“He can’t stop me.”
“What’ll you do for money? You’ve told me yourself what college costs.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“You’re as stubborn as I am.”
“He’s making me that way.”
We hadn’t noticed that the dugout was quiet. Papa lurched out the door, tucking his shirt in and twisting around to see us on the roof.
“You boys come down here,” he said.
We did as we were told, although we took our time about it. Joseph and the rest of the crew were riding in, and Papa made us stay there until he could wave Joseph over. Juanita came from the dugout, looking down at the ground and patting at her hair and straightening her dress.
Papa put his arm around her waist. “I never thought I raised such a bunch of sneaks.”
Gunn and I bore the brunt of his hard look.
“José is barely in the ground,” Gunn said, as defiant as ever.
I couldn’t tell how shocked or surprised Joseph was by being called into the middle of such a mess, for he stayed on his horse and made a show of fiddling with his saddle strings.
“Juanita and I are going to be married. Like it or not, get that through your thick heads,” Papa said. “You’ll get used to it in time, or you will damned sure keep your mouths shut about it. No more sneaking around or glaring at me and acting like children.”
“I hate you,” I said.
“Saying that to my face would have been better than what you’ve been doing. Think I haven’t noticed? At least I could have respected you,” Papa said.
“She ain’t my mama,” Gunn said.
“And she doesn’t have to be,” Papa said. “The real world doesn’t always work out like you want it to. Sometimes it hurts and sometimes you can’t do a thing to change it. You’re not little boys. Act like it.”
I was having trouble breathing and couldn’t say anything else.
“All right, Juanita and I are going to go tell the men. The company chaplain is riding up from Buffalo Springs next Sunday. I’ve invited some other people from down there and we’ll kill a steer and celebrate some.”
“Celebrate what?” Gunn asked.
“My wedding. And you’ll smile and act like you’re happy about it,” Papa said.
Papa took Juanita’s arm and went to meet the vaqueros. She raised her head and attempted a smile aimed at us, but didn’t quite manage it. I hated her, too.
Papa didn’t have any friends at Buffalo Springs. He disliked the Union cavalry stationed there and more than once he had told us how those settlers and homesteaders weren’t much but a bunch of dirt-poor rawhiders and white trash, more apt to steal and butcher your beef than they were to farm or make a go of it. But that didn’t matter. He wanted to show off and they were the only people around and the only way he could play the big man like he used to before Texas at those parties he held when all the planters showed up to drink his whiskey and tell him what a fine plantation he had. Now he could show his neighbors what a ranch he was building and impress them with the fact that he, a man almost forty with his hair turning gray and his belly starting to hang over his belt, could marry a pretty young thing like Juanita.
I turned to Gunn and he was already looking at me.
“I’m going,” I said. “I don’t know how or when, but I’m going. It might take me a while, but there are places where he doesn’t matter.”
Chapter Twenty-four
1871
You might think my brother was always an outlaw at heart, but it was Papa that made him so in truth, or at least gave him his start. You take a wild boy to begin with and you put him in every kind of jam imaginable, you’re going to end up with a wild young man. You could say the start of it was when he brought us to Texas, or even when he took us hunting Indians when we were far too young for such. But me, I think it was that day on Holliday Creek, south of the Big Wichita. Papa and his damned ranch and his plans and schemes.
We were putting together a herd and readying for another drive north to the railroad when somebody said there were riders coming from the east. Papa acted like he was surprised when he saw who it was, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t forgotten Clayton Lowe, and he had struck me as the kind of man that wouldn’t let a thing lie.
He was riding with three other men. One of them was a big-bearded fellow with a sour look to him, and another was that Ranger captain who cut off Gunn’s arm years before. The third of the trio was a black man, sitting on a flea-bitten gray nag behind the others. All of them were armed, and what’s more, all of them were wearing badges.
“Mr. Dollarhyde,” Clayton said when he rode up to where we stood, dismounted and resting our horses.
He looked the same as I remembered him—ten-dollar suit and a neatly shaped, short-brimmed hat on his head. He was riding a high-stepping black, gaited mare, and you didn’t see many gaited horses around in those days, at least not out West. It was a fancy horse for a fancy man in a banker’s hat.
“You’re a long way from Kansas, Lowe,” Papa said, and then turned his attention to the Ranger. “Hello, Captain Pike. How are things with the Rangers?”
“There ain’t Rangers anymore. You know that. Hasn’t been since after the war.” Pike pulled his makings out and began to build a cigarette.
Clayton Lowe tapped the badge on the breast of his coat. “State Police, Mr. Dollarhyde.”
The State Police and Governor Davis were the talk of Texas, even though we didn’t hear much news out in the boondocks. A lot of Texans said Davis got mad when the Confederate government wouldn’t have him and joined up with the Union and became a general. But those saying that were mostly Democrats and Southern men. When the Republicans took over after the war, Davis was elected as governor.
Things were bad in Texas then, with the Rangers disbanded and outlaws running wild, and the bad blood on the part of most of those who had been on the losing side of the war. Davis tried to get Texas broken up into several smaller states, but couldn’t swing it. Next thing he did was form the State Police, and those officers declared martial law in several towns or counties and levied heavy fines and taxes, supposedly to cover the cost of the men they sent to enforce it. Democrats said the State Police were a bunch of ne’er-do-wells and former slaves out to get their revenge through extortion and high-handed ways. I don’t know if the State Police did any good, but in fairness, anybody who hired black men for police officers wasn’t going to be spoken of highly by men like my Papa.
“Didn’t take you for a lawman,” Papa said.
Clayton smiled. “Duly appointed by Governor Davis as a lieutenant for Montague County.”
“You aren’t in Montague County.”
“My jurisdiction is anywhere in Texas.”
“What brings you here, Lowe? I’m sure you didn’t ride all this way to pass the time of day, and as you can see, I have work to do.”
“It’s your work that interests us,” the bearded man said.
“If you’re still claiming I stole your cattle, I assure you there is nothing here that isn’t mine,” Papa said.
“We’ll be the judge of what you’ve put your brand on,” the bearded man said and spurred his horse forward.
Maybe he did it on accident, or maybe he aimed his horse at Papa on purpose. No matter, he was mistaken if he thought Papa would step out of the way. Instead, Papa jerked off his hat and swatted it at the horse’s nose. It shied away and the bearded man had to grab leather to keep from falling off.
A couple of Papa’s vaqueros were riding in from the herd and Captain Pike was quicker to notice them than the other policemen were. “Ride easy, men.”
The bearded man got his horse pulled up and tugged at the pistol on his hip.
Before Papa could go for his own gun, Gunn took two steps past him and pointed his Dance at the bearded man. He practiced with that thing as much as Papa would let him and as much as we could stand him blazing away and making a racket shooting at tin cans around the headquarters.
He was a fine shot, even though the pistol was so worn out that he had to roll the cylinder on his thigh after he cocked it and before each shot to make sure the next chamber was lined up with the barrel. I saw a little tremble in Gunn’s jaw, but his gun hand was steady as a rock.
“You hold on, Moon!” Clayton shouted at the bearded man. “Listen to me!”
The bearded man let go of his gun butt. “Pa, I don’t have to take that off any man.”
Clayton pointed his finger at Papa. “Tell your boy to holster his gun.”
Papa kept his hand on his own pistol and nodded at the bearded one, Moon. “You teach your man some manners.”
“Do as he says, Mr. Dollarhyde, before we all end up in a killing,” Captain Pike said—I still thought of him as a Ranger captain, although he was no such thing anymore. He seemed the calmest man on the scene and kept his voice low and fiddled with his cigarette as if nothing were happening.
The black man dressed like a farmer tried to move his horse out wide of us. He had a new Joslyn rimfire rifle across his saddle swells and two Remington pistols strapped around the middle of his overalls.
“Tell that man to stay where he is,” Papa said.
“Zeke, you stop,” Clayton said.
The black man pulled up. “You’re the boss, but say the word and I’ll bust a cap on him. Teach him some respect the only way you can with his kind.”
“You mind your mouth,” Papa said.
“You don’t do the telling,” Zeke said. His rifle, laid like it was across his saddle, was pointed right at Papa.
“Show him your badge, Zeke,” Clayton said.
The black man grinned, but not funny-like, and tapped the badge pinned to one gallus of his overalls. “Had me enough of your kind. Ain’t listening to you no more. The governor done swore me in, and you’ve got to do what I says.”
“Is that so?” Papa asked.
Zeke nodded. “State’s paying me wages and mileage. Sold me a rifle gun and a good horse on credit till I can work it off.”
Papa spat in the dirt, just like Gunn was apt to do. “Man through here a while back told me how your bunch operates. Bullies and thieves working for a bunch of low-down carpetbaggers.”
“That’s a damned lie,” the bearded one called Moon said.
“Shut up, son,” Clayton said to him.
Papa was still eyeing that black man. “Sold you a horse and gun on credit, huh?”
“Seventy dollars for this here horse and fifty dollars for this gun,” the black man said.
“And how much for that badge you’re packing?”
“Three dollars.”
“Well, pat yourself on the back. Your lieutenant here sold you a ten-dollar crow bait and a rifle that cost maybe thirty. They’ll probably fire you as soon as you work off your bill. Hire them some other like you so they can make some more money.”
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m the law now.”
“Slave, weren’t you? All filled up with yourself since they gave you that badge? Going to get some evens on us white folks?”
“You keep talking. We find you with stolen cattle, we’re going to hang you.”
“Shut up, Zeke!” Clayton said.
“Captain Pike, I wouldn’t think you would run around with such men as these,” Papa said.
The former Ranger lit his cigarette and squinted through its smoke at Papa. “Man’s got to work, and they’re the only game in town.”
“Listen, Dollarhyde. We’re going to look your herd over, like it or not,” Clayton said. “If everything looks on the up-and-up we’ll ride out of here without another word. If we find something questionable, we’ll impound your herd until the courts can work it out.”
“Like hell you will,” Papa said.
“Have your son put down his gun,” Clayton said.
“Mr. Dollarhyde, this isn’t worth the trouble you’re about to cause yourself,” Captain Pike said. “Let the lieutenant here look at your herd.”
Papa twisted around and looked at his vaqueros sitting their horses fifty yards behind us. “Any of these men take one more step toward our herd, you shoot them down.”
“Papa!” I said. I knew that there wasn’t a single steer in that herd that wasn’t wearing only our brand or that we didn’t have a bill of sale for. It wouldn’t hurt for Clayton and his men to look at them.
“Shush, Hamish. Pull your gun,” Papa said and slid his own out of its holster. He held it hanging beside his leg.
“Do you understand you’re resisting duly appointed officers of the law?” Clayton asked.
“This pistol doesn’t give a shit who you are, nor what jackleg politician gave you the right to steal,” Papa said.
Clayton was so mad he sprayed spit with the next thing he said. “You’ll not take that herd north without our inspection. There are men in Jacksboro who have the same claims as I do.”
“Go get them.”
“I’ll put the army on you. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Don’t let them buffalo you, Pa,” Moon said. “I ain’t scared of this man or his bunch of greasers.”
“What about me?” Gunn asked, his pistol still pointing at Moon. “You scared of me?”
“How about this, Mr. Dollarhyde?” Captain Pike asked. “What say you ride into Jacksboro with us? Tell your side of things to the judge there. If it’s like you say it is, you can drive your herd, no more questions asked.”
“Trust to some carpetbag judge? I’ve heard the only way a Southerner can get justice out of the new court system is to line their pockets with a bribe,” Papa said.
“You’ll get a fair shake,” Clayton said.
“A fair shake? Word’s out on your State Police. Seems like most of your prisoners get shot trying to escape,” Papa threw back at him. “Or do you call it resisting arrest?”
“You have my word,” Captain Pike said. “Nobody is going to shoot you. You can even keep your guns.”
Papa looked at me and I saw the gleam in his eyes like he had when he thought he had outsmarted you. “Let me think on it some.”
“Make up your mind now,” Clayton said.
“I need to talk to my men about it,” Papa said. “They’re liable to make trouble if I go off with you without explaining it.”
“Zeke and Moon will go with you back to the herd,” Clayton said.
“Let him talk to his men alone, Lieutenant,” Captain Pike said. “We aren’t in any hurry.”
Clayton argued some, but finally gave in.
“What happened to your arm?” Moon asked Gunn.
“Fell asleep in a snowstorm and the wolves gnawed it off.” Gunn holstered his pistol and started for his horse.
“I get my chance, I’m going to break off your other arm and feed it to you.”
Gunn never gave Moon the courtesy of looking back at him. He put a toe in the stirrup and swung on his horse and followed Papa and me back to where our men waited. I twisted around in the saddle in time to see that Moon lift his rifle and almost point it at us, but Captain Pike rode up beside him and knocked it down. They were still having words when Papa gave us all our instructions.
“I’m going with them to Jacksboro,” Papa said. “Hamish, you’re the oldest, so you’ll be in charge of the herd. Take Gunn and Joseph with you. I don’t want any of you around if worse comes to worst and those carpetbaggers show up at the ranch.”
“Okay, Papa,” I said.
“You listen to your men. They know more about driving a trail herd than you do, no matter what you think,” Papa said.
“Trail herd?”
“Yes. As soon as I’m out of sight you start this herd for Abilene. You’ll have at least two days head start on anybody that comes after you. Maybe more. You push hard and when you get north of Rush Springs you hide the stock in the Cross Timbers.”
“Why’s he in charge?” Gunn asked.
Papa ignored him. “You lay over for a month. Drift the herd a little west and let them graze un
til things calm down. Come fall, you go on to market. I’ll meet you in Kansas or send word if it’s safe to come back here.”
“What about you, Papa?” I asked. “I don’t like the look of those policemen.”
“You worry about this herd. Let me take care of myself,” Papa said. “Can I count on you boys?”
We both nodded.
Papa rode off with those policemen, but when he did he had six vaqueros riding around him. The rest of us started the herd north that evening—a little short of a thousand head of steers, and me in charge of it.
“Don’t get to thinking you’re my boss,” Gunn said as he passed by me.
“Do you think Papa will be all right?”
“Papa is safe. Any one of our men he took with him would bury those policemen and never tell a soul.”
He was right. We had other worries besides Papa.
And I should have been worried. That judge in Jacksboro called out the 6th Cavalry from Fort Richardson and put them on our trail, and twenty or so of those Union League Texans who had moved back home from hiding out in Kansas formed a posse and joined them.
Chapter Twenty-five
“You sure this is the way you want it?” Gunn asked.
I stared at the steps leading up into the passenger car and clutched my valise in my hand. The planks on the depot porch creaked under my feet. “I told you I was leaving.”
“Going to be a college man, huh?” He flipped his cigarette butt at the train in front of us.
“I’m not stealing.”
Gunn eyed my valise, as if he could see right through it to the wad of money bound tightly with a piece of string and tucked neatly inside my one change of clothes.
“He won’t see it that way, and he won’t ever forgive you for it.”
“It’s what I have to do.”
“How long does college take?” You would have never guessed Gunn was only seventeen. He was already taller than Papa, blond, knife-edged and lean as a whip, and always with that far-off look to him. Maybe it was that his eyes were older.
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