Destiny, Texas

by Brett Cogburn

  “Is that all?” the land agent asked.

  “The boys and I claimed a quarter section each under the state homestead act, and that pretty much covers the headquarters where most of my improvements are. Had every one of my hands that would, file on a one-sixty themselves. Covered as much of the best water and graze I could.”

  “Standard practice,” the land agent said.

  When he said it was standard practice, he was right—the game being that the ranch owner paid the filing fee and the cowboys would sign their claim over to him when the five-year settlement and improvement clause was fulfilled. In truth, a lot of cowboys were kind of wandering sorts, but it didn’t matter if they stayed around to “prove up” their claims. What mattered was that they tied up the land on the books and kept anyone else from filing a claim for it. You couldn’t get a deed to everything that way, but in a country where water determined where you could live and where you couldn’t, it was a good way to lock down a big chunk of country.

  “And Clayton Lowe likes to tell everyone that moves in that we don’t hold a deed to anything,” Gunn said.

  “We don’t hold the deeds to enough,” Papa said. “Not if we’re going to keep it all together.”

  “I know some big operators who don’t outright own much more than their headquarters. Hire enough cowboys and you can hold the range around you,” Gunn said. “And none of our neighbors are pushing us.”

  “For how long? Are you willing to bet the future of this ranch on range customs and the goodwill of others?”

  “We’re the biggest outfit west of anywhere that matters.”

  “And we end up having more men on the payroll than we really need, simply because we need to keep up a presence. It’s an expensive bluff, and our books would look a hell of a lot better if we could cut our payroll in half.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” the land agent said. “To solve your problems.”

  “How much are you talking about buying?” Gunn asked.

  Papa shrugged. “I’d like to buy it all.”

  I gave a low whistle.

  “But unfortunately, I don’t have the money for that,” Papa said. “Me and Mr. Gunter here are talking about forty thousand acres, and that’s going to break our bank account and then some.”

  “Where are you getting the rest of the money?” Gunn asked.

  “You let me do the worrying about that. You never have worried about it before.”

  “That’s taking a big risk.”

  “You don’t get anywhere without taking some calculated chances.”

  “Forty thousand won’t cut it,” Gunn said. “I don’t see taking the risk when it doesn’t totally solve our worries about somebody else coming in and filing on our ground or buying it out from under us.”

  “Your father thinks he has a plan for that,” the land man said.

  “We’re going to add more along the Little Wichita and up to the south bank of the Big Wichita, along with a few choice other spots,” Papa said. “I’m also buying all I can along our eastern line. That way, we can block access and easement to anybody moving west from the settlements. Fewer of those settlers are apt to spy something they want if they have to ride way to the south to get around behind us.”

  “It’s going to be spotty, at best, and kind of patchwork,” the land man said.

  “It would work a lot better if it weren’t for that school law.” Papa saw the question on my face. “The state requires that every alternate section be left for school land in case someday somebody wants to build a school there.”

  “There ain’t any schools out here,” Gunn said.

  “From the sound of you, I’d say that’s a shame.” Papa knew how to shut Gunn up. “What do you think, Joseph?”

  I stumbled over that, not knowing what to say. Papa never asked me my opinion about anything, unless it was horses or cows. “You’ll do what’s best.”

  Gunn got up out of his chair and started down the porch steps.

  “Where are you going?” Papa asked.

  “You’re going to do whatever you want to.”

  “I want you to take out the fence crew after dinner.”

  “The boys are about sick of building fence. None of them hired on to hold a set of posthole diggers.”

  “They’ll do what I tell them to if they want paid.”

  “Listen to him,” I said to Papa. “We won’t keep good cowboys if you keep sending them out to build fence.”

  “In two years, maybe less, I want this ranch fenced in.” Papa turned his attention back to the land agent, holding out his hand for a handshake. “Forty thousand acres at a dollar and a half an acre. You throw in the surveying, and give me a three-year option on another twenty thousand acres.”

  “Done.” The land man shook Papa’s hand.

  “You could have done this cheaper without borrowing money and building fence. Give me a crew of cowboys and I’ll guarantee you I can hold our lines,” Gunn said.

  “The deal is done. Do like I told you.”

  “As bad as I hate wire and fences, I’m riding to town to see if I can hire a fencing crew,” Gunn said. “Only way I know to keep from having to build it myself.”

  “You’re pretty loose with my money. In case you haven’t noticed, this ranch isn’t a democracy. And I don’t see you have any room to complain,” Papa said. “From what you spend on horses and fancy boots, and the tab that bartender in Destiny hits me up for every time I’m in town, I’d say you’ve been getting quite a bonus on your wages.”

  “Yes, master. I’ll get back to the fields while you tend to the smart stuff.”

  “You listen and learn and this place might be something to be proud of when I’m through and hand it over to you.”

  “Come on, Little Joe.” Gunn waved me down the steps.

  “You two get on that fence like I said,” Papa called out to us.

  “Just act like you’re going to do like he says,” Gunn said. “Makes him feel better.”

  “You don’t ever act like you’re going to do what he says.”

  “Keeping him humble is my job.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  1881

  “The old man has his way, we won’t be able to ride three steps without getting off our horse and opening a gate.” Gunn put his shoulder to the gatepost and leaned against it to get enough slack in the wire to lift the latch loop off it. “This used to be a good country until he went to fencing.”

  I looked up and down the line of barbwire stretching to the north and south as far as I could see—six strands and bull tight, just like Papa had said. It had taken him longer than he had wanted, but the whole ranch was finally fenced off, along with two other smaller pastures.

  “The only thing I like about looking at that fence is knowing I didn’t lift a finger to build it,” Gunn added.

  The road from the ranch to Destiny ran right through the gate Gunn was opening, and the trail up from Buffalo Springs joined it not far outside the gate. There was a big dust cloud coming up that trail.

  “What are you looking at?” Gunn asked as he closed the gate behind me.”

  “See for yourself.”

  Gunn mounted and rode to the intersection and stopped. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “That’s Prince Lowe riding point, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “So old Clayton is getting into the cow business?”

  “Looks like it. That’s a big herd for one crew to handle.”

  “Those Lowes don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to cattle. Old Clayton ought to stick to his other ventures.”

  At a glance, there were at least three thousand head of cattle coming up the trail. We waited long enough for Prince Lowe to reach us.

  “I wish you boys would move on,” he said. “You’re causing my leaders to scatter.”

  “Where’d you get that herd of wolf bait?” Gunn asked.

  Prince bit his tongue and didn’t let Gunn bait him
too far. “They may not be fancy Herefords like you brag about, but they’re good South Texas cattle.”

  Gunn was right. The Lowes didn’t know anything about cattle. That mixed herd was a cull lot if I had ever seen one. Half of the cows were so old as to be smooth mouthed, the calves were coughy and runny-eyed, and the entire herd was in poor flesh.

  “I guess you Lowes have taken it in your heads to get in the cow business,” Gunn said.

  “Pa’s got another herd like this one coming up the trail behind us.”

  “It’ll take a lot of grass to run them,” Gunn said.

  Prince looked smug. “Pa bought the Rafter J.”

  “Old man Dicketts didn’t have enough range to run a thousand head.”

  “We know what we’re doing.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “The city marshal’s looking for you again, Gunn.”

  “Is he still sore that I knocked that sign over?”

  “He’s sore that you rode your horse up on the porch of the saloon and busted half the boards.”

  “A man’s entitled to a good time.”

  “Tell that to the marshal if you’ve got the nerve to ride in there,” Prince said. “I gotta get back to work. Can’t say I ever enjoy talking to you.”

  “So long, Princey.”

  “You really ought not pick at him so,” I said as we rode through their leaders to the far side of the herd, causing the Lowe hands to cuss us.

  “Doing that is one of the few hobbies I can find out here to spend my spare time.”

  “You don’t want to ride into town with the marshal looking for you, do you? Might be best to let it lay for a while. I heard you tore up that saloon pretty bad.”

  “The marshal will get over it. I’m sure he already sent Papa the bill for damages.”

  “What saloon was it?”

  “Kaiser’s.”

  “Kaiser don’t own that anymore. Clayton Lowe bought it, from what I hear.”

  “And that’s supposed to bother me. Hell, I would have ridden my horse inside if I had known that.”

  “Still, it might be a good idea to stay out of Destiny for a while.”

  “What’s the matter with you? Used to be you rode into town every Saturday, rain sleet, snow, or shine. Doesn’t have anything to do with that Lowe girl marrying that dry goods salesman, does it?”

  “I’m not in the mood, that’s all.”

  “There are other fish in the sea. That Cindy was too bony, anyway.”

  “You’ve got the years on me, and I don’t see you sporting a wife.”

  “Wife?”

  “Carmelita is sweet on you. You ought to marry her before you get too old and no girl will look at you.”

  “I admit I’ve thought about marrying her just to piss Papa off,” Gunn said. “He’s the only man I know that marries a Mexican woman, but warns his son to stay away from them. Wouldn’t do for a Dollarhyde boy to stoop down with the peons. The man’s a walking contradiction.”

  “Carmelita’s a nice girl. She’d make you a good wife.”

  “I ain’t looking for a wife. When I finally get tired of this outfit I’m going to ride out of here. Who knows? I might take a notion to see Montana.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “At least I’m not pining over some skinny, bucktoothed snip that dumped me for a shirt salesman.”

  I looked back at the Lowe herd passing behind us. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  Gunn looked at the herd. “Clayton ain’t a patch on the seat of Papa’s pants. Let him try to play the cattleman.”

  “Why do you think Clayton wants in the cow business when he owns most of Destiny? He’s got his freight business, the store, his land office, and half a dozen farmers sharecropping for him.”

  “Be like him to take the opportunity to jab Papa in the eye with a sharp stick.”

  “That’s what I mean. Looks like more trouble.”

  Gunn waved at the city marshal at the edge of town, and then twisted in the saddle and grinned at me. “What trouble?”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “That’s going to be the last time they cut our fence,” Gunn whispered.

  The moon was full, and we could see almost as well as if it were daylight. About a hundred yards from where we had taken a stand in a plum bush thicket, three riders were dismounted on the far side of the fence.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Gunn was sitting in the grass with his Winchester rested on his knee. It was one of those new models, a ’76, and shot a short, fat cartridge that would knock over a locomotive. Gunn had to order every new shooting toy that came out, no matter how Papa complained about the expenses.

  “We’ve put the word out about what’s going to happen to anybody that cuts our fence. Time we teach this bunch a lesson.”

  “You can’t just shoot a man from ambush.”

  “Quiet. You spook them and I’m going to shoot you.”

  “It isn’t right, Gunn.”

  “I’ll show you right. The instant I hear that wire snap I’m going to put the fear in that bunch.”

  “We don’t even know who that is out there.”

  “Damned fence cutters. I don’t like wire any more than most of those free grassers, but you don’t tear up what’s ours. Probably the same bunch that stole those yearlings of ours. They could be fixing to cut our fence so they can ride in and moonlight a few more of our cows.”

  “You don’t know that. I still think those yearlings found a gap in the fence and wandered off. Given time, we’ll find them or they’ll show up.”

  “You should have stayed home. You’re a good hand. Maybe better than me, but this kind of stuff never has been your cup of tea. Leave the hard stuff to me.”

  “You don’t want to do this. Not really.”

  Gunn looked to his right and left. Three more of our cowboys were squatting in the grass to either side of us. “When I shoot, you shoot. Aim high, but cut it close enough to them so that they get the message. Satisfied with that, Little Joe?”

  “I say we ride down there and see who it is. We can get the law after them once we know who it is.”

  “That county sheriff is allergic to a horse. He wouldn’t ride out of Destiny if you set his tail on fire.”

  “What about the Rangers?”

  “They talk a big fight, but they haven’t been able to do anything about this fence cutting, either.”

  All over the western half of Texas, night riders were cutting fences. As more and more barbed wire went up, the trouble grew worse. Some of the big cattlemen were for the wire, keeping other cattle from drifting on their range, grazing off their grass, and messing up their breeding programs. Most of the fence cutting sorts were smaller operators or men who depended on public lands to graze their cattle. The fact that people like us had fenced in land, consisting in a big part of those alternating school sections that still belonged to the state, was a fight that went all the way to the capital in Austin. While the politicians were trying to figure out what to do, the range country had split into two factions and things were about at a fever pitch.

  “Don’t do it, Gunn. Think.”

  “We keep what’s ours.”

  The first strand of barbed wire snapped, and our cowboys’ guns cracked at the same time. Gunn took a little longer to shoot, a full count after the rest of them. I thought he was being more careful to make sure he shot high. Full moon or not, shooting at night was an iffy proposition and a man couldn’t really use his sights.

  The men at the fence shouted something and fought to keep their horses under control. Only one of them managed to find his stirrup in a hurry.

  “Give ’em another go,” Gunn said.

  The boys shot again, flame leaping from their gun barrels so bright it spotted my eyes. Something ripped through the grass between Gunn and me, and then I saw pistol flame from one of those men at the fence.

  The fence cutters fired some more, and our b
oys didn’t need to be told what to do. They shot back, that time not holding high. Two of the men at the fence had managed to get on their horses, but the third man was sagging against the barbed wire. In an instant, his horse was down and kicking out the last of its life beside him.

  “Stop shooting, damn you,” one of the fence cutters called out at us.

  Either our hands heard him, or their magazines were dry. The two on horseback down at the fence managed to get their buddy untangled from the wire and up behind one of them.

  “We letting them go?” one of our cowboys asked.

  “I think they got the message,” Gunn said.

  When the fence cutters were gone, we rode down to the fence.

  “That’s Prince Lowe’s horse,” one of the men said. “Deader than a doorknob.”

  “Any of you boys hurt?” Gunn asked.

  Muffled confirmations said that everybody on our side had come out unscathed.

  “If that was Prince in the wire, I don’t know that he fared so well,” another said.

  “This isn’t good, Gunn,” I said.

  “Should have known it was those Lowes.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  It didn’t surprise us when two Texas Rangers rode into the ranch a week later. It did surprise us some that one of them was our old acquaintance Lucius Pike. He looked a good bit older, but every bit as tough.

  Papa came down from the big house and stood with his hands on his hips and watched the Rangers ride up the trail. Gunn was sitting in a chair in front of the bunkhouse, cleaning that rifle of his.

  “Howdy, Lucius,” Papa said when the two lawmen reached the bunkhouse. “You’re early. Would have thought a man your age would sleep in a little later.”

  “Hard to believe it’s past daylight and you don’t have these boys out working,” Pike said.

  “This younger generation, you know. What brings you out this way?”

  Pike lifted his hat and scratched his head. He hadn’t been bald back the first time we met him. “Found a dead horse on your south line.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Buzzards had been at him, but not so much that I couldn’t tell he had been shot in the neck.”