Texas Blood Feud

by Dusty Richards

  He nodded and clucked to the Belgiums. They stepped out in a jog that made the harness ring.

  At mid-morning, J.D. rode up and swiped off his hat at the sight of her. “Chet, we were getting worried.”

  “This lady’s husband was killed by lightning night before last. The wind turned over her wagon and we’ve been busy. You know where Bugle is taking the chuck wagon?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “J.D., drive her and these fine girls up there and tell those two she is the third cook. Hobble her horses and see she is all right. Her name is Abby Petersen, and they are Tanya and Lana.”

  “Sure proud to meet you, ma’am. I’ll tie ole Hoot on the tailgate.”

  Chet set the brake and tied off the reins. “That’s my nephew. He’s a polite boy.”

  “Yes. Thank you so much again,” she said.

  He short-loped back to the herd and told Reg who he’d helped and how the Reynolds riders were ahead somewhere waiting to intercept them. He waved to Sammy across on the far side of the point, and then rode back to see how the others were doing.

  That afternoon while the cattle were grazing, he held a war council with Sammy and Reg. If those three were in Wichita, he needed to eliminate them before they hired some gunhands. Both boys were impressed with the small willowy girl-woman, and let him know that he could find gold in a junk pile.

  “I couldn’t leave her out there alone, even with her wagon up and her all right.”

  “You did the right thing. She’s cute,” Reg said, and then shook his head as if embarrassed at what he was thinking.

  “Cute, hell—she’s pretty as a picture.”

  “Boys, I need some help. We need to set this herd down for two days and ride up there and end this Reynolds business.”

  “How close are we?”

  “Over a week, I’d bet,” Sammy said.

  “I thought two,” Reg said.

  “In five days, if I haven’t found out, I’ll ride up there and locate them.”

  “What will happen to Mrs. Petersen?” Sammy asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. She said they came from Missouri and they were going to New Mexico.”

  “Was her husband crazy?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know a thing about him. He looked a lot older than her. Maybe mid-thirties, but I never asked. Age of those little girls, I figured she must have gotten married at twelve. When we get to Kansas, maybe someone will drive her back to Missouri, or I don’t know. One thing for certain, her and those girls would not have survived long in the Nation on their own.”

  “But those Reynolds men rode right by her wreck and never offered to help her?”

  “Right. Earl promised Kenny a prettier whore than her in Wichita. She calls it Washitaw.”

  “They just didn’t want to be bothered, did they?” Reg asked with a sour look written on his face

  “Right. But Kenny may have been the main instigator in Marla Porter’s death, and them riding on may have saved Abby’s life.”

  The two agreed.

  “Well, we’ll all sure look out for her and them girls,” Sammy said, and Reg agreed.

  Along the way, signs with mileage had been set on posts, and most were fairly accurate. Chet found one with several markers the next day. Wichita thirty miles. Abilene one hundred and twenty-five miles. Hell, a long ways. There were some others that he disregarded. Two days, the herd would be there.

  He rode back and found the remuda. With his head high, Bugger stood out. Chet rode in, roped him, and brought him out.

  “You needing a powerful horse, Mr. Byrnes?” said one of the riders with the remuda.

  “Chet. Yes, I’m going into Wichita and try to find the men that killed Dale Allen.”

  “My, my, sir, you be careful now. We all think a lot about you and sure won’t want anything to happen to you, sir.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  “That sure is a big horse. My, my, he sure must be a handful to ride.”

  Finally in the saddle after three tries on the circling Bugger, Chet dismissed his concern and loped off.

  He joined Reg at the point. “Sign says thirty miles to Wichita. Stop at midday, make your assignment, and you two ride up there and look for me. You won’t miss Bugger.”

  “We’ll be along.”

  “Don’t rush. I’m going looking for ’em.”

  He short-loped the big horse until the cottonwoods along the Arkansas showed up. Then he walked him to the ferry. A grizzly-faced old man came out of a shack made out of packing crates.

  “Kin I help ya?” Then he spit sideways and the wind about took his crumpled cowboy hat, but his hand caught it.

  “I’m looking for a man who can’t use his right arm. Him and two others cross here lately?”

  “Come over an hour ago.”

  “Going south?”

  “I said so, didn’t I?” He spat again. “Him, some boy, a bad-talking dude. I hate cussing. He needed his mouth scoured out.”

  “You have any idea where they went?”

  “Went to Tom McCory’s Ranch. Biggest mess of outlaws and no-accounts hang out there. I think them three’s going to steal a cattle herd.”

  “Where’s this ranch at?”

  “You ever been to Preacher’s Spring?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ride south till you come to the first main stream. There’s a broken-down wagon on the right and that road goes to McCory’s is right there. But I can tell you they’re tough as steel wire, they are.”

  Chet tossed him a silver dollar. How much time did he have? “Two men riding bar-C horses come by here, tell them where I have gone.”

  With a smile on his whiskered face, he nodded. “Bless you, sir. I’ll do that.”

  He never saw the boys on his ride back, and found all kinds of activity in his cow camp. Reg and Sam were still there. The good horses and the men Jim Crammer sent had finally had arrived. Four top hands shook his hand. But then he asked Reg who the two men in suits were who were talking to Mrs. Petersen at the chuck wagon.

  “Deputy U.S. marshals from Fort Smith,” he said in a lowered voice and with a fretting look on his face. “They’re asking if we know anything about five horse thieves that were hung.”

  “What did you tell ’em?”

  “It sure wasn’t us.”

  “Good. I’ll go to meet ’em.”

  “You find them Reynolds riders?”

  “I think they’re at some outlaw hangout west of here. These men might help us.” He gave a head toss at the lawmen. “You mention Dale Allen’s death?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I will.” He set out to speak to them.

  “Good day, gentlemen. My foreman says that you’re deputy U.S. marshals.”

  “We are. I’m Roscoe Berry and that’s Jim Knight. We’re up here investigating a five-man lynching in the Choctaw Reservation north of the Red River.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. But the three men who killed my brother Dale Allen Byrnes are nearby. I’m Chester Byrnes of Mayfield, Texas. This is my herd.”

  They all shook hands.

  “The ferryman told me the McCory Ranch was where those killers were going.”

  “You have witnesses to this murder?” Knight asked.

  “Six men here will testify that Earl, Shelby, and Kenny Reynolds were all in on the raid that killed Dale Allen, Pinky, Arnold, plus shot up Matt our cook.”

  “This happened in the Indian Territory?”

  “Yes. They’re buried fifteen miles above Doan’s store in the Indian Territory.”

  “You can expect trouble any time if you go into McCory’s, you know that?” Knight asked.

  “Myself and half a dozen of these men will back you,” Chet said. The men all agreed listening close.

  “In the morning then, we will ride in and ask for those killers,” said Knight.

  “What if they won’t come out or ride off?” Chet asked.

  “We will have the p
lace surrounded. But Marshal Berry and I have to bring them in alive to collect our expenses and fees.”

  “Fine. I want justice for Dale Allen’s death. Now, since we aren’t going till in the morning, I need to see about things here.” He walked over to Heck, Bugle, and Mrs. Petersen. “Can you feed all these people?”

  She smiled. “We made plenty. We won’t run out of anything.”

  The other two agreed.

  “Good. Gents, let’s eat, then we’ll decide who goes with who. Marshals Berry and Knight, you are our guests. Then Virgil, Tad, Bill, and Larry, who just arrived, are next. Then the crew.”

  Abby brought him over a heaping plate of food and utensils. “Boss’s supposed to eat first.”

  “Hey, I’m one of the boys here.”

  She looked kinda peeved at him. “No, you ain’t. You’re lots more than that, ain’t he, fellas?”

  “Damn right, ma’am.”

  “Then you sit on the ground and eat this food. This outfit needs you. One day here and I can tell that.”

  He obeyed her and, standing in line, they all snickered at her words.

  The two marshals joined him. Knight led the conversation. “We are really here investigating the lynching of those five men down on the Choctaw Reservation.”

  “Oh?” Chet said between bites

  “Yes, parties unknown hung a bootlegger named Wallace suspected of several crimes but uncharged. Four others with known criminal records and warrants out for them were all hung in nooses and a chair was kicked out from underneath each one of them.”

  “Sounds like the world won’t miss ’em.”

  “Lynching is anarchy, sir. The Judge, Issac Parker, wants the law followed to the letter and all these lynching stopped.”

  “Can’t help you there.” He took another forkful of Abby’s rich white gravy and mashed potatoes. She’d made it. Them two boys had never made anything that tasty in their lives. “But—” He used his fork to point. “These Reynolds men did murder my brother and two of my hands in that camp.”

  “Your men will have to come to testify in Fort Smith, you know that.”

  “I will pay their expenses out of my own pocket for them to go to the trial and to get back home.”

  “You’re pretty serious about this.”

  Chet stopped eating. “They murdered my brother. He has a wife and daughter. That boy over there is his son. He has two more sons in Texas younger than that boy. They’re all going to grow up without a father.”

  “I understand. But like Roscoe said, we make our living bringing in live prisoners to the court in Fort Smith.”

  “We won’t kill ’em unless they won’t give us another option.”

  “Good,” Berry said.

  “With this many men, we can surround the place and no one will escape,” said Knight. “I am entitled to hire you men who go over there as posse men for one dollar a day and ten cents a mile. I shall count it as two days and have forms for you to file unless it lasts longer,” Knight said.

  Good, maybe they’d forget the lynching. Chet started to get up. Then Abby arrived with a piece of apple-raisin pie. “Dessert, sir.”

  “Abby, I don’t mind being babied, but for gosh sakes, call me Chester.”

  “Yes, I will, Chester.”

  He was about to cut off a piece of the pie. Saliva was storming in his mouth in anticipation when one of the twins came by with a small kettle and refilled his coffeepot.

  “Was your supper good?” she asked.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “I liked it lots, much better than corn mush.”

  “I did, too.”

  “You never ate any mush. You ate jerky.”

  “Oh, that’s right. But this was much better, I agree.”

  She nodded that he had things right and went on filling cups.

  He better tell the truth or those girls would set him straight. In a few hours, he’d have all those Reynolds boys in the custody of the Hanging Judge’s men. Sounded too good to be true.

  Chapter 38

  Eight men rode out of camp around the large batch of quiet cattle and past the night riders circling the herd. The man they passed the closest to was playing a mouth harp as he rode his horse at the perimeter of the herd. He waved under the starlight at them, and they rode on in a trot, Berry and Knight in the lead.

  McCory’s place was set in some timber. Knight sent Sammy and four men with instructions on how to ride around and come in from the back. He told them to use their rifles if needed and be sure not to shoot another posse member. Everyone else rested and waited to give them time to get in place.

  Chet could hardly sit still. He was this close to ending a large part of his troubles and having Dale Allen’s killer in jail awaiting trial. In the cool night air, he paced back and forth until Knight struck a match and checked his pocket watch.

  “Mount up. They should be there by now.”

  When they reached sight of the dark buildings and corrals, Knight spread them out, saying the main house was where he expected most of them to be sleeping. Chet and Virgil took the shed on the right. They found nothing but some dusty hay, and came out as the light of dawn began to appear.

  Knight was in the open when he called out. “McCory, this is Deputy U.S. Marshal Jim Knight. Tell everyone in there with you to step outside hands high. I have a large posse surrounding your house and no one needs to die.”

  Someone must have tried the back door to escape. A warning shot made him swear.

  “I’ve got my damn hands up and don’t shoot.”

  Seconds ticked by. Chet and Virgil had their rifles aimed at the house. Chet’s mouth was dry and he could have used some coffee. He’d have a hard time not to want to gun them down when they came outside. Justice would be served—he needed more patience.

  “All right,” a loud voice said. “I’m coming out. I ain’t armed.”

  “Tell the rest to do the same.”

  “I ain’t their boss.”

  “McCory, you better tell them or you’re going to be in the cross fire.”

  “You heard him. He’s got the guns. Don’t be foolish.”

  They filed out. Finally, Kenny and Shelby came out.

  “Earl can’t raise his right arm,” Shelby said, looking around for the posse as he stepped out of the building.

  Knight shot a look at Chet, who nodded it was so. “Tell him to come on out, but don’t make a false move,” said Knight.

  “He won’t.”

  McCory and his three men were separated from the Reynolds men. The fourth member of McCory’s gang was marched around front, while Sammy checked the building and herded two women and three small children outside.

  “That’s all and we could find,” Reg said.

  The prisoners were checked for weapons, producing knifes and small guns. Then Knight told them to sit on the ground. Chet and the others joined them in front of the house. He ignored the Reynolds men and the strong temptation to shoot them on the spot—let the law take its course.

  Knight took out a small book and began to take down names. He wrote them with a small pencil. When he came to the Reynolds men, he spoke to them. “I am binding you three over to the grand jury in Fort Smith for the murder of Dale Allen Byrnes and two drovers named Pinky and Arnold.”

  “You ain’t got any proof—” Shelby grumbled.

  “Six eyewitnesses.”

  “A good lawyer will make a circus out of them.”

  “I can tell you don’t know Judge Issac Parker, mister. He ain’t known as the Hanging Judge for no good reason.”

  Berry came from around back with a copper tubing coil and a crock jug.

  Then Knight turned to the others. “We need to take the rest of you to Fort Smith for making illegal whiskey. Marshal Berry has found your copper tubing and several jars of whiskey in the root cellar.”

  “Can’t we post a bond and show up there later?” McCory asked.

  “No. Judge said we were to bring you in ’cause
you’d only make more whiskey while you were out on bond.”

  “Ah, shit.”

  “Byrnes, will you see about getting us some food? Sam, you and your boys saddle them some horses so we can take them out after we eat. I’ll need to arrange for some transportation to get them to Fort Smith.”

  Chet told the two women and children to go inside. He and Virgil followed them into the sour-smelling house. Between the nicotine and the odor of old socks, Chet wasn’t certain anything they cooked would be appetizing to him, but everyone needed to eat.

  “What do you have for food?”

  The two women, neither one of whom was attractive, shrugged, and turned up their grimy palms like they had little to cook. High cheekbones, dull eyes, and dressed in stained gowns. Their hair hung straight and uncombed.

  “We got some oatmeal,” the taller one said.

  “Cook it—wait. Wash out that pot first.”

  She shrugged like it didn’t matter, and went to the water bucket and dipped some water in it. After sloshing it around, she threw the water outside. He went over and looked at the pot.

  “That’s too nasty to cook anything in.”

  “You fix it then.” She shoved the pot at him.

  “You watch them, Virgil. I’ll take this out to that well and clean it.”

  Sammy soon joined him. “What’s wrong, Boss?”

  “They wanted to cook oatmeal in this damn pot ain’t been washed in years.” He was on his hand and knees scouring it with sand.

  “Can I do it?”

  “No, go make some coffee if they have any.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Get the cooking range going and boil some water for the dishes.” He’d bet they hadn’t been washed in years either.

  The pot was finally thoroughly washed, and he rinsed it. Then, with water drawn from the well, he filled it half full and carried it back. Sammy came out and got water for the coffeepot. “Fire’s going. They’ve got some scorched beans I guess are coffee.”

  “Don’t you touch a thing,” Chet said to the two of the women standing back. “I’ll heat some water and you two can wash and rinse the cups and dishes we’re going to eat off of.”

  “Got trouble?” Knight asked, coming in the open door.

  “No, I’ve got sloppy help. We’ll have some oatmeal and coffee in a while.”