Bleeding Texas

by William W. Johnstone

  “And that was just pure luck, too.”

  Lee shrugged and said, “A man’s got to have luck on his side sometimes. Like that day when your horse ran away with you, and you found yourself on the wrong side of Bear Creek. I figure that was just about the luckiest day of my life.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, then smiled and shook her head.

  “You have an answer for everything, don’t you, Lee Creel?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And most of ’em have to do with me lovin’ you and you lovin’ me.”

  She leaned closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “When we get back,” she said quietly, “we have to do something about this.”

  “About you and me, you mean?”

  “Yes, but what I was really talking about is that silly feud between my father and your grandfather. We have to put a stop to all this trouble.”

  “Oh, I’ve got that figured out already,” Lee said.

  Samantha lifted her head and frowned at him.

  “You do?”

  “Yep,” he said with a nod. “It seems to me that once the two of us are married, those two ol’ goats won’t have any choice but to stop fussin’ with each other.”

  Samantha licked her lips, said in a half whisper, “Married?”

  “That’s right. If you’ll have me, that is.”

  She looked around at the primitive camp on the bank of the San Antonio River and said, “This isn’t exactly the most romantic place for a proposal, but . . . Yes. I’ll marry you.”

  A couple of minutes later, when Lee finally broke the kiss he had planted on her, Samantha said, “Your brothers are glaring at you.”

  “Let ’em,” Lee said. “They’ll get over it. They might as well start gettin’ used to the idea that the Creel-Fontaine feud is over.”

  It was the middle of the day when Trace Holland rode into the yard in front of the Rafter F ranch house. He had pushed his mount fairly hard, riding until well after dark the previous night before making camp. Then he had come on the rest of the way today. The horse’s head hung down in weariness as Holland dismounted.

  The screen door banged as Nick Fontaine stepped out onto the porch. He said, “I thought I heard the dogs barking. Figured somebody was riding in.” He paused, then asked bluntly, “Is it done?”

  “It’s done,” Holland said. He knew what Nick meant, and neither of them had to put it into words. He went on, “There’s something else I reckon you’d like to know about, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s about your sister.”

  Nick’s breath hissed between his teeth. For a second he looked like he was about to come down off the porch and attack Holland with his bare hands, and the gunman wondered if he had made a mistake by being cryptic.

  But then Nick regained control of himself, jerked his head toward the door, and said, “Come on inside. I’m not having this conversation out here.”

  “I ought to take care of my horse—”

  “Jed!” Nick bellowed. The old wrangler hurried out of the barn and came toward them. Nick went on, “Jed will see to your horse.”

  Holland nodded and dismounted. He handed the reins to Jed Clemons and then followed Nick into the house.

  They went to the study. Nick didn’t offer Holland a drink or anything, just fixed him with an intense gaze and waited.

  “Where’s your pa?” Holland asked.

  “In his room. He’s been under the weather lately. It hasn’t helped that he’s worrying himself sick about Samantha. You said you know something about her? About where she is?”

  Holland drew in a deep breath and said, “She’s with the Creels, headed for the coast.”

  Nick’s face darkened until it looked like he was about ready to pop a blood vessel. In a low, dangerous tone, he said, “What? What’s she doing with the Creels?”

  “Best I can figure it, she took off after that cattle drive and caught up to it yesterday morning, after Palmer’s bunch ran off the herd the night before.”

  “Palmer left some of them alive?”

  “He left most of them alive,” Holland said. “That fella’s not to be trusted, boss. I think once he had the herd, he didn’t care any more about doing the rest of the job.” The gunman shrugged. “Maybe he had something else in mind, though. I don’t really know. He’s not in the habit of letting anybody else in on his plans.”

  Nick cursed bitterly, then said, “What about Samantha?”

  “The Creels split up. Looked like some of them were bringing the wounded back. The others headed south, after the herd.” Holland paused. “Your sister went with that bunch. I was watching from a hill close by when they rode off.”

  Nick sank down in the chair behind the desk. His hands clenched into fists. Without looking at Holland, as if he were talking to himself, he said, “What the hell made her go after the Creels like that?”

  “Only thing I can figure out is that she found out somehow about what Palmer was gonna do and went after them to warn them.”

  One of Nick’s fists slammed down on the desk.

  “But why?”

  Holland knew he had to tell the rest of it, even though it would only enrage Nick that much more. He said, “When she rode up, she started hugging and kissing one of those Creel boys. The one called Lee, I think. From the looks of it, they’re sweet on each other and have been for a while.”

  He didn’t mention that he had known about the romance between Samantha and Lee Creel for several weeks. Nick didn’t need to know that.

  Nick stared at the gunman in disbelief. He said, “She . . . she wouldn’t dare . . . with one of the Creels!”

  Holland shrugged and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, boss,” he said. “That’s what I saw, though, and when you think about everything else that’s happened, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Nick’s jaw clenched firmly in anger, so hard that a little muscle jumped in his cheek. He said, “That little bitch. That treacherous little bitch.”

  Holland didn’t want to intrude on that anger anymore, in case Nick decided to turn it on him. He was familiar with the old saying about shooting the messenger.

  “I’ve had a long ride,” he said. “I need to go clean up, maybe get some coffee and something to eat . . .”

  “Wait a minute,” Nick said sharply. “You said some of the Creels went after Palmer?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then they could still cause trouble for me. Ruin all my plans.”

  “There were only about half a dozen of them,” Holland said. “And they’d really have to hustle to catch up to Palmer before he gets to Rockport and sells that herd.”

  “But it’s possible.”

  Holland couldn’t deny that, and his silence was just as good as if he had answered.

  “Go ahead and get something to eat,” Nick went on, “but then you need to saddle a fresh horse.”

  “You’re sendin’ me back out?” Holland didn’t like that idea, but if Nick had made up his mind there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  “Not by yourself. You’ll be taking McNamara and some of the other men. Was Bo Creel one of the bunch that went after Palmer?”

  The abrupt question took Holland a little by surprise. He said, “Yeah, and that friend of his, too, Scratch Morton.”

  Nick nodded and said, “The most dangerous pair in the bunch. I have to be ready if they try to turn the tables on me, Trace. If they take the herd back from Palmer, I can’t afford to let them come back here with the money they’ll get for it.”

  “So you’re sending me and McNamara and the rest of the boys to meet them on the way?”

  “That’s the idea,” Nick said. “But you won’t be going alone.”

  Nick reached down to shake his brother awake. As usual, Danny was asleep. He hadn’t let his sister being missing interfere too much with his degenerate habits, so he’d headed for town
the night before for an evening of drinking and whoring.

  At least he wasn’t tangled up in the sheets this time. Nick grabbed his shoulder and bounced him up and down a couple of times.

  Danny came awake with a startled yell and grabbed for the Colt that lay on the nightstand next to his bed. Nick caught his wrist before he could get hold of the gun and start shooting blindly.

  “Settle down, you damned fool,” Nick snapped. “It’s me.”

  “Nick? What the hell?” Danny groaned and sank back against the pillows. “Leave me alone. My head feels like a big ol’ Longhorn bull stepped on it a few times.”

  “You’ve got to get up, Danny. I found out what happened to Samantha.”

  That got through to the younger man. Whatever his faults—and they were numerous—Danny loved his sister. He sat up, raked his fingers through his tangled hair, and said, “What’s that about Samantha?”

  “She was kidnapped,” Nick said. “By Lee Creel.”

  Danny’s eyes widened. His hangover was forgotten now. After a moment while Nick’s words sunk in on his whiskey-numbed brain, he lunged for the gun again.

  This time Nick let him have it.

  “I’ll kill the son of a bitch!” Danny raged as he waved the Colt around. “Where are they? Where can I find him, Nick?”

  “Lee went with the rest of the Creels on that cattle drive to the coast. They’ll be on their way back in a few days.”

  Danny swung his legs out of bed and stood up. He looked a little shaky, but he didn’t fall down.

  “I’m not waitin’ that long,” he declared. “Let’s get some of the boys and go after ’em.”

  Nick shook his head and said, “I can’t leave the ranch right now, not with Pa sick. But you can handle this job, Danny. You can take Holland and McNamara and the others and ride out to meet that bunch of no-good scum.” He stuck another needle in. “There’s no telling what Lee’s done to poor little Samantha by now. We can’t change that, but we can even the score for her.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Danny promised as he brandished the Colt. Nick moved the gun barrel aside, just in case. “I won’t give him a chance to lie or make excuses, Nick. I’ll just blow holes in the son of a bitch as soon as I lay eyes on him!”

  “I knew I could count on you, Danny,” Nick said, and somehow he managed to remain solemn and not allow the smile of satisfaction he felt to appear on his face. Danny was reacting just as Nick had known he would.

  The only problem Nick could see with this plan was that once the bullets started to fly, his brother and sister would both be in danger. It was possible that neither of them would make it back to the Rafter F alive.

  It would be a real shame if things turned out like that, but it was more important that the Creels not get back with the money in time to pay off that note. Of course it might not come to that. They might not recover the herd. They might try to and be killed by Judd Palmer and his men, as they should have been to start with.

  Any of those possibilities would be all right in the long run, Nick realized . . . as long as they ended with him in control of both the Rafter F and the Star C.

  “Are you sure you can’t come along, Nick?” Danny asked.

  Nick squeezed his shoulder and said, “That’s all right, little brother. I know you’ll uphold the honor of the Fontaine name.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Copano Bay lay to the left, stretching blue, flat, and tranquil to the horizon. A day and a half of hard riding had brought Bo, Scratch, and the others to this point. Rockport was only a few miles away now.

  For the past several hours, Bo’s mood had darkened as it became obvious that they weren’t going to catch up to the herd before it reached the coast. Judd Palmer and his men must have driven the cattle night and day to cover so much ground so quickly.

  If Palmer had already sold the herd and taken off, there wouldn’t be anything Bo could do about it. He could prove that Palmer hadn’t had the right to sell the cattle, but that would be just one more charge against the outlaw. Whoever had bought the herd in good faith couldn’t be forced to make good the loss, at least not right away. That would take lawyers and courts and a lot of time.

  Time that John Creel and the Star C didn’t have.

  “I’ve never been down here before,” Lauralee said as she rode beside Bo and Scratch. “The water is beautiful. So peaceful.”

  “Not so much whenever a hurricane comes in,” Bo said, “but yeah, right now it’s nice.”

  Lauralee licked her lips.

  “I can taste the salt in the air,” she said with a smile.

  “You should see the Pacific Ocean,” Scratch told her. “It’s a whole heap bigger. Although when you’re standin’ on shore and all you can see in front of you is water, it’s sort of hard to tell much difference, I reckon.”

  “Maybe I’ll see it someday. Bear Creek’s a nice place, but I never said I intended to spend my whole life there. I think maybe I’m a little fiddlefooted, like the two of you.”

  Bo wondered briefly if she was building up to asking if she could come along when he and Scratch went on the drift again. That would never work.

  He had plenty of other things to worry about at the moment, though.

  “We’ll head straight for the cattle pens at the south end of town,” Bo said. “That’s the most likely place to find the herd. Lauralee, you and Miss Fontaine go on into town. I seem to recall there’s a hotel right across the street from the harbor. You can wait for us there.”

  “Wait a minute,” Lauralee said. “I planned to go with you.”

  “And I want to stay, too,” Samantha added.

  “No, ma’am,” Lee told her. “I told you, the only way you could come along is if you agreed to stay out of the line of fire.”

  “And you agreed that you’d take orders just like any other hand,” Bo said to Lauralee.

  She tossed her head defiantly and said, “If I was just any other hand, you wouldn’t be sending me off. You’d expect me to ride for the brand like the rest of you.”

  “We’re not going to argue about this,” Bo said.

  “Fine,” Lauralee snapped. “But this isn’t fair and you know it, Bo.”

  “I never said I was fair.”

  She glared at him but didn’t say anything else.

  As they approached the town, the countryside was flat as a table and dotted with clumps of oaks twisted into unusually gnarled shapes by the nearly constant wind off the gulf. The air was so damp that the least effort made sweat pop out on a man’s face.

  The steeples on the local churches came into view first, then a few minutes later Bo spotted roofs. He pointed out the direction Lauralee and Samantha needed to go, and the two young women rode off toward the settlement while Bo, Scratch, Riley, Lee, Davy, and Jason continued toward the cattle pens. The breeze carried the smell of the pens to them before the enclosures ever came in sight. As the riders drew nearer they heard the cattle bellowing, too.

  “Those are our cows, damn it,” Riley said.

  “Recognize their voices, do you?” Scratch asked dryly.

  “You know it has to be them.”

  “More than likely,” Bo agreed. “Palmer couldn’t have beaten us here by more than an hour or so. Maybe he hasn’t had time to make a deal with a buyer yet.”

  Scratch said, “Are we gonna hunt up the local law?”

  “We’ll deal with the law later,” Bo replied grimly. “Right now we have to find out where we stand.”

  Once thousands of cattle had been herded into these pens, he thought as he and the others rode past the sturdy enclosures. Most of those cows had been bound for the rendering plant. Then shipping magnates had discovered that there was money to be made by loading the cattle on boats here in Rockport and taking them to markets in New Orleans and on around Florida and up the East Coast. It had been a brisk trade for a while.

  Now, with the development of trail towns like Abilene and Dodge City in Kansas and even talk of expanding t
he railroads into Texas soon, only a fraction of the cattle went through here that once had. Some of the pens stood empty.

  But some were full of bawling beeves, and as the riders passed those pens, Riley pointed and said excitedly, “Look! There’s the Star C brand!”

  He was right. Bo saw the familiar C-for-Creel with a star around it, too. These were the cattle that Judd Palmer and his men had rustled.

  Bo spotted several cowboys standing by the fence up ahead, talking to a man in a suit and a cream-colored Stetson. He heeled his horse into a trot and headed for the little group.

  The well-dressed man looked a little nervous when he saw six hard-faced cowboys bearing down on him. He didn’t appear to be armed. He faced the riders as they reined in.

  “Are you the cattle buyer around here, mister?” Bo asked.

  “That’s right. Name’s Lloyd Fuller. What can I do for you fellas?”

  Riley pointed at the cattle in the pens and said, “Did you buy those cows?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Fuller said.

  “The men who sold ’em are rustlers!” Riley shouted. “Those cows belong to John Creel of the Star C!”

  “And that’s who I bought them from,” Fuller said coolly. “Or from Mr. Creel’s representative, at least.”

  Riley looked like he wanted to dive off his horse and tackle the buyer. Bo held out a hand and motioned for his brother to calm down. He said, “Mr. Fuller, if the man who sold you those cows claimed to represent John Creel, he lied to you. My name is Bo Creel, and this is my brother Riley. We’re John Creel’s sons, and we were bringing this herd down here before it was stolen from us.”

  Fuller’s mouth was a taut, angry line now as he said, “I have a letter from John Creel authorizing the bearer to sell those cattle.”

  “A damn forgery!” Riley broke in.

  Fuller ignored him and went on, “That letter absolves me of any responsibility in the matter. As far as I’m concerned, it was a legal transaction, and if you feel differently, you’ll have to take the matter up in court.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Bo said. “How much did you pay?”