Clay took Blue into the corral, stripped the saddle and blanket from his back, and rubbed him down. He checked to make sure the trough was full of water and put some hay out. Blue watched him, his ears forward, as if he too felt the pain. Clay picked up the saddle and carried it into the barn. He pulled his Winchester out of the scabbard, a gift from Slim, and carried it with him.
He went to the house. He tried not to look at his ma, but then told himself: look and remember. This is what those men had done to his family. He picked up another quilt and went out to Slim. He wrapped Slim in the quilt and carried him to where his father lay, gently placing him on the ground.
He had grabbed the shovel when he went after Slim. He started digging. Clay was digging the third grave when he heard the horses approaching. He picked up the Winchester and waited.
Adam Hewitt rode up, followed by his oldest son, Toby, and two of his ranch hands, Bo Nelson and Luke Jones.
“Clay, what’s going on?” Hewitt took in the graves and the wrapped bodies lying on the ground. “By all the things that’s holy, who did this? Where’s your ma?” He stepped from his horse, handing the reins to Bo.
“I don’t know, Mr. Hewitt. I’ve been pushing cows out of the canyons. Been gone for three days. When I got back, this is what I found. They killed Slim and Pa out here. Ma’s inside on the bed. She’s dead too.”
“They killed your ma?” Hewitt pulled his hat off and swept his hair back with a gloved hand. “Boys, get down and give Clay a hand. You’re looking plumb tuckered out, Son.”
The cowboys climbed down. This was hard country. Death wasn’t new to them, but these folks were friends, and killing a woman in this country was about the worst sin a man could commit. Bo walked over to the bodies and turned to Clay. “You mind?”
Clay just shook his head, and Bo gently pulled the blankets back from the two men.
“Mr. Hewitt, looka here. Why, they’ve shot Mr. Barlow, and it looks like he was hanged and burned. What kind of low-down cusses would do such a thing? And look at Slim. My gosh, they shot him up so bad, there ain’t no room for another bullet.”
“Son, you mind if I take a look at your ma?”
Clay looked long at Hewitt. “I’ve wrapped her in a sheet. I’d be much obliged if you’d leave her covered. She was a modest woman.”
Hewitt laid his hand on Clay’s shoulder. “We all loved her, Son. I’ll treat her with great respect.”
They all heard a whimper and turned toward Toby. Tears ran freely down the boy’s face.
“Toby, Son, why don’t you take the horses for some water?” Hewitt said in a soft voice.
Luke watched his boss walk to the house, then picked up the shovel. “I’ll finish diggin’ here, if it’s okay with you.”
Clay nodded and walked over to the front porch. He stood there for a moment, staring into the house that had been a happy home, then slowly sat on the front porch steps. He gazed out across the hillside, where, only hours ago, he had raced down to the house, maybe for the last time. His eyes spotted his hat a short distance from the yard. He could remember the day his pa had given him that black hat. He had grown so much he could look his pa in the eyes. “You’re gettin’ on to being a man, Son. You need a man’s hat.” He remembered how Pa’s face had split in that big smile. That same day, Pa had given him the set of Remington .36 Navy revolvers and the old holsters to go with them. “These are a mite old, Son, but they’ve done right by me for a long time. You’ve practiced with them quite a bit with me and Slim. You’ve got about the quickest hands I think I’ve ever seen. Just remember, never draw on another man unless you have to, and don’t try to get fancy. Make the first shot count. If you have to shoot, put that bullet in the third button, and don’t stop shootin’ until the threat’s gone.”
A smile ghosted across Clay’s face as he remembered how excited he had been. Slim was standing there with a big ole grin on his face. “You deserve ‘em, boy. You’re right good with those irons. Just remember, don’t be loose with ‘em. Last thing you want to do is kill a man. Ain’t somethin’ you can forget once you done it. It’ll stick with you for your whole durn life.”
Clay was yanked out of his reverie by the jingle of Hewitt’s spurs as he stepped back onto the porch. Clay stood and looked up at the big man.
“Son, this ain’t nothing but evil. Any man that’d do what’s been done here deserves what’s coming to him. I’ll get a posse together and be after those gents in the morning. First, though, we’ll give your family a proper burial. Reckon they deserve that. Then you need to come over and live with us. We’ve got the room, and I know Sarah will be glad to see you.”
“Mr. Hewitt, you can forget the posse. Those killers are long gone.”
“But, Clay, they need to pay.”
“Yes, sir. They’ll pay. I’ll get ’em no matter how long it takes. Will you walk with me?” Clay pointed to his hat on the hill and started toward it. Hewitt came down from the porch and joined him. “I’ve been thinking about what needs to be done. Pa had planned to join up with your drive to Kansas. We have about five hundred head that are ready for market. I know you’ve always liked our ranch, what with it sitting on so much water. Pa told Ma and me that you’d made him a fair offer. But they both loved this place. They’d never have sold it. If you still want it, I have an idea that might work for both of us.”
Hewitt look stunned. “Clay, I won’t dispute that I’ve always wanted this piece of land. But I’m not comfortable buying this from you now—not with what’s just happened.”
“Mr. Hewitt, I figure to make you a deal on the ranch. Not the cattle we were planning on selling. I’m thinking the five hundred head can be worked in with your cattle and sold in Kansas. I’ll pay you a fee out of the sales price. I trust you. I know you’ll be fair. Then you can just deposit the money in the bank in my name.”
“Clay, what are you planning on doing?”
Clay’s face was stern and set as he turned to Hewitt. “Like I said, I’m going after those killers. Those are men who don’t deserve to be breathing the same air regular folks breathe. So, I reckon I’ll do something about that.”
Hewitt’s eyes tightened, and his mouth drew into a straight line. “Son, you’re not a killer. Why, you just turned seventeen in January. How can you even think about going after those men? They’re hardened killers. You’ve filled out in these last two years, and you’ll be a big man, but right now, you’re only one boy.”
“Mr. Hewitt, I’ve been doing a man’s work since I was fifteen. Pa and Slim taught me how to shoot. I’m pretty good with a gun, whether a rifle or a handgun. I can use a bow and follow a trail as good as any Comanche. I figure I’ll find those killers and read to ‘em from the good book. They can’t do what they’ve done and ride away scot-free.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Hewitt asked.
They had reached Clay’s hat. He picked it up, dusted it off, and set it on the back of his head, his black hair hanging down over his forehead. “Never been more serious about anything in my life. Ma loved this country. Why, she planted those peach trees right after we moved here. I’ve loved this place, Mr. Hewitt. But I can’t stay here. I just can’t. Now, I know you like it. I reckon I’ve an idea that’ll work for both of us.”
“Talk to me about it tomorrow, when you come over to the ranch. I’m not happy about you chasing those killers, but I’ll discuss the ranch.”
The two men shook hands and started back to the gravesites. Luke had finished the digging. He and Bo were standing by the two bodies, waiting for Clay’s return. Toby had brought their horses back and had gotten himself under control.
“I’ll get Ma.” Clay walked to the house and went into the bedroom. He wrapped the sheet tight around her and gently lifted her into his arms.
She’s so tiny and light. Clay’s face looked as if it had turned to stone. No tears flowed down his cheeks. He carried her to the grave and gently laid her in the hole. Bo and Luke picked up Clay’s pa
and laid him in the grave next to his wife and put Slim in his final resting place, next to Clay’s pa.
Clay slipped off his hat. “Mr. Hewitt, can you say a few words?”
Hewitt nodded, as he and the cowhands pulled their hats off. “Lord, these fine folks have come to a troubling end. This is rough country. Folks die in some mighty harsh ways. But these good folks were sent to you by evil men. We ask you to welcome them and let ‘em know we’ll be seeing ‘em. We’d also like to ask that you watch over this boy as he heads out in search of these killers and keep him safe. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.”
Clay put his hat back on, and the other men followed suit. Bo had the shovel. He looked at Clay, and Clay nodded. “Start with Ma.” Bo stepped over to her grave and started shoveling dirt into the hole. The rattle of the West Texas dirt striking his ma’s body tore at Clay. With each shovelful, it felt like he was being stabbed. He wanted to walk away. But he stayed, forcing himself to hear and commit to memory every painful moment. He stood stone-still as the other two graves were filled.
It didn’t take long. The burying was done, and the other men were standing around awkwardly waiting for Clay. He looked up and realized it was finished. “Thank you,” he said. He brushed his hair back with one hand and put his hat back on, pulling it level on his head. “Mr. Hewitt, Bo, Luke, Toby, I appreciate all your help. Mr. Hewitt, it’s getting late. You folks might as well head back home.”
Hewitt said, “Clay, why don’t you come on over to the house tonight, and stay as long as you want.”
“No, thanks. I’ll spend the night here. I’ll be over tomorrow, and we can close the deal on the ranch and cattle.”
Hewitt shook his head and waited for a moment. Finally, he said, “Come on, boys, let’s get home.” He turned his horse out of the yard with Toby alongside, Bo and Luke following.
It was twilight in the hill country. The sun had set over the western hills. Shadows were slipping across the yard as darkness overcame daylight. Clay walked over to Blue and rubbed his neck, scratching him between the ears. The western light cast an eerie pall over Clay’s face. A face too grim to be so young. “We got a long trail ahead of us, Blue, boy. But we’ll see those devils dead before we quit. Every last one of them.”
<<<<>>>>
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BOOK LIST
by Donald L. Robertson
BOOKS
LOGAN’S WORD
FORTY-FOUR CALIBER JUSTICE
SHORT STORIES
BECAUSE OF A DOG
THE OLD RANGER
Author's Note
Thank you for reading Logan’s Word. I hope you enjoyed it. This is the first of the Logan Family series. Please join me on their upcoming adventures, and those of others as they brave the challenges of western expansion.
I promise you, there will be no graphic sex scenes or offensive language in my books. There may be an occasional damn or hell. If you find that offensive, I apologize now.
If you would take a few moments and leave a review on Amazon, even if only a couple of lines, it would be greatly appreciated.
For a complete list of my books you can visit my website:
www.donaldlrobertson.com.
There you will find an opportunity to sign up for advance notification of new books and short stories.
I’m sure you detest spam as much as I do. You have my word that your information will remain private and will not be shared.
Thanks again, and as Roy and Dale used to sing:
— Happy trails to you, until we meet again. —
Acknowledgments
Putting words to paper is a solitary endeavor. Yet, to bring the final product to fruition many people are involved. To these people I say thank you.
First and foremost, I thank my lovely wife Paula for her encouragement throughout the writing of this book. She was a tremendous cheerleader. Fortunately, she was more than a cheerleader. Several times, when I found myself stuck, with no view of the road ahead, she came along with a flashlight. She was a great collaborator, and I truly thank her.
It is also with pleasure, that I thank my son, Steven Robertson. After Logan’s Word had been gone through many times, he read it and found several typos.
Bonnie Arnold, my sister-in-law and excellent grammarian, volunteered to plow through my first draft. I thank her for her patience and expertise.
Michael Garrett, at manuscriptcritique.com, who edited this book, not only did exceptional work, but also was a great teacher. His many years of experience came through in his marking and critiquing of this novel, and the pages of advice he sent me. I thank him for that and for his patience with my many questions.
I thank LJM Publishing at http://ljmpublishing.net, for their assistance in editing the back cover copy and answering numerous questions. They are good friends with great ideas.
No book is complete without a cover and formatting. I chose to go with damonza.com, and was not disappointed. For the book cover, Damon listened to our ideas, again my wife Paula had a great suggestion, and turned them into what I believe is a beautiful, eye-catching cover. I sincerely thank him for a wonderful cover. Benjamin took over with the formatting and turned out a superb product. A hearty thank you goes to Benjamin.
To the whole team, I say thank you. I look forward to working with you on our next Logan family western.
Copyright © 2014 by Donald L. Robertson
CM Publishing
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.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, or events, is completely coincidental.
Cover & formatting by Damonza
LOGAN’S WORD
ISBN print: 978-0-9909139-0-0.
ISBN ebook: 978-0-9909139-1-7.
Logan's Word: A Logan Family Western - Book 1 (Logan Family Western Series) Page 27