Long Trail to Ellsworth
LON D. HADEN
Smashwords Edition Published by Fideli Publishing Inc.
Copyright © 2012, Lon D. Haden
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ISBN: 978-1-60414-524-3
CHAPTER 1
Southwest Texas 1873
Chase Bucklin walked slowly across Thompson’s saloon. His canine companion, Chaos, followed at his side. Several of the patrons turned and a couple even half- heartedly waved as Bucklin strolled to the end of the bar. Chase Bucklin wasn’t a stranger, having drifted into town nearly a month earlier, riding a big bay stallion named Ironman.
“Whisky!” Bucklin called to the bartender as he approached.
The bartender, a large burly man with a lazy eye, filled a glass and set it in front of his customer. He turned and walked away without speaking; not expecting to be paid, as he knew Bucklin wouldn’t stop with one drink.
Bucklin’s lean, six-foot frame slumped over his drink. His inquiring dark eyes looked up and down the bar studying each face for just a second. He knew them all or had at least seen them around. Bucklin had a handsome face, which was somewhat covered by a three-day-old reddish-colored beard that matched the sandy uncut hair that stuck out from under a sweat-stained grey felt hat.
Chaos had lain down at his master’s feet with his head lying on the floor between his front legs.
A stranger entered through freshly painted batwing doors. He stopped just inside the door, a Colt revolver, dangling business like from his hip. The air was filled with the smell of stale smoke and cheap whisky, as he scanned the room with piercing brown eyes.
Chaos stood up, leaning a black shoulder against Bucklin’s leg just below the knee. The movement caught the young cowboy’s attention. He immediately went for his pistol.
Bucklin, from instinct, drew and fired from across the saloon. The bullet struck the stranger in the chest before he had a chance to fire a shot. He staggered backward a shocked look on his face. He grabbed one of the swing doors, hanging on for just a second, before falling to the floor — dead.
Bucklin pushed a fresh cartridge into the just fired cylinder of his Colt .44. He slipped the gun back in its holster, with smoke still curling from the barrel. He turned back to the bar to finish his drink. Chaos growled deep in his throat as he watched a crowd gather around what was soon to become boot hills newest resident.
Yancy Andersen sat at a table across the room, his blue eyes watching Chase Bucklin finish his drink. Andersen had arrived in town late that morning, planning to stay only a day or two, as he made his way east, hoping to pick up a job herding cattle to the railhead in Kansas. He leaned back in a poorly constructed wooden chair as he sipped his drink, carefully watching the man at the bar as he calmly helped himself with a steady hand to another shot of whisky. He had seen men shot down before, but not with the cold-bloodedness this man displayed.
Hap Thompson, the owner of the saloon, pushed his way through the crowd that blocked the doorway. Thompson was a fat little man with a pale round face. He walked the length of the bar, stopping at Bucklin’s side. Thompson leaned on the bar as he stared into Bucklin’s face. “You know him Buck?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.
“Yeah, I knew him. His name’s William Bartee, I killed his pa six months ago in Santa Fe over a card game. He’s the youngest of three brothers and was the best one of the lot. He’d stand up and face ya, the other two are back shootin’ sons-a-bitches.”
“Well, the nearest law’s a hundred miles away at Fort Stockton. Everybody seems to think it was a fair fight. Guess there’s not much left to do ‘cept the buryin’. What you goin’ ta do?”
“Leave town — his brothers will be comin’ — and don’t think they won’t. I’ll leave in the morning.
‘Where ya headin’?” Thompson spoke in a low voice.
“Maybe east, I might try to pick up a herd goin’ north. Get outta Texas ... if you know what I mean.” Bucklin tossed a coin on the bar and walked out the door, not even looking at the man he had just killed lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Chaos followed at his heels.
“Chaos, go down to the livery and check on Ironman.” His short ears pricked when he heard his name, ocher eyes looked up the street, wagging his tail as Bucklin patted him on the head.
Yancy Andersen stood in front of the saloon, watching as the large black dog with tan feet and muzzle trotted up the street.
Chase Bucklin crossed the street to Franklin’s General Store. The bell above the door announced his presence as he pushed the door open. A plain, stockily built middle- aged widow, stood behind the counter. Her eyes lit up a bit. Handsome men were not common in her store, even if he did need a shave.
“Can I help you?” She spoke in an unusually friendly voice as he approached the counter.
“Yeah, I need some supplies, bacon, flour, beans, the usual stuff ... couple boxes of .44 cartridges, if you got ‘em.”
“I got some. Must be goin’ on a trip?”
“You might say that.” He answered nervously as she studied him with a wondrous gaze.
“Have anything to do with that shooting across the street?” She lifted the cartridges from a shelf behind the counter.
“Maybe.”
“You killed ‘im didn’t ya?”
“What makes you think that?” Bucklin leaned on the counter directly in front of her.
“The way you wear that gun, for one thing. An’ you’re suddenly leaving town ... man leaves town in a hurry — like that ... means he’s leaving for one of ‘bout four reasons.”
“And what would they be?”
“He’s running from the law or he thinks someone might be comin’ after him ... or he’s got someplace he needs to be. I need to go to the back room and get your bacon.” She slipped through a door at the end of the counter.
Bucklin looked through a pile of cotton trousers while he waited for her return. Finding a pair that looked like they might fit, he held them up to his waist.
“You can try them on in the back room if you like,” the widow suggested as she tossed a slab of bacon on the counter.
“How much are they?”
‘Twenty-five cents.”
“Better pass for now.” He returned to the counter. “You never finished.”
“Finished what?”
“The fourth reason men leave town. What is it?”
“They got some woman in a family way and they don’t want to stick around and raise the kid.” She began to add up the bill with pencil and paper.
“That’s certainly not the reason I’m leaving town.”
“I didn’t figure it was. That’ll be two-ten.” She looked up to his soft brown eyes. “You riddin’ alone.”
“I recon ... ‘cept for my horse and dog.”
“Must get awful lonely on a trip like that ... all by yourself.”
“It can be, man stays out there long enough by himself, he could go crazy — its happened.”
“I know ‘bout bein’ lonely, it gets mighty lonely in the back of this store, night after night ... by myself. She grinned suggestively as Bucklin gathered up his supplies. “You can leave that stuff here ... pick it up in the morning, if you like.”
“I think I’ll take it with me. I got a room at Ma Sparks’ boarding house. What’s your name anyway?”
“Margret Franklin, my friends call me Molly.” She walked the length of the counter toward the door.
“I’m Chase Bucklin.” They met at the end of the counter.
“I know, I’ve seen you around.” She put her hand on his forearm. “Be careful, Chase, that’s dangerous country you’re ridin’ into.”
“I will.” He looked down on her face for a second before he stepped into the doorway. She released her grip, resting her hand on his sleeve until he was nearly out the door.
“Once outside the door, he turned toward Ma Sparks’ boarding house. Molly Franklin stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk, watching as he sauntered up the street.
Yancy Andersen got her attention as he spoke in a Welsh brogue. “Vell, ma’am, do you ‘spose I could trouble ya fer some supplies?”
“Yes of course ... come on in.” Molly led the way as they entered the store. She walked behind the counter. “What is it you’re needin’?”
“Bacon, suga’, da usual stuff one vould take on da trail. Maybe sum flour.”
“That doesn’t sound like too tall of an order. I think I can handle it.” She began to fill his order by tossing a sack of beans on the counter.
An’ ma’am, vould ya have a few rounds fer a Henry 44-40?” Andersen stood at the counter, a tall, straight-backed man, with long powerful arms supported by muscular broad shoulders that were set above a narrow waist and slender hips. Light hair stuck out from under a worn felt hat, ruggedly handsome facial features were plain to see on a clean-shaven face, except for a blonde mustache that covered his upper lip. “Did ya know da man dat jist left?”
“Told me his name was Chase Bucklin.” She walked through the door into the backroom.
Andersen turned his back to the counter as he glanced around the store.
“Why you ask?” She had returned with a slab of bacon.
“Curious, he jist killed a man over at da saloon. He’s mighty fast wid a pistol. Shot dat feller down before he got a shot off . . .and he drew first. Finished his drink and poured himself a ‘nother von — like nothin’ ever happened. Beat anythin’ I ever saw. Did he say vhere he was a goin’?”
“East, but that’s all I know. I got some coffee ... if you’d be interested.”
“Yeah, that vould be fine. Did he say how soon he’d be leavin’ town?”
“Tomorrow morning, I think. That’ll be two forty-five. You seem to be askin’ a lot of question about Mr. Bucklin. Might I ask why?”
“Jist curious.” He fished the money out of his pocket, dumping a handful on the counter, watching as Molly picked out what she needed. “Th’nk ya.” He gathered up his supplies and turned toward the door.
“If I was you, I wouldn’t mess with Mr. Bucklin ‘cept on friendly terms.” She warned, as she watched Andersen move toward the door.
”Oh! Ma’am dats nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I’m no gunslinger.”
“That’s obvious since you don’t even carry a gun.” She grinned, as he walked out onto the sidewalk.
Andersen stood on the sidewalk a second, watching Bucklin’s companion trot up the street toward Ma Sparks’ boarding house.
It wasn’t long and the dog was scratching at the front door waiting to be let in. Bucklin heard the racket and made his way down the steps to answer his call. Chaos slipped through the door almost before it was open. Racing up the stairs, he waited for his master in front of door marked “6”. Bucklin pushed the door open. Chaos crossed the room and quickly jumped into the middle of the bed, curling up for an afternoon nap.
“You better get some rest; we’re leaving in the morning ... early. You got any business to take care of; you best be gettin’ it done.” Bucklin sat down on the bed beside him, stroking his broad flat head. “How many pups you leavin’ behind this time? You ol’ rascal?” Chaos paid him no mind, closing the one eye that was still open.
“I think we’ll go up to Rio Verdé and visit Brother Clay — haven’t seen him in a long time, almost 10 years. We’ve got some catching up to do. Might even have a job for us. He should be about ready to drive a herd of cattle up north to the railhead in Kansas.” Bucklin was talking to himself. Chaos was sound asleep.
CHAPTER 2
The Trail To Rio Verdé
Chase Bucklin left town at daybreak, riding into a beautiful sunrise. Not a cloud dotted the sky, as the sun peaked over the horizon, filling the sky with magenta as the Texas plains welcomed a new day. It was late spring and the plains were alive with vegetation. Delicate grasses and fragrant flowers grew abundantly along the trail. A gentle breeze wisped the ambrosial scent of the Huisache and Agarita throughout the air engulfing both horse and rider. The cactus stood tall and proud. New green stems displayed beautiful vermillion and gamboge flowers that were highlighted by the sun’s early morning rays.
Ironman walked at his own pace as Bucklin sat lazily on his back, relaxing and enjoying the peacefulness of the Texas plains. Ironman slowly broke into a light sweat. He stood fifteen hands tall on long strong legs, his muscles rippled under a dark bay coat that glistened in the early morning phoebus.
Chaos trotted at his side, panting slightly, his dark eyes watchful, nose alert, ears listening, all finely tuned for signs of danger. He stopped, turning to look back at the tiny speck that had appeared on the horizon.
Bucklin had taken notice of the horse and rider, as well. They had appeared on the trail earlier, not an unusual occurrence, but something to watch with an open eye.
He was unfamiliar with the trail, but from what he had been told, they would come to a watering hole about dusk; a likely place to set up camp for the night.
The area showed little activity. It was so quiet only Ironman’s shod hooves made a scuffing sound as they trod in the soft sand. A man could easily leave his guard down, if he let the peacefulness mesmerize his mind. Chase Bucklin had spent many hours on trails just like this, and he knew how quickly the quietness could change. Indians or desperados could strike at anytime and a lone rider could certainly be an easy victim. He always kept a close eye on Chaos, for the dog was wise to the hazards that lay ahead, sensing trouble long before his master.
The day passed slowly and by late afternoon the sun was almost unbearable. Bucklin had stopped twice, both times to drink water from one of the four canteens that hung on the pummel of the saddle he drank only after he had watered his four-legged companions.
He continued on, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard saddle. The sun was beginning to set when he arrived at the waterhole. Ironman was already nibbling at the lush vegetation as Bucklin pulled off the saddle.
Chaos quickly found a little nook and lay down in the cool water.
Bucklin set up camp and set about making himself something to eat. The small fire flickered in the darkness as he lifted freshly fried bacon from an old skillet, placing it in a beat-up tin plate. He sat down on the still warm ground with his back against his saddle. Ma Sparks had sent along some cornbread, which he ate with the bacon.
Chaos walked up beside him, still dripping wet, shaking the excess water on his master and his supper.
“Damn you!” He cursed, making a half-hearted kick at the black blur that disappeared into the darkness.
Chaos was self-sufficient. He would spend the night, if necessary, searching for his own food. He had no master now. In one brief moment, he had transformed into a wild animal, depending on his senses and instincts to fill his empty belly and protect him from the unseen.
He lay silently in the stygian darkness, watching with peering eyes and quivering nostrils as a horse and rider made their way to Chase Bucklin’s dying campfire. He lifted his nose slightly as a soft southerly breeze drifted the rider’s scent to his delicate nostrils. The rider slouched in the saddle and smelled of dirt and sweat. Chaos stood up to continue his hunt, satisfied that this man meant his master no harm.
Ironman nickered as the stranger neared the camp. Bucklin stood up with his right hand he untied the slender strip of rawhide that held his gun in the holster. He strained his eyes trying to see into the darkness of the night.
“Hello, in da camp.” A voice called loud and clear.
“Come on in — slow and easy.” Bucklin moved away from the fire into the darkness of the night. “Ride up to the fire so I can get a look at ya.”
“Tike it easy Mr. Bucklin ... I don’t vant no trouble. Jist travelin’ on da trail.”
“Where ya headin’?”
“East ... figgerin’ ta pick up a job herdin’ some beevies North.” Yancy Andersen eased himself out of the saddle, his back to Bucklin, with his hands remaining on the pummel.
“You got a pistol?”
“No sir!” Yancy spoke loudly and sharply. “Jist a Henry rifle.”
“I guess you’re all right.” Bucklin holstered his gun as he stepped into the light of the fire. “What’s your name?”
“Yancy Andersen.” He extended his hand.
They shook hands beside the smoldering fire; a strong firm handshake. They could feel each other’s strength and power as they looked each other in the eye. Their hands parted, but they knew they were of the same cut. A bond had been formed, a contract that would last a lifetime.
These were men who had survived in a harsh, austere, dangerous, and many times unforgiving land. They lived by their own cunning, depending on no one, waking up before daylight, not knowing what lay ahead, hoping to survive another day.
“Mind if I stoke up yer fire a bit ... fix me sum supper?”
“No, go ahead. You got grub?”
“Yeah, I do. Coffee too. Would ya care fer a cup?”
“Sounds good — so yer lookin’ to herd some cattle north. Ever been on a trail drive before?” Bucklin eased himself to the ground, sitting cross legged on a blanket he had unrolled earlier.
“Last year I helped trail a herd ta Ellsworth. Double D Cattle Company. Ya ever hear a dem, Mr. Bucklin.” Andersen filled a beat up coffee pot from the spring fed pool of water.
“Call me Buck, everyone else does. Yeah, I’ve heard of the Double D. Big outfit. How’d you get along with ‘em?”
“Alright, Ya ever been ta Ellsworth?” He set the coffee pot next to the fire.
“No ... been told it’s a pretty rough place.”
“Anythin’ ya been told is likely true. I’d say it’s as close ta hell as you’ll ever get on dis earth — cowboys, whores, gamblers, gunslingers, and damn little law.”
“Sounds like a good place to ride around.”
“It is, but you von’t, by the time ya get der, you will be vantin’ a hot bath and to bed down vid one a dem whores ... like everbody else.”
“Any of them whores any good?”
“Naw, only in it fer da money.”
Yancy moved away from the fire to gather some wood. He returned shortly with a few twigs. “Hard ta find anythin’ in da dark. I meant to leave earlier, but vhen I got to da livery stable my horse had a loose shoe.”
“Moon will be coming up shortly.”
“I t’ink it’ll be okay, coals er still plenty hot.” Andersen unsaddled his buckskin colored horse, tossing his tack on the ground a short distance from the campfire. He dug through the saddlebags, looking for the bacon he had purchased the day before. “Dat stallion yer ridin’. How come ya never gelded ‘im?”
“Yancy, he’s my meal ticket. Take a look at him. That’s a real piece of horse flesh and not related to most mares you’d find in the places I go. There’s always someone wantin’ a colt out of their mare — one look at Ironman — and they know they’ve found what they been lookin’ for.” I pickup a little money, and if they’re lucky, they get a nice foal.”
“Vish I’d a thought a dat. So ver ya headin’, Buck?”
“I got a brother lives east of Rio Verdé. He’s got a ranch up there. He should be headin’ north with a herd pretty soon. Figured I’d make my way north with ‘em. He could likely use another hand, if you had a mind to ... you could hook up with us.”
“Dat might be a idea. Buck, I vas in da saloon vhen ya shot da feller yesterday. Da vay ya handle yerself — ya don’t look like no cowpuncher ta me. Yer fast vith a pistol — fastest I er saw. How’d ya get so fast?” He asked as he sliced bacon with a hunting knife produced from a sheath on his belt.
“I guess it’s a God-given talent. I never practiced much, didn’t even know how fast I was ... until a fellow drew down on me one day — over a woman. He had quite a reputation as a gunfighter. I didn’t know that at the time, but I soon found out. Every gun proud tough in the country wanted to try me. I don’t like it, but in this country, a man has to defend himself or make a one way trip to boot hill. It’s not as bad as it used to be ... the only ones that try me now are the ones that got a reputation to protect. You ever kill a man?”
“One time vid my bare hands. Hit ‘im ta hard — I guess.”
“You ever carry a pistol on your hip?”
“Naw ... don’t like ‘em. Da old Henry suits me better.” Yancy placed a skillet filled with bacon near the fire.
The night came to life as a crying ululation began deep in the prairie. A Mexican grey wolf sullenly answered not far from the camp, then another and another, all in a different direction.
“Vhat’s dat all about?” Yancy asked, as he turned in a circle listening to the cry’s that had interrupted the otherwise quiet evening.
The lamentation continued as more voices entered the serenade. The ears of the horses perked up as they pulled nervously on their tethers.
“It’s just Chaos vocalizing with his wild cousins. I think he found some supper and he’s telling them to leave him alone while he dines.”
“Dat dog keeps a pretty close eye on ya. Jist ver did ya fine ‘im?”
“I rescued him from a saloon and whorehouse in Waco.”
“Rescued ‘im, huh. Why’d he need rescuin’?”
“Because the girls was about to kill him. He was just a pup and it seems he developed a taste for the lady’s undies. They asked me to take him out and get rid of him. I told ‘em if they would keep their underwear on, he’d leave it alone. They told me that wasn’t going to happen. I asked them what it was worth to ‘em. Couple of ‘em volunteered their services for nothin’. So I took him.”
“So ya got ‘im fer a romp wid a couple whores, huh?”
“Not exactly — I never did collect.” Buck watched as the moon began to rise in the east.
“Vhy not ... seemed like a good deal ta me.?”
“Them was the fattest and ugliest whores I ever saw.
“So yer a little particular — are ya?”
“About whores I am. Fat’s all right and ugly’s all right, but not both.”
“I’m not much on da fat von’s, ugly I kin deal wid — jist turn out da lamp. So ya jist took da pup an’ left town.?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened. I didn’t figure on keeping him, but he kinda took a likein’ to me. An’ one day I realized he could sense thing’s long before I could.” Buck stretched out his long lean body on the ground, using his saddle for a pillow.
“Like vat?”
“For one thing he can smell an Indian a half mile away if the winds right, or a snake long before I know it’s around,”
“Is that right!” Yancy uttered vehemently, as he hovered over the campfire turning his bacon.
“An’ I’ll tell you something else, he can tell the good or bad in a man from across the room.”
A bright orange moon had cleared the horizon as Buck pulled a book from his saddlebag. “Yancy, I’m going to read a little bit while the fire’s still bright.
“Vat ya readin’?”
Buck held the book up toward the flickering campfire.
Yancy, read the cover aloud. “HOLY BIBLE! Vell, I must say, yer da first gunslinger I ever met — dat read da Bible.” How’d ya ever take dat up?”
“My mother gave it to me just before she died. It was the only thing she owned. I’ve always kept it with me and sometimes before I go to bed, I read it for a while. It’s the only company a man has ... at times — in this God-forsaken country.
“Vell, I thought I’d seen it all, but a gunslinger carryin’ a Bible ... is a new one on me.
CHAPTER 3
Rio Verdé
Chase Bucklin and Yancy Andersen arrived in Rio Verdé two days later, trail weary, dirty, hungry, and dry. They reined in their horses at the watering trough in front of the town’s only livery stable. The horses immediately began to drink. Chaos placed his front feet on the trough and lapped at the warm water as well.
Yancy eased himself out of the saddle. With his arms extended, he stretched. A small amount of pain shot through his legs and back, causing him to grimace just a little, but it felt good to have his feet on solid ground.
Buck, still mounted, looked up the street at an assortment of ram shackled buildings that housed a variety of business enterprises, including a combination grocery and hardware store, hotel with a café, and two saloons on opposite sides of the street. The street was deserted, except for an old Mexican setting in front of the nearest saloon with a large sombrero covering his face.
“Senõr, let me take care of your horses.” A young Mexican boy, about fourteen years old, appeared from out of nowhere. Dark eyes sparkled above a friendly smile that beamed on a handsome face. ”My name is Juan. I will water and feed them. I will rub them down too. They will be the best-cared-for caballos in Texas ... I promise.”
“Vell, ah, jist how much is dis fine care goin’ ta cost?”
“Five cents.”
“A horse?”
“Si Senõr.”
“Yer ta high.”
Maybe for both of them.” The young Mexican winked with a smile, as he compromised.
“That includes the cost of the feed?” asked Buck as he stood beside the watering trough, patting Chaos on the head.
“You can take that up with Señor Smitty — he sells the feed.”
“Where’s he at? I wantta talk to him.”
“He is taking a siesta inside — I would not wake him — he is very hard to deal with if he does not get his siesta. Best you come back later.”
“Maybe ve do dat. I sure vouldn’t vant ta disturb Señor Smitty’s nap.”
“Go to the hotel. Get cleaned up. Get something to eat — very good food.”
“That sounds like a good idea. What do you think, Yancy?”
“I could use a drink first — cut some a dis trail dust.”
“That, my friend, sounds like a better idea.”
“Señor, I would recommend the Oasis.” Juan pointed to a building on the South side of the street. “My cousin works there. She is a good whore — if you are looking for a Señorita. Tell her Juan sent you.”
“Is dat goin’ ta get us a discount?”
“No, but she will pay me.”
“You’re some business man. Here give these horses some care.” Buck handed the reins to the boy. “Be careful around him, he’s a stallion — he might bite you.”
“He will not bite me. The caballos trust me, and I like them. He is a beautiful animal, put together real good. Do you ever breed him?”
“Yes, I do. That’s what keeps me in money on the trail.”
“How much you charge?”
“Five dollars. No guarantees — I might not come` back.”
“Perhaps I can find him some business while you are in town.”
“I doubt it. We’re leaving town in the morning.”
“Where are you going Señor?”
“Ever hear of the Lazy B?”
“Si Señor! Mr. Bucklin’s ranch. He is a friend of mine. I take care of his horses when he is in town. He is a good man — married my cousin, Rosita. She is a beautiful lady and very nice too.
“He’s my brother. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I didn’t even know he was married. When did this all happen?”
“Maybe ten years ago. I was just a little niño. They have two children, both boys.”
“How far is the ranch, and where is it?”
“North of town, maybe, four hours ride.”
“I guess we’ll get a drink and clean up.” They walked away, Chaos following close behind.
Buck stopped after they had walked a short distance. “Yancy, I think we’ll get our drink across the street.”
“An’ not meet Juan’s cousin? Seems a shame.”
“After meeting Juan ... I’m not sure I wantta deal with her.”
*****
It was nearly five o’clock when Chase Bucklin and Yancy Andersen walked out of the dining area of the hotel, having just finished a meal that wasn’t much better than what they had been eating on the trail.
A tall man with a scraggly beard and deep set brown eyes approached as they cleared the door. “One of you fellows own that stallion, down at the livery?”
“He belongs to me,” Buck answered.
“Mister, you better get down there — looks to me like there might be some trouble brewin’ over that stallion.”
“What kinda trouble?”
“There must be fifteen mares lined up down there, all waitin’ ta spend some time with that stallion of yours, and each one of their owners thinks his should be first. I’ve never seen so much buzzard bait horse flesh in my life.”
“Juan!” Buck and Yancy spoke in unison and began to run down the street toward the livery stable. The crowd that surrounded Juan was in an uproar as Buck and Yancy arrived. They pushed their way through the all-Mexican congregation that had Juan surrounded. “I was the first one here, I should be first.” A slight built man in his late forties shouted in a Spanish accent.
Juan spotted Buck pushing his way through the crowd. “It is not for me to say, that is for Señor Bucklin to decide.” He pointed a slender finger at Buck, who had made his way to the center of the mệlée.
The Mexican contingent formed a tight circle around Buck, each trying to say his piece, at the same time.
The roar from a shotgun blast quieted the crowd as it echoed up the street. “What the hell is going on here?” Smitty, the blacksmith, stood in the doorway of the stable, perspiration dripping from his forehead, running down his red cheeks, and disappearing into a full black beard. “Break it up!” The crowd parted as Smitty marched forward, smoke still curling out of the left barrel of a freshly fired double-barreled attention getter.
Now listen to me.” Buck raised his hands, hoping to keep the gathering quiet as he spoke. “I’m only going to be in town for tonight, he cannot service all your mares, there are too many.” He pointed at Ironman who pranced back and forth in the corral, showing off for his new-found admirers.”
Juan translated the words to the eager crowd.
They answered with an uproar of complaints.
“They are not to happy, Señor Bucklin. They wish to know which mares you will choose.”
“Tell them I am not going to choose. We will have a race. The first two get bred, one this evening after it cools off and the other tomorrow morning.”
Juan passed on the message. A large man grabbed Juan by the shirt, throwing him to the ground; kicking at him as he tried to escape. Yancy spun the big Mexican around as Juan rolled into the crowd. The Mexican, with his fist clinched, turned to see who had grabbed him. He got a brief look before Yancy delivered a hard right fist to the left side of his face. He fell to the ground — unconscious.
The crowd looked down on their fallen comrade.
They turned to face Yancy and Buck, who were standing with their backs to each other. The mob formed a circle around them. A young vaquero stood in front of Yancy, cursing him as he pointed to the man lying on the ground.
Yancy shot a straight right jab at the talker’s mouth. He tried to duck, causing the punch to strike him in the forehead. The force of the punch sent him backwards into the crowd. He slumped forward falling to the ground on his face.
They all wanted to fight now and with the numbers in their favor, there was no doubt in their minds they would show these gringos who ran the town.
Juan raced up the street to the cantina as Smitty fired the second barrel of the old scattergun in the air. It had no effect on the enraged mob. They charged at Buck and Yancy knocking them to the ground, pummeling their upper body and heads with hard fists, fiercely kicking at weary legs and tender ribs with worn boots.
“Stop it! Stop it! Listen to me.” A high-pitched woman’s voice screeched in Spanish. She grabbed two of the fighters by the hair pulling them out of the battle. “No more,” she ordered. They cursed at her ... pushed her aside and waded back into the free for all.
No one noticed the black streak flying down the dirt street as fast as his powerful legs would carry him. Wild-eyed Chaos leaped into the middle of the fracas, with bared fangs, and strong unsympathetic jaws ripping and tearing at arms, legs, and hips — any part of the body was fair game. The Mexicans were surprised by the ferocious attack. A tall man with a black mustache pulled a knife from a bloodstained boot He raised it over his head, preparing to throw it at the savage beast that had backed the entire army away from his master. Smitty cracked him on the head with the butt of the double-barreled widow maker. He fell to the ground; blood began to run down his face.
The woman stepped in front of Buck and Yancy, who were lying on the ground, badly bruised and beaten. “Now stop it ... that’s enough.” She was wearing a red dancehall dress. Her well-rounded shoulders and upper chest were bare except for black lace straps that ran over her shoulders to the bodice. She was a plump woman with large round breasts that were only half covered and left very little to the imagination. Her long, black hair draped around an attractive face. Dark eyes danced from side to side as she lectured, in Spanish, to the gathering in front of her. They listened intently as she shook her fist at them, humbly hanging their heads like little boys who had misbehaved on the school ground. She turned to face Buck and Yancy, when she had finished.
“You two going to be all right?” She asked in perfect English.
They got to their feet, standing on unsteady legs, trying to hold each other up blood dripped freely from bruised noses and lacerated faces.
“We’ll be all right — once we get cleaned up and get a little rest.,” Buck answered.
“Juan, help ‘em get back to the hotel. If there’s any more trouble, let me know,” the Mexican woman ordered, as she turned back to face the crowd. “Get out of here.” She shooed them away with her hands. “Take those three with you.” She pointed to the three men lying on the ground.
Chaos barked — a
warning, as they gathered up their fallen compadres. They knew they
didn’t want any more of this fighting devil.
”Si, Lupe,
I will take care of him.” Juan draped Buck’s arm over his
shoulder. Can you make it, Señor.” He gave Yancy a
concerned look.
“I vill make it jist fine. I’m not sure yer help is in our best interest. Vhy did you tell so many people ‘bout dat stallion?”
“I only tell my cousin — he has a big mouth — he tell everybody.”
“That’s for sure.” Buck moaned, as they limped toward the hotel. “Who was the woman?”
“My cousin Lupe ... I told you about her — she works at the Oasis.”
“Yeah, I remember — we’re beholdin’ to her. Thank her for me, if I don’t see her before we leave town. What did she say to that bunch that settled them down so quick?”
“She tell them that the town needs the gringos’ money, and if they are going to beat them up when they come to town, they will not come back.”
“Dat’s all she told dem?”
“No, she also tell them if they don’t stop ... she is going to leave town.”
“Why would that make ‘em stop?”
“Señor Buck, you do not understand; this is a one whore town. If she leaves, they will have to ride fifty miles to find a Señorita.
CHAPTER 4
Rio Verdé Hotel
“Señor Buck! Señor Buck!” Juan was beating frantically on the hotel room door. “Let me in!”
Buck moaned as he sat up in bed. The sun was shining through the window causing him to squint as his eyes adjusted to the early morning light. “Who is it?”
“Juan, I must talk to you!”
“Come on in.”
The door slammed against the wall as Juan rushed into the room. “Señor Buck, a hombre just rode into town!” He drew in a deep breath. “He say your brother’s ranch has been burned to the ground by banditos — maybe Comancheros. “I’m sorry, Señor Buck — but he say your brother is dead.”
“When did this happen?” Buck looked at Juan through blackened eyes.
“Yesterday, he say they take the little boys.”
“What about his wife?” Buck was on his feet pulling on a new pair of cotton trousers.
“She was not home when this happened.”
“Where’s she at?” He reached for a shirt on the dresser.
“He did not say.”
“Go tell Yancy what you just told me and then saddle my horse. Where is this hombre now?”
“In the cantina, I think.”
“I’m going over there. Tell Yancy it was nice meeting him, but I had to leave town.”
“Si Señor.” Juan slammed the door as he ran from the room.
Buck sat down on the bed, deep in thought as he pulled on his boots. He thought of the times he had spent with his twin brother when they were children in western Missouri. Their father was struck down in the prime of his life, killed by an enraged dairy bull when they were less than a year old. Mrs. Bucklin tried to run the farm by herself for a while, but soon gave up. The chore of raising two small boys and operating a dairy was more than she could endure and she soon moved to Joplin, Missouri.
Clay and Chase were her life and she spent every waking hour working at any job she could find to provide for them. It was hard at first, but word soon got around that she was an honest, hardworking, Christian woman and that no job was beyond her abilities. Mrs. Bucklin, like many poor people, relied on God’s word for strength and hope. Many nights she came home late so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, but she always read a few passages from the Bible to the boys before they were tucked into bed. Sunday was her day to spend with the boys. After church in the morning, the rest of the day was spent playing games, hiking, fishing or doing whatever the boys wanted to do.
Clay and Chase were as different as night and day. Clay was quiet, laid back, took his studies seriously, seldom got into trouble and did everything his mother asked of him.
Chase was boisterous. If there was trouble, without a doubt Chase would be in the middle of it. His schoolwork suffered because of his reckless nature. He was always just getting by. He paid little attention to the Bible stories his mother read him, and Sunday morning church services were a waste of time as far as he was concerned.
Mrs. Bucklin died of tuberculosis in the winter of 1845 when the boys were fifteen years old. She gave Chase her Bible, feeling he needed it more than his brother did. Chase left town that spring and took a job with a muleskinner hauling supplies to Oklahoma.
Buck was strapping on his pistol as he made his way to the door. He raced down the stairs two at a time, and quickened his pace even more as he crossed the lobby. He trotted up the street to the cantina.
He stopped inside the door, looking over three men that were seated at a table playing poker and three more that were lined up along the bar.
Buck heard a familiar voice to his right. “So you’re alive. Don’t look too good with them black eyes, but you’re alive. What can I do for you this morning?”
“Lupe, I’m looking for a man that rode into town this morning from the Bucklin spread.”
“Might be that one ... he’s the only one I don’t know.” Lupe pointed to a lanky cowboy at the end of the bar.
The cowboys dark eyes looked over a long, bony, pointed nose as Chase Bucklin approached.
“You ride in this morning from the Bucklin place?”
“Yeah, I did.” He took a sip of whisky from the shot glass he held in his right hand.
“What happened out there?”
“I’m not real sure — looks like some outlaws rode in yesterday afternoon and burned the place down — shot Mr. Bucklin, and took the two boys with ‘em.”
“Any idea who these people where, how many was there?”
“I’d say ten or maybe fifteen ... at the most, judging from the tracks around the place. It wasn’t Indians — most of the horses where shod — I’d say it was a bunch of outlaw Mexicans and white men that banded together, real bad bunch — Comancheros. It’s been rumored that there was a gang of ‘em runnin’ around the country. You look a lot like Mr. Bucklin — any kin?”
“He was my brother — I’m Chase Bucklin.”
“I’m Jase Comstock.” He extended his hand. “I worked for your brother. He was a good man.”
“How come Clay was home by himself when all this took place?”
“We was roundin’ up cattle on the east side of the ranch and Mr. Bucklin didn’t show up in the morning — like he usually did. ‘Bout noon Mrs. Bucklin shows up with some grub. She told us he wasn’t feeling good and decided he would stay home for the day, otherwise he usually brought out the grub. We had just finished eating when we saw the smoke — bunch of us rode back to the ranch, but we was too late, the place was already burned to the ground.
“Where’s Mrs. Bucklin?”
“She’s out at the ranch — I don’t know what she is going to do — she doesn’t even have a place to live. What’s worse, she’s got a thousand head of cattle that need to be trailed to the railhead up north. No woman in her right mind would try somethin’ like that. To make matters worse there’s fifteen head of mustangs that have never had a man set on their backs. Then there’s a matter of money, if she don’t get them cattle to the railhead a man will never get paid.”
“You’re goin’ back out there ... aren’t you? Sounds to me like she’s going to need all the help she can get.”
“Nope, I’m headin’ out — don’t want no part of that deal. Looks like a lot of work at poor pay, and a man just might get himself killed.” Jase set his empty glass on the bar.
“Would you show me how to get out there?”
“Nope, not interested, I’m gettin’ out while the gettin’s good.” He turned toward the door.
“I’ll pay you, if you’ll stay on for a few days.” Buck reached in his pocket for some money.
Jase stopped, turning around to face Buck. “How much money you got?”
Buck counted out ten dollars and handed it to Jase. “How’s that?”
Jase looked at the money. “That’ll get ya ten days.”
“Meet me at the livery in ten minutes. Here, get yourself another drink.” Buck tossed a coin on the bar.
Buck left the cantina at a fast walk. Juan came to meet him as he neared the livery stable
“Señor Buck, I have your horse saddled ... and Señor Yancys too.”
“Why’d you saddle his?”
“He say he is going with you. I think maybe, I should go with you too.” Juan was walking backwards in front of Buck.
“I don’t think we’ll need you.”
“But I need to see my cousin — she will need my help. I know she will. Please Señor Buck!”
“You got a horse?”
“No, but I have a nice donkey.”
“He won’t be able to keep up ... you better stay here.”
“I done paid fer da feed da ate.” Yancy announced, as Buck walked up beside Ironman.
Buck reached in his pocket pulling out a dollar bill and handing it to Juan. “Thanks for giving them such good care.”
“Gracias. I really think I should come with you — you may need my help.”
“We’ll be all right, you stay here. Yancy you sure you want in on this deal, it may get pretty messy.” Buck looked up the street, watching as Jase came out of the cantina.
“I’m in, eferbody has to be somever.”
“Anyplace might be better than what we’re headin’ into. This fellow comin’ up the street will be ridin’ with us. He worked for Clay.”
“I will saddle his horse.” Juan ran into the stable.
“Be with ya in a minute — gotta get my horse and pay Smitty.” Jase crushed out a hand rolled cigarette on the ground.
“The Mexican boy is saddling your horse. Yancy, this is Jase Comstock. Jase — Yancy Andersen.”
Jase extended his hand to Yancy who was sitting on his horse. “Nice to meet you Yancy.”
“Yeah.” Yancy took his hand gripping it tightly and shaking it vigorously.
Jase pulled his hand away. “That’s quite a grip you got.” He rubbed his hand.
“The grip is nothing compared to the punch he can throw with that fist.” Buck smiled as he pulled himself into the saddle.
Ironman spun around a couple times, stirring up a cloud of dust. He was eager to get on the trail.
“Ver is da dog, Buck?”
“Hard tellin’ ... don’t worry about him, he’ll catch up.”
“Here is your horse Señor. He is tired ... maybe, you should trade Señor Smitty for another one.”
“Does he belong to the ranch?”
“No he’s mine.”
“Suit yourself, but it might not be a bad idea to trade him.”
“He’s a good horse — been with me a long time. I’ll take it easy with him.” Jase mounted the sorrel gelding with a tan mane and tail.
The trio rode up the street, three abreast. Juan waved good-bye as they left. Lupe waved from the doorway of the cantina as they rode by at a fast trot.
CHAPTER 5
The Bucklin Ranch
It was early afternoon by the time they arrived at what was left of the Bucklin ranch. Everything was burned to the ground except a lean-to shack that sat east of where the barn had been. A woman was standing over a small fire in front of the lean-to stirring a kettle of beans.
“Hold up! Hold up!” Jase hollered as they neared the lean-to.
“What’s the matter?” Buck reined in his mount. “That’s Mrs. Bucklin — you better let me ride in and talk to her first. She’s pretty upset. You look so much like Clay she might think she’s seeing a ghost. Let me talk to her first.”
“Go ahead. We’ll wait here. What’s her name?”
“Rosita, everybody calls her Rosie.” Jase spurred his horse into the yard.
“I appreciate you coming along, Yancy. If your looking for a job it looks like there will be plenty of work around here.”
“Dats fer sure.”
“You said you helped trail a herd to Ellsworth last year.”
“Yeah! I did.”
“Do you think you could lead a cattle drive up there?” Chase looked deep into his blue eyes.
“Vell, I ‘spose I could — not dat I vould really vant da job. Vat ya got in mind?” Yancy’s eyes showed concern.
“We’ll talk about it later. Jase is waving us to come on down.” Ironman lurched forward as Buck gently nudged a heel into his ribs.
He looked down on Rosita Bucklin as Ironman stopped in front of her. She was a tall woman with radiant black hair woven into one long braid that reached nearly to her slender waist. Small drops of perspiration sparkled on her forehead, highlighting her umber complexion. Her beauty was striking as she stood straight with head held high, looking up at Chase Bucklin with dark painful eyes reddened from mourning.
“I’m sorry Señora. I want you to know that we are here to help,” Chase announced, before he dismounted.
“I’m certainly going to need some help. I don’t even know where to start. They took my boys; that’s all I can think about. What’s going to happen to them?” She spoke in near perfect English.
“Don’t give up hope — we’ll find them.” Chase handed the reins to Yancy.
“How you going to find them in that godforsaken land?” She began to cry as she spread her arms toward the prairie that surrounded the homestead.
“I’ll find a way — there’s always a way. Tell me about the boys.”
“Their names are Clay and Maguil. Clay was named after his Father,” she sobbed. “He is the oldest, nine years old. Maguil is named after his grandfather. He is eight. They are a handful. Clay always said they take after their Uncle Chase.” She looked up at Chase as tears ran down her face. Them and that dog were always up to some kinda mischief. They called him Whistler. He was lying in the yard after the raid. We thought he was dead, but this morning he was gone. I think he was just unconscious. Now I think he is following the boys. They where always together.”
“Jase tells me you have a thousand head of cattle to trail up north.”
“Yes, we do ... and fifteen mustangs that need to be broke, before we leave. I don’t know anything about a trail drive — nor do I know where to find someone that does.”
“I have a good man with me. He can get them to the railhead at Ellsworth. Come here, I want you to meet him.” Chase gently took her by the arm, leading her over toYancy, who was still on his horse. “Rosita, I want you to meet Yancy Andersen.”
“Call me Rosie — everyone does. You think you can get my herd to Ellsworth?”
“Yeah, I t’ink I can. How many hands ya got?”
“Six I guess — had more, but some of them lit out during the night — I guess they didn’t want to work for a woman. I won’t be able to pay you until we sell the cattle.”
“Dat’s okay. Ve vill need more cowboys. I don’t know how ve vill get dem mustangs broke — I’m no bronk buster.”
“I know a man that can break horses. Jase, would you ride over to Evansville and find a man they call Blaco. He’s a Mestizo. His mother was Mexican and his father was an Apache war chief — dresses Indian. More than likely, he’ll be hanging around the saloon. If he’s not there, he’ll be out on the prairie, but he’ll be back. Ask around, everybody knows him. He’s a little strange, but don’t worry about it he won’t hurt you. Tell him Chase Bucklin needs his help. If he gives you any trouble, remind him he wouldn’t be here today if it wouldn’t have been for me. Tell him we got some horses to break and we’ll pay him good.”
“Yeah, I’ll do it. I can leave tomorrow morning. My horse needs some feed and rest.”
“That will be fine. I appreciate it. If you run into somebody looking for work, you might bring them along.” Buck turned to face Yancy. “And another thing, when Blaco starts breakin’ them horses — don’t pay him until he’s done and don’t give him any liquor. He’ll get drunk and you may not see him for two weeks.”
“You fellows want something to eat? Somehow, those banditos missed the root cellar behind the house. At least we have something to eat.” Rosie set about filling some tin plates as she spoke.
“I wish Chaos would get here. Damn dog’s never around when you need him.”
“Vhy ya need ‘im?”
“I’m going after them boys — I might need him to do some tracking.”
“By yaself? Dat’s crazy! Fifteen a dem and ya alone; ya won’t stand a chance if ya do find ‘em.”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take. The boys need to be with their mother. Where’s Clay’s grave?”
“On that little knoll south of the yard.” Rosie pointed to a high spot on the prairie.
“I’m going to ride over there — say my good-byes.”
“Here, eat something first.” Rosie handed him some beans and a tortilla.
“Dat’s another thing. Da ya have a chuck wagon an’ a cook?” Yancy sat down on a block of wood that was setting in the shade of the lean-to.
“We have a chuck wagon,” Rosie said. “It’s out on the range where they’ve been rounding up cattle. I guess I’ll have to be the cook — can’t afford to hire one and there’s no reason for me to hang around here.” Rosie looked across the prairie at a small speck that had appeared on the horizon. “Looks like someone else is coming for a visit.” Rosie turned to face Buck. “Chase, you might as well know ... I’m going to have a hard time coming up with the money to get this cattle drive started.”
“Try not to worry about it. Sometimes these things work themselves out.”
“It’ll take a miracle.”
“I’ll be back in a little bit.” Chase mounted Ironman who trotted in the direction of Clay’s grave. He rode Ironman to the knoll that overlooked the ranch; a beautiful resting place for Clay. Buck’s thoughts returned to his childhood. He remembered when they were swimming in Sump’s pond and how Clay had saved him from a watery grave when he had gotten entangled in the tree roots below the surface of the water. Clay worked at the tangled shackles until he was safely released. He remembered how one winter, when food was scarce, Clay snared small game to supplement their meager diet. How could he ever forget when he and his mother were down with the fever too weak to get out of bed, and how Clay had stayed by their side day and night until they both had recovered?
Buck kneeled beside the wooden cross that was constructed from burnt lumber from the house. The cross set at the head of the grave with the name CLAY BUCKLIN carved in it. A small Pincushion Cactus barely out of the scorching soil was attempting to grow beside the cross. Meadowlarks began to sing a sweet song that drifted across the prairie like a choir on a Sunday morning.
Clay began to pray. Dear Lord, I know I don’t talk to you often as I should ... but I ask that you take this man to your bosom. He was a good and honest man with few shortcomings. He was a devoted husband and father and did his best to provide a good life for his family. His soul is in your hands, Lord. Please take him into your home. Amen.
*****
Rosie began to pace back and forth, as tears once again began to run down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry ’bout yer husband Mrs., an’ da little boys too. I can’t ’magine how bad you must feel.” Yancy handed her his plate. “If it’s any comfort to ya — dat Chase Bucklin, yer husband’s brother, is a man who can get things done an’ if he says he is goin’ ta do somethin’ — he vill get it done er die tryin’.”
“That’s what worry’s me. If he can’t bring them back — what do you think will happen to my babies?”
“It’s hard ta say. My first guess vould be da vill trade dem ta da Indians.”
“Oh, Lord, help them.” She fell to her knees and began to sob.
“Ma’am.” Yancy knelt down beside her. “Dat might be da best thin’ dat could happen. Da vill take care of dem. Dar old enough ta remember ya, an’ sumday they might come back.
“It’s a slim chance anyway you look at it. I can only pray.” She stood up. “Is that a dog coming up the trail?”
“Vell I’ll be damn — it sure is. Dat’s Buck’s dog — he said he vould catch up. We left ‘im in town.”
Chaos stopped before he got into the yard. He lifted his head as the hot gentle afternoon breeze carried the scent of his master to his delicate nostrils. He trotted in his direction ... picking up the pace as he got closer.