Forty-Four Caliber Justice

by Donald L. Robertson

  CHAPTER TWO

  Clay stepped into his ma and pa’s bedroom. He grasped the bloody mattress and pillow, and pulled them into the yard. He did the same with the bedding from the other rooms. He checked for a breeze. There was none. Burning embers wouldn’t be a problem. He pulled a match from his pocket and lit it on the butt of his .36 Remington. The match flared in the growing darkness and settled to a miniature blaze, the smell of sulfur drifting into the air. He tossed it onto the bedding.

  The mattresses burned quickly, giving off a bright light in the early evening darkness. Clay stood silently and watched. The future he had dreamed about drifted up to the heavens with the tendrils of smoke. The fire cast a stark light across his face and body. No longer did he look seventeen. The weight of duty now rested on his shoulders.

  His father had taught him to be a kind man and help those who were less fortunate. Clay had always been slow to anger, his temper roused seldom. But when it reached its zenith, he became deadly. Not the hot-tempered anger that stepped in swinging at one and all, but the cold fury that wouldn’t stop until he was either knocked out or pulled off his unfortunate opponent. He had never killed a man. He had never even contemplated taking the life of a fellow human being. But now, with Ma and Pa and Slim in the ground, Clay was cold with anger. He knew what he had to do. He also knew he was young and inexperienced. He would have to be careful.

  He turned back to the house and entered the kitchen. The burning bedding cast shadows across the sitting room. Clay stopped for a moment. He could feel the spirit of his ma in the room with him. He looked around the room. He could hear her playing the violin, the sweet notes drifting across his mind.

  He sighed, the spell broken, and walked to the fireplace. Kneeling, he picked up kindling, put in some sticks, and then a couple of logs. He struck a match and slipped it under the kindling. Slowly, the flames took hold and licked up through the kindling to the sticks. Clay walked over to the kerosene lamp on the counter and lit it, adjusting the flame for maximum light. He started picking up books and putting them back in the bookcase. Both Ma and Pa set great store by books. I guess I got that from them. He loved to read. They’d want me to take a few of these with me. Grandma and Grandpa can have the rest.

  After straightening the books, Clay picked up the lamp and headed for the barn. The mattresses had burned down to embers. He hung the lamp on a nail once he reached the barn. He lifted the pitchfork from its place on the wall, walked to the haystack, and started pitching hay. By the time he had cleared a path to the back wall, sweat glistened on his face and neck. He moved the lamp to a hook on the back wall of the barn, careful to keep it away from the hay. With the lamp hanging over the area he had just cleared, he knelt down and started sweeping away the dirt. It only took a moment to uncover the two six-inch-wide planks in the ground. He lifted them up and pulled the small safe from the ground. It wasn’t really a safe, just a rectangular metal box about one by two feet, with a hasp on the front. Pa had called it their safe. There was no lock.

  Clay opened the box. This was probably what the killers were after. His pa never liked banks. He kept some money in the bank in Uvalde, but most he kept buried in the ground in this box. Clay slowly started taking the items out. Lying across the top was a piece of paper, twice folded. He read it through. It was the contract Grandpa Barlow had given Pa when he awarded him the land grant. Clay folded it and put it in his vest pocket.

  Pa had kept his old LeMat revolver in the box, loaded and primed. He hefted the heavy revolver. Its unique design included nine .42 caliber chambers and a single shotgun barrel beneath the cylinder. Pa always liked the old LeMat. He figured if it was good enough for Jeb Stuart, it was good enough for him. Guess I’ll hang on to it.

  The box contained gold bars and silver coins that his pa had saved throughout his life. Pa had said there was close to three thousand dollars there. He and Ma were almighty good savers. Clay walked over to his pa’s saddlebags hanging across a rail in the barn. The leather smelled familiar. His hand rubbed across the burnished leather. I’ll get ’em, Pa. I swear I will. After carrying the saddlebags back to the box, he slipped the gold, silver, and the old LeMat into the bags. He placed the empty box back in the hole and put the boards back. The saddlebags were heavy now. He set them against the wall, moved the lamp, and raked the hay back in place.

  His young body was tired. He made a bed in the hay, unwilling to sleep in the house, and stretched out his long legs. I made a promise to Ma and Pa. How am I going to accomplish it? How can I find those killers? Their tracks headed south. After stopping at the Hewitt’s, I’ll get some supplies in Uvalde and start after ’em. I’ll catch—.

  Sleep overtook him. He dreamed of his ma and pa in the sitting room, smiling, laughing.

  Clay awakened to Blue neighing in the corral. He looked at the sunlight streaming in through the barn doorway. Clay had slept way too long. He needed to get moving. He put some oats in the trough for Blue and tossed in some hay. “You’d better eat up, boy. We’ve got some riding to do.”

  The surrounding trees were filled with sound as he walked out into the yard. The mockingbird attacked the morning air with songs that he copied from other birds. A bright male cardinal trilled in the big oak. Today was like every day, except Ma and Pa were gone. “Why did they do it?” Clay asked, speaking to the silence. “If they were just trying to rob us, why would they be so brutal?” His young mind barely comprehended what had happened to his life. The cardinal looked at him with its head slightly cocked, but gave no answer. Brilliant red, it lifted on scarlet wings and sailed back to the orchard. A hummingbird zipped by on the way to Ma’s flower garden.

  The yard had been chewed up with horse tracks. Yesterday, he had seen the large blood spot in the yard. Someone else had been shot and hit hard. Hopefully he’s dead. Several tracks had been clear. One of the horses’ hooves were set deeper in the yard. It had been carrying a lot of weight, a big man. He turned abruptly and marched into the house. He didn’t need much, his slicker, sugan, and groundsheet would make up his bedroll. They hadn’t found the powder and lead, but they had taken all of the weapons. Pa’s Colt and Winchester, Slim’s rifle and sidearm, and Ma’s pocket pistol that she had killed the Comanche with. Both shotguns were also missing. Clay had his two Remington Navy revolvers and his Winchester. He’d have to get more ammunition for the Winchester in Uvalde.

  Books. He wanted to take some books with him, but books were heavy. Blue could only carry so much. Pa had his law books, his favorite Blackstone’s Commentaries, and Ma her readers and math books that she had taught him and Running Wolf from. There were also books that Ma insisted on having. He, like her, loved reading Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver’s Travels. He chose those three books, placing them in the chair next to the door. Clay walked into his room and looked around. This was home no longer. He had grown to a man here. His dream of adventure and travel, always returning home, had ended. The sweet smell of peach blossoms wafted into the study. Now resolute, he picked up the books from the chair and walked into the yard. Time to leave.

  After saddling Blue, Clay tied on the bedroll and bulging saddlebags. He’d need to get the gold and silver in the bank quickly. He was sure there was no danger from the killers. They were probably miles away by now, but this country had more than its share of bandits and road agents. After one last look at the homeplace, he turned Blue south, toward the Hewitts’ spread. He could rest for the night at the Hewitts’, then go into Uvalde tomorrow. He’d draw up the contract with Mr. Hewitt, and deposit the money in the bank tomorrow. He’d devote the rest of his days to finding the killers, no matter how long it took. Clay swung into the saddle and looked across the valley. He could see the maples and cypress along the Frio. He hated to leave this country. It was his kind of land, sharp angles softened by oaks and mesquite, rivers clear as glass and cool as a fall morning.

  He sat motionless for a moment longer, then swung Blue up the ridge toward the Hewitt ranch. He was getting a la
te start, but he’d be there a little after lunch. There’d be plenty of time to explain the idea he’d had to Mr. Hewitt.

  *

  It was a little past noon when Clay paused on the ridgeline above the Hewitt ranch. Cattle were grazing along the Dry Frio west of the ranch house. Smoke from the chimney was lazily reaching for the puffy, white clouds. Someone worked near the corral. He’d seen this scene most of his young life. The Hewitts were good friends, and the families had visited one another often. “Come on, Blue. Let’s see if Sarah Jane has any vittles for a hungry cowboy.”

  Blue stepped out toward the ranch house as if he had understood. When they were only halfway down the ridge, he could hear Tyler Hewitt yelling. “Pa, I see Clay acomin’! He’s comin’ down the north ridge right now. Sarah Jane, did you hear me?”

  A young woman stepped out onto the front porch and shaded her eyes with her right hand. “Tyler Hewitt, stop your yelling. I see him.”

  Clay smiled. He and Sarah had mostly grown up together. She wasn’t quite a year younger than him. When Mrs. Hewitt had died of pneumonia, she had taken over the household for her father and had mothered Tyler and Toby. She was a strong-minded girl who never had a problem stating what was on her mind, and here lately, he’d felt that she had him on her mind way too much. He figured she had set her cap for him, and that made a man mighty uncomfortable.

  Tyler met him as he pulled up at the corral.

  That boy’s growing. It’s hard to accept he’s only twelve.

  “Howdy, Tyler,” Clay said. “How’re you doing?”

  Tyler looked up at Clay with clear, serious eyes. “I’m fine, Clay. I’m sure sorry about your folks and Slim. If you want, I’ll go with you to catch those killers.”

  Clay stepped down from Blue and put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Thanks, Tyler. That’s mighty big of you. But you best stay here to help your Pa with the ranch.”

  “Clay?”

  Clay turned to see Sarah standing close. Tears were brimming in her eyes. “Clay, I’m so sorry about your folks. That is the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard of.” She reached out and rested her hand on his arm. “Is there anything that I can do?”

  He looked into her big blue eyes, set wide in a strong face, framed by her long brown hair. “Reckon not, Sarah. But thank you.”

  The moment passed. “Well, you must be hungry. Come in the house. I left some food from dinner for you. Tyler, put Blue up.” She turned to start back to the house.

  “I’ll put him up,” Clay said. “He’s had a hard morning, with all these hills. He needs a good rubdown.”

  “Let me do it, Clay. Blue likes me. He won’t mind,” Tyler said.

  “All right, Tyler, thanks. Make sure he gets some water.” Clay slid the Winchester out of the scabbard and untied the saddlebags, tossing them across his left shoulder. He joined Sarah, and they walked to the house.

  Hewitt had come onto the porch. “Afternoon, Clay. How’re you doing, Son?”

  “I’m doing okay. If it’s all right with you, could we get our business done? I don’t mean to be abrupt, sir, but I’d like to get it done and out of the way.”

  Hewitt stepped aside and motioned Clay inside. “Sure, I understand. Come on into the office.”

  Sarah glanced at Clay in surprise. It was obvious she had no idea what they were talking about.

  “Mr. Hewitt, if it’s all right with you, I’d kinda like Sarah to sit in on this. The boys are also welcome. I’d be a mite more comfortable if everyone knew what was going on.”

  “Sure, Clay. Toby’s out with Bo working cattle, but Tyler can come in when he’s finished with Blue. Shall we?” he asked as he pointed toward his office.

  Sarah walked in and sat in the second chair facing her father’s desk. Clay took the first chair and waited until Hewitt sat down.

  “Mr. Hewitt, I have an idea that may work for both of us,” Clay said as he sat. “You want the grazing and the water on the Frio, and I need to be relieved of the responsibility of the ranch, for now.”

  Hewitt looked at Clay, a puzzled look on his face. “I thought you were talking about selling the ranch.”

  “No, sir. Pa was teaching me about business and talked about this idea in passing. He was talking as if he and Ma might go back East for a few years, and he knew how much you liked our ranch. Anyway, I’m going to be gone, I just don’t know how long. I don’t know if I’ll even come back after I settle up with those killers. Right now, as much as I like the place, I can’t stand to be there.”

  Sarah was looking at Clay, her eyes large, astonishment across her face. Clay looked at her and then looked back to Hewitt. The hurt in her eyes was obvious.

  “Mr. Hewitt, what about me just turning the place over to you? You have all the grazing and water rights for as long as I’m gone. If—”

  “Clay, are you sure you don’t want to sell the land? You would be done with it, nothing to worry about. I’ll pay you a good sum for it.”

  “No, sir. I’m not interested in selling right now,” Clay said, his mind centered, for a moment, on the paper he’d found in the safe. “Pa taught me not to make a major decision when emotions are high.”

  Sarah was still focused on Clay. “Are you really leaving?”

  “I can’t stay, Sarah. There’s a bunch of killers running loose. I’ve got to find them.”

  “Clay,” Hewitt asked, “what kind of terms did you have in mind?”

  “Mr. Hewitt, I’ll give you a ten-year guarantee. After that, we can talk about renewing. I won’t take it back before then. You can figure what you should pay me for it. I trust you. You can make it monthly or once a year, I really don’t care. Just deposit it in the Uvalde bank.”

  Hewitt leaned back in his chair. “You’re awfully trusting, Clay. I could pay you nothing, based on your request.”

  “Yes, sir, you could. I just want the land looked after. I’d like you to take our cattle, those that are ready for market, on the drive. You figure what’s fair to charge me and deposit the rest after the sale. Pa, Slim, and I had about finished the gather. The cattle are holding along the Frio, south of the place.”

  “Son, you’ve got a deal, except for one thing. I don’t want a ten-year contract. We’ll just make it until you return and decide what you want to do. Does that sound fair to you?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s more than fair.”

  “Good. I’ll draw up the contract. We’ll sign it, and I’ll have Luke witness it. I’ll also make you a copy.”

  Hewitt came to his feet and extended his hand. “I hate to see you leaving, Clay. You’ve bitten off more than most grown men would want to chew. You sure I can’t talk you into staying?”

  “No, sir. If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the night and leave for Uvalde in the morning. I also need a couple of your horses, if you have any for sale. The killers took the horses around the house, and I don’t have time to roundup any others.”

  “Sure, we’ve got some good stock in the corral. I’ll get Bo to pick out a couple of good ones. We’ll make them part of the deal.”

  Clay rolled and unrolled his hat brim. Then he ran his right hand through his black hair. “I’ve one more request, Mr. Hewitt. I hate to ask this, but I just don’t have time to do it. You know my grandparents live in D’Hanis. They need to know, but I’ve got to get after those killers. I’d be obliged if you’d send a hand over and tell them what happened. Also, tell them to come over, get the books, and whatever they want out of the house. What they don’t want, you’re welcome to.”

  “I’ll be glad to, Clay. Though it would be better coming from you.”

  “Yep, reckon it would.”

  “Papa, I know Clay must be starving. I’ll take him into the kitchen and get him something to eat.”

  Without waiting, Sarah turned and strode into the kitchen.

  Hewitt watched his daughter, then shook his head. “She’s upset, Son. Go easy on her.”

  Clay nodded, and followed Sarah into the ki
tchen.

  She looked up as he stopped at the door. “Why, Clay? I thought you—I thought we—it’s just not right. You don’t have to leave. The sheriff can chase the killers. You’re just seventeen.”

  Clay lay his hat on the table as Sarah continued to put food on the table. “Sarah, I’m really sorry. But it’s my folks who have been killed, not the sheriff’s. And I’m getting almighty tired of people telling me I’m ‘just seventeen.’ ”

  “Sit down and eat,” Sarah said. “Your ma and pa talked about you going back East to school, what about that?”

  “It’ll have to wait.” He picked up the knife and fork and cut a piece off the steak, following it with a bite of cold biscuit.

  “You were looking forward to going. Don’t you still want to be a lawyer like your Grandpa Barlow?”

  Clay looked up from the steak, the exasperation showing. “Sarah, do you understand my folks are dead? They were brutally murdered by scum that probably never worked a day in their life. That type of trash has to be stopped!”

  Tears were flowing down Sarah’s cheeks. “Must you be the one to stop them? What’s going to happen to you? What about us?”

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. There is no us. I’m going to see those men in their graves. I know I’m young, but I’m the only son my parents had, and it’s up to me to see that justice is served, no matter how long it takes.”

  Sarah ran from the room. Clay could hear her footsteps disappear into her room. Gloom settled over him. I’m only one man. Can I really do this? All I know is they left our ranch headed south. I have no idea where they’re headed. Am I too young?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Clay stepped into the saddle. Dawn was just slipping over the cedar ridge. He was giving Blue a break and riding the sorrel. Blue and the buckskin were in trail. Hewitt, Bo, and Luke were out to see him off.