Ralph Compton Texas Hills

by Ralph Compton

  And who knew? It might be a spectacle in itself, those settlers trying to catch longhorns and the longhorns not wanting to be caught. Some might put up a fight, and blood might flow.

  Five hundred to a thousand pounds or more of muscles and horn was nothing to sneeze at.

  Ebidiah only hoped that if someone were gored or trampled, it would be one of those mean Kursts.

  Chapter 14

  The Texas hill country boasted an abundance of vegetation. Several kinds of oaks, and junipers, were the most common trees. Occasional pecan groves added variety. Interspersed with grassland of predominantly grama, and watered by creeks and streams, the hills were a haven for wildlife.

  Longhorns thrived. A hardy breed able to live off the land where other cattle couldn’t, longhorns enjoyed a feast of plenty in the hills. Intimidated by their size, predators left them alone. They wandered where they wanted, with no one to stop them.

  In recent years their population soared. No one had done a count, simply because no one could. There were too many, spread over an area larger than some Eastern states.

  For the most part, they avoided contact with humans. They’d rather make themselves scarce than charge. There were exceptions, though. Tales of the unwary being gored were common.

  Owen Burnett was reflecting on those tales as he and his two sons neared the vicinity of Comanche Creek. All three had rifles in their scabbards, and Luke and Samuel had revolvers, besides. Luke never went anywhere without his Remington. Samuel had an old Walker Colt that he needed two hands to shoot and was too big to strap around his waist. It nestled in a saddle holster that hung from his saddle horn.

  Owen had never owned a six-gun, himself. He had a Spencer repeating rifle that held seven rounds. To feed them into the chamber, he had to work the lever. His particular model used .56-56 ammunition. Some shooters didn’t think that was powerful enough to drop big game, but he’d never had any problems with it. Then again, the only large animal he ever shot was a wild boar, and it had run off.

  “We’ll be there shortly, Pa,” Samuel announced.

  Owen smiled. His youngest was so excited, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. “Relax, son. We’re not heading out after longhorns right away. It will be tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

  “A whole night with those Kursts,” Luke said, bringing his horse up on Owen’s right.

  “Don’t start,” Owen said. “There will be a lot of nights. You have to learn how to get along with them, or you might as well not take part.”

  “It’s not me you have to worry about,” Luke said.

  Owen didn’t dispute the fact. Luke could control himself. The Kurst brood were the ones to watch, particularly that Harland, and Thaxter. Owen would as soon they didn’t take part—but without the Kursts, the roundup was doomed before it started.

  “Did you hear me, Pa?” Luke said.

  “My ears work fine.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  Owen shifted in the saddle and beckoned for Samuel to bring his mount up on the other side. “I want both you boys to listen to me. I know this won’t be easy. Those Kursts are always on the prod. But you need to tuck your spurs and not take offense.”

  “What if they prod too hard?” Luke asked.

  “Like if they lay a hand on you?” Owen said. “Or come out with an insult you can’t abide and still look at yourself in the mirror?”

  “Something like that,” Luke said.

  “Do the best you can. Neither of you have ever had tempers. Keep them in check and you’ll be all right.”

  “Do you reckon Lorette will be there?” Samuel asked.

  “Where did that come from?” Owen asked.

  “Pa?”

  “I’m talking about not getting shot by any of the Kurst boys and you bring the girl up. Were you paying attention?”

  “She’s pretty, is all,” Sam said, and did more fidgeting. “It would fluster me some, having to work with her around.”

  “Wonderful,” Owen teased. “Don’t tell me you’re in love. That’s the last thing we need.”

  “Shucks,” Sam said. “I don’t even know what love is.”

  “Keep it that way,” Luke said.

  “Who are you to tell me what to do?” Sam rejoined.

  “Boys, boys,” Owen said. They weren’t even to Comanche Creek and his sons, who rarely argued, were about to have one over a Kurst.

  “You heard him, Pa,” Sam said. “Just because Luke hates them doesn’t mean I have to.”

  “Lorette is no different from the rest of her kin,” Luke said. “She’s trouble, through and through.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Sam said.

  “You haven’t seen how she sashays around town? She practically throws herself at every boy she meets.”

  “Take that back.”

  Owen seldom raised his voice but he raised it now. “Enough! We’ll treat her like we do the rest of the Kursts. Be civil, but nothing more.”

  “Fine by me,” Luke said.

  “Sam?” Owen said.

  “I’m not looking to get hitched, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I should hope not,” Owen said. “Keep your mind on the longhorns. Daydream about her, and you’re liable to get a horn through the chest.”

  “That would never happen in a million years,” Sam declared with great conviction.

  “Glad to hear it,” Owen said.

  Chapter 15

  Comanche Creek meandered through the hills like a lazy snake. It flowed year-round, unlike a considerable number of Texas waterways that dried up in the summer.

  The spot Gareth Kurst had chosen was where the creek bisected almost a mile of grassland flanked on both sides by hills thick with cedar scrub, oaks, and brush.

  “This is near perfect,” Owen Burnett complimented Gareth when he drew rein at the camp the Kursts had made at the west end of the grass. “Those hills must be crawling with longhorns. They can hide up there and come down to drink and graze whenever they want. How did you find it?”

  “We came across it when we were hunting once,” Gareth said. “I remembered it because I thought at the time it would be a good place for a ranch.”

  A fire had been kindled, and Gareth’s sons—and Lorette—were sitting around drinking coffee, and talking.

  “Luke, Samuel,” Gareth greeted Owen’s own boys with a bob of his chin.

  “Mr. Kurst,” Sam said. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “Making money excites me,” Gareth said. “Not all the work we have to do to earn it,” he added. “Not that we’ll shirk our part, mind you. We’re all in this together.”

  Owen saw Luke and Thaxter swap hard looks. “I just hope everyone can get along.”

  “My brood will, or else,” Gareth said. “Any of them acts up, you tell me and I’ll deal with it.” He turned and scanned the approaches to the south. “Still no sign of Weaver and his boy. They live closer than you, and you’d think they’d have gotten here sooner.”

  “Jasper will show,” Owen said. “He gave us his word.”

  “So did Wilda, and hers counts for more,” Gareth said. “Jasper doesn’t breathe without her say-so.”

  Sam chuckled.

  “That’s not funny, son,” Owen chided. He felt sorry for Jasper, and was eternally thankful that Philomena was nothing like Wilda Weaver.

  “Let it be a lesson, boy,” Gareth said to Samuel. “When you tie the knot, tie with a gal who won’t ride roughshod over you. A man who lets a woman do that doesn’t have any backbone.”

  Owen felt compelled to say, “A marriage should be a fifty-fifty proposition. The man and the woman should work together, make decisions together, that sort of thing.”

  “You have strange notions sometimes,” Gareth said. “Men should be the masters in their house. Look
at my Ariel. She’s too dumb to make decisions. I make them for her, and she lives with that whether she likes it or not.”

  “I don’t know if I could do that, Mr. Kurst,” Sam said.

  “You’d better learn, or you’ll have another Wilda on your hands. When a man doesn’t keep a female in her place, she becomes uppity.”

  Owen hardly considered Gareth an authority on matrimony, and didn’t want him giving Sam and Luke bad ideas. He noticed that Lorette was listening, too, and changed the subject with, “Have you seen any longhorns since you got here?”

  “A few have come to the edge of the trees, seen us, and gone back in. But there’s a heap more up there. And I can prove it.” Gareth motioned. “Come with me and I’ll show you something.”

  Dismounting, Owen went with Gareth to the creek. Gareth pointed. The ground on either side of the water was pockmarked with hoofprints, many hundreds of them.

  “See what I mean?” Gareth said.

  The prints were so mingled that telling one set from another was next to impossible, although a few exceptionally large ones stood out.

  “Must be some monsters up there,” Owen remarked.

  “More meat for the butcher,” Gareth said.

  The sun was on its westward slant. A few hours of daylight were left. Then the Texas night would descend in all its starry glory.

  “I suggest we have a leisurely supper and get a good night’s rest and start early in the morning,” Owen proposed. “It shouldn’t take more than a day or two to get the lay of the land. Then we can go to town, buy the supplies we need, and begin in earnest.”

  “I reckon we can’t take more than a month or two to round up the cattle,” Gareth said, “not if we want to get them to market before winter sets in. Kansas is a far piece.”

  That sounded right to Owen. He recollected the cowboy in the saloon told them that a drive took two to three months, and they’d want to reach Abilene well ahead of the cold weather or the ride home would be hellacious. “Sounds good to me.”

  Gareth glanced over his broad shoulder toward the fire, and lowered his voice. “My youngest came up to me earlier and claimed he saw a redskin watching us from off in the woods. I went for a look and there was nothing. Not even tracks. I gave Iden a smack for jumping at shadows. Comanches haven’t been seen in these parts for a couple of years or more.”

  “I know,” Owen said. “The longhorns worry me more.”

  “We can handle them.”

  Owen admired his outlook. Say what people would about Gareth Kurst, one thing the man didn’t lack was confidence.

  “Well, look who it is,” Gareth said.

  Owen looked up.

  A pair of riders were coming around a hill. One rose in the stirrups and waved.

  “Jasper and his boy,” Gareth stated the obvious. “I bet if they hadn’t seen our smoke, they’d have missed us and gone on by.”

  That set Owen to wondering who else might see it. “You’re sure your son didn’t see a Comanche?”

  “Even if he did, they won’t bother us, as many guns as we have.”

  Thinking that there was a fine line between confidence and foolhardiness, Owen said, “They raid when and where they please. They’re not yellow.”

  “They’re Injuns,” Gareth said, as if that had meaning in itself. “Let’s go greet our partner.”

  Jasper Weaver and his son held their mounts to a walk. Jasper smiled and waved a second time.

  “Will you look at that simpleton?” Gareth said.

  “Jasper is a good man,” Owen came to his friend’s defense.

  “He’s a lush. We’ll have to keep an eye on him. He needs to do his part, the same as the rest of us.”

  Owen didn’t argue. Everyone knew about Jasper’s fondness for liquor. Indeed, when Jasper climbed down and offered his hand, exclaiming how pleased he was to see Owen again, Owen smelled whiskey on Jasper’s breath. He shook without saying anything.

  Not Gareth. “Been hitting that flask of yours again, have you?”

  “Only a little,” Jasper said, sounding hurt that Gareth had brought it up. He gave a mild start when Gareth draped a big hand on his shoulder.

  “Listen, Weaver. If you want to drink yourself into an early grave, go right ahead. But you’re to hold off on this roundup. You can take a chug now and then, but if I catch you reeling in the saddle, or too unsteady to stand on your own two feet, I’ll thump you to within an inch of your life.”

  “Now see here,” Jasper said. He went to say more, but Gareth held up a finger.

  “That’s all that needs be said, Weaver. Do your part and we’ll get along fine.” Wheeling, Gareth strode toward the fire.

  “The nerve of the man,” Jasper said to Owen, but not loud enough that Gareth would hear.

  “We’re off to a grand start,” Owen said.

  Chapter 16

  They were up at the break of dawn, roused by Lorette, who took delight in hollering, “Up and at ’em, you lazy menfolk. We’ve got work to do.” She kicked a few of her brothers who were slow in rousing.

  Breakfast consisted of biscuits that Gareth had ordered his wife to make. He’d brought an entire sack, and didn’t seem to mind that Ariel’s biscuits were too hard and too brittle. When it came to food, the Kursts could eat anything. He passed some out to the Burnetts and the Weavers, and young Sam grimaced with each bite.

  The sun was a blazing orb on the eastern rim of the world when they forked leather.

  Gareth reined his mount in front of the rest and turned to face them. Leaning on his saddle horn, he announced, “We’ll go in pairs and spread out to cover more of the countryside.”

  “Is that wise, what with the Comanches and all?” Jasper asked.

  “There hasn’t been a Comanche in these parts in a long while,” Gareth said. “Your scalp is safe.” It amused him that Weaver was so paperbacked. “Jasper, you and Reuben might as well pair up. Harland, you ride with Thaxter. Wylie, you’re with Silsby. I’ll take Iden with me. That leaves Owen and Luke.”

  “What about me, Mr. Kurst?” Sam Burnett wanted to know.

  “I guess you’ll have to ride with Lorette,” Gareth said. “There’s no one else left. And behave yourself, boy. Don’t run off and marry her behind my back.” He chuckled when Sam flushed scarlet with embarrassment.

  “I’d never do that, Mr. Kurst.”

  “Shucks,” Lorette said. “I had my hopes up there for a second.”

  “None of your shenanigans, daughter,” Gareth warned. “Treat him like he’s one of your brothers.”

  “Ah, Pa.”

  “Any questions?” Gareth said to the others. “If not, we’ll meet back here about an hour before sunset.”

  “You sound like a general commanding his army,” Jasper said.

  “Someone has to take charge,” Gareth said. “Unless you’re up to directing the hunt yourself.”

  “No, that’s all right,” Jasper said quickly. “You’re better at it.”

  Gareth looked at Owen. “Any objections?”

  “Working in pairs is best,” Owen agreed.

  Gareth regarded the others. “Today we’re just counting. Keep a tally of how many longhorns you come across. Don’t spook them or shoot them if they come at you. Run away.”

  “I don’t like turning tail,” Harland said.

  “Me, neither,” Thaxter threw in.

  “These are cattle, not men,” Gareth said. “You’ll tuck tail if I tell you to. What have I told you matters the most?”

  “The money comes before all else,” Harland quoted him.

  “Damn right it does. And every longhorn is money on the hoof.”

  Owen spoke up with, “Our lives are more important than any amount of money.”

  “To you, maybe,” Gareth said. He laughed so Owen and Jasper would think
he was joshing when he wasn’t. “Now let’s scatter.”

  Without further to-do, Gareth reined to the north. His youngest was quick to join him, swelling with pride.

  “Thanks for picking me, Pa,” Iden said.

  “Someone has to tell you what to do, and it might as well be me.”

  “Still,” Iden said. He’d been born with the misfortune of taking after his mother, at least as far as his looks went. “I won’t let you down.”

  “You’d better not.” One trait that Gareth didn’t like about his youngest was that Iden was a chatterbox. The boy could talk rings around a tree. “And none of your usual gabbing.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m friendly.”

  “You don’t need to be friendly with me. I’m your pa.” Gareth had always been annoyed by Iden’s air of innocence. Try as Gareth might, he couldn’t disabuse the boy of the silly notion that the world was basically a decent place. That was the problem with young boys. The only one more naïve than Iden was Samuel Burnett. Reuben Weaver wasn’t so much naïve as dumb.

  No sooner did they enter the brush than they encountered a pair of longhorns, cows that turned tail and melted away without so much as a snort or a flick of an ear.

  “Golly, they can be quiet when they want to,” Iden exclaimed.

  “What did I tell you about flapping your gums?”

  “Sorry, Pa.”

  If there was one rule of parenting that Gareth had learned over the years, it was to rule his roost with an iron hand. Not that he’d believed any different before he married. His pa had not been one to spare the rod and neither was he, although Gareth preferred an open hand or a fist to a birch stick. When his kids were little, he’d often rattled their teeth with a hard cuff.

  Not sixty yards higher they came on a clear space, and four longhorns that stood their ground, and stared.

  “We’ll go around,” Gareth said. He purposely rode close to see what the longhorns would do; the animals didn’t do anything.

  “Why are they looking at us like that?” Iden asked.