Nueces Justice

by Greathouse, Mark

  “Look, sergeant, he’s one of them rebels we’ve been warned about.”

  Luke knew they’d have no way of knowing his affiliation. They were guessing. “Do I look like a rebel, sirs?”

  The largest of the three placed his hand on his sword as if to draw. “Methinks he’s a brassy lad.”

  The third soldier, the least drunk of the trio, held him back. “Lads, it’s not a good evening for a fight. We’ve got that duty in the morning.”

  He held back the sergeant and the sick soldier so Luke could pass.

  It had been far too close for comfort. Luke was having to grow up way too fast, and lingering in Kildare was going to eventually get him into trouble. In the innermost reaches of his young soul, he saw the conflict between Irish and British as an issue of justice. He was deeply offended at the injustice perpetrated by the British against his kinsmen. Freedom… justice…opportunity. He sought a life featuring the confluence of those values. The next morning, he went to Long Larry’s home and received his uncle’s blessing to go to America.

  Long Larry made no bones about what Luke should do. “Lad, you’ve read your cousin’s letters from Texas. Methinks it’s the place for you. Kildare will only hold trouble for a lad as spirited as you.”

  Luke managed to find passage to England, then found his way north to Liverpool. He was hired for work on a sailing ship heading from Liverpool to New Orleans. He didn’t see much of the ocean while working in the bowels of the ship, but he managed to avoid seasickness. From New Orleans, it was an easy journey to Corpus Christi and connection with fellow Irishmen carving new beginnings on the Texas frontier.

  On arrival, he soon learned of the challenges of frontier life, some of which made the oppressions by the British seem like child’s play. They could be viciously evil and terribly sadistic with their torturing, but deeds of the British paled in comparison to the Comanche atrocities he soon heard about. Another threat came from south of the Rio Grande, where there was still a lot of resentment to the treaty that ceded the Nueces Strip to the United States. The twin threats weighed on Luke’s conscience. He wondered what sort of justice might be found.

  He found a small room to live in Corpus Christi and hired out for odd jobs. As it happened, he ran into a man one evening at a local market. He could tell the man was of some importance and found out from a passerby that it was in fact Colonel Kinney, and he was credited with being the founder of the city. Notably, Luke recalled that the man had befriended one of his cousins, the one who’d fought with Taylor, giving him a place to live, purportedly in exchange for minding the colonel’s fighting cocks. Luke decided that boldness was in order, so he walked so his path would intersect that of the colonel. He brushed Kinney as their paths crossed.

  “Excuse me, young man.”

  “Sorry, sir, I meant no offense.” Luke’s Irish accent came through quite clearly. “Pardon me, but aren’t you Colonel Kinney?”

  Kinney was uncharacteristically thrown a bit off balance. “Yes, and you are?”

  “My name is Luke Dunn. I think you may have known my cousin, Matthew.”

  “Yes, a hard-working family man. I’m a friend of Matthew’s.” Kinney had a suspicion by now that this meeting had been purposeful. “May I help you?”

  “To be straight, sir, I arrived in your fine city from Ireland just a couple of months ago. I’ve been working in the port but am looking for something with greater purpose for my skills. I’m concerned about the threats Texans face on the frontier and am looking for a way to make peoples’ lives safer.” He could see that he’d grabbed Kinney’s interest.

  “Do you have a sense of the law?”

  “If you mean am I of high morals and can I fight when necessary, yes, sir, I am.”

  “A few of my friends are joining me at the cock fights on Sunday. It can get a bit unruly. I’d be willing to try you out to help keep order. After that, we’ll see about the future.” Kinney smiled and extended his hand. “See you at your cousin’s place?”

  Luke shook Kinney’s hand. “Yes, sir, I’ll be there.”

  Kinney looked at Luke’s waist and belt. “Do you have a pistol?” Obviously, he didn’t. Kinney gave him two dollars. “Get yourself one, Mr. Dunn. You might need it.” He turned, then added, “Look for George Whelan.”

  Following the meeting, Luke promptly purchased a .36 caliber Colt 1851 Navy single action percussion cap revolver. He purchased several rounds of ammunition and decided that in the future he’d learn to make his own. It would be less expensive, and he’d be certain of the load. Now, however, he needed to learn to use the Colt. Back in Ireland, the weapons of choice had been claymores and flintlock pistols. Technology had come a long way, and some inventor named Samuel Colt had been changing the face of weaponry.

  As it was Wednesday, he determined to practice enough with the Colt to be reasonably familiar with it by Sunday.

  The first acquaintance Luke made at the cock fights was the George Whelan fellow Colonel Kinney had mentioned. Kinney had appointed Whelan as de facto sheriff of Nueces County. It would be official a month later.

  “Mr. Dunn, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Whelan looked at the Colt jammed into Luke’s waistband. “You know how to use that piece?”

  Luke nodded affirmatively.

  “You been to cockfights before?” Catching Luke’s nod, Whelan went on. “The cocks have the easy part. They use their talons to fight each other to the death. It’s the crowd that’s of concern. They are betting their hard-earned money on their favorite fowl. There are inevitably sore losers, and they can get nasty. Sometimes, they’re drunk and can’t control themselves. That’s pretty much it. Our job is to protect Colonel Kinney’s interests.”

  “Do we shoot anybody?”

  Whelan smiled. “Hope not.”

  Nothing like a couple of armed guards to keep emotions under control. At the end of the day, Luke thanked Whelan, received a dollar from Colonel Kinney, and headed back to Corpus Christi.

  The experience had intrigued him. Luke had never seriously considered guarding or law enforcement as a profession. It appealed to his inner sense of morals and honor, coupled with the inbred traditions of clan loyalty and protection he’d grown up with in County Kildare. The maintaining justice part was particularly intriguing. That resonated well.

  At this time, the opinion of Texas folk in general was that the federal government had pretty much failed to live up to the protections that were supposed to be part of statehood. With Mexicans and Lipan Apache the major challenges to the south and the Comanche to the northwest, Texans felt the threats needed to be pursued, hunted, and killed. It was that simple. With federal troops mostly moved to conflicts outside of Texas, there was a widespread view that Texas Rangers should be the hunters and executioners of these threats. For all intents and purposes, the Texas Rangers were not much more than wishful thinking. It wasn’t until the Lipan Apache problem arose as a major threat that money would eventually be designated to raise Callahan’s company of Texas Rangers. But that hadn’t happened just yet.

  Luke accepted a role as a deputy sheriff under Whelan. He mostly patrolled the region on his own, as Whelan preferred hanging back in Corpus Christi where he could have his fill of local ladies of ill repute. In fact, he found it an annoyance that Kinney would send him up to Nuecestown once a month to check on the ferry and make sure all was mostly peaceful.

  One day, Luke found himself riding about twenty miles south of Corpus Christi. It was an unusually cool day for the Nueces Strip in July. It was normally brutally hot and humid this time of year, with only light sea breezes coming in from the Gulf if you were close enough to the shoreline. The soil was sandy and the footing fair for his mount. He’d been riding eastward in a dry creek bed, keeping a low profile. Impulsively, he decided to turn south. Horse and rider climbed out of the arroyo and onto the prairie.

  “Carlos, mire!” The man pointed in Luke’s direction. There were four of them riding slowly perhaps five hundred yards a
way from him. All four riders stopped and searched the horizon in Luke’s direction.

  “Caramba!” The leader saw the threat and decided to hustle along away from Luke. They waved their hats and ropes, and it became clear that they were driving a few longhorns southward.

  Luke saw that he was outnumbered, and he’d already lost the element of surprise. His suspicion, driven by their actions in hustling along rather than engaging him, was that these men were probably cattle thieves.

  By this time, Luke had added a second revolver and a rifle to his weaponry. The revolver was a .44 caliber Walker Colt, an impressive piece that could be reloaded at a gallop. He continued to head south, paralleling the men’s route. The sun was sinking ever lower on the horizon, and it would be sunset soon enough. He might have a better chance at night. With the heavy humidity and virtually no moonlight, he could sneak up on them. He headed in the direction of what turned out to be Mexicans. He heard animated discussion about stopping for the night, but the men were fearful of whomever was lurking in the prairie grass. Luke was glad he’d learned some Spanish, although he spoke the language with a bit of a brogue.

  At last, night fell, and the men encamped. Luke dismounted and grabbed his rifle with scabbard, slinging it over his shoulder. He checked the loads in his revolvers and, perhaps most important, drew his Bowie knife. If he could disable a sentry, he’d be evening his odds a bit more. It wasn’t long.

  The man, now judged by Luke to be a cattle rustler, stood about a hundred feet from the encampment. His three companions stupidly kept up a lot of noisy chatter, probably a bit nervous. Luke was about a step behind him when the sentry realized someone was close at hand. Too late. Luke’s height advantage played well and the man’s throat was slit before he could utter a sound.

  The talking from the encampment stopped for a moment. “Luis, qué pasa?”

  “Es bien,” Luke responded. Apparently, it worked as the rustlers returned to their chatter. They’d grown over-confident.

  It was time for action. There’d be no reinforcements and no second chances. One of the men stood to relieve himself, and he made a silhouette against even a darkened sky. Luke aimed carefully. The report of the rifle echoed through the night. Startled wildlife scattered. The man fell where he stood. There were shouted curses as the other two men tried to saddle their horses in the dark. Luke chambered a second round, drew a bead, and fired. He apparently hit something, because there were more curses. “Andale, Carlos!” There was panic in the voice.

  Soon Luke heard hooves galloping off to the south at breakneck speed. By those thieves’ reckoning, whatever was hunting them in the prairie grass wasn’t to be messed with.

  Once he sensed the thieves were far enough away, Luke walked into the encampment. The man who’d stood and was shot first had been relieving his bladder. He lay in the sand bleeding out from his wound. A horse lay fallen but alive nearby and had apparently been the victim of Luke’s second shot. A bullet to the head put it out of its misery. Luke made out a few head of cattle and at least two horses. The escapees were sharing a mount. Luke poured himself a cup of coffee from the rustler’s pot and enjoyed a bit of the jackrabbit they’d been cooking for dinner. He’d take a full inventory at first light and head back to Corpus Christi.

  Whelan greeted him next day as he rode to the outskirts of the city. He had eight cattle and two horses with saddles occupied by dead cattle thieves.

  “Damn, Luke,” exclaimed Whelan.” That’s impressive. Sam Wright will be pleased to have his longhorns back.”

  “Two of them thieves got away.” Luke smiled. “They were likely peeing in their pants. They even rode double. Call it Nueces justice, George.”

  “Colonel Kinney’s got some sort of opportunity you might find interesting. When you get into town, be sure to look him up,” George told him.

  Luke nodded, waving the cattle onward with George outriding to help keep them headed in the right direction.

  Turned out that the colonel had a letter from the Texas governor to form up a company of Texas Rangers to chase a bunch of horse-thieving Lipan Apache out of the Nueces Strip.

  Texas Ranger. It had an appeal to Luke. He’d heard of their brief exploits a few years back after the Mexican-American War. He didn’t hesitate to sign up.

  When the Callahan campaign ended and the company was effectively disbanded, it left a big hole in Luke’s psyche and his employment. He’d rapidly learned to love the camaraderie with fellow Rangers, and he’d had enough of patrolling Nueces County by himself while Whelan dallied. Callahan intimated to several of the more accomplished Texas Rangers that they might consider being sort of lone wolves until government finances caught up with popular public sentiment. Luke seized on Callahan’s charge. Being unmarried and with few obligations, he’d saved enough to enable him to patrol on his own for a couple of years, if necessary.

  He handed in his resignation to Whelan, who feigned annoyance but Luke thought he saw a hint of admiration for his lofty purposes.

  Now, after a couple months of patrolling the Nueces Strip, Luke found himself on the trail of a notorious killer. He’d received the informal assignment from none other than Captain Rip Ford, a well-respected former Ranger-turned-politician, and a newspaperman who had the ear of the Texas governor.

  Up to now, Luke had broken up some hiders, been wounded by Bad Bart Strong, fought off a small Comanche attack, returned to tracking Strong, and subdued a Comanche chief. By sheer chance, another Callahan veteran, Clyde Jones, had found him on the trail and joined him along with their new friend, Three Toes.

  ***

  Bernice and Agatha prepared a fine dinner for Elisa and Doc. Bernice was chatty as ever. She’d lost three philandering husbands, one to yellow fever, one at Goliad in the Texas fight for independence, and a third who was shot by an angry husband who found him in bed with his wife. The last one was no loss to Bernice. Doc believed Bernice’s constant chatter and bickering manner led her men to stray. In any case, she had plenty of advice for Elisa. She’d seen the way Whelan looked at her, as well as the way Elisa looked at Luke. Couldn’t have been more opposite emotions.

  “You keep a watchful eye out for that sheriff, dear.” Agatha had observed the same dynamic. “Let him seek his satisfactions in Corpus Christi.” The intimations weren’t lost on Elisa.

  “Pay her no mind, Elisa. The sheriff is a good man but for that one transgression. Remember, our Lord Jesus had prostitutes around him during his ministry.” Bernice blushed as she said the words. “Not that He partook, dear, but He was forgiving.”

  After some further inconsequential conversation with much advice about Elisa moving to Nuecestown, Doc at last pushed back from the dining table. “Bernice, Agatha, that was a magnificent dinner. I’m much obliged.” In the back of his mind, he was feeling blessed to not have choked on the overcooked roast. “I do suggest that Elisa get to bed early. She’ll have a big day ahead of her.”

  “I’m gonna keep the farm, Doc.” Elisa’s words were very firm.

  “You think carefully on that. It’s quite a responsibility.”

  Bernice caught Doc’s drift. “You’re welcome to stay here for a couple of days, dear. It’ll give little Mike more chance to rest from his ordeal, too.” She looked over at Agatha and nodded as if to have her reinforce her own advice to the girl.

  Elisa was determined. She returned to her home the next day, despite the attack and the funeral being fresh in most folks’ minds. She felt a need to immerse herself in farm work as she struggled to fight back the sense of grief that clawed at the edges of her emotions.

  Her brother Mike still had a bit of a headache, but he was young and would recover quickly.

  She’d managed to avoid Sheriff Whelan. She waited until he made his departure for Corpus Christi. She wasn’t up to dealing with his leering eyes again. She thought he might even have drooled.

  In the inner recesses of her mind, she held out hope that Luke would return, and it would be for her. She
had felt his kindness and sensed that he just might have some sort of feelings for her. She was young and hadn’t experienced any of these sorts of emotions before. Bernice, three times widowed, and Agatha, who’d lost her only husband, tried to teach her some of the ways of courting rituals.

  They also told her that all bets were off as concerned men on the frontier. They tended to be unable to show feelings, would escape whenever possible for days on end, and lovemaking was strictly a biological urge that never took the woman’s heart or physical needs into account. Agatha told her that men who hung around close to home tended to be what she called “clingy.” They wouldn’t give a woman any space. In any case, they described men in rather extreme and not especially complimentary terms.

  Elisa began to take inventory of her situation. The cabin seemed spacious with three fewer occupants. As she began to go through her parents’ belongings, she found her mother’s mirror. She couldn’t help but look at her reflection. She could see her face and shoulders, but wished she could see her whole self. What was it that men found so attractive? Her long reddish-blonde hair needed washing, and she determined to go down to the creek the next morning. She’d need to look right for Luke’s return, whenever and if ever that might be.

  Mike was finally waking up and would have lots of questions as his senses came around. She dreaded explaining to him what had happened. She wanted to teach him to be grateful to the people who’d helped them during the disaster and to not harbor a hatred for the Comanche.

  NINE

  Lucky at Cards

  “Ante up, my friends.” The card shark scanned the men around the table, caressing his own cards. He peeked at the corners. The hand was terrible. He’d have to bluff, fold, or cheat.

  He’d noticed something threatening about the plainly dressed young man across from him and sensed that it might not do to cheat. The fellow was hard to read, even by an accomplished card shark like Bronson Smith. He mostly won, losing just enough to keep the hopefuls coming back to play. It irritated Smith that he didn’t know the kid’s name. He had already won two large pots, and the evening was young. The losses irritated Smith, given that he himself had become a fixture at the table over the past several months.