Holliday says, “After that, I picked me up a few jobs as a cowhand here and there—and I even rode down to the Big Bend to do a little prospectin’. I spent less than a year down there buildin’ my poke, but never strikin’ it rich. Then one day a gang a’ Mes’kin border bandits raided my camp and took my bag a’ nuggets an’ dust. Just like that, they did, swooped in behind me while I was sleepin’, knocked me silly, and then searched my belongings until they found my gold. They also warned me to get out of the Bend because they were part of a movement that had plans to take that land back from the United States.
“I traveled up through New Mexico to Colorado after that and started doin’ my O.K. Corral shootout recreation show up in Central City for the miners and townsfolk. They loved it—at first. But how many times will someone pay to see the same show over and over again? Well, I paid off the men I’d hired to work in the show and that left me close ta broke again. So I worked myself from mining town to mining town doin’ my shootin’ act. It was in Georgetown where they demanded to look at the ammunition I was usin’ ta hit those movin’ targets. When they found out I had bin misrepresentin’ myself by usin’ bird shot I dang-near got myself hanged. I went on back ta Denver and hired on with another cattle company for a while. The boys in the bunkhouse where I slept decided they didn’t like my snoring and poured a couple a’ buckets a’ water on me one night an’ I sat up shootin’. Thank God those bird shot shells were still in my guns so I didn’t do too much damage or kill someone. Even so, a few a’ them cowboys got hit by the bird shot, so they took a vote and kicked me out a’ the bunkhouse for good. They told me I’d better get myself out a’ the state of Colorado just in case someone reported the incident to the law. That very same night I saddled up and headed for Kansas.”
I asked Holliday where he landed next. “Somehow I must’ve took the wrong trail and found myself in the panhandle of Oklahoma. That was the first time I run across you and the cattle drive. I decided to follow because I’d never seen an outfit that moved cows north ta south before … only south ta north. So I kept follerin’ an’ follerin’ until one night I realized I hadn’t had a bite to eat in days. That was when I rode inta your camp and we all met up for the first time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
1960
“OK, everyone,” said Evie, “I’m going to need some help with these TV trays. Everyone walk your own back into the kitchen so I can wash them down before we fold them up and put them away.”
“But what about Grampa Hank’s story?” said Noel. “I don’t want to miss what’s next.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” said Hank as he stood, then picked up his own TV tray. “The story can’t continue unless I’m here to tell it.” He laughed.
Noel giggled. “Now why didn’t I think of that myself?” she said.
“Because you’re not as smart as Grampa Hank,” said Caleb, ducking quickly to avoid Noel’s little fist.
“Noel,” came her mother’s yell from the kitchen. “No fighting with your brother. Haven’t we talked about that?”
Noel’s look dropped to the floor. “Yes, Mommy,” she said.
“Now get in here and help me with these trays,” said Evie.
Right about then there was an extremely intense burst of lightning outside—it threw eerie patterns over everything as it leaked its brightness through drawn curtains and shades.
It was followed immediately by an ear-shattering, double clap of thunder.
Noel and Caleb looked up to the ceiling just as all the lights went out.
“No way,” said Caleb.
Noel said, “I’m scared.”
Within moments, Evie, followed by Grampa Hank and Josh, re-entered the front room, all of them carrying candles.
“If we were watching a television show we’d all be in deep trouble,” said Evie.
“But since it’s my story I’m telling,” said Hank, “and not no TV show, we don’t need electricity for me to go on with it. So feel around,” he said, “and try to find where you were sitting, and I’ll continue on.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
1899
The next day following the noon meal, just minutes after the last cowboy had remounted his horse and galloped off to his position in front, beside, or behind the longhorn herd, Henry Ellis, Roscoe, and Kelly were still working hard to finish washing the dinner dishes. They were drying then repacking the eating utensils into the chuckwagon’s storage area near the front of the wagon’s bed.
“There’s not enough room in the cupboards to hold all of this stuff, Uncle Roscoe,” Henry Ellis called out from under the canvas cover where he had stationed himself.
“Sure there is, button,” Roscoe yelled back to him. “Just gimme a minute an’ I’ll climb up there and give ya a hand.”
Kelly dropped what she was doing and started climbing up to the chuckwagon’s bed from the other side.
“You stay where you are, Roscoe,” she said. “I’ll help Henry Ellis arrange the utensils.”
“Ah hell,” mumbled Roscoe.
“What was that?” Kelly asked from behind the canvas cover.
“Heck, awww, heck,” said Roscoe, “I just don’t like to let newcomers organize my storage facilities. They never do it like I want it done.”
“Well, I guess you’re going to have to like it this time, Mister Roscoe Baskin,” she said, “because I’m no newcomer when it comes to stacking dishes. My grandmother put me in charge of the bunkhouse dining room on the ranch where I was raised when I was eight years old. So I’ll bet I’m more of an expert on stacking dishes than anyone else in this outfit, if you want the truth.”
“I’ll take you up on that little bet,” said Roscoe as Kelly and the boy started their climb down from the front of the chuckwagon.
“I’ll out-stack you dish for dish if you’re really serious about a contest,” said Kelly. She went about dumping the dishwater and drying the large pots. Then she handed them up to Henry Ellis who had stopped halfway and he put them on the floor of the bed just under the storage cabinet.
After that, Henry Ellis settled into the chuckwagon’s seat where he waited for Kelly and Roscoe to join him. By then the sounds of the cattle drive had faded into the distance. For all three of them this was the quietest it had been since the day had begun.
Kelly climbed up beside the boy, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.
“I just love being outside in the open country when it’s peaceful and quiet like it is now,” she said softly.
Henry Ellis didn’t reply—he wanted them all to enjoy the moment.
“Times like this I can truly believe there’s a Creator up there in heaven,” said Roscoe as he buckled up some of the loose harness straps on the horses. Then he started his climb up to the driver’s seat beside the others.
“Don’t either of ya ever tell Charley Sunday what ya just heard me say,” said Roscoe, continuing. “He thinks I don’t have a relationship with the Man Upstairs … when I really do. It’s just that C.A. finds God inside a church buildin’—and I find mine out here under the blue sky.”
They all sat silently, listening to the quietness—the pure sounds of nature.
From another direction came the combined noises of a bullwhip cracking, a stage driver’s yelling, the increasing clatter of four wheels turning, harnesses jingling, and horses’ hooves galloping.
In moments the rugged outline of a Butterfield stagecoach being pulled by six mules could be seen on the horizon following the faint sketch of a road that appeared to curve around a stand of trees, then cross trails about seventy-five yards ahead of where the chuckwagon was. Both conveyances were moving toward a possible interception.
“There’s something we’ll never see again in our lifetime,” said Roscoe. “Six mules pullin’ the long-distance Jackass Mail. It’ll all be gone by the new century when trains take over the rest of the post office delivery system … just like they done with the stagecoach passenger service.”<
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“That driver is really putting’ it to those poor mules,” said Roscoe.
“It looks to me like they’re being abused,” added Kelly.
“Naw,” said Roscoe. “He’s only pushin’ that team hard and fast like he is because someone’s chasin’ him. Look,” he pointed.
Sure enough, Roscoe was right. No more than thirty yards behind the coach rode a band of eight to ten Mexican bandits, hightailing it after the mail carrier while firing their guns and rifles.
“I’ll be darned,” said Kelly. “Here I am again without my photographer … just when I really could use him.”
The coach continued to careen down the road, advancing closer and closer to the spot where it would cross the trail Roscoe was using for the chuckwagon.
“For God’s sake, Roscoe, stop this wagon before we collide,” said Kelly.
Roscoe quickly reined in the chuckwagon’s team, and the made-over two-seat buckboard came to a very bumpy, grinding halt.
The stagecoach was close enough by then for all three of them to see the shotgun guard take a bullet to the shoulder, which knocked him off his perch, sending him sprawling onto the ground below.
The driver immediately jerked on the reins, slowing and then stopping the coach within a fraction of an inch from the chuckwagon’s team.
The bandits circled the two conveyances, now firing into the air as a warning for no one to move. Both the stage driver and Roscoe raised their hands.
Henry Ellis and Kelly followed suit, raising their hands slowly.
The agitated horses and riders closed in around the drivers of both vehicles.
One of the Mexicans, who appeared to be the leader, nudged his horse in closer than the others. He had black curly hair under a faded black felt sombrero. His deep brown eyes sparkled in the bright afternoon sun. The rest of his face was hidden behind a bandanna mask, the same type worn by all the other riders.
One of the bandits threw a loop over the stagecoach driver’s head, shaking the rope until it settled down around his neck. Then he jerked it into a tight noose and yanked the driver out of the seat. He landed on the left wheeler’s withers, startling not only that one horse, but all the others as well. He slid to the ground dead from a broken neck.
Another masked bandit grabbed for the coach’s reins, then pulled the team up short before their fear started them running again.
The leader shouted some orders to the others: “Go see if the mail pouch is up there in the boot, Francisco. Pablo … the strongbox should be inside. Bring it to me.”
“Sí, jefé,” said the men. They went about following his orders. The one named Francisco slid from his saddle to the coach, climbing up to the driver’s seat. He reached down into the boot and came up holding the mail pouch, stuffed to the brim with envelopes and small packages.
“Go ahead,” said the leader. “See if there is something worth anything inside … if no … get rid of it.”
Pablo, the other bandit, was already inside the coach, rummaging around.
“It is here, jefé,” said the one named Pablo. “But it is chained and locked to a heavy ring on the floor.”
“We will have to take the entire coach, then,” said the leader in Spanish. “We will have to find somewhere they have blacksmith tools.”
“What about the three Americanos?” said another outlaw. “The old one, the pretty woman, and the boy. We cannot just let them go?”
“Tie them up for now and we will bring them along with us,” said the leader. “You never know when we may need them. Let them ride inside the stagecoach. And bring the other wagon, too … I have a feeling it is filled with many good things to eat.”
A few miles away the longhorns were moving along at a good pace when Rod rode up to Charley, reining in beside him.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Sunday,” he said, “and the chuckwagon hasn’t caught up to us yet. Do you think something’s gone wrong?”
Charley turned to him, scratching his head. He pulled out his pocket watch and gave it a glance.
“You’re right, son,” said Charley. “Why don’t you go get Feather … uh, first find Holliday and tell him to lend you one of his pistols, and make sure you load it with real bullets … Then you find Feather, and the both of you go back and see what’s keeping Roscoe and the others.”
“Will do, Mr. Sunday,” said Rod. “But, why the gun?”
Charley answered, “I trust you more with Holliday’s gun than I trust Holliday with it. Now get going. Find ’em and tell ’em to get a move on. There’s only so much daylight to burn in one day.”
Holliday showed no reluctance in lending one of his weapons to Rod when asked. He only felt bad that Charley hadn’t asked him to go along with the young Indian instead of Feather.
Feather was delighted to join Rod when he was asked. There was only one thing that worried him.
“That’s one of Holliday’s guns you’ve got tucked inta your belt, ain’t it?” he asked the young Indian.
Rod nodded.
“Did Charley say we should be expectin’ trouble?”
“Mr. Sunday wanted me to have a loaded gun … so I guess we better be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”
They both spurred out, moving through the cattle, heading back the way they came.
The stagecoach led the way. The six mules were now being driven by one of the bandits. It was followed by the chuckwagon with another gang member in charge of those two horses.
Roscoe, Kelly, and Henry Ellis had all been bound and then moved inside the stagecoach where they could all ride more comfortably and where it was much easier for the holdup men to keep an eye on them.
Their feet had not been tied so it wasn’t that difficult for them to maneuver the strongbox around on the floor so they could see the chains and large lock that secured it to the ring that had been welded through the floor to the coach’s frame underneath.
“Someone really went to a lot of trouble to protect that money box,” said Kelly.
“That’s why they need to find some blacksmith tools,” said Henry Ellis, “so they can open the box.”
Rod and Feather had come across the intersecting tracks of the chuckwagon and the stagecoach.
“What does all that boot-scuffin’, hoofprints, an’ wheel marks tell ya, Indian?” asked Feather, staring at the point on the ground where the chuckwagon and the stagecoach crossed trails.
“It tells me that we have three friends in some kind of trouble,” said Rod. “And if we don’t find out where they are pretty soon the two of us are going to be in a lot of trouble ourselves.”
Loud moaning coming from the grass caught their attention. Eyes searched the nearby countryside until Feather saw something move several yards in the distance.
Feather pointed. “Over there,” he said, “it looks like he’s been hurt.”
The shotgun rider’s wound turned out to be superficial. After Feather had bandaged him up with the man’s own shirttail, he was able to sit up and tell Rod and Feather all about what had happened on the trail. As for information on Roscoe, Kelly, and Henry Ellis, he wasn’t that sure about their fate.
“I saw all three of ’em when their wagon first tangled with the stagecoach,” he told them. “I was already on the ground by then and my vision was blocked some by the tall grass. I must’ve passed out for a few minutes, too. Last I remember they was headed off in that easterly direction with the chuckwagon following the coach.” He pointed. “I could see for sure that your friends weren’t no longer in the chuckwagon when they all rode off,” he added.
“Do you think you’ll be all right if we move you over into the shade of those trees?” asked Rod.
The shotgun rider nodded. “Just leave me some water and fetch my scattergun over there and I’ll do just fine,” he said. “Just don’t forget to come back an’ get me after you find your friends.”
“Don’t you worry yourself, mister,” said Feather. “We’ll be back fer ya.”
R
od and Feather hadn’t ridden more than a mile following the tracks of the covered wagon and stagecoach when Feather spotted their trail dust up ahead. He reined up sharply—Rod did the same.
“There they are,” said Feather, pointing.
“There sure is a lot of ’em,” said Rod. “I count around eight or so. Maybe one of us should ride back to the herd and get us some more guns.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Feather. “Me an’ Roscoe an’ Charley run up against the same kinda situation back when we was Rangerin’ together. Roundin’ up a gang that size shouldn’t be difficult for the two of us.” He leaned in closer. “We’ll just keep our distance ’til they look like they’re about ta stop, then we’ll …”
It was almost two more miles before the gang’s leader called for the man driving the stage to pull up. He reined in the six-up mule team. The driver of the chuckwagon did the same.
Charlie Sunday's Texas Outfit Page 23