by Darrel Bird
The Winslow War
By Darrel Bird
Copy©right 2015 by Darrel Bird
The Winslow War
Part 1
He pulled back on the reins a little as the horse stopped at the top of a bluff overlooking the valley below with its pines, cedar and sage. A stream meandered down the middle of the valley like a blue serpent.
He wondered if the horse would have walked clean over the bluff if he had not pulled back on the reins. He was a war horse that had taken him through the battle at Chickamauga, and a hundred other smaller skirmishes. The war was over.
“Home! That’s what’s down there horse. Do you see it?”
He could see the house and barns off there in the distance, on a bench of land overlooking the creek. A goodly stand of pine grew behind the house, and cattle dotted the small hills. A horse stood tied to a post, in front of the log house. He saw his mother, father, sister, and two brothers in his minds eye, even though dimly after four years of war. They would be sitting down to a meal about now as the shadows grew long in the evening.
He reached up to feel his long beard. He would have shaved, but the war had left him destitute, his clothes ragged, and he felt, rather than saw his ribs poking through the skin. The south had lost the war, leaving him no reward for the years of fighting, and game had been scarce on his way through Arkansas, Texas, and New Mexico. By the time he reached Winslow he was trail worn to the bone.
“My family may shoot me for a raider, well lets get on down through the cut, and find out horse.”
He reined the horse left toward a cut in the rocks that would allow him off the mountain, and into the valley below. Two hours later he stopped the horse on the hardened ground of the yard. There were a few chickens poking around the yard. A lazy hound emerged from the shade of the porch, and walked over to see the strangers in his yard. The hound looked up at him as he sat saddle. Blake Rendell spat in the direction of the hound, but the hound deftly dodged the spit.
“You better just move on mister, ain’t nothing here for you, and this rifle won’t miss!”
“Ain’t much of a way to welcome a body home from the wars!”
“Is that you Blake?” A head stuck out around the door post.
“Yep, and who might you be?”
“Why, don’t you know me?” A tall young man walked across the porch, and down the steps.
Blake peared closely into the face, “Is that you Calvin?”
“Sure is, get down off that nag, so’s I can get a better look.”
Blake stepped down, and when he got to ground level Calvin stepped closer to peer into his face.
“By cracky blake, its good your home.”
The two men hugged, “Its been a long time son, a awful long time, where’s Pa and the rest?”
A sadness came over the young mans face, “I got some grub on Blake, come on in and I’ll tell you.”
“Ain’t nothing but beef stew Blake.” Calvin said as he ladled up a plate full out of a pot hanging over the fire place.
“It’ll do boy, I an’t had nothing but rattle snake in a week.” Blake began wolfing down the food. After he had eaten Calvin poured him a second cup of coffee.
“I reckon its all bad news I got to tell Blake, Ma died of the pox. Pa, sis and Jeff died of bullets, they are buried out yonder by the creek.”
“What? Bullets! Why?”
“Carson, who owns the snake brand says we don’t have right to this ranch since you fought for the south Blake. He’s been rip roaring around declaring we got to get off. You know Pa, he ain’t going to budge an inch. Carson’s men raided us about three weeks ago, and done kilt our whole family Blake. I ain’t been quite right in the head since I buried’em.”
”I was affixing to just ride off by myself somewhere come tomorrow.”
There was a long silence as Blake stared into the cup, “Family? Gone?”
Calvin sat at the table, a miserable look on his face, “I hated to have to tell you Blake, it just beats all, I got to tell you, you just being home from the war and all.”
Blake looked across the table into the tortured eyes of his youngest brother, and realized what the boy had gone through. Blake was used to death aplenty, but his heart went out to the young man, as well as the grief that flooded his own soul.
“What are we gonna do Blake?”
“Well…I guess rebuild the ranch. How many head we got, do you know?”
“We got maybe five hundred head, but they are scattered to hell and gone. What are we gonna do about Carson since he killed our folks?”
“Do we have proof he done it?”
“No, not really, but I know he done it. Pa said he would try. I was off up Coon canyon looking for strays, and I found them there in the front yard. From the looks of it they put up a good fight.”
“Well, I ain’t giving up this ranch, and go skulking off with my tail atwixt my legs boy, but if we don’t get the ranch going, all we got left is getting justice. Justice don’t go far on an empty stomach.”
“Pa always said you was a stubborn man.”
Blake took the last sip of coffee from his cup, and stood up, his bushy face and dark eye’s immutable in the last light coming through the window.
“Boy, right now I’m as tired as it gets, let’s get some shuteye, and see how it looks in the morning.”
“I’ll do the dishes, goodnight Blake.”
“Night boy. I hate it that you had to see such a thing.”
Blake pulled his boots off, and stretched out on the bed. The tiredness of the past days washed through him, and in minutes he was asleep.
Blake was dreaming he was in a firefight. Cannon fire lit up the night, and he could hear the screams of horses. He awoke suddenly, and looked at the log walls around him. The gradual realization of where he was settled in. He rolled off the bed, and walked to the window. The east was just getting light. He pulled his boots on, and followed the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen.
“Sorry if I woke you, we ain’t got nothing but beef and beans left over from last night. I expect there’s eggs, but I ain’t much of a cook.”
“It’ll do boy, a sight more than I’ve been having.” He picked up a tin plate, and ladled it full of the stew from the night before.
“Pa was fixing to kill that hog before he got kilt. I should have, but I ain’t had the heart to do much.”
“Boy, I know its hard, but you got to reach down inside you, and buckle up little brother.”
“I reckon I can do that now you’re home Blake.”
“What we got for riding stock? My horse is too done in to work. He’s a war horse anyhow, and I’m partial to just let him live out his days on good pasture.”
“Well…my horse is rested enough, and there’s three or four head been grazing up Coon canyon, they’ll probably try to buck you off seeing as how they ain’t been rode much lately. I think Carson’s bunch either took the rest, or run them off.”
“Let’um buck, go see if you can round them up, and put them in the corral by the barn. I’ll take the nasty off them.”
Blake sat on the porch sipping on a second cup waiting for his brother to bring the horse’s. Soon he saw the horses coming down the valley full out. Calvin raced around ahead of them to guide them into the corral, the dust fogging up as he pulled his mount to a halt. He jumped of his horse and shut the corral gate.
“Boy that’s some good riding.” Blake said as Calvin walked up to the porch. Calvin seemed to walk a little taller under Blake’s gentle praise.
Blake picked his saddle up off the porch. He clapped Calvin on the shoulder as they walked to the corral, “Let’s see what these nags have in’um.”
“See that big rangy Dun Calvin? Throw a rope on him, and tie him
to the post, I reckon my roping has gotten a mite rusty.”
Calvin expertly roped the animal, and tied him to the breaking post. Blake laid his saddle blanket on the horse, “Easy boy.” He said as he felt the horse’s skin quiver under his hand. He cinched the saddle up, waited for the horse to take a breath, and pulled the cinch tighter. He stepped into the saddle, “Let’im loose.”
As soon as Calvin released the animal he reared high, coming down hard on his forelegs, then began twisting and bucking. Blake felt his teeth click together as the beast tried his best to get him off.
“Ride’im blake!” Calvin shouted from the fence.
The horse soon gave up, began crow hopping, and then walking, “This horse ain’t no more than green broke Calvin.”
“Aw,