February.
Austin had figured after it was over, he would request cases that would keep him close to home. Close to Grace and his unborn child. It seemed so reasonable that when everything fell apart, Austin only knew a deep and painful shock.
January 31 of 1891 had started out routine, but by the next day, Houston Todd was dead and Austin was explaining to his parents what had happened. The grief was overwhelming, but the blame was even worse. His parents had nothing kind to say about Austin’s participation in the event.
He closed his eyes and saw their accusing faces. He felt betrayed and abandoned. He was grieving the loss of his brother, as well, and already felt so much guilt that it threatened to swallow him whole.
“It’s your fault! You killed your brother!” His mother pointed her finger at Austin.
A rider approached from the north, and Austin quickly forced his thoughts from the past as Robert Barnett drew up and stopped his sorrel.
“I’ve been out checking the fence,” Robert explained. “I’m headed home for supper. Why don’t you join us?”
Austin felt half starved, but he was in no mood to be around people. “I’m tired and just gonna head home.”
“You have to eat,” Robert pressed. “Besides, my place is closer, and it looks like it might start raining any minute. I believe I’ll have more light to see by, and it’ll only get darker as you make your way home.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m not that far, and I have some of the food your mother sent over a couple of days ago.”
Robert looked at him for a moment and then nodded. “I guess you do look worn down. I’ll give Ma your regrets.”
“Thanks.” Austin turned his mount away from Robert.
“Hey, Austin—is there anything I can do?”
He glanced over his shoulder in the dimming light. “No. There’s nothing anyone can do.”
The skies were dark by the time Jessica and her family sat down to dinner. Father had been busy with one of his new foals and was late getting back to the house for supper. When he finally bounded through the door, he was ready to eat immediately.
Mother lit extra lamps and placed them around the house, but it didn’t seem to dispel the gloom. Rain threatened at any moment, and flashes of lightning could be seen in the distance.
Father led them in grace, then dug into a bowl of jalapeños and corn. “Looks like we might actually get a good rain.”
Mother nodded from her side of the table and extended a different bowl to Jessica. She took one of the smaller potatoes and passed the bowl to her father. While he continued to comment on the coming storm, Jessica mashed the potato on her plate and added butter, salt, and pepper. She couldn’t help returning her thoughts to the events of her day and the way the women had treated her at Victoria’s. It wasn’t unkindness, she told herself, but rather disapproval. She realized that she cared quite deeply what those women thought, and it troubled her.
“Well, I have to say I’m surprised,” Father said, turning to Jessica.
She startled and shook her head. “Why? What are you surprised about?”
“I went to help Osage with the feed, and when we finished I asked him where your parcels were. He told me you hadn’t bought anything. I have to say, Jess, this is the first time you’ve come back from town without havin’ a wagonful of purchases. I figured you’d be bringing home some new doodad or fancy dress.”
Jessica frowned. “You know, there really is more to me than clothes and pretty things.”
Father’s expression turned troubled. “I know there’s more to you, Jess. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I always kinda got a kick out of seeing how those things made you happy. It pleased me to give ’em to you.”
Jessica knew that her tension from the day threatened to ruin the meal. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling out of sorts.”
Father laughed. “You got no need to be. The world is at your fingertips, and life is good.” He put his fork down and smiled. “Tomorrow you’ll be all sunshine and smiles. Just wait and see.”
Her father’s words seemed shallow and offered no comfort. Nevertheless, Jessica drew a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm her anger. “I’m sure you’re right, Papa. Things are bound to be better tomorrow.”
With that matter resolved in her parents’ minds, they went back to discussing the ranch while Jessica ate in silence. Would things truly be better tomorrow?
Chapter 8
Austin pored over the new brand book provided to him by the Cattle Raisers Association of Texas. He was already familiar with a good many local brands, such as those that belonged to the Barnett, Wythe, Reid, and Atherton ranches. Those families represented a good portion of the area to the north and west of Dallas, but they were a small fraction of all the ranches he’d cover.
Thumbing through the book, Austin wasn’t surprised to see that there were hundreds of brands listed. People took great pride in their own unique brands. It seemed a pity that others couldn’t respect the marks as a “hands off” sign. Rustling was up from earlier in the decade, but the meeting with his fellow Rangers suggested that there were signs of it waning. He hoped that was true. It was one thing when people stole because their children were starving, and quite another when they stole just for the extra cash they could get. At least that was Austin’s way of looking at it. Neither way was right, but it had more to do with a matter of heart. He found himself more forgiving of the man who stole out of desperation. Even so, he couldn’t turn a blind eye.
Putting the book aside, Austin got up and poured himself a glass of buttermilk. Tyler Atherton had just brought it over an hour earlier, and it was still chilled from his springhouse. He let the tangy liquid slide down his throat and thought it about the best he’d ever had. He quickly finished off one glass and then poured another. At this rate the buttermilk would be gone by morning.
He marveled at the way these neighbors took care of one another. Everybody seemed to have one talent or another and shared the benefits of those talents. He’d seen Mrs. Barnett load him up with food, while Mrs. Atherton was quick to give him bedding and linens. Mrs. Reid had stopped by with her sister, Mrs. Atherton, and both women had brought him a whole carriage full of food, candles, and lamps and oil, not to mention several books. He was mighty grateful for their kindness, but it also made him feel uneasy. He’d never intended to get close to anyone ever again.
After losing his brother in January of 1891, he’d lost Grace and the baby the following month. By May his father had suffered a heart attack and passed, leaving only Austin and his mother to carry the grief. Mother wasn’t able to bear up under the load, however, and she fell ill and died in June. Within less than six months, Austin had lost everyone he’d ever loved. It was a pain he never intended to repeat.
Still, visions of Jessica Atherton came to mind. She was feisty and high-spirited. Nothing like Grace had been. In fact, Miss Atherton might very well be the extreme opposite. While Grace hadn’t quite come up to his shoulder, Jessica was taller. And while Grace probably weighed no more than ninety pounds, Jessica had a little more meat on her bones, and it curved in all the right places.
The real differences, however, were in their personalities and desires. He wasn’t at all sure what Miss Atherton wanted out of life. It seemed the few times they had shared each other’s company, she had been outspoken and independent. Grace had always been quiet and relied on him for everything.
He didn’t know why he was comparing the two women. There was really no comparison. Grace had touched his heart and soul in a way that no other woman could. His biggest sorrow had been in losing her and the baby—a son.
Austin paced the small cabin, wishing he could drive Jessica’s image from his thoughts. He wasn’t about to let his heart get involved again. He’d made himself a pledge, and he would stick to it.
Miss Atherton probably has no idea that I’m even thinking of her, so it’s best I not. Besides, I have plenty of other things to put my mind on.
He drew a deep breath and went back to the kitchen area, where a small wood-burning stove sat. He used it for cooking as well as for heating the cabin. He put a pot of coffee on to heat. It was left over from earlier and just needed some warming. Checking the stove’s fuel, Austin added a few sticks of wood and let the fire build a little. After a few quick pokes with the wood tongs, the flames flared nicely.
It proved a good way to regroup his thoughts and put aside his sorrows. There was work to be done, and he couldn’t waste time with memories.
Suppressing a yawn, Austin returned to the table and took a seat. He picked up the brand book and returned to memorizing.
The next morning Austin made his way into Cedar Springs. He wanted to make sure the local law understood what he had planned.
Greeting the town marshal, Austin showed him his brand book. “Marshal, I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be traveling around to the various ranches to check brands against what’s registered. I want to look over the cattle as best I can and hear any complaints the ranchers might have. I wanted you to know, so if anyone asked, you’d already have knowledge of my plans.”
“I appreciate that, Austin. You’re a good man.”
The marshal’s words made Austin wince. “I don’t know about that, but it is a job.”
“Rustlin’ doesn’t seem quite as bad as it did last spring. Still, I’m glad the Rangers are takin’ this seriously.” The older man smoothed back his graying hair. “Why don’t you take a walk with me? I was just about to make my rounds. We could have a bite of something to eat before you head out.”
“Sounds good,” Austin admitted. He had already decided to make a visit to one of the cafés in town.
The marshal pulled on his Stetson. It was a “boss of the plains” style, with a flat brim and straight four-inch crown. The top was rounded, and it was unadorned except for a hatband that had been added. Austin knew the hat had cost him a pretty penny.
“I see you’re admirin’ my hat. My wife bought this for me as an anniversary present. Saved up her egg and sewin’ money. Ain’t it a dandy?”
“It is indeed.” Austin’s own hat had seen better days.
The two men left the jail and walked out into the late morning air. The temperature had risen considerably since Austin’s morning ride into town. “Looks like it may be a hot one today.”
“Yeah, I was thinkin’ the same,” the marshal answered. “Seems like it never can make up its mind this time of year.” The marshal paused to tip his hat to a couple of ladies exiting one of the dry goods stores. Austin did the same.
“As a town marshal you have to get used to being the face of law and order, as well as a comfort to those in need,” the marshal said.
Austin looked at him and shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I heard about the plans for Terryton. I heard, too, that you’d been asked to take on the responsibility of law and order.”
“That’s true.” Austin had no idea who had explained all of this to the marshal, but no doubt he needed to be told. “But it won’t be for a while yet.”
The marshal nodded, then gave a wave to a man sweeping his portion of the boardwalk across the street. “Matt, you’re gonna wear that broom out.”
The man laughed, waving the broom. “Already did. This is my third one in a month’s time.” The men shared a laugh.
Austin felt a little out of place. He didn’t know many of the people in town. He seldom came to Cedar Springs unless it was to catch the train to Dallas or to pick up canned goods. The way the nearby families had taken care of him, he hadn’t needed to do that very often.
“It’s not always peaceful around these parts. We’ve had killers and thieves just like in the big city.”
“I’m sure you speak the truth. Criminals scarcely stay within boundaries.”
“That’s true. If they did, they’d be a whole lot easier to catch,” the marshal said.
They came to the bank and the marshal peeked inside. “Things runnin’ okay today?” he called out.
Austin heard someone answer, “We’re doing quite well. Off to a good start.”
“Glad to hear it.” He closed the door and motioned for Austin to follow him. “Got to make sure the Bisby Mercantile is locked up tight. They had to go east for the burial of her mother. Didn’t know enough about the folks here to get someone to cover the store.” They crossed the dirt street and made their way to the building. After a quick check of the front door, the marshal went around back. Satisfied that all was well, he nodded to Austin. “Now we can go have that bite to eat. I’ll check the other half of town afterward.”
“How many times a day do you do this?” Austin asked.
“Well, it depends. If we have a bunch of rowdy cowboys in town, I check a lot more often. And, of course, we check more at night than durin’ the daylight hours.”
“Makes sense.”
The marshal kept glancing around as they walked. Austin could tell that he wasn’t missing much. The man seemed concise and to the point in his conversation and attentive to everything that went on around him. Austin liked that about him.
“I do the town walk during the day. My deputies do the night hours unless they’re sick or otherwise occupied. I usually walk the town first thing in the morning when the stores are opening. Then I check again around the noon hour and again at closin’ time. During the evening the checks run every hour or two. It’s a good way to make your presence known. But don’t go at the same time each night and don’t go exactly on the hour. You don’t want folks ever believin’ you have a set pattern. It’ll get you in trouble every time.”
Austin already knew that was true. He’d been warned of that on many of his Secret Service cases. Diversity was a good way to stay alive.
“Keep track of the troublemakers,” the marshal offered. “Just because they aren’t doing anything in particular doesn’t mean they aren’t up to somethin’.”
With a smile, Austin turned toward the man. “You’ve no doubt seen it all.”
“That I have. I used to be a deputy and then a marshal up north. I’ve seen men run stark naked down the middle of the street in winter because they were too intoxicated to know better. I’ve seen women, young and old, create scenes that would curl your hair. One woman was so angry about her husband spending all his pay each week at the saloon that she came to town with her double-barreled shotgun and blew a hole in the wall above her husband’s head. He and his cronies looked pert near scared to death. When she told him to git . . . well . . . he got, and quick. You never know what you’ll get yourself into.”
“Maybe I should stick to inspecting cattle,” Austin said, still smiling.
“Nah,” the man replied. “What fun would that be?”
They shared a pleasant lunch together and then made the rounds for the rest of the small town. There was a busyness to the town, with folks making their way from business to business. Yet, even amongst the chaos there was a kind of order to everything.
“At night we check all the doors and windows. We look for any sign of forced entry. We check the water troughs to make sure nobody drowned themselves.” He stopped and looked at Austin. “Had that happen to a drunk once, up north. Don’t wanna ever see it happen again.”
Austin nodded. “I wouldn’t want to see such a thing, either.” They were nearly back to the jail when Austin asked, “What else do you do?”
“Well, come with me and I’ll show you. There’s some paper work I sometimes have to see to. I keep track of the hours my deputies work and their pay. I sometimes have to go to the town council and ask for things we need at the jail. Then, of course, there are the wanted posters that I receive and the folks who amble in off the street for one reason or another. Some just wanna ask questions about the law, and other times they use me as a deterrent. Had a mother a couple of weeks ago come here with her eight-year-old son. Apparently he’d been stealin’ from her milk money. She wanted him to know wha
t it was like to sit in jail. So we put him in a cell while she went off shoppin’. The boy was mighty glad when she returned. I doubt she’ll have too much trouble with him in the future.”
They reentered the jail and the marshal was just showing Austin a logbook when a stranger entered.
“Good afternoon, Marshal. I wonder if you might lend me some assistance.”
The man was well dressed in a brown suit, complete with a crisp white shirt, vest, and tie. He was older—probably in his fifties or sixties, Austin guessed. At least his well-trimmed beard and hair showed signs of graying.
“Could be, stranger. Why don’t you tell me what you’re needin’,” the marshal replied.
“Thank you. I’m looking for the Wythes’ ranch. I thought perhaps you could direct me.”
At the mention of the name, Austin took more interest.
“Well, that depends.” The marshal eyed him carefully. “Who are you and what do you want with the Wythes?”
The man smiled. “I do apologize. I’m Randolph Cuker. I was a good friend of the Wythes in Denver, when Jacob worked for one of the banks. They encouraged me to stop by their ranch anytime I was in the area. They assured me that just about anyone in town could direct me, but they particularly mentioned you. I had business that brought me to Dallas and thought I would pay them a visit.”
“I see. Well, I suppose that’s a good enough reason,” the marshal declared. “There’s a main road north of here that heads out and turns to the west. You follow that about twenty miles. You’ll pass several farms and a couple of small ranches. Then you’ll come up on a long stretch of land that belongs to the Athertons. The road will curve again and take you past the Barnett place. They have a big spread and the main entry to the property has a sign bearing their brand—looks like this.” The marshal drew a line and put the letters NT beneath. “Just keep goin’ another five miles or so to the Wythe place. Marty Wythe is sister to Mrs. Barnett and has the property that adjoins theirs. The Wythe place sits back off the road a ways, so just take the turnoff on the road to the right, and you’ll find your way.”
A Matter of Heart Page 8