Texas Blood Feud (12 page)

He purged the barrel and the cylinder with boiling water, using a swab until the rag he used came clean. Then he dried them and lightly oiled everything. With the .44 reloaded and on his hip again, he stood up at a knock on the door as he finished oiling the Sharps’ bore.

“Yes?”

May looked both ways, then stepped in the room holding the small one. “I didn’t come to bother you. I think that the doctor should see Rachel. She doesn’t eat good. I think she’s lost weight. Dale Allen tells me it is my imagination. That I worry too much.”

Chet nodded. “I’ll see Doc tomorrow and have him come by.”

“Don’t tell my husband I said anything.”

“I won’t. Where’s Ray and Ty today?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen them since breakfast.”

“I better go see about them. They didn’t come in for lunch?”

“No, but sometimes they get busy—”

“I know, but it’s getting late. I’ll see Doc tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Chet.”

He took the water off the stove and went to find Reg and J.D. He stuck his head in the door and found them reading
Police Gazettes
in the large bunk. “Those young boys didn’t come in for lunch. You two know where they went?”

“No, sir.”

“We better get up and find ’em.”

No telling where they’d gone off to. But it made his guts churn. If anything had happened to those two—

Coyotes were yapping at the moon. Chet pushed the horse up the canyon choked with towering live oak and cedar. With starlight engulfing the landscape and the temperature dropping off fast, the plodding of his mount made the only sounds. His concern had deepened for the two boys. Where and how had they gone? Reg and J.D. couldn’t even recall them leaving that morning. They’d gone to mess with Bugger after breakfast, and hadn’t seen the boys since that meal. Heck had heard them say something about Comanches—he couldn’t recall.

Since Chet’s late afternoon alarm, everyone had set out to find the two. Chet took the rough country west of the ranch headquarters. Without any idea in mind where they might be, he’d ridden up many blind canyons, calling out their names and wondering what they’d had in mind. An eight- and a six-year-old boy who lived in a world of their own without a horse couldn’t go too far in a day.

Or could they? “Ray? Ty?”

His voice sounded lost in the deep night. They lived in a world all their own. Not that Susie, May, and the others didn’t pay them any attention. There was a bonding between the two that he recognized as stronger than blood even.

Where could they be? It was long past supper. There wasn’t much out there in the brush to eat, and they couldn’t have taken much along in the way of food or Astria would have noticed.

She’d shaken her head and turned up her small hands about where they went. “They ate breakfast and were gone.”

Susie and Chet had left for town at that time, too, so in the confusion, the pair had slipped away. Frustrated over his lack of success, Chet turned the horse toward the house. What had he told his brother about those two boys before they went after the horse rustlers? Find some time for those two boys.

He couldn’t believe they’d run off. Just little boys. He closed his eyes and let his horse go home. At the house, he dropped heavily from the saddle and stripped out the latigos.

“No success?” Susie asked him.

“Nothing.”

“No one else found a sign of them either.”

“I need to be at that hearing in the morning.” He lifted the kac off the horse and slung it over the fence for the night.

“We’ll find them tomorrow,” she assured him.

He wasn’t convinced. When he went into the living room, Dale Allen was stomping the floor walking back and forth. “No sign of them?”

“None.”

“I find them, I’ll beat their butts.”

“Dale Allen, listen. That’s not the answer. That’s probably why they left. None of us cared.”

“Cared?”

“Cared. Those boys had no one to really care for them. So they left.”

“Ah, hell, they’re just kids.”

“How the hell would you know? You talked to them lately?”

Dale Allen never answered him.

Susie came in the room and looked close to tears. “What can we do?”

“Look some more in the morning.”

“I have some supper for you,” she said to Chet.

“Thanks,” he said, and followed her into the kitchen.

“Where’s Rock and Mother?”

“Mother’s in bed where she stays anymore. He went to bed a half hour ago.”

“Sorry—I just had not seen them.” Taking a chair, he dropped in place at the table.

“You can’t do it all by yourself, Chet. I hope those boys are all right.”

“So do I, sis,” he said, taking his fork and without much appetite beginning to eat.

The little sleep he had that night was wrought with dreams of Indian massacres. Dawn, still no boys, and he saddled Roan. He’d shaved and taken a sponge bath. Dressed in a starched shirt and his suit—he wanted to make his best impression.

The crew was silent at breakfast, and he left them orders at daylight to look for any tracks they could find. Use the stock dogs, too. The dogs loved the boys—strange the boys left without one. Around the table they talked about nearby places the boys could have gone to. Half sick with worry, he rode for town after the morning meal. There had to be an answer—he considered getting drunk and trying to forget the whole thing. They needed to find those errant boys.

Deputies armed with rifles were posted on the saloon porch when he rode into Mayfield. The town bristled with people, horses, buggies, and rigs. No one was going to miss a thing. Since the Red Horse Saloon was secured for the hearing, Casey’s was doing all the business. He went by Doc’s office first and told him about May’s concerns over Rachel’s health. The physician promised to come by and check on her.

Inside the crowded saloon, he saw Wade Morgan, and the man waved him over to a group of ranchers drinking beer at the end of the bar.

“They’re really hounding you,” Morgan said with a concerned frown.

The others agreed with a nod. “We heard that the Campbell boy admitted they killed Marla Porter,” Morgan said under his breath.

“He told me that he was there when they killed her.”

“Those Reynolds boys have gone beserk. What’s Sheriff Trent going to do?”

“They are having a hearing over the shooting yesterday of Sycamore Campbell.” His answer drew some frowns of disapproval.

“That was self-defense?”

“I hope so.”

“They’re bringing the Campbell boy down and charging him for shooting at you,” one of the others said.

Chet shook his head. “Must be for her murder. I didn’t swear out a warrant for him ambushing me.”

“Trent’s damn sure got enough rifle toters in town.”

“I think he expects trouble. He talked to Earl about a truce and said he got nowhere. That was his idea, to put this feud down, and I appreciated his effort. But nothing’s going to stop ’em.”

“There’ll be four of them counting Kenny in jail or dead when this day is over.”

“Make it five. Yesterday that boy said Mitch was with them at her place, too.”

“Ah, hell. I can’t believe anyone is that damn cruel and mean.”

Chet agreed and refused the offer of a beer. “I better go over there.”

“We’re going with you,” Morgan said.

“Boys, I can fight my own war.”

“No, we want to show them that folks ain’t taking to this bullying business.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t want a showdown. I thank you all.”

“You sure?”

“Sure as rain.”

Several laughed. “That’s sure.”

He left the saloon and started across the busy street, shaking hands, speaking to folks, and went inside the Red Horse with a sharp nod to the armed men with rifles at the door. He took a seat, and several acknowledged him. It was quiet in the saloon, which was set up with rows of benches and chairs. Folks began filing in, talking in soft voices.

Gunner Barr soon called the session to order by the power invested in him by the great state of Texas. He rapped a few times on the table. “No outburst from the audience. If you wish to testify, see my clerk. But it must to relevant to the case at hand.”

“Chester Byrnes, come forward.” Barr rose. “You want to state your case?”

“I do, Your Honor.”

“Raise your right hand and put your left hand on the Bible. Do you swear to tell the whole truth so help you God?”

“I do.”

“Have a seat.”

“Tell us your side of this unfortunate mishap.”

“I left Groseman’s Store—”

“Time and place?”

“It was about ten in the morning, yesterday. I started from the store to have a beer. My sister Susie was still shopping. Sycamore Campbell had parked a load of lumber out front here. I think he’d just arrived in town. He saw me and shouted something obscene. Then he went for his rifle in the wagon. He levered a shell in it and I drew and shot him.”

“He went for his rifle?”

“Yes. He was not going for it to get down from the wagon. He was going to use it.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, sir. When I shot him, he dropped the rifle and fell headfirst out of the wagon. He was dead before Doc could get to him.”

“Was there a reason for his anger toward you?”

“Before he died, he said he was mad because the court had charged Kenny with Marla Porter’s murder and it was all my fault.”

“There any more witnesses?” Barr looked around, then announced, “Since both parties were armed, I am saying it was justifiable homicide. Case dismissed.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re excused. Bring that Campbell boy in next.”

A hush fell over the crowd. In a short while, they brought Campbell in on a stretcher and put the corners on some chairs. His condition had gone downhill and he looked pale as a ghost. Barr swore him in and began questioning him.

He gave his name and said who he was. Then he said that he had been shot by Chet Byrnes during an altercation the day before.

“Were you shooting at Mr. Byrnes and his nephew on his own ranch?”

“I was, sir.”

“Were you also at the scene when the parties murdered Marla Porter?”

Long silence. “Speak up.”

“I was, but I never laid a hand on her. I swear to God.”

“Who else was there?”

“Kenny and Mitch Reynolds.”

“Did they murder and rape her?”

“Yes—sir.”

“Why didn’t you come tell the law then?”

“I was ’fraid.”

“’Fraid of what.”

“They’d kill me, too.”

“What made them go there to do that?”

“They said that she was having an affair with Chet Byrnes.”

An audible gasping went across the room, and then silence. Chet could have gone all day and not heard that for her sake.

“So?” Barr insisted.

“They said it was to get even with him for hanging their brother.”

“You know that being there was as bad as doing it and you not trying to stop them.”

“I would have if I could have, sir.”

“Scotty Campbell, I am turning you over to the sheriff to stand trial for Mrs. Porter’s murder. I am issuing a murder warrant for Mitch Reynolds as well.” Barr rapped the desk hard. “Court adjourned.”

The Reynolds clan had not even shown up. They must have known that the Campbell boy was going to testify against Mitch as well. But they weren’t through fighting—it had only begun. Two dead, a third in bad shape, and two more wanted for murder. It would be slim pickings around their outfits. But as he rose off his chair, he knew the feud wasn’t over.

He wished, nodding to folks as he left, they’d never heard about his affair with Marla from that boy for Marla’s reputation’s sake. But if it brought her killers to justice, then he had a tough enough hide to deal with the rest. The two missing boys were on his mind when he rode out of town. Short-loping the big roan, he made a record trip back home.

Heck ran out and took his horse. “They’re all right. Scared ’em good. They were down on Yellow Hammer last night and got lost, so they denned up.”

“Thank God.”

“How did things go today?”

“They indicted Mitch today for her murder and took Scotty off to Mason to stand trial for it, too. He don’t look good. He might not survive that wound.”

“What about your case?”

“Justified.” He nodded and thanked the boy.

Susie ran out and hugged him. “They’re fine. Reg found them right after you left.”

“Good, I worried all day. The Campbell boy let the cat out of the bag. Said they got after her to hurt me. I sure could have left that unsaid. But they did swear out a warrant for Mitch, and sent Scotty to Mason to stand trial for her murder.”

She nodded. “That’s important.”

“What’s for supper?” He slung his arm over her shoulder.

“Oh, some beef roast, potatoes, and cold biscuits.”

“Sounds good. Reynolds people weren’t there in court.” He looked around at the end of the winter-shortened day. There would be plenty to do and he needed it lined up.

The little ones had been headed off toward bed earlier, so he didn’t get a chance to speak to them. He’d do that some other time. Astria was washing dishes, and smiled at him.

He talked to Susie and ate his food slowly. Blasted feud had him off course; he felt like a derailed railroad train scattered out all over the country. In the morning, he was sending Dale Allen and the three boys to get some of those drifting stock off their grass. It would take some hard riding and lots of time, but if the drifters ate up all his feed before spring break, he’d be in trouble.

Someday, there would be fences—he dreaded them. He had enough fences as it was, but someday, they’d have to fence all their range and who’d need a cowboy?

“You talk to anyone?” she asked.

“Morgan and few others. They don’t understand this Reynolds-Campbell deal either, and it keeps getting worse.”

She clapped his arm. “Do you miss her?”

He nodded between bites. Then he looked around to be certain they were alone and lowered his voice. “She was going to leave him and get a divorce.” There, it was out, and he damn sure couldn’t swallow.