Blood Ties: A Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick Novel

by James J. Griffin

  “Sure,” Will answered, as he took the proffered hand. “And it wasn’t a big deal. After all, the kid did save me from takin’ a couple of slugs right through my brisket. Seemed like the least I could do to return the favor was try’n keep him outta Huntsville. The names are Will and Jonas.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to meet you both,” Collins said, as he and Jonas shook hands. “The beer ain’t cold, but it ain’t too warm, either. I can rustle up some ham and eggs for you, too. Even got some bread and butter to go with ’em.”

  “That’ll be just fine,” Will answered.

  “Comin’ right up.”

  Collins drew two mugs of beer and set them on the bar, then disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, the delicious aroma of frying ham and eggs came drifting into the barroom. Will took a sip of his beer.

  “This ain’t bad at all,” he said. “Let’s sit down.”

  He and Jonas took seats at the closest table. The two percentage girls wandered over, and eyed the rugged pair.

  “Would you boys like some female company?” one asked. “I’m Lila, and my friend’s Estrella.”

  Lila was a full-figured green-eyed blonde, dressed in a sequined blue satin dress. Estrella was Mexican, with flowing black hair and flashing black eyes. She wore a white, low cut peasant blouse, and a flowing, multi-colored striped skirt.

  “Sure. We’ll buy you dinner and a drink, if you want,” Will agreed. “We won’t be here long enough for a dance, or anthin’ else, though. We’ve gotta catch the next train to Fort Worth. I’m Will, and this here’s Jonas.”

  “Charmed,” Lila said, as she took the chair next to Will. “The piano player doesn’t come in until four, anyway. And the meal sounds good. Charley,” she called to the swamper.

  “Yes, Lila?” he answered.

  “Tell Cal to put on two more orders,” Lila said.

  “Make that three,” Will added. “Have him cook one for you.”

  “Yessir, Ranger,” Charley answered. “I surely do appreciate that.” He leaned his mop against the bar, then went into the kitchen.

  “Muchacho,” Estrella said to Jonas, “If you have to pass the time, you might as well do so in the company of a beautiful woman, si?” She kissed him on the cheek.

  “Si…si,” Jonas stammered. He blushed bright red.

  ****

  Cal’s ham and eggs, while not the best food Will had ever tasted, were still far better than the meals from the Pecos Café. With a decent meal behind his belt, and a couple of beers in his belly, Will was in a much better frame of mind when he and Jonas left the saloon than he had been when they arrived. That wasn’t to last very long, however.

  Rather than walking to the other end of town, the two men had gotten their mounts out of the livery stable, and ridden to the Texas and Pacific depot. They dismounted, looped the horses’ reins around the hitch rail, and went inside. There was a lone clerk on duty behind the iron-grated ticket window. He looked up, and pushed back the green eyeshade on his forehead as they approached.

  “Good afternoon, gents,” he said. “How might I help you?”

  “Howdy. Texas Ranger Will Kirkpatrick. We’ll need two tickets on the next train to Fort Worth, with a transfer to Austin,” Will answered. “We have to reach Ranger Headquarters as quickly as possible. We’ll also need a cattle or box car for our horses.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you won’t be going east by train,” the agent said. “There were some bad storms east of here a couple of weeks back. They caused some flash floods. The bridge over the Pecos was weakened so badly it can’t hold the weight of a train, until emergency repairs are completed. In addition, there are several smaller trestles that have been washed away completely. Westbound trains are only going as far as Abilene, for at least another week. Eastbound trains are stopping here. You could ride to Abilene, then pick up a train to Fort Worth there. Or take the stage by way of San Angelo.”

  “Either way’d take as long as ridin’ direct all the way to Austin,” Will said.

  “Sorry again, Ranger.” The ticket agent shrugged. “The Texas and Pacific Railroad has a lot of power in this state, but none with Mother Nature. Wish I could give you better news.”

  “No need to apologize,” Will answered. “It’s not your fault. C’mon, Jonas. It looks like we’re ridin’ to Austin after all. I reckon we’d better stop at the general store to stock up on supplies. Then swing by the telegraph office to send a wire to Cap’n Hunter, and let him know we can’t take a train. Good thing I didn’t give up my hotel room yet, either. You can bunk with me tonight. We’ll be leavin’ at first light. Let’s go.”

  5

  After bidding farewell to Sheriff Pettengill and Deputy Hardy, Will and Jonas left Pecos shortly after seven o’clock the next morning. Jonas had refused Will’s offer to let him stop at Kyle’s and Wylie’s graves before they left town. He’d said as far as he was concerned, he wished they’d never been his kinfolk.

  “It’s a three-day ride until we reach the next town of any size. That’s Granada. We’ll camp for the next couple of nights, Jonas,” Will said, “then stop there, before we have to cross the Pecos. Granada’s not much of a place, just a few buildin’s put up as a supply point for some ranches that were started in the area a couple of years ago. There’s no hotel, but the saloon has a room in the back with two or three beds for rent. That’ll be the last time we sleep under a roof until we reach Austin. More importantly, there’s a livery for our horses. They’ll need a good night’s rest and feed before we hit the Pecos at Horsehead Crossing.”

  “Horsehead Crossing? I’ve heard stories about that damn ford,” Jonas said. “It’s supposed to be one helluva place to try’n cross the Pecos.”

  “It is, but it’s the only decent crossing within sixty miles or more,” Will said. “I’ve used it a few times, so I’ve got a good idea how to make it across safely. It’s dangerous, but we’ll manage. Now, there’s no water holes between here and the Pecos, except a few too alkaline or salty to drink, so we’ll have to go real easy on our water, since all we’ll have is what’s in our canteens, for both us and our horses. That’s another reason we have to go by way of Horsehead Crossing. The Comanches found the only water hole anywhere for miles around at that spot. When we do get there, make certain your horse don’t try’n drink from the Pecos, no matter how thirsty he is. The river’s water ain’t fit to drink. It’s too briny, and’ll poison a horse…or man.”

  From Pecos to Austin was just over four hundred and fifty miles. Covering that distance on horseback, at the usual mileage of thirty per day, meant the journey would take fifteen days. Pushing a horse to its limit, a man could average approximately fifty miles per day. However, few horses could keep up that grueling pace. Usually, a mount pushed that far would break down before reaching the end of the journey—or, if it did survive the trip, would be wind-broken or crippled, ruined for the rest of its life. For the first two hours of their ride, Will studied Jonas and his horse, trying to determine just how hard he dared push the young man, and, more importantly, his mount.

  Jonas still didn’t look eighteen years old to Will. However, the family events recorded in the Bible he carried did indeed confirm his birth date. He also handled his horse well, much as any man who had worked cows from a young age. Rebel, his horse, also seemed sturdy enough. The gelding was a well-muscled bay, who had a narrow blaze down the center of his face, and white stockings on his right front and left hind legs. He’d handled the fairly quick pace Will was setting with no trouble.

  “Jonas,” Will finally said, “I’d like to make it to Austin in ten days, eleven at the most. That means we’ll have to cover a bit more than forty miles a day. Do you think you can handle that hard a pace, for that long?”

  “I’ll be able to keep up, don’t worry about that, Will,” Jonas assured him.

  “What about your horse?”

  “Rebel? Don’t worry about him.” Jonas reached forward and patted the bay’s neck. “Y
ou can handle just about anythin’ I ask of you, can’t ya, boy?”

  Rebel twitched his ears and snorted.

  “See. He’ll do just fine.”

  “Good. Then let’s get movin’ a bit faster.”

  Will kicked Pete into a lope.

  ****

  The next three days were a hot, dusty ride over the arid high desert terrain of the Trans-Pecos. Except for an occasional mesa or butte in the distance, and scattered dry washes or shallow arroyos, the land was sandy and almost table flat. The vegetation consisted mainly of scrub brush, mesquite, various cactus such as prickly pear and cholla, and tough, drought-tolerant desert grasses. A few junipers, and even an occasional stunted oak, could be found in the rare spots, or on the higher elevations of the mesas, where the soil held enough moisture to allow them to survive.

  After spending the night at Granada, where they picked up a few more supplies, plus fleas from the infested mattresses at the Granada Saloon’s back room, they left at first light to continue their trip. Nearly two hours later, they reached Horsehead Crossing. Will had set an easy pace this day, knowing the horses would need all their strength to make the hazardous crossing of the Pecos.

  “Damn!” Will exclaimed, as they reined in. “The river’s runnin’ a lot higher’n I figured on.”

  “I was hopin’ you wouldn’t say that,” Jonas answered. “What’re all those horse skulls doin’ stuck up in the mesquites?”

  “Those are from horses that died tryin’ to make the ford, either from drownin’ or gettin’ stuck in quicksand,” Will answered. “Comanches first used this crossin’, near as anyone can remember. Someone, sometime in the past put up a horse skull, then more men who lost horses or mules here did the same. That’s how this ford got the name Horsehead Crossin’.”

  “How about now? Do you think it’s too dangerous for us to try’n cross?” Jonas asked.

  “I dunno.” Will studied the roiling, muddy Pecos as it ripped through its bed, foaming and churning. He thumbed back his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Well?” Jonas said.

  “We don’t have any other choice,” Will answered. “There’s not another decent crossin’ for sixty miles or more. Since we don’t have any idea when the river will go down, or whether it’s still risin’, for that matter, we’re gonna have to chance it. How good do you swim?”

  Most cowboys swam poorly, if at all, and many had an innate fear of deep water. On cattle drives, far more men died from drowning when fording a herd across a swollen river than from stampedes, snakebites, gunshots, or other mishaps.

  “Fair to middlin’,” Jonas answered.

  “What about your horse?”

  “He’s done okay the few times we’ve herded cows across a creek.”

  “This sure ain’t no creek,” Will said. He spat into the dirt.

  “I kinda noticed that,” Jonas said, with a rueful grin. “Just exactly how do you propose we get across?”

  “With a lot of luck, prayers, and the Good Lord’s help,” Will said. “I can usually tell where the quicksand’s at, but the water’s so high I can’t spot any. In one way, that’s good news, because we won’t have to slide our horses too far down the steep banks, then climb the other side, since the river’s bank full. The minute we put our broncs into the water, they’ll have to start swimmin’, so it’s unlikely they’ll get trapped in any quicksand. The bad news is they’ll have to fight the current all the way across, then somehow get enough footin’ to scramble out on the other side, before the current carries ’em downstream. And with the river in flood, there’s liable to be all sorts of snags, most of which we won’t be able to see until they’re on top of us. A half-submerged log can knock you right outta your saddle, break your horse’s ribs, or push him under the surface, so you’ll both drown. Then again, of course, there’s always the chance of water moccasins or rattlesnakes that got caught up in the flood. They’ll be damn scared, and damn mad, so they’ll strike at anythin’ that gets in their way. Huntsville startin’ to look better to you yet, Jonas?”

  “I’ll let you know after we make it across…if we make it across.” Jonas shook his head. “Well, I guess there’s no point in waitin’ any longer.”

  “No, there ain’t,” Will agreed. “You say you’ve never crossed a deep, fast runnin’ river before?”

  “Nope,” Jonas answered. “Just a few creeks, where Rebel had to swim for a couple of hundred feet at most, but that’s all.”

  “Then I’m gonna have to give you a quick lesson,” Will said. “Get off your horse.”

  “All right.”

  Jonas and Will swung out of their saddles.

  “Pull off your boots, tie ’em together, and hang ’em over your saddle horn,” Will instructed. “That way, if you get swept off of your horse, and do have to swim, you won’t have waterlogged boots draggin’ you down. Take off your socks and stuff those inside your boots, if you want. I know a lotta men who’d rather strip to the skin when fordin’ a river, figurin’ if they did end up havin’ to swim they wouldn’t have any clothes weighin’ ’em down. That’s not a bad idea if you’re followin’ a herd, and you can put your clothes and guns in the chuck wagon and float ’em across. But if we took off our duds, bundled ’em up with our guns inside, and tied ’em to our saddles, we’d risk losin’ everythin’ if we got separated from our horses. So we’d better make certain we don’t.”

  “You make it sound as easy as shootin’ fish in a barrel,” Jonas said.

  “Yeah…a barrel tumblin’ over a waterfall, and no hook on the line,” Will said. “Another thing. If your horse does begin to struggle, get outta your saddle and swim alongside him. Hold on to the horn so you don’t get separated. Or drift back and grab onto his tail. Let him pull you along until you reach the other side. If he’s in trouble, he’s more likely to get out of it without your weight on his back. Understand?”

  “That does make sense, at least, sorta,” Jonas agreed. “Long as I keep clear of Rebel’s hooves.”

  “That’s right, although a kick while he’s swimmin’ wouldn’t be quite so bad, since the water would take a lotta the power out of it. Of course, if you got kicked in the head, that’d probably still knock you senseless, but if you were that far underwater, you’d already be half-dead,” Will said. “Let’s get ready. We’ll have to hang our gunbelts around our necks and hold our rifles over our heads to try’n keep ’em dry while we’re crossin’.”

  Both men took off their footwear and shucked off their gunbelts. Once their boots were hanging from their saddlehorns and the gunbelts in place around their necks, they remounted.

  “We’ve got to come out on the other side where the bank ain’t so steep, Jonas,” Will said. “I know it’s hard to tell, with the Pecos runnin’ so high and fast, but that’s the ford right in front of us. We’re gonna have to ride upstream a ways before puttin’ our horses into the river, since the current’s gonna pull ’em downstream, so we’d never make it by goin’ straight across.”

  Jonas shook his head.

  “I dunno. That drop looks awful steep.”

  “It is, but just keep your horse’s head high, and let him sit back on his haunches and slide down the bank. Once he hits the water, he’ll start swimmin’, whether he wants to or not.”

  “If you say so, Will. But if we don’t make it, I just want to say I’m obliged for all you’ve done for me.”

  “Por nada. Don’t talk like that, neither. We’re gonna make it, then once we get to Austin, you can buy me a beer.”

  Despite his attempts to reassure Jonas, Will was just as afraid as the boy of this attempt. Horsehead Crossing was hazardous under the best conditions. Right now, it appeared downright deadly.

  “If we survive today, I’ll buy you two,” Jonas said.

  “You’ve got a deal,” Will said. “Let’s get movin’”.

  He lifted Pete’s reins, clucked to the paint, and heeled him into a walk. They rode upriver for about a hundred yards. W
ill pulled his rifle from its boot, lifted it over his head, and nodded to Jonas. Jonas nodded in return, as he also pulled out his rifle and lifted it above his head.

  Once Jonas was set, Will heeled Pete over the edge of the steep slope. Pete hesitated at the rim, snorted, tossed his head, then started down the bank. Will pulled back hard on the reins, keeping Pete’s head high as the horse half-ran, half-slid down the slippery sand and gravel riverbank. Pete plunged into the water, disappeared beneath the surface for a moment, leaving only Will’s head, shoulders, and upraised arm visible, then bobbed back up. He began swimming strongly for the opposite shore.

  At a splash behind him, Will turned in his saddle, to see that Jonas had also safely made the slide. He and Rebel were a few yards behind, Rebel fighting hard to keep from being sucked under and dragged downstream.

  “Keep him headed as straight as you can,” Will shouted to be heard over the rushing water. “If you miss the ford, there’s no way out. You’ll be carried away and drowned.”

  Jonas nodded, then took a tighter grip on his reins, shortening them to keep Rebel from turning and letting the current take him.

  The crossing turned out to be even more hazardous than Will had expected. Several times, Pete nearly went under, and in one particularly rough stretch of water, was swept sideways several yards before Will could bring him around and again swimming for the eastern riverbank. However, the current finally slackened, the water shallowing as Pete neared the far shore. When his front hooves touched bottom, the paint lunged, trying to gain purchase, then scrambled out of the river. As soon as he did, Will tumbled from his saddle when a gunshot rang out. He rolled back into the Pecos.

  “What the hell?” Jonas exclaimed, when he saw Will fall. He urged Rebel forward. As soon as the bay broke the water’s surface, he took his lariat, shook it out, and built a loop. A bullet ripped the air alongside his head. Intent on saving Will at any cost, Jonas didn’t take the time to return the hidden gunman’s fire, instead whispering a hurried prayer that he, too, wouldn’t catch a slug.