by Charles Ray
CHAPTER 20
After turning his prisoners over to the jailers at Fort Smith, and getting West to write his trip report, to which he affixed his ‘X’, Bass went to the disbursing office to collect his bounties.
For the Barker brothers, he was paid five thousand dollars, courtesy of the business community of Anadarko. The combined rewards for the remainder of the prisoners came to two thousand, which made Bass happy that he’d insisted on staying out until the Barkers were rounded up. Seven thousand dollars was a small fortune, and even though a lot of it would go to paying for needed repairs around the farm, it would still leave more than enough to ensure that all of his children had new shoes and clothes, a couple of new dresses for Nellie Jennie, and, most importantly, a new Stetson to replace the one he’d shot full of holes.
As much as he looked forward to his trips into Indian Territory, and as much as he liked the money he made from those trips—and, he would never admit this to anyone—he also looked forward to coming home. Even if he couldn’t remember his children’s names, or which was which, which he found a bit strange considering he could remember dozens of names of fugitives, he still loved each of them dearly and unconditionally. Most of all, though, he missed his Nellie Jennie.
He’d met her just before the war when his new young master, George Reeves, son of his original master, William Reeves, took him with him when he joined the southern side in the Civil War, using him as a valet, bodyguard, and companion, services he’d performed for William Reeves when he was still in his teens. He’d fallen in love with her the first time he set eyes on her, but as a slave, there was little he could do to pursue his affections. After Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, he’d returned to Van Buren, Arkansas and bought land and built a house, then he’d returned to Texas and asked her to marry him. After more than ten years, he still loved her as much as he had that first time.
When his house came in sight, his heartbeat quickened. He urged his horse into a canter.
His eldest, Bennie, and one of the younger boys, whose name he couldn’t recall, were coming out of the barn, each carrying a pail of milk, when he rode into the yard.
The younger boy, upon seeing him, dashed his way, sloshing milk all over the place. Bennie, the man of the house when Bass was away, continued to walk with purposeful, measured strides toward him, only the broad smile on his face betraying his joy at seeing his father. Bass thought the boy a handsome lad, but wished he’d hurry up and grow into his feet. He was still far too thin for the size of his feet, which were almost as large as Bass’s.
“Papa, papa,” the young one said. “You home.”
“That’s right, young’un, I’se home,” he said. “Now, slow yourself down, ‘fore you spill that milk all over the ground.”
He alit from his horse, and grabbed the boy by the waist, swinging him up as easily as he would a sack of beans, until their eyes were on level with each other.
“Papa, I’m glad you home.”
“I’m glad to be home.” He looked over the child’s shoulder at Bennie, who stood, still smiling, the milk pail hung loosely at his side. “Ever thing been okay whilst I’se gone, boy?” he asked.
“Everything’s been fine, papa,” Bennie said. “Got some fence needs mendin’ in the south pasture but didn’t no stock git out.”
“Good. Looks like you been doin’ a good job. Tomorrow, me ‘n you’ll go take a look at that fence.”
Bennie’s smile grew wider. At that very moment, the squeak of a door opening caused Bass to turn his head, just in time to see the main object of his affection come out onto the front porch.
When Nellie saw Bass, she smiled and inclined her head slightly. “Welcome home, husband,” she said.
Bass put his son down, patted him on the head, then swept off his hat and bowed.
“It’s good to be home, wife,” he said. “How you been keepin’?”
“Oh, you know, busy with the chillun and all that. How ‘bout you? You have a good trip?”
She looked pointedly at his hat. The three bullet holes were plainly visible.
“Passable,” he said. “Got seven thousand dollars in reward money this time. Stopped at the general store and bought some things for y’all. Bought myself a new hat, too, but I thought I’d wait to wear it.” He turned to Bennie. “Stuff’s in my saddle bags, son. When you git that milk put away, would you mine fetchin’ it inside the house?”
“Yes, papa,” Bennie said. He grabbed his little brother with his free hand and started pulling him toward the house.
“Naw,” the boy said. “I want to stay and hear papa tell us ‘bout his trip.”
“He’ll tell us later,” Bennie said. “We got to git this milk in ‘fore it start to curdle from the heat.”
“Don’t you fret, little fella,” Bass said. “Soon’s I say a proper hello to your mama, I’ll set you young’uns down and tell you all about my trip.”
Only partially mollified the boy let his older brother lead him away.
“You gon’ tell me how you got them bullet holes in your hat?” his wife asked.
Bass smiled. “Sure is,” he said. “But, you gon’ have to wait and hear it at the same time as ever body else. Not to worry, though, them bullets didn’t git nowhere near my head.”
She looked puzzled, but just made a huffing sound and folded her arms across her chest.
“I promise you,” he said. “You gon’ laugh when you hear how I got these.”
She didn’t look any more mollified than the young boy had but knew that Bass wouldn’t lie to her.
“I can’t wait to hear this story.”
Everyone in the family was anxious to hear of his adventures. But, he first had to take a long, hot bath to wash the dust of the trail off, then Nellie made them all sit quietly and eat supper—although, there’s really no such thing as a quiet meal when twelve people, one of whom is being breastfed are eating—then, after supper, Bass gave each of them the present he’d bought for them, and only then were they allowed to crowd around him on the porch to hear an account of his latest adventure.
Eyes agog, mouths open, and faces shiny, eight faces looked up at him in his favorite rocking chair. Nellie sat next to him in her chair, with an expectant look on her face.
Bass sat there with a cup of coffee in his hand. He tugged at the ends of his mustache, and then took a sip of coffee.
“Come on, papa,” one of his daughters said. “Tell us what happened.”
“Yeah, papa,” one of the younger boys said. “Don’t make us keep waitin’.”
Finally, Bass put his cup on his knee and leaned forward, looking each of them in the eye.
“Okay, chillun,” he said. “I’se gon’ tell you a story about a mama and her two boys.”
Books by this author
The Adventures of Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshal
Fatal Encounter
The Marshal and the Madam
The Shaman’s Curse
Renegade Roundup
Ma Barker’s Boys
Daniel’s Journey
Wagons West: Daniel’s Journey
Wagons West: Trinity: Daniel’s Journey, Volume 2
Wagons West – Bounty Hunter: Daniel’s Journey, Volume 3
Al Pennyback mysteries
Color Me Dead
Memorial to the Dead
Deadline
Dead, White, and Blue
A Good Day to Die
The Day the Music Died
Die, Sinner
Deadly Intentions
Death by Design
Till Death Do Us Part
Deadly Dose
Dead Man’s Cove
Dead Men Don’t Answer
Deadly Paradise
Kiss of Death
Death in White Satin
Death and Taxis
Deadbeat
A Deadly Wind Blows
Death Wish
Deadly Vendetta
A Time to Kill, A Time to Die
Dead Ringer
Death of Innocence
Dead Reckoning
Murder on the Menu
Over My Dead Body
Bad Girls Don’t Die
A Deal to Die For
Ed Lazenby mysteries
Butterfly Effect
Coriolis Effect
The Cat in the Hatbox
Negative Side Effects
Murder is as Easy as ABC
Body of Evidence
Buffalo Soldier series
Buffalo Soldier: Trial by Fire
Buffalo Soldier: Homecoming
Buffalo Soldier: Incident at Cactus Junction
Buffalo Soldier: Peacekeepers
Buffalo Soldier: Renegade
Buffalo Soldier: Escort Duty
Buffalo Soldier: Battle at Dead Man’s Gulch
Buffalo Soldier: Yosemite
Buffalo Soldier: Comanchero
Buffalo Soldier: Range War
Buffalo Soldier: Mob Justice
Buffalo Soldier: Chasing Ghosts
Buffalo Soldier: The Piano
Buffalo Soldier: Family Feud
Buffalo Soldier: The Lost Expedition
Other fiction
Angel on His Shoulder
She’s No Angel
Child of the Flame
Pip’s Revenge
Wallace in Underland
Further Adventures of Wallace in Underland
Dead Letter and Other Tales
The White Dragons
The Dragon’s Lair
Dragon Slayer
The Last Gunfighters
The Culling
Frontier Justice: Bass Reeves, Deputy
U.S. Marshal
Angel on His Shoulder-Revised Edition
Battle at the Galactic Junkyard
Mountain Man
Devil’s Lake
Vixen
Awakening
Chase the Sun
Nonfiction
Things I Learned from My Grandmother About
Leadership and Life
Taking Charge: Effective Leadership for the
Twenty-first Century
Grab the Brass ring
African Places: A Photographic Journey
Through Zimbabwe and southern Africa
A Portrait of Africa
There’s Always a Plan B
In the Line of Fire: American Diplomats in
the Trenches
Advice for the Insecure Writer
Looking at Life Through My Lens
Ethical Dilemmas and the Practice of Diplomacy
Making America Grate Again
DC Street Art
Dead Letters and Other Tales: Revised edition
Things I Learned From my Grandmother about
Leadership and Life, Second Edition
Feathers, Fur, and Flowers
Backyards and Byways
Children’s books
The Yak and the Yeti
Samantha and the Bully
Molly Learns to Share
Where is Teddy?
Catie and Mister Hop-Hop
Tommy Learns to Count
Catie Goes to School
About the Author
Charles Ray has been writing fiction since his teens. He won a Sunday school magazine writing contest when he was thirteen and having his byline on a short story published in a national publication forever hooked him on writing. During his time in the army (1962-1982) he often moonlighted as a newspaper or magazine journalist and was the editorial cartoonist for the Spring Lake (NC) News, a weekly newspaper, during the 1970s. In addition to his writing, he was an artist/cartoonist and photographer for a number of publications, including Ebony, Eagle and Swan, and Essence, and had a monthly cartoon feature and did several covers for Buffalo, a now-defunct magazine that was dedicated to showcasing the contributions of African-Americans to the country’s military history.
After retiring from the army, he joined the U.S. Foreign Service, and served as a diplomat in posts in Asia and Africa until his retirement in 2012. He has worked and traveled throughout the world (Antarctica is the only continent he hasn’t visited), and now, as a full-time writer, continues to globetrot looking for interesting things to write about, draw, or take pictures of.
A native of Texas, he now calls Maryland home. For more on his writing and other projects, check one of the following Web sites:
http://charlesaray.blogspot.com
http://charlieray45.wordpress.com
http://www.twitter.com/charlieray45
http://www.facebook.com/charlieray45
http://www.flickr.com/photos/charlesray45/
http://www.viewbug.com/member/charlesray
You can also order some of my books through my author’s website: http://charlesray-author.com/
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