Bleeding Texas

by William W. Johnstone

  Saving the Star C was going to be more of a family affair than anything else.

  The table was piled high with platters of pancakes, biscuits, fried eggs, bacon, steaks, and hash brown potatoes. Pots of coffee and pitchers of cream and buttermilk were scattered around so everybody could help themselves.

  Idabelle brought in a fresh pot of coffee to replace one that was empty. As she used a thick piece of leather to set it down, she said, “That old man is bellowing like a wounded bull. He wants to be down here with you boys so bad he can hardly stand it.”

  “You’re not letting him get up, are you?” Bo asked.

  Idabelle sniffed.

  “Do you think I’ve lost my senses?” she said. “Of course I’m not. The doctor’s orders were perfectly clear.”

  “You’d better keep a close eye on him,” Cooper advised. “He’s so stubborn, he’s liable to try something when he thinks nobody’s looking.”

  “That’s why I’ve got one of his granddaughters watching him all the time. Sadie’s up there with him now.”

  That satisfied Bo. He knew that no one could be trusted to take care of his father more than Idabelle. She was devoted to John Creel and had been for many years. Actually, he was surprised that the two of them had never gotten married after losing their spouses, but he supposed one marriage apiece had been enough for them.

  The sun was barely up when breakfast was finished. The men drank the last of the coffee, thanked Idabelle for the meal, and went outside. Their horses were saddled and waiting for them.

  Hank stood on the porch and said, “I wish I could go with you fellas.”

  “No, you don’t,” Cooper said with a chuckle. “You never have cared for cowboyin’, Hank, and you know it. The last thing in the world you want to do is sit a saddle for twelve or fourteen hours a day.”

  “You’re not really any good at it, either,” Riley added bluntly.

  “I can’t really argue with that,” Hank admitted with a sheepish grin. “I’ll do my best to take care of the ranch while you’re gone, though.”

  “And all of us will sleep a mite easier knowing that you’re here, too,” Bo told him.

  Before Bo, Riley, and Cooper could mount up, Idabelle came out onto the porch and told them, “Sadie just came downstairs and said that your father wants to see you before you leave. He’s threatening to climb out of bed if you don’t go up there. That stubborn old goat.”

  Bo chuckled and said, “We weren’t going to leave without saying good-bye. Guess we might as well go take care of that now.”

  “You’re the boss,” Riley said.

  Bo looked at him, a look that Riley returned with a challenging stare.

  Bo hoped that Riley wasn’t going to be a total jackass all the way to the coast about him being put in charge. It sure as blazes hadn’t been his idea, and Riley ought to know that.

  But saying anything now wouldn’t serve any purpose. Bo went back inside, and the others followed him.

  John Creel was propped up in bed with his heavily splinted and bandaged leg stretched out straight in front of him. A tray with an empty coffee cup and the remains of his breakfast sat on the little table beside the bed.

  “So you’re pullin’ out for the coast today, are you?” he greeted his sons.

  “That’s right,” Bo said.

  “You know I wish I was goin’ with you. It ain’t f ittin’ that somebody else has to save this ranch for me.”

  “It’s our ranch, too,” Riley said. “Besides, it wasn’t your idea for some no-good gunman working for the Fontaines to take a shot at you and make your horse fall on you.”

  “No, I reckon not, but I still don’t feel right about it.”

  Bo said, “How many times have you taken care of the rest of us, Pa? We couldn’t repay you for everything you’ve done for us with a dozen cattle drives.”

  “You boys don’t owe me a damned thing,” John said gruffly. He thrust out his hand. “Now shake, and then get movin’. You’re burnin’ daylight out there.”

  They shook hands with the old man. Bo didn’t know about his brothers, but he felt a definite tightness in his chest as he gripped his father’s gnarled hand.

  They put that emotional farewell behind them as they rode out to the bed ground where some of the hands were holding the herd. Scratch met them there, having ridden over early that morning from his sister’s place.

  “Did you say your good-byes to the Widow Ashley?” Bo asked his old friend, trying not to grin as he did so.

  “Yeah, and she wasn’t too happy about me leavin’,” Scratch replied. “She told me if I went off and got myself killed in a stampede or something, she wasn’t ever gonna forgive me.” The silver-haired Texan sighed. “I swear, Bo, I don’t know how I keep on gettin’ myself in these messes.”

  “You can’t say no to a pretty woman. That’s how.”

  “Well, that’s true, I reckon.” Scratch chuckled. “Especially one who don’t say no to me.”

  From the driver’s seat of the chuck wagon, an old man with a white spade beard and a bald pate under a battered cavalry hat with the brim turned up in front called to Bo, “Are we ever gonna get started on this here cattle drive, or do you intend to lollygag around here all day?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Hammersmith,” Bo said. “We’re fixing to pull out right now.”

  Alonzo Hammersmith, who made his living as a chuck wagon cook for hire and had gone along on several of the Star C cattle drives in the past, nodded and lifted his reins.

  “I’ll get on out ahead, then,” he said. He got the team of mules moving, and the chuck wagon swayed slightly on its springs as it rolled toward the southwest.

  “We were lucky to get that old pelican to sign on with us,” Cooper commented as he watched the chuck wagon dwindle into the distance. “We wouldn’t have if all the regular drives hadn’t already been over this year.”

  “Yeah, there’s not many people loco enough to start driving cattle this late,” Riley said.

  Bo ignored that barbed comment and said, “Let’s get the crew spread out and start pushing those cows. Like Pa said, we’re burning daylight!”

  CHAPTER 21

  The route was an easy one, mostly grassy plains with a few rolling hills and only three streams to cross. Those streams—the Guadalupe River, the San Antonio River, and Coleto Creek—had fairly tall and steep banks, however, so the herd would have to zigzag some in order to find good fords at which the cattle could cross.

  Riley and Cooper knew this area fairly well, but they had never tried to drive a herd through here before.

  Bo had memories of these parts, but they were quite a few years old. So he was perfectly willing to defer to his brothers’ judgment about which way they should go.

  For that reason, he put Riley and Cooper up front to lead the herd, while he and Scratch rode on the right flank. There were three pairs of flankers on each side, all of them Creel boys in their twenties except for Bo and Scratch. Several of John Creel’s grandsons in their late teens rode drag, and a couple more wrangled the remuda.

  They kept moving at a decent pace, but nobody got in too much of a hurry. Even a short drive could run some pounds off the cattle if they moved too fast, and that could affect the price they would get for the herd in Rockport.

  After going to this much trouble, the last thing Bo wanted to do was come up short in the amount of money they needed to pay off the bank note and save the Star C.

  By midday they had covered about five miles, Bo figured. The men didn’t stop for lunch, only to switch their saddles to fresh horses. They had canvas sacks tied to their saddles with sandwiches in them made from biscuits and thick slices of roast beef in them that Idabelle had prepared.

  That so-called greasy sack lunch would serve as their midday meal. Calling a ranch a greasy sack outfit was usually a derogatory term, but there was nothing to be ashamed of where Idabelle’s cooking was concerned.

  Since it had been a couple of hours after dawn when
they started, if they made ten miles today that would be a good day’s drive. Bo would be satisfied with that. He figured to make eleven or twelve miles most days.

  From time to time they had to veer around an area where farmers had come in and strung barbed-wire fences. There weren’t many of the fences so far, but Bo knew that was what the future of Texas looked like. Here, the same as most other places in the West, the open range days were fading.

  The same thought had occurred to Scratch. As he rode beside Bo while they were making one of those detours around a homestead, he said, “I remember a time when you could ride from one end of Texas to the other and never have to worry about a dang fence.”

  “So do I,” Bo said. “It doesn’t really seem like all that long ago, does it?”

  Scratch grinned and said, “When you get to be our age, the years go by so fast nothin’ seems like it was all that long ago.”

  Bo agreed with his old friend about that. All he had to do was cast his mind back to the days when he’d been a young married man with a growing family.

  The years fell away, and it seemed like only yesterday that he was there with his wife and kids, setting out on a life that should have been long and uneventful and happy . . .

  Instead he had spent forty years on the drift, stumbling into one shooting scrape after another, and as much as he loved Scratch like a brother, if he could somehow go back and change the course of his life so that tragedy never claimed those dearest to him, he would do it in a heartbeat.

  Such thoughts were pointless, of course, and he knew it. A man couldn’t help but indulge himself in a bittersweet daydream now and then, however. Bo recalled the cabin he had built on a little rise overlooking Bear Creek. Plain as day he could see it, the door open, his wife standing there looking pretty as she waved to him in welcome, a couple of small forms beside her clutching her skirts . . .

  Bo knew they were waiting for him. One of these days he would see them again. He would ride up to that cabin and swing down from the saddle and take them in his arms and they would all go in for supper and he would be home, home at last . . .

  The crack of a gunshot shattered that reverie. Bo’s head jerked up as he peered toward the front of the herd. The shot had come from up there where Riley and Cooper were.

  “What in blazes!” Scratch exclaimed.

  Bo dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. The animal leaped into a run. Scratch galloped beside him. Bo yelled over his shoulder to the other flankers, “Keep ’em bunched!”

  They rode beside the herd until the leaders came into view. Bo’s brothers sat out in front of the herd on their horses. Both of them appeared to be all right, and that was a relief, thought Bo.

  Blocking the way were half a dozen men on horseback. Each man carried either a rifle or a shotgun. They wore overalls and wide-brimmed straw hats. Bo could tell instantly that they were farmers.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked his brothers as he and Scratch drew their horses to a halt.

  Before either Riley or Cooper could answer, one of the men blocking the way asked in a loud, angry voice, “Are you the boss of this outfit?”

  “I am,” Bo said. He didn’t even glance in Riley’s direction. At the moment, he didn’t care how Riley was taking him being in charge.

  “Then you might as well turn them cows around and take ’em back where you come from,” the man said. He was thin and rawboned, with a lantern-jawed face and iron-gray hair under his hat. “You ain’t bringin’ ’em through this way.”

  “We’re driving them to market down on the coast.”

  The man shook his head stubbornly.

  “Not through here, you ain’t,” he declared.

  “Look, if you’ve got farms and fences up ahead, we’ll respect them,” Bo said. “We’ll go around. That’s what we’ve been doing so far. We don’t want to ruin anybody’s crops.”

  “You can’t get through,” the man said. “We’ve got fields all along the Guadalupe in the bottomland. You’ll have to go down to Victoria and take the old San Antonio Road.”

  Riley said, “That’s twenty miles or more out of the way!”

  “That ain’t our problem,” the spokesman for the farmers said.

  Something occurred to Bo. He said, “Our chuck wagon would have come along here earlier. Where’s our cook?”

  The farmer took his left hand off the Winchester he held and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Some of our fellas got him back yonder a ways, under a shade tree. He tried to argue with us, too.”

  Riley said, “By God, he’d better be all right.”

  “He’s fine,” the farmer snapped. “We just got a couple o’ boys keepin’ an eye on him so he can’t cause no trouble. You turn around and we’ll send him to catch up with you.”

  “We can’t turn around,” Riley said. “It’ll take too long.”

  His horse took a nervous step forward.

  The farmer lifted his rifle and said, “We fired one warnin’ shot already. That’s all you’re gettin’!”

  Bo didn’t want to hurt or kill any of these men who were just trying to protect their homes and livelihoods.

  But if the farmers opened fire, he and his brothers and Scratch wouldn’t have any choice but to defend themselves.

  One of the other farmers suddenly yelled, “If you won’t turn those beasts, we’ll turn ’em ourselves!”

  He kicked his horse into a run, raced past Bo and the others before they could stop him, and galloped straight at the herd, shouting and firing his rifle into the air.

  Bo yanked his horse around and called, “Stop it, you crazy fool!” but it was too late.

  Spooked by the shots and the rider charging toward him, the old bull leading the herd lowered his head and broke into a run. The steers behind him followed, bellowing in their panic, and that reaction spread like lightning through the herd.

  In less than a handful of heartbeats, the cattle stampeded straight ahead, a rolling tide of hide, hooves, and horns.

  The farmer who had so foolishly set them off brought his horse to a skidding halt and tried to turn the animal. The horse’s legs went out from under it and as it fell the farmer was thrown from the saddle. Yelling stridently in terror, he flew through the air and crashed to the ground directly in the path of the stampede.

  The other farmers fled blindly, trying to get out of the way of the cattle at all costs. None of them made a move to help their companion.

  Bo and Scratch did, though. Bo yelled to his brothers, “Try to head ’em off !” then raced toward the fallen man, who hadn’t moved since he landed. Bo figured the fall had knocked him senseless.

  Scratch galloped alongside. Over the thunder of hooves, Bo called to his friend, “Veer off! I can get him!”

  “Where you’re goin’, I’m goin’!” Scratch responded.

  Bo wasn’t surprised by that. They had sided each other during times of trouble, backed each other’s play so many times, that it was entirely second nature by now.

  The leading edge of the stampede was only a hundred yards away when Bo and Scratch reached the unconscious man. Scratch swung down from the saddle, got his hands under the man’s arms, and heaved him upright. Bo grabbed him and hauled the limp form onto the back of his horse. The farmer’s horse had already gotten up and raced off, evidently unhurt by the fall.

  Scratch vaulted onto his mount. Bo had turned around and was racing away from the stampede. The cattle were only about twenty yards behind Scratch as he galloped after his old friend.

  Since Bo’s horse was carrying double, it didn’t take long for Scratch to catch up. He could have gone on past, but instead he slowed his horse to keep even with Bo. Neither of them could reach the edges of the stampede, so their only hope for survival was to stay in front of it.

  Bo looked around and didn’t see Riley or Cooper or any of the belligerent farmers. He and Scratch and the man they had rescued were the only ones caught in front of the runaway herd. That was g
ood, anyway.

  By now the others would be riding hard beside the leaders, trying to force them to veer to the side. That was really the only way to stop a stampede, by turning the leaders until they were running in a circle. Once that happened, eventually the cattle would start milling around and the stampede would peter out.

  The trick was to stay ahead of the runaways until that happened. Bo didn’t know if that was going to be possible or not. He was mounted on a good horse, but it was carrying double. Already the animal was starting to falter a little.

  From the corner of his eye, Bo saw unexpected movement. A rider darted around the front of the stampede and angled toward them, riding with incredible speed. It was a daring, even foolhardy move. Bo didn’t recognize the paint horse or the slender rider in a brown Stetson, but the hombre was risking his life by getting in front of the herd.

  The gap between them gradually narrowed. As it did, the farmer woke up and panicked. Bo had to tighten his grip on the man to keep the fool from falling off and being trampled.

  It would have served him right, Bo thought. The farmer had started the stampede and put them all in deadly danger. But despite that, they would do what they could to save his life.

  The other rider pulled alongside Bo and shouted, “Let me take him! I’m lighter! My horse can carry him better!”

  Even with all the racket in the air, Bo recognized that voice. The recognition hit him like a punch in the gut. He exclaimed, “Lauralee!”

  She leaned forward in the saddle and grinned recklessly at him, just about the last person in the world Bo would have expected to see in a situation like this.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Let me take him!” Lauralee yelled again, pointing at the farmer riding in front of him.

  Bo didn’t know where she had gotten the paint, but the horse was a big, strong-looking animal and obviously had some speed and stamina. Lauralee weighed only a little more than half what Bo did. Without a doubt, their chances would be better overall if the farmer was riding with her.

  “Do it, mister!” Bo shouted at the man. “You’ve got to switch horses!”