Forty-Four Caliber Justice (23 page)

Chancy had carried Josh into that battle, and now he carried him to the family of Rory Nance.

*

The valley was at least five miles long, with hills rising from the northern and southern edges. In the bottom, near the southern side, a wide creek flowed southeast. It was covered with heavily laden pecan trees. Even from this distance, he could hear the racket of the red fox squirrels fussing over the green pecans.

The ranch house was on a shelf about fifty feet above the creek bed, well above the high water mark. It backed up against a small hill that rose out of the valley floor. The limestone, two-story house was solidly built. Josh admired the way the stone bunkhouse and the ranch house provided good fields of fire for each other. The barn and corrals, across from the house, were well maintained. It looked like Bill Nance believed in taking care of his property.

“Come on, Chancy,” Josh said. “We best get on with it. The quicker we finish here, the sooner we can be on our way to Colorado.”

The big gray horse nodded as if it understood as they started down the hill. It had been a long and tiring trip since they had left Ma and Pa back in the Tennessee hills. The horse sensed they were near a resting place.

Josh pulled up at the hitching rail in front of the rock fence that surrounded the house. The ranch seemed deserted. He had seen no one as he rode up, yet there was no indication of damage or of a fight.

Maybe everyone had left the ranch for the fort because of the Indian reports. He immediately dismissed that thought. From what Rory had told him about Mr. Nance, a report of Indians wouldn’t phase him, even a little bit.

Chancy’s ears twisted around trying to pinpoint a sound too faint for human ears. Josh also felt it. He didn’t know where this ability came from, maybe from some old Scot ancestor, but he knew he had it, and he’d learned to trust it—too many times during the war it had saved his bacon. Rory had always said he was like a cat with nine lives but Josh knew it was this uncanny ability to know when he was being watched that had saved him.

This time his sixth-sense had been slow. Now he was sitting in the open with his Colt snubbed down and his rifle in the scabbard. If whoever was watching was a tad unfriendly, he was going to be in deep trouble.

He heard the sharp metallic click from behind as a hammer reached its full-cocked position. The horse heard it, too. Josh could feel the horse’s muscles tense beneath him. They had been in trouble together many times before, and each felt the other’s tension.

“
Buenas tardes, señor
. Please do not make a sudden move, for I am an old
vaquero
, and I tend to nervousness. If you move suddenly you might cause me to jump, and if I jump, I might accidentally touch the trigger on this old and worn Sharps, and it might blow a big hole in your back—right between your shoulder blades. So if I were you, I would sit very still.”

“Mister, that borders on being one of the most unfriendly greetings I’ve ever had,” Josh said as he concentrated on sitting perfectly still. “I can tell you, that hitchin’ post will move before I do.”

“
Bueno hombre
, that’s some smart thinking.”

“Miss Nance,” the
vaquero
called, “you want I should take this hombre away from here?”

Josh was thinking how he didn’t particularly like the thought of being taken anywhere. In fact, he was starting to get mad—real mad. He had come here to help, to pay a debt, and now he was being treated like a thief. He didn’t like it at all.

“Now listen, mister. I’ve ridden a long way for a good friend. I don’t reckon a gun in my back is the reception I’d get if Rory were here.”

The ranch house door burst open as an attractive young woman carrying a big Colt .44 dashed breathlessly up to his horse.

“Do you know Rory?” she asked. “His last letter was almost two years ago.”

Josh looked down at the young blonde with sky blue eyes. He realized she didn’t know about her brother.

CHAPTER THREE

“YES, MA’AM, I knew Rory,” Josh said. “But I could talk a heap better if that Sharps wasn’t dead center on my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Juan, please lower your rifle.”

“Señorita
, we don’t know this man. It’s obvious he’s not from around here. I recommend we be very cautious of him,” Juan said, as he reluctantly lowered the rifle.

Josh heard the hammer click as it was lowered to the safe position. He relaxed and turned around to look steadily at the man who, for a few moments, controlled his life. His appraisal was met, and returned, with an equally level stare. Josh decided that from what he could tell so far, Mr. Nance knew how to pick men.

“Ma’am, I’m Joshua Matthew Logan. I rode with your brother under General Grant’s Command.”

“Mister Logan, I must apologize once again—I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Mary Louise Nance, and the cautious man with the rifle is Juan Alvarez, a truly dear friend.”

Josh stepped down from the horse. He noticed the elderly Alvarez had visibly relaxed when Josh introduced himself. Alvarez must be a close friend to the Nance family to be privy to Rory’s letters.

Juan stepped forward and extended his hand.
“Señor
Rory is a good friend, and I know you are his good friend. Welcome to the Rocking N.”

Mary Louise said, “Please come in, Mister Logan and tell us all about Rory. Oh, I’m forgetting my manners again. You must be tired and hungry after such a long journey. You can clean up and we’ll get you something to eat. Papa should be back by then, and I’m just dying to hear about Rory.”

“Well, ma’am, that’s mighty nice of you. But first I’d like to take care of my horse. Then I’d truly be pleased to wash off this trail dust and sit down to a home-cooked meal.”

“Señor
Logan,” Alvarez stepped forward and grasped Chancy’s bridle, “I’d be honored if you would allow me to take care of this fine animal.”

Josh started to tell him to be careful, for the big gray was finicky about who handled him, but Chancy nuzzled the older man as if he’d known him forever.

“Señor
Alvarez, I was goin’ to tell you to be careful, but it looks like you’ve made a friend. Would you put him off by himself, since he’s a stud horse.”

“I like horses, Señor, and most of them like me, and yes, I will keep him away from our other horses.
Por favor, Señor
, call me Juan.”

“Juan it is then,” Josh said. “I answer to Josh or Logan. Thanks.” He turned to Mary Louise and said, “Ma’am, I’d be much obliged if you could forget the Mister. I’m not much for titles. Just call me Josh.”

“Why Mister—uh Josh—thank you. Won’t you please come in now?”

Josh followed her into the house. Rory had talked about his sister a great deal. Logan had never been much with the ladies. When he was younger, he was always too busy working, hunting or fishing; always finding a reason to be with his Pa or his brothers in the Tennessee forests. As he grew, he came to realize that he wasn’t a handsome man, as men go. He was too big, too awkward around women. The saber cut across his forehead didn’t help any either, but mostly, he just never knew what to say.

Before he was barely grown, the war came along, and for almost five years it occupied his every waking hour. Now here he was, in the home of this beautiful young woman, about to break her heart with the news of her brother’s death.

“Teresa,” Mary called to the kitchen.

A large Mexican woman came into the living room from the kitchen. Her jet-black hair, shot with traces of gray, was pulled back and pinned at the back of her head. She held a dish she was busily drying. A wide smile lit her face as she saw Josh.

“I have ears, Mary,” she said. “I know this is our little Rory’s friend. We’ll have another place for dinner. Now I’ll heat some
agua
, for I see Mr. Logan needs a bath—
badly
.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Josh said, as Teresa walked back to the kitchen.

“Where’s Mr. Nance and the rest of your ranch hands?” he asked, as Mary led him to a small room adjoining the kitchen. A dresser and a chair were against one wall, with a real honest to goodness mirror above the dresser. In the middle of the room sat a big bathtub.

“This is our bathroom,” Mary announced proudly. “Father put this in right after Rory left.”

She had a right to be proud, Josh thought. There were few homes that had the space to have one room devoted only to taking baths. In fact, there were doggone few homes that even had bathtubs. Why, the only baths he ever had at home were in a washtub when he was young, and later in the river when he grew too big.

“Mighty nice, ma’am.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me ma’am, Josh.”

“Mary,” Josh asked, “where’s Mr. Nance?”

“Oh yes,” she said, “you asked me that awhile ago. Father took some horses down to Brownwood. He should be back for supper. Brownwood’s about a half day’s ride.”

“Here’s the hot water,” Teresa announced as she marched in from the kitchen. “Supper will be ready soon, so don’t dawdle. Come on, Mary,
Señor
Nance should be back soon and Señor Logan can tell us all about Rory then.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Josh said as Teresa ushered Mary out of the room, closing the door behind her.

*

Josh felt like a new man. The hot water had washed away trail dust and tension. Now his muscles were relaxed as he dressed. He was pulling on his boots when he heard the horses riding up in the yard. The moment he’d been dreading was close at hand. He’d ridden hundreds of miles to do this for a friend. He must have rehearsed what he was going to say a thousand times.

It wasn’t like this was new to him. He’d had a lot of practice with all the letters he’d written to loved ones of men killed in his company. He had even told a few fathers and wives in person, but never had it been someone this close. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Bill Nance was talking to his daughter as Josh opened the bathroom door. Nance turned and strode toward Josh, his hand extended.

“Welcome to the Rocking N—what there is left of it,” he said ruefully. “I’m Bill Nance. The few letters we received from Rory sure spoke highly of you. We’re mighty proud to have you here.”

Josh took the extended hand. “I’m pleased to meet you Mr. Nance. Rory talked about you all the time.”

“Call me Bill,” Nance said. “Now let’s eat. You can tell us all about Rory and what he was up to when you last saw him. We figured he would probably have made it home by now. But there’s many a mile between Virginia and Texas.”

Josh could see that Bill Nance knew that something had happened to his son, but this was a strong man. He couldn’t have survived and accomplished all that he had without great inner strength. That’s what it took to settle this great country. Without men like Bill Nance, everyone would still be back in Europe, talking about coming to the new world. This country was built by men of strength and action; men like Bill Nance.

Rory had told Josh, as they sat around camp on those lonely nights, how his father had traveled to New Orleans when he was only nineteen. There he had spent a couple of years accumulating a handsome stake.

Bill Nance met Stephen F. Austin in New Orleans, and Austin wove his magic as he talked about Texas. He told Nance he’d been awarded a large land grant by the Mexican Government and was looking for a few brave men to come to Texas and settle there. He told him about the wild land. There were buffalo that moved south during the winter. They were so thick a man could walk across their backs for miles and never put boot to dirt.

In southwest Texas, along the Rio Grande near Reynosa, Mexico, there were wild cattle for the taking; cattle that had been brought to Texas by Colonel Jose de Escandon, when he attempted to settle the north country in 1749. He established several towns along the southern side of the Rio Grande but those Mexican ranchers on the north side, in Texas, were continually harassed, killed, and finally driven out by the Comanches and Apaches, leaving their cattle behind.

Austin had given this adventurous young man a Texas transfusion. He would never again be the same. Austin, a man of vision, had seen beneath the surface and recognized the fierce determination that drove Bill Nance. He needed men like him in his new Texas. He also saw something else. He saw the integrity that lived in the heart of this man.

Josh thought, it wasn’t hard to picture Bill Nance as Austin must have seen him. The tall man who sat before him now was older. His hair was white. His face was a dark brown map of his adventures, baked by the many years in the Texas sun. But there still burned, behind those hard, blue eyes, that same fierce determination that Austin must have recognized when, in 1822, he had persuaded Bill Nance to come with him back to Texas.

“Josh,” Nance said, “Teresa’s fixed a mighty fine meal. Let’s go on in and have a seat. Everybody’s anxious to hear about Rory.”

Josh walked into the kitchen where everyone waited. Teresa fussed around getting all the food on the table, while Nance seated Mary. Josh sat next to Nance, facing Mary across the table. Juan was there with a couple of cowhands Josh hadn’t met. He figured they must have driven the horses to Brownwood with Bill Nance. That was still a mighty small crew for a ranch this size.

“Josh, those two boys at the end of the table are Frank Milman and Lee Stanton,” Bill Nance said. “Lee’s first name is Leonard, but don’t call him that. He’s not very fond of the name.”

The cowboys nodded and Lee said, “Mr. Nance, you know I’m partial to Lee. My mother liked Leonard; I never could figure why.”

As everybody pitched in, Bill Nance said sharply, “Well, Josh, I guess you’d better git to it.”

Mary looked questioningly from her father to Josh. There was something in her father’s voice. The constant clamor, so common to a ranch house kitchen at dinner time, suddenly ceased. An ominous quiet settled over the people assembled at the table as they all turned expectantly to Josh.

Josh looked closely at Mary. Her dark eyebrows lifted questioningly as she looked from him to her father and back.

“Bill, I left Rory near Cedar Creek, Virginia in the Shenandoah Valley. It was the Battle of Cedar Creek. Don’t know if you heard about it or not. We were assigned to escort General Sheridan back to his headquarters. He’d been in Washington, meeting with Secretary of War, Edwin M. Stanton. General Early’s troops attacked our lines the morning of October 19, 1864. When General Sheridan received the message, we rushed back to find our lines retreating and in turmoil. The General turned the troops around and attacked. We were detailed to find and attack Early’s cavalry.”