A Reason to Die

by William W. Johnstone

  “I’m damn sorry to have to tell you this, Coleman, but me and Junior are the only ones comin’ back.” Amid a sea of disbelief, she tried to explain. “The people in Atoka hired ’em a gunslinger that damn-near got all of us.” She motioned toward Junior. “Junior got shot and they was holdin’ me prisoner.” Junior nodded his confirmation as Clementine continued. “That gunslinger shot Brice and Shorty and Slick. There was a helluva lot of shootin’ goin’ on, and Papa caught a bullet in his side, and there weren’t no reason for that. He didn’t even have a gun.”

  Coleman tilted his head back and howled like a wolf when Clementine said Brice’s name, wounded gravely by the loss of his son, even more than that of his father.

  Clementine’s brother Beau could not seem to understand what she was saying. He just swayed his head back and forth for a few moments as if trying to sort it all out in his brain. “Where was all this shootin’ goin’ on?” he finally asked.

  “At the train station,” Clementine said, “when Papa got off the train.”

  “All you was supposed to do was meet Papa at the train,” Beau went on, still finding it hard to believe. “Why did they come after you? Did you hold up a store or somethin’? That woulda been downright dumb.”

  “No, damn it,” Clementine responded, starting to heat up over the line of Beau’s questioning. “We never did a thing in that town, did we, Junior?”

  The big simpleton shook his head slowly several times to emphasize the truth in Clementine’s statement.

  “We were only in that town to meet Papa, stick him on a horse, and bring him here.” Witnessing the doubtful reactions from everyone, and especially her two brothers, she finally told them about the man and woman they’d killed at the trading post. “Somehow, that damn gunslinger knew about it, so that’s the reason they laid a trap for us at the train station.”

  “Damn,” Coleman swore, still finding it hard to believe Clementine’s story. “That son of a bitch is gonna hafta pay for takin’ Brice’s life.” He paused, then remembering, he added, “and Papa’s.” He looked then at the porch behind him and the frail little gray-haired woman holding on to the corner post for support. “Mama, you don’t need to be out here.” He motioned to his wife then. “Clara, take Mama back inside the house. She’ll take a chill out here.”

  He waited until his wife put her arm around the frail little woman and led her back into the house. In the yard, they could still hear her pitiful question. “Where’s Clive? You said my husband was comin’ home.” Clara hurried her inside and closed the door behind them.

  Back to Clementine then, Coleman asked, “What about that bank up in Wichita you were so hot to rob? What happened to that big plan of yours?”

  “Kiss my ass, Coleman,” she blurted. “I went up there to rob it, so I damn-well robbed it.”

  Unimpressed by her bluster, he asked, “Where’s the money?”

  “In my saddlebags and Brice’s,” she replied. “Twenty-one hundred dollars, easiest job we’ve ever done. They was so scared, they couldn’t hand us the money fast enough. Ain’t that right, Junior?”

  “That’s right, Coleman,” Junior answered dutifully. “Easiest job we’ve ever done.”

  “Well, that’s some better,” Beau said, “but it don’t make up for Papa and Brice.”

  “No, it don’t,” Coleman stated. “I mean to kill that son of a bitch that shot my son.” His nostrils flared in anger as he glared at Clementine. “Do you know where to find him?”

  She met his glare with a sly smile. “Yeah, I know where to find him and I coulda shot him two days ago, if I’d wanted to.” She glanced around the little circle of men that had crowded in so as not to miss anything.

  “Well, why in the hell didn’t you?” Beau demanded.

  “Because I’ve got bigger plans for Mr. Perley Gates than just shootin’ him.”

  “Who?” Beau asked, thinking he had not heard correctly.

  “Perley Gates,” Clementine repeated. “That’s his name.” Warming up to her subject then, she laid it out for them. “If we go about this the right way, we can wipe out his whole family and end up with a helluva lot of cows. He’s got two brothers and I say ‘an eye for an eye.’ He killed Papa and Brice. We kill him and his two brothers and anybody else that gets in the way. Cut out half his herd and drive ’em down to Houston and sell ’em.” She winked at Beau. “’Course, I don’t know if you’ve got what it takes to be in the cattle business.”

  Coleman hadn’t interrupted while his younger brother and sister were bantering with each other. He was accustomed to his sister’s brash boldness when suggesting holdups and rustling, but he was thinking that maybe she was talking sense this time. She had been right about the bank in Kansas. Maybe he wasn’t giving her credit for her brains. “You might have a good idea,” he finally said. “Let’s go in and get something to eat and we’ll talk about it.” Remembering, he said, “Bring those saddlebags in and we’ll count that money out.”

  Clementine took the saddlebags into the kitchen and dumped the money in the middle of the table. Everyone gathered around while she counted it, waiting expectantly to see what the individual payday would be. No one ever questioned her figuring, since she was the only one of them who had a bent for numbers. Since she had already counted the money several times after the bank robbery, she knew what the splits would amount to—considerably more with the loss of Brice, Shorty, and Slick.

  “Before I divide this up, I’m takin’ two hundred dollars off the top that goes to Junior for his part.” She counted it out on the table before him. “He’s earned it. If he hadn’t come to get me, wouldn’t none of us be gettin’ anything.”

  Junior grinned in stupid appreciation for her words of praise.

  “Two hundred dollars, Junior,” she teased him. “That’ll buy a lot of dried apples. That’s good pay for takin’ a little ride up Kansas way, ain’t it?”

  He picked up the stack of bills and fanned them, the grin on his face almost reaching from ear to ear.

  With the oversized simpleton taken care of, Clementine started dealing the rest of the money in four equal stacks. When the last ten-dollar bill was placed on the stack nearest her, each of the four shares totaled four hundred and seventy-five dollars. Although no one announced the total, they all had added it up as Clementine dealt it. Junior, content to that point, couldn’t help noticing that the other stacks of money were considerably taller than the stack Clementine had given him. He looked at Clementine, his grin turned upside down.

  “What’s the matter, Junior?” Clementine asked.

  “It looks like my cut ain’t nowhere near as big as everybody else’s,” he complained.

  “Ours is a little bit bigger than yours,” she said, “’cause we’re family. This is a family business. But your share is twice what it woulda been if Shorty and the others hadn’t got shot. Besides, I wanted to give you that extra hundred ’cause I know I can always count on you. I made sure you got that first before anybody else got anything.”

  “Oh,” he said, the simple grin reappearing. “I understand now.”

  Coleman and Beau exchanged glances of disbelief at the simple giant’s stupidity. His acceptance of Clementine’s explanation for his small share of the bank money was proof of his devotion to her. Neither Shorty nor Slick would have willingly settled for an unequal share. They recognized Junior’s usefulness to the family, however, for he was powerful and fearless, and never hesitated to obey a command, especially if that command came from Clementine. Besides that, Coleman thought it a good idea to have someone like Junior in the event there was a need for a sacrifice to save a family member.

  After the money was split, Coleman and Clementine got down to the business of planning the war on the Triple-G. He was adamant that it would, indeed, be a war, and not a simple raid. Both were in agreement on that point, for both were passionate for revenge. Beau was long in the habit of going along with whatever his older brother decided to do, so he was content to
let Coleman and his sister decide how the war would be handled.

  Beau’s son Jesse would drive the wagon needed to carry a small tent and a full load of supplies, not unlike an army unit going into battle. Operations would stem from a camp they’d establish on the Red River. Jesse, generally recognized as the gang’s fast gun, wasn’t pleased with the job of driving the wagon. He didn’t complain, however, since he was by far the youngest of the Cobb men.

  They would likely be encamped for several weeks while methodically rustling the Triple-G range and eventually killing the three Gates brothers and any of their crew who got in the way.

  Also, they needed to stock ample supplies for the wives, who would be left behind to take care of their mother. Clara and Dixie were up to the task, having been left to care for themselves on many occasions.

  When they were through with their planning, they began their preparations.

  * * *

  When all was ready, the expedition saddled up and Coleman led his party of assassins out of The Hole and set his course to strike the trail that Clementine and Junior had ridden down from Paris. Astride a flea-bitten gray gelding, Coleman looked the part of a general as he sat rigidly upright in the saddle, his hands holding the reins close to his midsection, with his elbows out. When observing the ragged bunch that made up his command, he seemed hugely out of place, but it had been many a man’s misfortune to assume Coleman was not mongrel enough to lead them to pillage, plunder, and kill.

  * * *

  As Clementine had promised, it took two days to reach Paris. Coleman pulled up about one hundred yards short of the small gathering of stores and shops. Since Clementine and Junior had been in the town, Coleman didn’t want to risk the possibility that they would be recognized, but he wanted to get a look at the town. When Clementine pulled her horse up beside his, he asked, “Is there a sheriff ?”

  “Nope,” she replied. “They got a feller that acts like the sheriff sometimes. He’s the blacksmith and he ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

  Coleman stared at the town for a few minutes longer before commenting. “It’s a nice peaceful little town, ain’t it?” He cast a thin, evil smile in her direction. “For now, though, we’ll ride around it.” He heard a groan behind him from Beau, who had already spotted Patton’s Saloon.

  “They’ll get to know us when we’re ready to let ’em know us,” Coleman said to him. “We need to get ourselves set up in a camp first, start thinnin’ out that Triple-G bunch. Then when we’re ready, we’ll take what we want outta the town. That’ll be after all three Gates brothers are dead, and what cattle they’ve got left will be scattered all over Texas.”

  “You always were a big talker,” Beau remarked. “Why don’t we hit this town the same way we hit any town this size? Ride in and take what we want, and anybody who don’t like it gets a .44 slug for his trouble, startin’ with that damn blacksmith.”

  “Because, when we hit a town like this, we hit it fast, before they know what hit ’em. We take what we want and get gone before anybody can get word to the Texas Rangers,” Clementine answered for Coleman. “You’ve already forgot the main reason we’re here. That’s to clean out the Triple-G. We’d be damn fools to go shootin’ this town up before we go to work on that ranch. The damn Rangers would be up here before we got started good.”

  Beau paused and let that sink in. “I reckon you’re right. I reckon I worked up a powerful thirst ridin’ up here and I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

  “I was thinkin’ the same thing as you, Aunt Clem,” Junior piped up, proudly. “You know, about not shootin’ up the town first.”

  “Damn it, Junior!” Clementine railed. “I ain’t your aunt.”

  “I forgot again,” he was quick to apologize.

  Beau laughed at the bungling simpleton. “That’s right, Junior. Clementine ain’t your aunt. Your aunt is a lop-eared mule and your uncle is a split-hoof ox.” They all laughed at that, including Junior, who wasn’t sure if it was an insult or not. “Don’t matter, anyway,” Beau went on. “There’s a bottle in the wagon. Let’s ride around this town and find somewhere to make camp. I’m hungry.”

  Clementine led them along Muskrat Creek to the place where she had discovered the western boundary of the Triple-G range. It was decided to make camp there for the night, then move to a more permanent camp across the Red River the next day.

  While Clementine and Jesse gathered wood for a fire, Beau walked up to stand beside Coleman as he looked out toward the east and a small group of cattle that had strayed from the herd.

  “I think I’m cravin’ some fresh beef for supper,” Beau remarked.

  Coleman grunted. “That suits my taste, too. Why don’t you pick us out a nice one and we’ll send Junior to fetch it.”

  “You reckon they’ll have anybody nighthawkin’?” Beau asked.

  “Maybe. I hope they do, then we’ll have one less to worry about, after we settle with him.” Perley Gates was responsible for his son’s death and the sooner he saw an opportunity to send some of the Triple-G riders to hell, the better.

  While the horses were still being taken care of, Beau told Junior to go cut out one of the cows in the small bunch of strays.

  When Junior returned with the cow, Beau set him to work killing and skinning it. Handy with a skinning knife, Junior was soon slicing prime steaks from the carcass and handing them to Clementine to roast over the fire.

  “I swear,” Beau offered, “ol’ Perley Gates and his brothers sure raise some tasty cows.” His comment brought an appreciative chuckle from the others, even Coleman.

  They saw no sign of a nighthawk long after they had enjoyed their fill of the freshly slaughtered cow. By the time everyone was ready to call it a day, they’d made no effort to disguise their fire or their camp. In fact, Coleman welcomed a visit from a Triple-G rider, and insisted that, in that event, he deserved the privilege of striking the first blow in honor of his son Brice. To his disappointment, however, the night passed peacefully enough.

  In the morning, after a breakfast provided by the late Triple-G heifer, they left the remains of the carcass where it could be easily found, and crossed the river to Oklahoma Territory. The first order of business was to find someplace that was not so easy to spot.

  * * *

  Charlie Ramie sought out Rubin as soon as he came in to headquarters that morning. He found Rubin and John in the barn. “Somebody killed one of our cows last night,” Charlie said, which captured their attention at once. “Didn’t just shoot it. They cut it up and cooked some of it, then just left the rest of it to rot. I found it on my way in from ridin’ nighthawk. Found their camp, too.”

  “Indians?” Rubin asked, knowing an occasional cow was stolen by some renegade Indians, usually to keep from starving to death.

  “I don’t hardly think so,” Charlie answered. “When it’s Injuns, they usually take everything they can use. Whoever did this just cut off enough to eat for supper and left almost the whole cow.” While Rubin and John exchanged glances of suspicion, Charlie continued. “I didn’t see no sign they was Injuns around their camp. Tracks were from shod horses and boots, and they had a wagon.”

  “Damn,” John uttered. “Which way’d they go?”

  “Looked like they crossed the river and headed north,” Charlie said.

  “Sounds like a bunch of outlaws headin’ into Indian Territory to hide out,” John said. “Decided they’d have a little supper on us, I reckon.”

  “Maybe,” Rubin allowed, “and maybe not.” He was thinking of the pair Perley had told them about, especially the woman. She had come looking for Perley, and when she’d found him, she’d disappeared for a few days. He believed, like Perley, that the woman, not wanting to give up her quest for revenge, was up to something. He had a bad feeling that the incident with the dead cow was connected to the vengeful woman and it was a sign that she was planning to cause the Triple-G a hell of a lot of trouble. “I’m thinkin’ this might be Perley’s lady friend co
me to visit, and she’s brought some of her friends with her. Go on and get yourself some breakfast, Charlie. Make sure you keep your eyes open all the time you’re workin’ the cattle.”

  The two brothers went at once to the forge behind the barn where Perley was fitting Buck for new shoes. Actually, Perley was watching Ralph Johnson shoe Buck. Ralph was a good blacksmith, so that was practically all he did, only occasionally working with the cattle. He saved the crew from having to go to town to get their horses shod.

  Hearing about the butchered cow near Muskrat Creek, Perley reacted much the same as Rubin had. “I got a feelin’ Clementine had something to do with it. Did you say Charlie said they didn’t go to any trouble to try to hide the carcass or their camp?”

  “That’s right,” Rubin replied.

  “Kinda like they wanted us to know about it, ain’t it?” John said. “I expect we’d bestride up there to the river before they start killin’ more ’n one cow at a time.”

  Rubin nodded in agreement, but Perley differed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “I’m thinkin’ they’re hopin’ to draw us up there and they’re sittin’ in an ambush somewhere ready to cut us down.”

  Rubin nodded again as he considered that possibility.

  Perley continued. “The best thing to do is for me to slip up that way tonight and scout along the river before it gets light enough to see me. It’ll be easier for one man to do that without attractin’ attention.”

  “I don’t know,” John protested. “That river runs close to fifteen miles along our north range. They could be anywhere.”

  “They’re gonna be where our cattle are bunched,” Perley replied, “and right now, that’s in the wide bend about three miles from Muskrat Creek.” He put his hand up when both of his brothers started to protest. “Ain’t no use. Me and Buck are better at slippin’ around than you two ol’ married men, and I’m the one who brought all this trouble down on the family, so it’s settled. I’ll head out tonight right after supper, but we need to tell all the men to be careful every day now, till we get this thing finished.”