Sons of Thunder (Rule Cordell)

by Cotton Smith

  “That was play, Lion. We were playing like we were Roman soldiers. Don’t you remember? It wasn’t real.”

  “N-no, I r-really did. A-another l-life. W-we . . .” Graham’s face froze and his eyes saw nothing.

  Cordell’s own eyes sought the sky and his shoulders sagged. How could a long-ago friendship go so bad? He saw Lion David Graham and himself again as boys, running and pretending together along a creek. Ian Taullery was there, too, as always. Both he and Taullery were quicker and stronger than Graham then. He saw the three of them practicing with an old gun. Why did he think things would ever change? Why did he think the guns would leave him alone? Why did he think he could live any other way?

  Somewhere inside of him, a thought trickled through his other emotions: He couldn’t have beaten Graham in a fair fight. Shank’s warning had made the difference, allowing him a split-second edge. Another thought rushed behind the first, pointing out that Graham would have probably killed him if he had entered the room unsuspecting. He shivered at the prospect and looked down at the still mass that had been both childhood friend and obsessed enemy.

  “Forgive us, Father, for we are killers of men,” Cordell said, and turned away.

  Tallie Mae’s attention was drawn to Cordell as she tended to Billy. For the first time, she understood how much he had sacrificed emotionally to come to their aid. He had broken all his promises to God. He had turned his back on his commitment to leave the gun behind. He had emotionally left the ministry to fight and kill. She wanted to hold him tight to her, to kiss him, to give herself to him. The lustful instant passed and she regained her composure, returning awkwardly to patting her son’s shoulder wound.

  “W-what happened, Ma?” Billy’s eyes fluttered open. Each breath brought new pain to his shoulder and hand.

  “Captain Cordell is what happened, son. It’s all right. We’re safe.”

  Eldon crawled over to his wife and oldest son, and pronounced, “Got blood all ag’in the wall, Ma. It’s gonna be mighty hard to git off.”

  Her husband’s observation snapped Tallie Mae Ripton into action. She stood and took over. “Eldon, you get us some wood so we can get the fire going strong again. We’ll need hot water to clean Billy’s wounds. His hand’s shot clear through, but I can’t tell if lead’s in Billy’s shoulder or not. May have to dig it out. Jeremiah, you find me some rags. Clean ones. Look on the back shelf. Up high.”

  “B-but, Ma, he k-killed B-Belle,” Jeremiah blurted, staring at the unmoving yellow form against the dark wall.

  “Yes, I know, son. Better Belle than us. We’ll bury her later.”

  “What’ll Lizzie say?”

  “She’ll cry, just like we’ve been doin’. Now go, Jeremiah.”

  “I-is Billy gonna d-die?”

  “No. But he’s hurt bad. Now go, Jeremiah.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Cordell stepped to the doorway and watched the boy scurry into the other room. Brushing off his shirt, Eldon pushed himself slowly erect. “Howdy, Captun Cordell. You was a mite slow gittin’ hyar. Too bad about the cat.” He hurried past Cordell to gather wood, paused in front of Graham’s body, started to kick at it, then lost his nerve and walked wide of the still form.

  “Sorry. I didn’t get here sooner.” Cordell entered and stopped next to Shank. “You saved my life, Caleb. I’d have walked into his guns without your warning. Thank you.”

  “Hot damn, I was a-hopin’ ya was a-listenin’.” Shank’s eyes were welling with tears of released tension. “I couldn’t think o’ nothin’ else.” His breath came long and hard, pushing back the wall of emotion that wanted out. “Lordy, it’s mighty good to see ya, Rule.”

  “What did Eldon mean about the cat?”

  “Graham dun kilt Belle, jes’ fer spite.” Shank was surprised at the look on Cordell’s face as the words hit him. He aged ten years in an instant. A moan tried to come out, but Cordell clinched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Ohhhh . . . not you, Texas. Not Texas. Pray for him, soldier, please. Please. Pray for Texas. God, not Texas. Isn’t Whisper’s arm enough?”

  A wobbly Billy heard the name, and his pain-filled mind clicked to a bloody Virginia battle where a Cordell-led cavalry caught a Union force by surprise and forced their retreat, but the intense leader lost his dog, Texas, and couldn’t be consoled afterward. Their comrade, Whisper Jenson, had lost his arm from wounds during the “masquerade battalion” skirmish.

  “Captun . . . I’m sorry ’bout Texas,” Billy said softly. “He went down, fightin’ at your side. Them Yanks is a-runnin’ hard, Captun.”

  Shank couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He rubbed his ear and realized the bottom lobe was gone, leaving crusty gristle. Had the shot affected his hearing—or did Cordell call the cat “Texas”? Didn’t he remember its name was “Belle”? Of course he did. Who was this “Texas”? Or was he talking bout the state? Didn’t he know Whisper Jenson had been killed—by this mad killer, Lion Graham?

  Understanding only that Cordell was trapped in some personal agony, Tallie Mae rushed across the room and hugged him. The greeting brought new tears to her pale face.

  “T-they’re gone, Captain. An’ that awful man is dead. Y-you saved us. You saved us all.”

  His eyes still closed, he hugged back, fighting an old agony that had broken free. “B-Belle came to me . . . as I was walking to the house. S-she was t-trying to warn me, I guess. S-she ran off. I—I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t, Captain. Belle saved us too. That devil killed her—instead of shooting one of us.”

  “I—I lost T-Texas. He was a fine dog. H-he didn’t deserve to die.” Cordell trembled, opened his eyes, and looked away, his hands at his sides.

  She touched his face gently and studied its hard features. She was drawn to this gun warrior in a way she knew she shouldn’t be. Here he was in her arms so close, so strong yet so vulnerable. He smelled warm—a mixture of gunsmoke, blood, dirt, and the musky scent of manhood.

  Red-faced, she brushed the front of her skirt to ward off the surge of emotions that had sprung loose again. Embarrassed by her feelings, she changed the subject. “I—I didn’t see that awful man come in. All of a sudden, he was behind me. I—I thought he was going to kill all of us.”

  Cordell tenderly wiped her cheek with his hand. He felt only an overwhelming tiredness, so strong he could barely stand. A deep breath, then another, brought in enough energy to fight off the spreading weakness. Sleep wanted him, now that the tension of battle was leaving and the ache of Belle’s death swam through him. His shoulder pounded its own need for attention as the adrenaline of battle sank from him.

  “How bad is Billy Rip hurt?” Cordell asked, looking blankly at her.

  She stared back and reached for his arm, wishing they were alone, then forced herself to look at her older son and bring back reality.

  Watching the encounter, Shank answered, “Wal, he ain’t gonna be liftin’ nothin’ fer a fair piece. Gonna take time to git his hand back, too. Good thing it’s his left, I reckon.” The big merchant searched his coat pockets for his pipe and added, “Had me the feelin’ Lion know’d ya, Rule—even a’fer Eldon dun said yur name. You were the only one he wanted. Woulda kilt us all otherwise. Said somethin’ ’bout killin’ ya a’fer. Crazy words.” He found the pipe, happily slid it into his mouth, and started another search for matches in his pockets. “He know’d we was a-fakin’ how many we had.”

  Tallie Mae turned toward the big merchant, her hand holding Cordell’s arm. “I almost forgot, Mister Shank. You were very brave—to help Billy like you did. Is your ear hurt badly? Please let me clean and bandage it.” She glanced back at Cordell, who was looking at Shank. “And you too, Captain—your arm.”

  Cordell looked at his coat sleeve, shook his head, and said, “I’m all right. You tend to Billy—and Caleb.”

  “Shucks, this ain’t nothin’. Never did have purty ears nohow,” Shank replied, and held up his open palms
to express a need for a match. “Anybody got a match?”

  “Sure we do. Bring some matches too, Jeremiah,” Tallie Mae said, looking around for the boy but not wanting to step away from Cordell. “Oh, Captain, ah, Reverend—do you think it would be all right to have some light in the house now?” She returned to his face.

  “Yes, Padgett is gone. May I see Belle?”

  “Of course.”

  Without another word, she took Cordell’s hand and led him toward the dead cat. Both knelt beside the still form. Shank wondered if she had forgotten that her son was seriously hurt. He stepped over to the nearly unconscious Billy, leaned over, and pulled on his shirt where the bullet had entered. He studied the wound and was pleased with what he saw. Most of the fabric was soaked with blood, but the wound itself was coagulating. He pushed Billy’s shoulder upright so he could see the destruction on the other side. A crimson exit looked to him like the bullet had passed through. Then, in the wall, he saw the chunk of lead lodged there.

  Jeremiah brought him a wooden match along with a short pile of folded cloth. “I-is Billy g-gonna die?”

  “Like yur maw said, nosirree, son, he ain’t,” Shank responded. “He’s gonna be fine. Be laid up awhile, though.”

  “Reckon that means I’ll have to do all his chores.”

  “Wal, that could be.” Shank scratched his beard and laughed as he snapped the match on a shirt button and let its flame bring the half-smoked bowl of tobacco to life.

  A few feet away, Cordell slid his hands under Belle and lifted her to his chest. He glanced at Tallie Mae, and she was crying.

  “Tallie Mae, Belle’s with my Texas now. They’ll be waiting for us. I know this. We’ll carry Billy wherever you want him—and then I—I’ll take her outside . . . if you wish.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary, I’ll take it out later . . . and we can bury it. You stay here and relax with Mister Shank. I’ll get some coffee going.” She touched his hand and studied his face before standing. She threw back her shoulders to clear her head.

  “Thank you, but Caleb and I have some things to do, so it’s no trouble taking Belle outside if you would like.”

  “But Mister Shank is hurt. That awful man shot him—in the ear.” The gunfighter looked at Shank and it registered, for the first time, that his friend was hurt. “Forgive me, Caleb, I wasn’t thinking. You stay here and let Mrs. Ripton clean that wound.”

  “Nope, I’d jes’ as soon be workin’—an’ she needs to be takin’ care of that fine son o’ hers.” Pipe smoke swam around Shank’s hat and disappeared into the air. “’Sides, I kinda like it. Sorta like an earring, don’t ya think?” He chuckled.

  “Are you a Comanche—or a pirate?” Cordell asked, touching his own ear and realizing his earring was gone. His gaze sought the floor by the window and saw it lying there.

  “Me? I’m one o’ them ‘Sons of Thunder.’” His belly rippled with enjoyment over his response.

  Flustered, Tallie Mae refocused on her son’s wound. “Jeremiah, where are my rags? I’ll be caring for Billy now.”

  Cordell turned to her face, and she blushed.

  “Tallie Mae?” He said softly.

  “Y-yes?” She bit her lower lip, keeping her eyes locked on his. The answer was more than a response.

  “Does Billy keep shells for reloading?”

  Her gaze was broken by rapid blinking and the realization that she had misread this magnetic man. His passion wasn’t about her; it was the wildfire within him, honed by the awful trials of war.

  “O-oh, of course he does. A big sack of them.” She paused, and her voice glistened with rejection. “Captain Cordell, don’t we have enough bullets already? I thought Padgett was gone.”

  “He is, but I want to make sure he doesn’t bother you any more.” Cordell looked at Shank as he rose. “He might send back a scout to make sure of things. I want him to—”

  “Make it look like the ‘Sons of Thunder’ is a real bunch, right?” Shank interrupted. “Then they’ll tell their boss.”

  “Yes, it won’t take much. We’ll put away the dummies, stomp around, and spread out some of Billy’s shells.”

  “How ’bout some cigarette butts, too?”

  “Good idea. Do you have any makin’s?”

  “Got a whole box of tobaccy sacks an’ papers—in my wagon.”

  From the floor, Billy groaned and shuffled his feet in a vain attempt to stand. “I kin fight. H-help me up, Captun.”

  Immediately, Cordell went to the young man, knelt beside him, and whispered in his ear. Billy relaxed, frowning but nodding. A half-smile crept across his mouth. “T-they’s in a sack . . . under my bed. Jeremiah knows whar. He kin stomp ’round, too, Captun.” He swallowed back the pain. “Ya better make some hoss signs too, ya know.”

  “Good idea, soldier.” Cordell held Billy’s arm. “Now, you rest—an’ let us do some playactin’.”

  “Yessiree, Captun. Jes’ like old times, ain’t it?”

  Behind him, Cordell heard Shank tell Tallie Mae that the bullet went through her son’s shoulder. Quietly, she requested the merchant and Cordell to carry Billy to his bedroom so she could care for him there. As Cordell and Shank carried Billy into the bedroom, Eldon entered with an armful of cut logs and proceeded to build up the fire in the fireplace. He asked if his wife wanted one started in the stove, too, but she didn’t. Tallie Mae concentrated on lighting an oil lamp, and its golden light made her glow. She told Jeremiah to pump some water into a bowl while she removed Billy’s shirt, then told him to go help Shank and Cordell. The boy was excited about the prospect of being close to Cordell and hurried through his water-pumping task.

  After picking up his torn earring, Cordell walked toward the door, holding the dead cat against his chest. His manner was like that of a man awakened from a bad dream. Shank came behind him, holding the sack of shells. He wanted to ask if Cordell was worried about Padgett coming again in force but didn’t think this was the right time. Tallie Mae’s words of comfort to Billy tailed away quickly as the door shut behind them.

  Outside, Cordell took off his long coat and wrapped the little animal in it and laid the bundle carefully on the porch. He glanced at Graham’s pistols lying there and kicked them off the wood frame onto the ground. “We’ll leave Belle here until the Riptons decide where they want to bury her.”

  “So ya think Padgett’ll come back?” Shank finally blurted, deliberately avoiding looking at the dead Graham.

  Cordell’s eyes narrowed and his voice carried its earlier strength. “I’m guessing he’ll only scout around to make sure we were for real.”

  “What if he don’t? What if he dun comes a-roarin’ back?” Shank took the pipe from his mouth and pointed it at Cordell for emphasis.

  Staring at the pipe, Cordell said, “They’ll run over the Riptons—and us.”

  Shank’s eyes widened and he jammed the pipe back into his mouth. He studied Cordell for a moment. “I see. Wal, what do ya wanna do with this?” He pointed at Graham’s body.

  “We’ll use one of the left-behind horses—and send it running,” Cordell said. “That should help keep Padgett off balance. I figure we’d better do the same with any of his men still around. They could become a problem for the Riptons later.”

  Shank grabbed his coat lapels with both fists. “What are we a-doin’ first?”

  “Let’s make like many.”

  “Well, sir, we’s gittin’ good at this make-believe stuff. Let’s git ’er done.”

  Quickly they began creating the appearance of thirty men surrounding the Regulator camp. After removing the dummies and filling in the holes made by the stakes, they brought the sacks, hats, and wood back to Shank’s wagon. Their boot prints added to the impression of numbers, in addition to the marks left earlier by the Riptons. Jeremiah soon joined them and was eager to trounce around the ridge, tossing shells from his big brother’s sack.

  At the wagon, Shank began rolling cigarettes using what tobacco and papers he ha
d left. As soon as one was made, he smoked it and started another, then moved the smoking cigarette into a brass spittoon he found in the corner of the wagon. Standing beside him, Cordell joined in, puffing on one cigarette while he rolled another.

  “How many we got thar?” Shank tried to count the butts in the nearly full spittoon.

  “Enough.”

  “What else are we leaving?”

  “I’ve got some food in my saddlebags. We’ll spread pieces of that around too.” Cordell walked over to where he had left his own horse, checked on the grazing animal, and took a sack containing food Aleta had packed for him. He turned to see Shank coming toward him with Aleta’s hat in his huge hands like he was concerned it would perish if he wasn’t careful. “Hyar’s your lady’s hat. I dun fergot.” Cordell laid the tie-down thong over his saddle horn and they returned to the spittoon.

  Neither man spoke as they made their way to the ridge. Both minds were dull and wanting sleep, but struggling to think of anything that would enhance the impression they needed to leave. A strange hush lay over the dry creek bed below. Discarded blankets and clothes appeared like a blotchy disease on the land. Joining with Jeremiah, they walked along the ridge, tossing cigarettes, food scraps, and shells.

  A pistol jumped into Cordell’s hand. There was movement near the far end of the camp below them. Shank pushed Jeremiah to the ground and Cordell handed him the Dean & Adams revolver from his back waistband. The big man crouched and squinted into the night, seeing nothing.

  “Stay here.” Cordell whispered and zigzagged down the incline. He stopped at the bottom of the ridge, studied the spread-out blankets, and looked up at Shank and Jeremiah. “Coyotes.” He paused, saw something on the ground, and picked up a small shiny object. Returning to where the big merchant and the boy waited, he held out a state police badge. “Well, pistols, blankets, and clothes aren’t the only things they left behind.”

  “Reckon my wagon’ll have some fresh things to trade. I’ll git ’em later.” He extended the Dean & Adams pistol, handle first, to Cordell.