora flourished in the Nueces Strip. Deer, javelina, fox, jackrabbits, armadillos, coons, and coyote were fairly common, with occasional spotted ocelots and even wolves. The harmless but ferocious-looking horned lizard or horny toad could be found in abundance. Wildflowers were plentiful, and the landscape was, at times, painted with scarlet sage, hibiscus, daisies, poppies, and lilies. Further south could be found groves of cypress, juniper, and palmetto. Of course, there was the omnipresent cactus along with yucca and agave.
No description of the Nueces Strip would be complete without mention of the Diamondback rattlesnake. The rattlesnake is part of the culture of the region and is included in many so-called Texas-isms, like, “he’s so tough he’d fight a rattlesnake and spot it the first bite.” Or “nastier than a nest of rattlesnakes.” Bite was nasty for sure.
Most of the serious fighting of the Texas War for Independence was fought on the Nueces Strip and just north of it back in 1835 and 1836, and it was the scene of the first fighting of the Mexican-American War of 1846.
It wasn’t long before the indigenous longhorn made its way into the Nueces Strip economy. Thanks to early Spanish priests setting up their missions to convert the Indians, the longhorns roamed free and bred prolifically as the missions failed one by one. Soon enough, millions of the beasts covered Texas, especially on the good grazing lands of the Nueces Strip.
By the 1850s, ranches and farms had begun to sprawl throughout the Nueces Strip. Cotton was king, and the longhorn and the all-important horse, as far as livestock went, reigned supreme. A single longhorn might need as much as five acres to stay well fed. The range was as wide open as it was beautiful. In fact, a body could swear that, on a clear night, you could actually hear the stars twinkle amidst the occasional owl hoots and flutter of bat wings.
The frontier was populating. There was still worry about Comanche, Kiowa, and Lipan Apache, not to mention the rogue marauding bandits from south of the Rio Grande. Those threats tended to remind early Texans to stay ever vigilant. It didn’t take much to make the case for calling companies of Texas Rangers to patrol the vast area that comprised the Nueces Strip. The Rangers took it upon themselves to go where the military found it politically unattractive.
To say there wasn’t much in terms of settlements on the Nueces Strip in the 1850s wouldn’t be an exaggeration. The beginnings of settlements for stage way stations and mail service were in their prenatal stage. North of the Nueces River
, there was a lot more going on. No surprise that Captain Richard King and Gideon K. Lewis would found what became the King Ranch, eventually spreading over 825,000 acres across six Texas counties of the Nueces Strip. But, other than Corpus Christi, San Diego, Laredo, Brownsville, San Ygnatio, and Nuecestown, the Nueces Strip was simply wide-open space. There was space aplenty to raise longhorns and horses, making the economics attractive despite the threats of Indians and bandits. It was those threats that brought the likes of Dunn and the Texas Rangers to the Nueces Strip.
The Nueces Strip of the 1850s was all about promise. It would be many years before it revealed all of its secrets. Meanwhile, it demanded the unbridled devotion of men like Captain Luke Dunn. Recently, he had joined about 130 men to ride with the famed James Hughes Callahan and chase Lipan Apache after their cattle-thieving attacks in Bexar and Comal Counties. Callahan had earned a reputation for gallant action in the Texas Revolution, having escaped the Goliad Massacre and fought at Victoria. Technically, the Texas Rangers had become an afterthought in some minds, given the statehood status of Texas and so-called protection of the U.S. Army. When that protection was not forthcoming following raids by the Apache, it took a concerted effort by Governor E.M. Pease to get the legislature to authorize enough money to raise the company of Rangers under Callahan.
In September 1855, Callahan and his company crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico in their chase after the Lipan Apache. About forty miles into Mexico, they were met by a force of Indians and Mexican troops, initiating an incident on the Rio Escondito in which a small number were killed and wounded on both sides, the town of Piedras Negros was looted and burned, and Callahan re-crossed the Rio Grande into Texas. Little wonder that the Mexicans took to derogatorily calling the Texas Rangers “rinches.” Dunn was credited with being in the thick of the battle. He was frustrated to learn upon returning with Callahan that, while public support for another expedition was favorable, the politicians were not inclined to risk another international incident. Notably, Callahan died the following year in a fight with a fella named Woodson Blassingame.
Dunn had his horse, bedroll, armament, badge, and enough money to continue Rangering on the Nueces Strip. He figured his performance with Callahan had earned him the captain rank, and it was said that Governor Pease informally authorized it. If Dunn could eliminate an occasional Apache or some lawbreaker on his own dime, it was just fine with the governor.
It’s said that the Nueces Strip never gives up its secrets. One thing for sure, justice is swift and certain. When Nueces justice is rendered, there is no question that lawbreakers are dealt full punishment for their misdeeds. It might appear that the Nueces Strip would provide a haven for lawbreakers, but the vast vistas of grassy prairie offer little or no place to hide. Nueces justice is the inevitable outcome.
ONE
The Nueces Strip
“Bad” Bart Strong oh-so-careful-like sighted down the barrel. The bead near the muzzle was seated neatly in the “U” of the rear sight. He’d rested the rifle in the notch of a live oak to keep it steady at such a distance. There was a strong gusty crosswind from his left, and he could see the heat dancing along the length of the rifle’s blue-gray barrel. Two hundred fifty, maybe three hundred yards by his estimation. Close as he dared get and still have cover. Have to aim just a shade high and left.
A drop of sweat ran down along a scar on his wide cheek and across his lips. He ignored its saltiness, focusing on the business at hand.
***
Luke Dunn, Texas Ranger, kicked at the remaining coals of his campfire and looked up at the horizon. He pondered what would be a long day on the trail chasing down his quarry. He was still far enough north to keep a watchful eye out for Comanche. Nasty savages they were. Just as soon lay their victims out, scalp them, and castrate them as look at them.
A rattlesnake slithered across the clearing. Luke let it go. It belonged here more than he did.
***
Strong exhaled slowly. Squeezed the trigger. The barrel exploded off the live oak branch as a bullet blasted from the muzzle.
***
From the corner of his eye, Luke saw the grey stallion’s ears perk up. He stepped back and turned. Suddenly, the tin cup in his hand exploded in shards of metal and hot coffee. Blood. Where was all the blood coming from? He looked down. His right hand was a mangled mess. He instinctively dove to the ground, shoving his good hand into his saddlebag under the tree for something, anything, to staunch the bleeding. And where was his damned pistol?
Luke found the Colt revolver in his good hand, but not soon enough to matter. He heard hooves galloping away from him in the distance. Whoever had shot at him was already running and leaving a trail that would be easy to track. Besides, he needed to tend to his badly injured hand.
***
“Damn!” Strong never missed. He pulled another ball and powder from his bag, but he wouldn’t get a second shot. He needed to get out before he became the prey. The roan had barely stirred at the gunshot. Strong grabbed the reins and swung into the saddle. Spurs raked the roan’s sides, and the outlaw was gone in a cloud of dust. No place to hide; had to run. Two days of tracking wasted.
***
Luke unwrapped the bloody shirt from his hand. He was lucky he was left-handed. Most of the damage had been done to the coffee cup, but its steel shards had inflicted multiple deep cuts. He thanked God that no bones appeared to be broken, but it was definitely a mess and needed medical attention. He knew he was a half-day ride from Nuecestown, and it was getting on close to midday. He needed to move.
Pulling a needle and thread from his saddlebag, he poured water from his canteen over his hand, undertook an agonizingly painful effort to thread the needle, and sewed together the two worst cuts as best he could. At least, the bleeding had mostly stopped.
When he finished his medical chore, he gingerly saddled the big grey stallion with his left hand. He slid the Colt Paterson Model 1839 carbine into its scabbard. He was one of the few in Texas to have come by one of these limited-production Samuel Colt creations. It was a new-fangled design that borrowed from the handgun by including a revolving cylinder. The age of the repeating rifle was at its dawn. He was also armed with two .44 caliber Walker Colt revolvers, one of which he carried in a holster on his hip while the other nestled in his belt. A Bowie knife, namesake of Jim Bowie of Alamo fame, completed his arsenal.
Luke grabbed the horn with his left hand and swung himself into the saddle. He appreciated the stallion in part for its ability to accommodate his six-foot, three-inch frame. In the saddle, he was an imposing sight to anyone daring—or perhaps insane enough—to take him on. No surprise that he had earned the moniker “Long Luke.” It was a sort of honorific, as one of his Irish ancestors had been called “Long Larry” due to his extraordinary height. The Comanche were impressed with him enough to call him Ghost-Who-Rides.
He led the stallion in alternating walks and canters as he headed toward Nuecestown. He fought hard against the urge to go after the sonofabitch that had taken the shot at him. As a Ranger, Luke would have been expected, despite his injury, to pursue his quarry without pausing for treatment. But, on his own, Luke preferred the unexpected. It wasn’t worth risking infection, and a healthy right hand could be a big asset, even to a left-handed man. With his tracking skills, he’d pick up the trail soon enough.
He was a bit embarrassed. He’d let his guard down, and the hunter became the hunted. Old Captain James Hughes Callahan, Luke’s captain in the Rangers, wouldn’t have been pleased to hear of it. It’d be tough enough telling Rip Ford about his run-in. John “Rip” Ford had, after all, entrusted him with this assignment. Like Luke, Ford was a holdover from Callahan’s company and a veteran of the Mexican-American War. Though officially disbanded, the Rangers looked to Ford as an interim leader as they hoped and prayed the next governor would have the fortitude to reconstitute the company.
To make matters worse, the U.S. 2nd Cavalry had been transferred to Utah. This le
ft the Comancheria, the part of Texas west of the 98th Meridian, vulnerable to Buffalo Hump’s Comanche and allied Kiowa bands.
Ford had described Bad Bart Strong as the epitome of evil lawlessness. “If it lives, Strong would likely kill it,” Ford warned.
The pursuit would have to wait. Luke’s hand throbbed mercilessly; the bleeding had started again and wouldn’t stop. He kept the big grey stallion on a northeast track and whiled away the time humming Irish ballads.
TWO
Evil Is
“Damned horse!” Bart Strong muttered under his breath. Out here on the prairie, a man was only as good as his horse. He’d ridden the roan hard, too hard. Now, the beast was breathing heavily, but managing to walk behind him.
What the hell was he trying to escape from? He knew he’d at least hit the fool Ranger. He saw the puff when the bullet hit, and he’d heard the Ranger’s shout of surprise. It hadn’t been a kill shot, but Dunn wouldn’t be chasing him down anytime soon. Could the fool even know it was him? Yeah, he’d know. Damned Ranger always knew.
One foot before the other. It was going to be a long walk. Carrying tack and a heavy rifle would have been far tougher, especially as Strong’s boots were made for riding, not walking mile after mile in the rough country. He’d barely made ten miles since the incident back at the live oak motte. But, if he could make the mail way station by nightfall, he’d at least be able to rest his feet and let the roan fully catch its wind. He cursed under his breath.
***
“Carlotta! I see someone on the trail headin’ toward us.”
Carlotta looked up the trail. “I don’t see nothin’.”
Zeke, the station master, was getting on in years, but still had eyes like an eagle. “Yep, see there up yonder?”
The figure came into focus. “Damn, it’s that Strong fella. I can smell him.”
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