Josh had known from the minute he first saw Bull there would be trouble. Bull reminded him of another man, a sergeant who ran rough-shod over his men and intended to do the same with the new shavetail second lieutenant who had taken over the command. The sergeant was a big barrel-chested man, like Bull, with shoulders wide from hard work and knuckles scarred from many a brawl. When he challenged Logan to join him behind the camp and shed his blouse, he was surprised to see the youngster turn, without a word, and stride toward the rear of the camp.
Josh thought about what Pa had told them all, on many occasions, that to go looking for a fight was a fool’s errand, for you would surely find one; but if a fight came to you, you best get on with it, for it wouldn’t go away.
Pa backed this up by teaching all the boys how to fight with their hands, arms, feet, and head, something he’d learned from a Frenchman he met down New Orleans way when he was with Andy Jackson. Then the boys practiced among themselves until tempers would flare and Pa would step in.
The sergeant didn’t know that. All he could see was a big raw-boned youth, barely on the high side of twenty; easy pickings for a barroom brawler like himself. By the time he realized he’d bitten off more than he could chew, it was too late. His face carried the scars of his mistake until a minie ball from a reb’s musket snuffed his life out six months later.
Josh knew he wasn’t through with Bull. The man would have to try him now or later. It was a thing that would have to be finished. Bull had been dealt a blow not only to his head, but also to his pride. No man could continue to live in this country, this wild, prideful land, without defending his honor.
“So how far is the Rocking N from here?” Josh asked.
“Well sir,” Scott responded with a nod, “it depends on who you ask. My boss says it’s about a half-day’s ride from here. But according to Mr. Nance, you’re on Rocking N range right now.”
Chapter 2
Josh woke to the turkeys’ yelping as they greeted the West Texas morning. He came awake quickly, scanned the area in the dim early morning light, picked up his rifle, and stood. As soon as he moved, Scott Penny woke and looked around.
“I could sure use a cup of ranch house coffee right now, as bad as it is,” Scott said.
Josh went to his horse, saddled him, and slid the Winchester into its scabbard. As quietly as possible, he walked Chancy down to the creek for water. While the gray drank, he filled the water bag and his canteen, then went back up to the camp. Bull was awake, sitting where he had fallen.
Blood had clotted on Bull’s left cheek just below the hairline. His left eye was black and swollen almost completely closed.
Scott Penny was saddling his horse and chewing slowly on a piece of venison jerky. He turned to Josh with a wink, “Bull here’s not feelin’ too shiny.”
Bull turned his head so that he could fix Logan with his right eye. “You’re gonna pay for this one,” he said, rubbing his right fist in his left hand. His shoulder muscles bulged under his dirty shirt.
“Anytime you’re ready, Bull,” Josh said. He waited for a moment, then deliberately turned his back on Bull. “Scott, how far a ride is it to the Rocking N ranch house?”
“Bout a half-day’s ride south by west will put you on their doorstep.”
“Then I’ll be leaving you boys. Watch out for the Comanches, I’ve a feelin’ they’re not too far away.”
Josh heard the rush of feet in the pecan leaves behind him. He spun to his left, filling his hand with the Colt. Bull was caught in mid-stride.
Josh could see the bloodlust in Bull’s eyes. The man wanted to hurt him. He’d seen brawlers like Bull; they waited until a man’s back was turned, then attacked. Josh waited for the man to make a decision. Bull didn’t appear to be a fast thinker. He was probably weighing his chances. He didn’t want to, but if Bull kept coming, he’d kill him; but the man had frozen as still as a block of ice.
He looked calmly at Bull over the muzzle of the Colt. “You have an almighty urge to die, Mister. But this isn’t the time nor the place. I’ll tell you this much; you ever try to jump me like that again, and I’ll hole you where you stand. Now drop your gun, real easy, and go hunker down by that tree.”
Bull dropped his gun, turned around, moved over to the pecan tree, and sat down. Josh watched the man. He’d been humiliated twice. Josh realized Scott was a talker. He’d have the whole story about Bull spread across the prairie in no time. Bull would become a laughing stock. Well, he’d brought it on himself.
Josh raised a hand to Scott, eased down into the creek bed, and mounted the horse. He could feel the big gray’s muscles quiver as he settled into the saddle. What more could a man ask than to be on horseback in a free, wild land like this Texas. He eased Chancy up to the crest of the mesquite covered hillside just high enough to see over the top. He was only a half mile from the pecan grove where they had camped. He hadn’t seen any movement as he rode out of the grove, but a man kept his hair by being careful.
The hill was a plateau that ran west as far as he could see. Mesquite and prickly pear cactus covered the rocky plateau. Occasionally an island of scrub oak provided a haven for deer, javelina, or marauding Comanches.
A family of white-tailed deer browsed contentedly. The two fawns still wore their spotted coats. They wouldn’t be around if Indians were holed up nearby. The doe’s head shot up as Josh rode over the crest. She watched him for a few moments as he drew nearer, then with a flick of her tail admonishing the fawns to follow, she trotted out of sight.
Only a few yards in from the edge of the hill, Logan saw the Comanche sign. Ten or twelve braves had passed by here last night. The horse droppings were crusting over, but still soft. All the horses were unshod, which meant they hadn’t raided anywhere yet. At least, they hadn’t captured any horses, and that was a Comanche’s passion—horses; horses and killing.
It was interesting, Josh thought, how city folks believed Indians wouldn’t fight at night. Night was the ally of the Comanche. When the summer night winds blew across the prairie under a full moon, he rode with blood in his eye and lust in his heart. The Comanche was the best light cavalry who ever sat a horse.
Josh sat relaxed but alert in his saddle as he rode southwest. Survival in this country meant spotting the other fellow first, and that’s just what he aimed to do. He had covered thousands of miles on the back of this horse in this same manner, both of them alert for danger. They had been together through some happy and some terrifying times.
Now he had a mission to complete for a friend; a friend who whetted his curiosity with his talk of Texas, of the land and of the people; a friend who had talked of Stephen Austin, Sam Houston, and even a Lt. Colonel in the United States Cavalry stationed in Texas, Robert E. Lee; a friend who spoke of his younger sister and his concern for her in this harsh but beautiful land; a friend who had brought to him the magic of this land; a friend who died on the point of an enemy’s saber.
Chancy had carried Josh into that battle, and now he carried him to the family of Rory Nance.
The valley was at least five miles long, with hills rising from the northern and southern edges. In the bottom, near the southern side, a wide creek flowed southeast. It was covered with heavily laden pecan trees. Even from this distance, he could hear the racket of the red fox squirrels fussing over the green pecans.
The ranch house was on a shelf about fifty feet above the creek bed, well above the high water mark. It backed up against a small hill that rose out of the valley floor. The limestone, two-story house was solidly built. Josh admired the way the stone bunkhouse and the ranch house provided good fields of fire for each other. The barn and corrals, across from the house, were well maintained. It looked like Bill Nance believed in taking care of his property.
“Come on, Chancy,” Josh said. “We best get on with it. The quicker we finish here, the sooner we can be on our way to Colorado.”
The big gray horse nodded as if it understood as they started down the hill. It
had been a long and tiring trip since they had left Ma and Pa back in the Tennessee hills. The horse sensed they were near a resting place.
Josh pulled up at the hitching rail in front of the rock fence that surrounded the house. The ranch seemed deserted. He had seen no one as he rode up, yet there was no indication of damage or of a fight.
Maybe everyone had left the ranch for the fort because of the Indian reports. He immediately dismissed that thought. From what Rory had told him about Mr. Nance, a report of Indians wouldn’t phase him, even a little bit.
Chancy’s ears twisted around trying to pinpoint a sound too faint for human ears. Josh also felt it. He didn’t know where this ability came from, maybe from some old Scot ancestor, but he knew he had it, and he’d learned to trust it—too many times during the war it had saved his bacon. Rory had always said he was like a cat with nine lives but Josh knew it was this uncanny ability to know when he was being watched that had saved him.
This time his sixth-sense had been slow. Now he was sitting in the open with his Colt snubbed down and his rifle in the scabbard. If whoever was watching was a tad unfriendly, he was going to be in deep trouble.
He heard the sharp metallic click from behind as a hammer reached its full-cocked position. The horse heard it, too. Josh could feel the horse’s muscles tense beneath him. They had been in trouble together many times before, and each felt the other’s tension.
“Buenas tardes, señor. Please do not make a sudden move, for I am an old vaquero, and I tend to nervousness. If you move suddenly you might cause me to jump, and if I jump, I might accidentally touch the trigger on this old and worn Sharps, and it might blow a big hole in your back—right between your shoulder blades. So if I were you, I would sit very still.”
“Mister, that borders on being one of the most unfriendly greetings I’ve ever had,” Josh said as he concentrated on sitting perfectly still. “I can tell you, that hitchin’ post will move before I do.”
“Bueno hombre, that’s some smart thinking.”
“Miss Nance,” the vaquero called, “you want I should take this hombre away from here?”
Josh was thinking how he didn’t particularly like the thought of being taken anywhere. In fact, he was starting to get mad—real mad. He had come here to help, to pay a debt, and now he was being treated like a thief. He didn’t like it at all.
“Now listen, mister. I’ve ridden a long way for a good friend. I don’t reckon a gun in my back is the reception I’d get if Rory were here.”
The ranch house door burst open as an attractive young woman carrying a big Colt .44 dashed breathlessly up to his horse.
“Do you know Rory?” she asked. “His last letter was almost two years ago.”
Josh looked down at the young blonde with sky blue eyes. He realized she didn’t know about her brother.
Chapter 3
“Yes, ma’am, I knew Rory,” Josh said. “But I could talk a heap better if that Sharps wasn’t dead center on my back.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Juan, please lower your rifle.”
“Señorita, we don’t know this man. It’s obvious he’s not from around here. I recommend we be very cautious of him,” Juan said, as he reluctantly lowered the rifle.
Josh heard the hammer click as it was lowered to the safe position. He relaxed and turned around to look steadily at the man who, for a few moments, controlled his life. His appraisal was met, and returned, with an equally level stare. Josh decided that from what he could tell so far, Mr. Nance knew how to pick men.
“Ma’am, I’m Joshua Matthew Logan. I rode with your brother under General Grant’s Command.”
“Mister Logan, I must apologize once again—I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Mary Louise Nance, and the cautious man with the rifle is Juan Alvarez, a truly dear friend.”
Josh stepped down from the horse. He noticed the elderly Alvarez had visibly relaxed when Josh introduced himself. Alvarez must be a close friend to the Nance family to be privy to Rory’s letters.
Juan stepped forward and extended his hand. “Señor Rory is a good friend, and I know you are his good friend. Welcome to the Rocking N.”
Mary Louise said, “Please come in, Mister Logan and tell us all about Rory. Oh, I’m forgetting my manners again. You must be tired and hungry after such a long journey. You can clean up and we’ll get you something to eat. Papa should be back by then, and I’m just dying to hear about Rory.”
“Well, ma’am, that’s mighty nice of you. But first I’d like to take care of my horse. Then I’d truly be pleased to wash off this trail dust and sit down to a home-cooked meal.”
“Señor Logan,” Alvarez said as he stepped forward and grasped Chancy’s bridle, “I’d be honored if you would allow me to take care of this fine animal.”
Josh started to tell him to be careful, for the big gray was finicky about who handled him, but Chancy nuzzled the older man as if he’d known him forever.
“Señor Alvarez, I was goin’ to tell you to be careful, but it looks like you’ve made a friend. Would you put him off by himself, since he’s a stud horse.”
“I like horses, Señor, and most of them like me, and yes, I will keep him away from our other horses. Por favor, Señor, call me Juan.”
“Juan it is then,” Josh said. “I answer to Josh or Logan. Thanks.” He turned to Mary Louise and said, “Ma’am, I’d be much obliged if you could forget the Mister. I’m not much for titles. Just call me Josh.”
“Why Mister—uh Josh—thank you. Won’t you please come in now?”
Josh followed her into the house. Rory had talked about his sister a great deal. Logan had never been much with the ladies. When he was younger, he was always too busy working, hunting or fishing; always finding a reason to be with his Pa or his brothers in the Tennessee forests. As he grew, he came to realize that he wasn’t a handsome man, as men go. He was too big, too awkward around women. The saber cut across his forehead didn’t help any either, but mostly, he just never knew what to say.
Before he was barely grown, the war came along, and for almost five years it occupied his every waking hour. Now here he was, in the home of this beautiful young woman, about to break her heart with the news of her brother’s death.
“Teresa,” Mary called to the kitchen.
A large Mexican woman came into the living room from the kitchen. Her jet-black hair, shot with traces of gray, was pulled back and pinned at the back of her head. She held a dish she was busily drying. A wide smile lit her face as she saw Josh.
“I have ears, Mary,” she said. “I know this is our little Rory’s friend. We’ll have another place for dinner. Now I’ll heat some agua, for I see Mr. Logan needs a bath—badly.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Josh said, as Teresa walked back to the kitchen.
“Where’s Mr. Nance and the rest of your ranch hands?” he asked, as Mary led him to a small room adjoining the kitchen. A dresser and a chair were against one wall, with a real honest to goodness mirror above the dresser. In the middle of the room sat a big bathtub.
“This is our bathroom,” Mary announced proudly. “Father put this in right after Rory left.”
She had a right to be proud, Josh thought. There were few homes that had the space to have one room devoted only to taking baths. In fact, there were doggone few homes that even had bathtubs. Why, the only baths he ever had at home were in a washtub when he was young, and later in the river when he grew too big.
“Mighty nice, ma’am.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me ma’am, Josh.”
“Mary,” Josh asked, “where’s Mr. Nance?”
“Oh yes,” she said, “you asked me that awhile ago. Father took some horses down to Brownwood. He should be back for supper. Brownwood’s about a half day’s ride.”
“Here’s the hot water,” Teresa announced as she marched in from the kitchen. “Supper will be ready soon, so don’t dawdle. Come on, Mary, Señor Nance should be back soon and Señor Logan
can tell us all about Rory then.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Josh said as Teresa ushered Mary out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Josh felt like a new man. The hot water had washed away trail dust and tension. Now his muscles were relaxed as he dressed. He was pulling on his boots when he heard the horses riding up in the yard. The moment he’d been dreading was close at hand. He’d ridden hundreds of miles to do this for a friend. He must have rehearsed what he was going to say a thousand times.
It wasn’t like this was new to him. He’d had a lot of practice with all the letters he’d written to loved ones of men killed in his company. He had even told a few fathers and wives in person, but never had it been someone this close. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
Bill Nance was talking to his daughter as Josh opened the bathroom door. Nance turned and strode toward Josh, his hand extended.
“Welcome to the Rocking N—what there is left of it,” he said ruefully. “I’m Bill Nance. The few letters we received from Rory sure spoke highly of you. We’re mighty proud to have you here.”
Josh took the extended hand. “I’m pleased to meet you Mr. Nance. Rory talked about you all the time.”
“Call me Bill,” Nance said. “Now let’s eat. You can tell us all about Rory and what he was up to when you last saw him. We figured he would probably have made it home by now. But there’s many a mile between Virginia and Texas.”
Josh could see that Bill Nance knew that something had happened to his son, but this was a strong man. He couldn’t have survived and accomplished all that he had without great inner strength. That’s what it took to settle this great country. Without men like Bill Nance, everyone would still be back in Europe, talking about coming to the new world. This country was built by men of strength and action; men like Bill Nance.
Rory had told Josh, as they sat around camp on those lonely nights, how his father had traveled to New Orleans when he was only nineteen. There he had spent a couple of years accumulating a handsome stake.
Logan's Word: A Logan Family Western - Book 1 (Logan Family Western Series) Page 2