My place back home aint much but the house and barn are sturdy. The water well is deep and the land is purty good. You might ax the Barstow lady if she would like to have it as a place to settle on. I spect she an her boy won’t be wantin to go back to where her husband got kilt by those injuns.
Tell miz Chadway for me that Im sorry we dint save her pa. Seems to me he was plum crazy but he dint disurve to get kilt. If there really is a heven hes likely up there talking away and happy like he had good since. I sur hope so.
Lastly, I got my regrets though its a bit late to worry on that. Jes figgered Id make mention of em. May be if that lady Id hoped to marry hadn’t turned me away and maybe if I hadnt drunk so much or shot so many folks I would of turned out a better man. All I can do now is leeve that up to your doing.
Your frend, Tater Barclay
Taylor was still staring at the letter when he heard a woman’s voice. “Marshal, it’s Joy and July Barstow. Are you decent?”
“Decent as I’ll ever be,” he said as he quickly pulled on his boots and tried to smooth his tangled hair.
Joy’s eyes were red, but there was a faint smile on her face. July cradled a pan of corn muffins in her arms. “If you’re too weary and wish to sleep, we can come back tomorrow,” July said. “I was with the children, trying to teach them to add and subtract, when you arrived. I just heard that you were back.”
“It’s good to see you up and about,” Taylor said. “I take it you’re feeling better than the last time I seen you.”
“Much better, thank you. In many ways I’m feeling my old self. And for that I’m forever indebted to you and your friend.” She glanced toward where Barclay’s body lay. “I’ve come to tell you how sorry I am that he’s dead.”
Taylor nodded. “Too much of that’s been occurring of late.” He handed Barclay’s letter to July. “Something here you might want to think on.”
As July read, Joy moved toward the bunk and sat next to him. She took his hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t conduct myself as properly as I should have earlier. In my sadness over the news of my father, I didn’t make clear the fact that I’m glad you’re back and safe.” She bent toward him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’ve been in my thoughts a great deal. I prayed daily for your return.”
“I just wish we could have . . .”
Joy put a finger to his lips. “He lived a good life, for which I’m sure he’s now being rewarded. And he’ll be remembered.” She smiled. “While you were gone, the church was finished. Mayor Dawson announced that it would be called Jerusalem’s House. My daddy would have liked that.”
“I ’spect he would.”
July Barstow handed the letter back to Taylor, tears running down her cheeks.
Taylor folded the piece of paper and placed it back in the saddlebag. “Is his proposal of interest to you?”
“I can be ready to leave whenever you are.”
“It will be a hard trip.”
“It’s one I’ve nightly dreamed of making,” she said.
“I’ll arrange to borrow a horse and we’ll ride out come morning.”
Before leaving, July walked over to the quilt-covered sled. She placed a hand on it and said softly, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Barclay.”
Taylor and Joy sat silently for some time. “It’s a fine and Christian thing you’re doing,” she finally said.
“What future plans have you considered?”
“Though I loved my father dearly,” she said, “I long ago wearied of his constant travel. I like it here in Dawson’s Ridge. The people have become friends, and the children have brought sunshine into my life. I’ve been trying to do the Sunday services, preaching Daddy’s sermons as best I can remember them. I lack his forceful delivery, but I figure I’ll get better at is as time goes on.”
Thad nodded. “I think it’s a good plan.”
“Maybe one day after you’ve tended the responsibilities you’ve taken on, you’ll think about returning,” she said. Smiling, she added, “You are the town’s marshal, as I recall.”
Taylor returned her smile. “It’s something to think on.”
• • •
Buck Lee and the two young ranch hands spent the day cursing the task they’d been given. With no idea what route the men they were seeking might be taking, they had decided to travel an old buffalo trail that wagons and stagecoaches favored. To reach it required them to first ride in a westward direction.
A feathery snow was falling as they neared the railroad water station. When they got closer to the tower, they saw two youngsters riding bareback, yelling their delight in the first full blast of winter weather.
“That horse yonder looks familiar,” Buck said as he kicked his into a trot. It was one that had been tethered to the rail in front of the saloon when he and Ruben encountered the two men.
“Howdy, fellas,” he said as he approached. “Seems you’re having yourselves a fine time playing out in this snowfall.”
The boys looked at the three riders but made no reply.
“We’re on the way to meet up with a couple of friends,” Buck said, “and was wondering if they might have come this way.”
It was the younger brother who spoke. “There was two men here for a time, but they’ve gone.”
“Did they say where it was they were headed?”
“No, sir, they just left out, going that way.” He raised an arm and pointed to the north.
Buck tipped his hat and smiled. “Much obliged. I reckon we’ll catch up to ’em soon enough.”
“One of ’em was dead,” the youngster said.
As they rode away, Buck laughed. “Could be,” he said, “that our job’s already half-done.”
Chapter 29
As Taylor and July Barstow left Texas behind, crossing the Red River into Indian Territory, the landscape turned harsh. Once green and gently waving, the grass lay dormant and straw colored. Mesquites aside, the trees were bare and a cold gray fog blanketed the landscape.
They had left Dawson’s Ridge at daybreak, the whole town turning out to bid them farewell. One by one the children came forward to hug July. Mayor Dawson shook Taylor’s hand. “I hope we’ll be seeing you again one day soon,” he said. Joy Chadway stood away from the crowd, arms folded across her chest, Dawg sitting at her feet. Only when Thad turned to look in her direction as he rode away did she wave good-bye as Dawg stood and barked.
They rode at a slow pace with little conversation. As they reached every rise Taylor would stop and scan the horizon with the field glasses he’d taken from Barclay’s saddlebag.
“You’re expecting us to be followed?” July said.
He had not spoken to her of the events at the ranch except to explain how Barclay had been killed. “Just being careful,” he said. “With good luck our route is unknown to anyone. Anyway, the bluecoats have cleared the region of renegade Indians. Aside from this unfit weather, we should have no problems.”
July tugged a blanket closer around her shoulders and looked at him from beneath her bonnet. “She was an evil woman, you know.” It was her first mention of the person she’d only known as Talks With Spirits. “I never in my life experienced pleasure in learning that someone was dead before. But, Lord forgive me, I felt no sadness when you told me your friend had killed her. She had no soul, nor did she have any kind feelings for anyone but herself.”
Taylor only nodded as he put away the glasses. Kate Two Bender was not someone he wished to think of. “If I recollect,” he said, “there are small caves in the hillsides up the way. They should provide us some shelter against the cold tonight.”
During the first days of their trip, they saw few other travelers. They encountered only a lone wagon, a family making its way south. “How much farther to Texas?” the driver called out as his wife and three children peered from beneath the canvas stretched
across its bed.
“Couple more days before you reach the Red River,” Taylor said. “You folks picked a mighty hard time to be traveling.”
“That we did,” the driver said. “But we had little choice. The owner of the land I was working on the halves up and sold out and then invited us to leave. We’ve got relations down the way we’re gonna move in with.”
Taylor noticed that the eyes of the children were fixed on the sled behind Magazine. One seemed about to inquire before his mother put her hand to his mouth.
“We wish you a safe trip,” July said.
The only other people they saw that day were some distance to the west. A small band of Indians, no more than six or eight, were slowly headed in the direction of a reservation Thad knew to be near. They appeared old and defeated. Their horses appeared malnourished, and they showed no interest in the white travelers.
Fog had thickened, turning the evening air damp, as Thad unhitched the sled and removed the saddles from the horses. He led them to a nearby spring before gathering wood for a fire.
July reached into the flour sack she’d filled with provisions and her few belongings and handed him a small pot. “If you’ll fill this with water I’ll brew coffee,” she said. “Unfortunately that’ll be the extent of my cooking.” She had only dried venison and what remained of the bread cooked by the women before their departure.
“The squirrels and rabbits have the good sense not to be out in this weather,” Taylor said, “so I hope you understand that I’ll not be doing any hunting for our supper.”
July smiled. “We’ll make do. But just so you know, I plan on fixing you a meal unlike any you’ve ever had once we reach our destination.”
Taylor added logs to the branches that were ablaze. “I reckon a fella can’t ask for a more proper incentive than that.”
When July woke the following morning, she found Taylor standing at the mouth of their shelter. His hat was pulled far down on his head and his hands were buried in his pockets as he looked out on a howling snowstorm that had arrived during the night. Tracks he’d just made while searching for firewood were a foot deep and being quickly filled.
“We won’t be doing any traveling today,” he said as she moved to stand next to the fire.
• • •
Half a day’s ride away, Buck Lee and the two young hands that Guinn had sent with him—Dwayne Coats and Billy Sommers—had no protection from the sudden storm. They camped in open range and woke in the middle of the night to the wind and snow coming down so hard they could barely see their hands in front of their faces. With only their hats, long coats, and saddle blankets for cover, they huddled by a fire, shivering and sharing the bottle of whiskey Lee had brought along.
“If old man Guinn hadn’t been so all-fired anxious for us to get on the trail,” Sommers said, “maybe we might have had us time to put together some provisions.”
“Blankets sure woulda been welcome,” said Coats. “And something to eat.”
Buck said nothing. He resented the fact that they had been ordered to accompany him instead of more qualified men. Those his boss had chosen to ride with him were weak and stupid, sent along because they were viewed as expendable. By dawn they were drunk.
“I’m near froze, I’m hungry, and I’m thinking this ain’t something I hired on to do,” Sommers said.
“I’m a cowhand, not no manhunter,” said Coats. “Soon as this storm’s passed I’m gonna head back.” He looked over at Sommers. “You’d be wise to do the same thing.”
Buck drank the last of the whiskey and threw the empty bottle into the snow. “And just what kind of reception is it you expect you’ll get when Guinn sees you ride up?”
“I’m not figgering on going back to the ranch to work for that crazy old man. He can have my back pay. I’ll take his horse in exchange for what he owes me and find me another ranch to work on somewheres else.”
Sommers nodded in agreement. “I’m with you, Dwayne.”
Lee said, “Listen, you two, we was chosen to find those who set fire to the pasture and stampeded the cattle. It’s proper to make them pay for that, not to mention that they killed Ruben.”
“De la Rosa was your friend, not mine,” Sommers said. “Far’s I’m concerned, he ain’t no great loss. He was a mean and spiteful Meskin who was far too proud of hisself. I got no good reason to be seeking revenge for his killing.”
Buck brushed snow from his beard as he got to his feet. Kole Guinn had treated him well since he and Ruben were young men first hired to rustle cattle for him. He’d paid them well, provided them food, shelter, and good horses. When they’d been thrown in jail after altercations in Waco saloons, it was always their boss who spoke with the marshal and saw that they were set free. More than once Guinn had paid whores from his own pocket to tend to their private needs. In every way, Lee believed, his boss had earned his loyalty.
“What I’m saying is, if a man’s paying your wages and tells you something needs doing,” he said, “you should do it.”
Dwayne laughed. “Not if it don’t make good sense and might get you killed.” Billy nodded his agreement.
Lee staggered through the snow to his horse and pulled his rifle from its scabbard. He stumbled briefly as he turned and pointed it in their direction.
“You’re plumb crazy as he is,” Sommers said.
Buck shot him first, levered another round into the chamber, and aimed at Coats. “All you boys have done is give me misery and slow me down,” he said as he pulled the trigger a second time. He moved closer and looked down as the snow around the dead men turned red.
He added more wood to the fire, then sat silently for the remainder of the night, wishing there was more whiskey. He thought of his dead friend Ruben and whores and the warmth of the bunkhouse back at the ranch. And as the cold air began to clear his head, he recalled the conversation he’d had with the family they’d passed the day before. “All I can rightfully recall was that the man wore a hat that seemed too big for his head. That and the fact that his horse was pulling some kind of load,” the man in the wagon had said.
Lee knew he was getting close.
• • •
When the snowstorm started, Taylor had found a nearby draw that offered some shelter for the horses. He brushed snow from their backs, only to see more collect even before he could finish. Near the entrance to the cave, Barclay’s makeshift carriage had already disappeared beneath a white mound.
July, wrapped in a blanket, looked up as he returned with more wood for the fire. “How long do you expect we’ll be here?”
“Could be a while. No way of knowing how long this storm will last. Or how soon we can travel once it clears.”
Soon a bright blaze was again burning, embers dancing above the flames before being swept out into the storm. Outside there was an eerie silence. No birds called out and nothing moved.
“Tell me about Mr. Barclay’s place,” July said, breaking a long silence.
“I was only there a couple of times and then just briefly. But from what I seen, it’s a fine place. You read what he described in his letter. When we left to come this way, he spoke with a neighbor about watching over it in his absence, so I ’spect it’s been taken care of.”
“Is it a place Jakey would like?”
“I’d think so. Most likely, he’d like any place where his mama is.”
“I’m so anxious to see him. Likely he’s grown a foot. He had his ninth birthday not long ago, you know.”
The day passed slowly, July trying to urge Thad into conversation. “I realize you’re not much of a talker,” she said, “but it’s one of the things in life that gives me great pleasure. Most women are like that, I suppose. When I was with the Indians, the only one who even spoke English was that horrid woman. At times, though, even hearing words from her foul mouth were welcome. Then, when I arri
ved in Dawson’s Ridge, it was the conversations with the women there that helped me heal. Folks talking to each other is a good thing, Mr. Taylor.”
“I just never had much that was worth saying.”
“Oh, I doubt that. From what I saw, Miss Chadway was most interested in speaking with you. And, if I’m not mistaken, you with her.” July smiled as Thad blushed and rose to his feet.
“Reckon I’ll fetch some more firewood,” he said.
• • •
On the morning of the third day, the skies cleared to a blue so bright it caused Taylor to squint as he stepped from the mouth of the cave. The wind had stilled and the sun was a welcome ball of orange on the horizon.
“If it stays cold,” he said, “the ground will remain frozen, allowing us to move on.”
“I’ll make you some coffee,” July said, “and then we can be on our way.”
• • •
Buck Lee’s horse moved through the snow in a slow, prancing motion, its legs disappearing beneath the frozen crust with each step. Through the early part of the day the cold felt good, clearing his head. Despite the freezing temperature, he broke into a sweat as the whiskey left his body. The only remorse he’d felt as he left the bloodied campsite was leaving the brothers’ horses behind. Bringing them along would slow him, he decided. He’d left the brothers’ frozen bodies where they lay, a gift to scavenging wolves and coyotes who would soon find them.
It was dusk when he arrived at the cave. The tracks in the frozen snow and the remains of a campfire assured him he was on the right trail. “Won’t be long now,” he said.
• • •
Five miles ahead, Taylor scanned the horizon through his field glasses. The endless blanket of snow gave off a glare as the sun began to set. “To our good fortune,” he said to Magazine as he stroked the horse’s neck, “it appears we’re the only ones who lack good sense and are attempting to travel.”
Ralph Compton Comanche Trail Page 21