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Old Dil Townsen decided that if he was ever going to have a pot to piss in he needed to find a better market for his cattle than south Texas.
He'd heard stories that the railroad was pushing into Kansas and the Yankees were paying seven times the going price for linebacks than he could get in Williamson County. That made Old Dil's mouth water since he reckoned he had nearly five thousand head scattered through the hills and thickets. He ordered his wranglers to bring in some full-grown steers and figured he'd risk sending a few up to Missouri to see if he could turn a dollar. Nobody in the outfit had ever been to Missouri or Kansas so he hired a gent named Tyco Reeves to help blaze a trail to Sedalia or where ever he could find a market. Tyco was an experienced hand and drove Texas Longhorns east throughout the war to keep Bedford Forest and that fool, Braxton Bragg, supplied with meat for their troops.
Tyco was a tall red head with a bushy beard and blue eyes so pale they glowed in the morning sun. He was a sure enough reb managing his business with a withered left arm and half his left foot gone from bullet wounds he received when he tried to run the blockade at Vicksburg. He knew how to trail cattle for long distances with a minimum of loss and the word was that Tyco could tell a man to "go-to-Hell" and convince him he was overdue leaving without hurting his feelings or his pride& a born trail boss.
Old Dil knew Tyco's reputation but just to be on the safe side he sent two top hands along to keep an eye on his interests. Those old boys were Tyle Driscoll and Red River Sam Bonnet. Perhaps you've heard of them? They were the gents that slapped the brand on the original "Murder" steer and rode down the Widowmaker when everyone else said that black would never be ridden by any pietistic mortal.
Tyle Driscoll - his mother preferred his Christian name, Ty Lee - was a raggedy ass, hawk-faced, nearly toothless drudge who looked and dressed like he had just been paroled from Andersonville prison after an expense cut. His pants were so loose fitting that he took to wearing an extra belt just to keep track of where they were under the folds of his shirt.
He favored a moth-eaten grulla gelding from his pony string that he tagged Fester II, but nobody could figure how he came up with such a handle. He ate, slept and rode with a motley pack of half-starved, flea bitten, snake eating, blue tick crosses that would just as soon bite a man as look at him. His hat was a fright, his boots a joke, he smelled like sin, and his shirt was an embarrassment in mixed company but he was about the best Texas vaquero there ever was and anybody with a good eye could tell it.
His partner, Red River Sam, was getting on in years to be a wrangler. Some said he was nearly forty, but he cowboyed almost as well as Tyle and he knew all his letters and sums. Being an educated man he was more philosophical and prone to expound on the theories of cattle breeding, horse breaking and biscuit making. He was Christian enough to take kindly to saying the words and leading a good hymn or two when a friend, or stranger for that matter, needed putting under. His prized possession was a gold silk bandanna given him by Sugar Lil O'Brien herself, better known as the Arkansas Darling when she worked the troops in Little Rock. He had a broad nose that looked like it had been riddled with buckshot and during the high shine of the day his appearance was that of a mustache wearing a broad brimmed sombrero and a red fireman's shirt. Generally, he kept his hat low and his opinions to himself to all except Tyle. They were solid saddle pals and their word was as good as a Philadelphia bank note.
Even Old Dil was surprised when the boys cut out seventeen hundred steers from three to seven years old. Some of the older beasts probably weighed in at seven hundred pounds or so. They slapped on an H7-T road brand and pointed them north. Other than Tyle and Sam the other six cowboys were all youngsters fresh off the sugar teat and raring for the high life. To keep the crew happy Dil sent his prized thirty dollar a month cook, an ex-slave named Candle Corn, to manage the supply wagon and fix the vittles. Those were the days before anyone had ever heard or even dreamed of a fancy Studebaker chuck wagon.
Candle could make melt-in-the-mouth corn bread that was too princely for sopping up pinto beans and fat back. Most of the crew ate it like cake and preferred it to about anything a man could shove on a tin plate. No cook in Texas could slap together a more larapin' apple pie or sand hill plumb cobbler. He could heat up a boiling pot of coffee quicker than any man alive and always had a fresh biscuit handy for a belly treat.
Candle's only drawback was that he was so damned ugly. He had wipe lash scars on the back of his neck and side of his face the size of a lariat end and a white right eye from one of his beatings that never seemed to track with the good one. Word was that he was a Mississippi cotton slave managed by a white trash field master who took a shine to his mamma. When Candle caught the overseer taking his pleasures with her down by the creek, he laid hands on him and was nearly lashed into the next world for his trouble. He ran off a couple of times and received worse whippings after the bloodhounds ran him down. They even trimmed the toes of his right foot with a hatchet to slow him down some but it failed to slacken Candle's determination to be a free man. When he finally did manage to make a getaway, he came to Texas and went to work for Townsen. By that time Mississippi was in smoldering ruins and nobody bothered to check him out. Candle didn't carry a side arm but he packed a bone-handled butcher knife Indian fashion along the small of his back. No wrangler in his right mind went up against Candle when his temper was up and he had that knife in his hand. That twelve-inch blade fair-the-well lived there when it wasn't in its sheath.
Little Billy Nix was the remuda wrangler and all of thirteen summers old. Like most of Townsen's crew he was a throw-away who rode shirtless and barefoot into the ranch on a bareback mule with nothing but a tote sack and worn out harmonica. Old Dil took a shine to the orphan and put him on as Candle's cook's Mary. In a couple of years he was in the saddle and learning the trade from Tyle and Red River. He was on his way to being a first class wrangler and all the boys thought the sun sat in his pants. He was never too proud to shirk nor never too meek to take shit off of anybody. The other boys knew he was a favorite and gave Billy a wide berth. It was also to their credit to be associated with such a goer and top bronc buster even if he wasn't more than seven stone soaking wet.
Those steers trailed out about as good as any bunch of Longhorns could manage. They stampeded only once during a lightning and hail storm in the Indian Territory and seemed to get fatter as they made their way north. Tyco knew just the pace to keep them eating steady and traveling smoothly. The pickings on the trail were a heap better than any of that scrub brush in Williamson County and Tyco made sure that they got every blade he could muster along the way. Other than ten head of stragglers they paid the Shawnee to cross their land and a couple of drop deads they kept their losses to a minimum. Including unbranded stray cows and calves that joined up with them on the trail, they crossed the Kansas line with almost break even numbers.
They turned east toward Sedalia after Tyco felt they were past the threat of border ruffians. Not ten miles later they ran into a cowboy riding out to inform the Texas herds that the railroad had pushed west to a new settlement called Abilene in Kansas. From the rider's directions and some flyers from his saddlebags, Tyco figured he could cut almost two hundred miles off the trip if he drove for Abilene and made the risky decision to take the man's word that the place was for real and wasn't part of a swindle. Twenty days later they milled the herd seven miles south of a single ragged line of unpainted frame buildings, a few tents and a fine set of railroad loading pens called Abilene. They were the third and smallest herd in so they had to wait their turn for the buyers to make a bid. Tyco rode into town to make the arrangements and the boys lined up for Candle to get out his mixing bowl and give them a fresh haircut.
One gent, a feminine-fat loafer from Kansas City named Orrie Gates, offered them fifteen dollars a head for the steers but they had to take his note for payment. Tyle and Red River would have nothing to do with the offer and came close to having it out with Tyco over the matter. Since the cattle weren't made out of paper, the boys figured they should have something other than paper for a settlement. When the loafer took offense and said that his note was as good as gold in Kansas City, Red River countered by saying that Kansas City paper was good for only one thing in Texas and he would look him up when he was ready to have a movement. Two days later the loafer returned with an offer of twelve dollars a head in notes and coin. Sam studied the paper carefully and although it looked genuine enough, he sent him packing. By this time Tyco was getting plum disagreeable but the boys stuck to their guns. Horse cutter that Old Dil was, he deserved better than paper and the boys would settle for nothing less than gold or silver coins. They had a bunkhouse papered with Confederate currency and didn't trust that Union script one bit better.
The next day a buyer from Richards and McDuffy, Indianapolis, Indiana, showed up in a buckboard carrying a strong box. He bid the whole herd, counted out $18,700 in gold coin, and told the boys to take it or leave it. The boys took it and agreed to deliver the herd to the stock pens the next day. Tyco went along with the deal but was indignant arguing that they'd lost $6,800 in profits through sheer ignorance. The herd was delivered, the crew paid its wages and Tyco put the remaining bags of money in the town bank's new safe.
As Tyco, Tyle and Red River stepped from the bank, Tyco handed the deposit slip to Sam and asked when the boys were going to deliver the money back to Dil. As far as he was concerned they were quits and he was riding on to greener pastures. The boys nodded and Tyle told Tyco to make sure the barn door didn't hit him in the ass as he left town. There was a tense moment or two before Tyco chose to walk away. He was tough as a boot heel but when it came to facing Tyle Driscoll, even Tyco knew his limitations.
As Tyco drifted down the street, Sam turned to Tyle. "Well, partner, we got us purt-near eighty-five dollars apiece. What's your pleasure?" Tyle smiled broadly. "A shave, a store bought bath and a new outfit, top to bottom."
Red River gave him a surprised look. "I figured you'd want a drink or something."
Tyle watched the whelps from the crew making their way to the "Wish-Key" bar and shook his head. "Nope, I'm done with such doings. I want me a new first-class outfit and I don't want to stink it up first day. We can get ourselves a steak and a beer later."
Red River smiled. "Alright, partner, let's head for the general store and see what they got."
Billy Nix was following the same plan when the boys entered the Willam Gage Merchantile and Sundries. The sprout was standing in front of the mirror carefully studying whether his new Stetson looked better on him cocked to the left or to the right. He smiled when he realized the boys were watching him. "First thing I've ever owned that didn't belong to somebody else first."
Tyle nodded. "Buy the best, boy. It may be a spell before you'll be able to replace it."
Billy smiled broadly and looked back at the mirror to admire his hat. "I intend to."
Tyle picked out new longjohns, a dark blue bib front shirt, tan breeches and a pair of knee high brown boots with a white Texas five-pointed star on the shin of each. He took nearly a half-hour deciding on a hat. Finally, he went with a Stetson as well. He gulped hard when the clerk asked for $30.00 payment. "A month's wages," he mumbled.
Sam chose another red shirt, this time with dark blue piping along the collar, bib and cuffs. He went to a dark outfit, choosing black pants, black boots and a new black Stetson of the same low-crowned, broad-brimmed style as the others. When the clerk offered him a selection of scarves, Sam smiled and pointed to the dog-eared gold bandanna around his neck. "No, thanks, I'm partial."
They carried their new clothes to the barber shop and lined up for their baths. An hour later the three of them walked confidently from the shop looking like clean shaven, freshly washed, first-class Texas wranglers. Red River was surprised at just how slim Tyle was when he wore clothes that fit. "Damn, Tyle. We better feed you something before you disappear," he said. "What about you, Billy? Or are you wanting to belly up with the others?"
"If it's just the same to you fellows, I just as soon have me a big steak, too. We just don't want to forget to get Candle a bottle for camp. He wants a drink and these here Abilene fellows said they didn't want no nigger stinking up the street."
Tyle nodded. "We'll get a couple of bottles and do our drinking with Candle back at camp. Hell, there ain't a Yankee storekeeper in this town that's a patch on Candle's ass."
Billy nodded and grinned. "That's for sure."
"Ain't it funny?" Red River observed with a taciturn smile. "Them Yankees was perfectly willing to die for a nigger's freedom but now that he's got it, they got their carpetbagger noses higher in the air than ever. Don't make sense, does it?"
"There's a lot about that war that never made sense," Tyle answered.
"I'll bet ya one thing. Most of them up-turned noses belong to gents who didn't have the gumption to pack a rifle-musket for blue or gray. If they had, they'd be talking different about the likes of Candle Corn."
Red River and Billy looked at him oddly. It was the first time they'd ever heard old Tyle say something profound or for that matter, very intelligent.
"You suppose it's the change of clothes?" Red River asked Billy.
Billy just shook his head in profound mystification.
They strode over to an eating house called Trail's End Café and settled down at a table next to the window so they could watch the street doings' as they ate their dinner. All three ordered a tall beer, a thick steak, fried potatoes and watermelon preserve pie. As they were settling into their grub, a thin-framed little gal in a purple velvet dress walked through the door and sat alone at a table next to the wall. Tyle, who seldom bothered much with the female persuasion, took an immediate shine to her. He placed his fork on the table and silently stared at her as she gave her order to the waiter.
After a while Billy noticed Tyle's preoccupation and nudged Red River under the table with his toe. He motioned Red River's attention to Tyle with a crafty glance. Red River turned in his chair to see what Tyle was studying.
That little gal was all of five feet tall and couldn't have weighed more than eighty-five pounds. She possessed a sad countenance and looked ahead through dark expressionless eyes. She had a narrow nose with a gentle bump on the bridge like those classic beauties in the mail order catalog and sat in an erect almost rigid position, her backbone never touching the back of the chair. Her dark brunette hair was lifted gently from the base of her delicate neck into a precisely crafted bun. Her complexion was light but her skin glowed healthy. She had a fragile, willowy air about her - feminine, soft, porcelain. She weren't no raving beauty at first glance but drew an increasing appreciation with study.
After a while a fellow wondered why he hadn't noticed her beauty before, sort of like red hills laced with dark green buffalo grass and cedars in the spring. It was always there if a fellow just took the time to appreciate it and once he did, he never forgot it. She was that type of woman.
Red River gave Billy a wink before turning to Tyle. "Why don't you go over there and say something to her?"
Tyle looked down at his food. "Naw, she wouldn't take no truck with the likes of me. She'd probably call the law and pronounce me a masher in right quick order."
"A fellow never can tell. Sometimes them little gals like the attention. Hell, Tyle, you ain't looked or smelled this good for years. Now's the time. You need to strike while the iron is hot."
Tyle cut a harsh course with his eyes as he spoke softly. "I ain't something a pretty little gal like that would be interested in. I reckon she's got a beau due any minute. Afore I knew it, some city slicker'd have a six shooter stuck in my ribs."
"I could ask her for ya," Billy said in earnest.
Tyle puffed up like an Arkansas cottonmouth. "Don't you even presume that I need the likes of you to do my introducings for me. Boy, you got clabber for brains and that's fer sure." |
Red River could see that Tyle was having a difficulty pressing on his nerves. The joke was over and a gent never pushed a saddle pard beyond his limit - if he had any sense of right. "We need to be finding us a couple of bottles anyhow. Let's finish these steaks and be on with it." |
Tyle nodded and returned to his steak. Billy looked at the table and quit his meal. Tyle had never talked to him that way and his feelings were hurt. Tyle and Red River's opinions were just about the most important elements in Billy's life and even mild disapproval from either cut deep into the orphan's insides.
Tyle sighed, quit his steak as well, and shook his head. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm right proud of you, boy. I just let my saddle get set crooked and tried to blame you. I'm apologizing fer that." Billy smiled weakly. "Don't pay no mind. I weren't trying to spur you but I guess I did."
"It's women," Tyle said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Fair for a fact, nothing is more perplexing than what a gal can do to a man's reason. Steer clear of them all; that's my motto."
Billy looked up and smiled broadly. "Yeah, women. That's fer sure."
Red River winked at the boy. "That's fer sure." He went back to his steak in earnest.
It was then that the miracle occurred. That little gal turned toward Tyle and smiled broadly. Her teeth were as straight and bright as a piano keyboard. "Excuse me, do either of you gentlemen have the time?"
Tyle gulped hard. His eyes grew wide and his chin dropped to his shirt collar. "I - I reckon I don't ma'am. I never had much use for a timepiece."
Sam leaned across the table toward Tyle. "There's a clock on the wall behind her."
Tyle didn't seem to hear. He couldn't draw his eyes off her.
"Tell her the time from the wall clock, Tyle," Sam tried again.
Tyle shook out of his daze and meekly motioned toward the wall. "There's a clock just behind you, ma'am."
She turned and giggled. "My, I am such a fool. I did not notice it. How silly of me!"
"Yes, ma'am," Tyle stammered. "I mean& I don't think you're a fool or anything. I really hadn't noticed it myself."
She turned back toward Tyle. "I guess my companion is not going to make it." She sighed and shook her head in mock consternation. "Looks like I'm going to have to dine alone."
Sam was as quick on the uptake as a mustang finding an open corral gate. "Let's go, Billy."
"What fer?" the sprout asked, his voice rising. "I ain't had my dessert."
Sam's eyes near to cut the kid's hat from his head. "We need to be a getting that bottle for Candle."
Billy reacted like he'd just caught himself in the ear with his own quirt. "Oh, yeah, right. We need to be going, Tyle."
Sam wanted to slap the sprout out of his chair. "Tyle don't need to go. I'm sure he'd rather stay here and visit with the lady."
"You gonna stay here, Tyle?" Billy asked.
Tyle didn't take his eyes off her. "Yeah. You fellers go on. I'll catch up bye and bye."
"How you know where we'll be?"
Sam put his hand on Billy's shoulder and dug his thumb into his collar bone like he was spurring the Widowmaker. "Let's go. Time is a wasting. Tyle knows our plans."
Billy winced from the pain, looked up at Sam and started to complain. He held up when he read Sam's face then took on the look of a dunce in the corner who finally understood the lesson. He nodded meekly, feeling stupid for not getting the drift in the first place. "Yeah, we got to be going," he said in a too loud voice. "I don't think Tyle needs to go."
"Yeah. You fellers go on. I'll catch up bye and bye," Tyle repeated looking like a freshly weaned calf watching his momma leaving for the range.
Sam near to jerked the sprout out of his boot heels. He threw down his money and roughly escorted the boy through the door. When they hit the boardwalk he turned for the Wish-Key. "I tell you, boy. You are about as slow as turtle on a log in the middle of winter."
Billy shook his head. "How was I to know you was setting him up? How was I to know that she was really interested in him?"
"She was interested, believe me. Ain't no gal ever ask a perfect stranger fer the time unless she's eager to palaver. She was giving him the moon-eyed look and boy, when a gal like that gives someone like Tyle the moon-eyed look, it's the chance of a lifetime. You'll know that when you get some learning bout the feminine persuasion."
Billy nodded and struggled to keep up with his friend's pace. They made for the bar in quick step leaving their compadre to his fate.
Tyle waited until they were out of sight before he spoke to her. "My name's Tyle Driscoll. I ride for the H-Bar-Seven out of Williamson County, Texas."
She was impressed. "From Texas! Well, I'll declare. I'm Lannie Anderson. I work here in Abilene."
"School teacher, I suppose," Tyle said.
She smiled prettily. "No, Mr. Driscoll. I'm a professional woman although I've always wondered if I wouldn't make a good teacher."
"I reckon you would." Tyle smiled shyly and his face turned crimson.
She smiled at his bashful ways. "Your friends were certainly eager to be on their way. I'm glad you decided to stay for a spell."
Tyle nodded. "They don't need me."
She took one more small bite and daintily dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "That was a fine dinner and certainly first-rate company from an exceptional gentleman."
Tyle rose from his chair. "Thank you, ma'am. I guess I need to be getting on."
"I wonder if I might impose upon you one more time?" she asked.
He nodded and smiled.
"It is getting dark outside and with my companion's failure to keep our dinner date, I was wondering if you would be willing to act as my escort to my boarding house. I know its asking a lot, but a lady shouldn't be seen unescorted this time of night."
"It would be my pleasure, ma'am. I'd be honored to escort you."
She stood and smiled sweetly. "Spoken like a true gentleman of the South."
He offered her his arm and proudly led her to the door& after leaving a silver dollar for her meal at his insistence.
Red River and Billy were just starting through the entrance of the Wish-Key when the doors sprang open from the other side and a flying body landed hard in the street and rolled through the dust and horse leavings toward the center. An instant later a six-foot wrangler with a full black beard burst through waving a Navy Colt in his right hand. "Ain't no hombre gonna crawfish on a bet with Gil Matters. You'll pay up, by God, or I'll send you to hell with Lincoln!"
Red River brushed Billy back against the wall with a sweep of his hand and forced the lad back to a safer position.
As Matters stepped into the street the doors sprang open again and cowboys filled the boardwalk to watch the action.
The gent in the dust slowly rose to his feet and silently brushed the grim from his suit. As he rose Red River recognized him as the Kansas City buyer, Orrie Gates.
"Shouldn't we do something?" Billy asked quietly. "That fellow ain't hardly a match for that big guy in a tussle."
Red River shook his head. "No, sprout. It ain't none of our affair and I got me a feeling that Mr. Colt is going to even the odds right quick-like."
Billy's eyes went wide as he turned back to the street. "No kidding?"
"That big gent is so drunk I doubt he can hit a bull in the ass with a single tree," Red River said. "But, old Gates there, he's sober as a judge and wise enough to know he can't whip this feller. When the shooting starts, keep your head low."
"I said pay up, gott damn it," Matters cursed as he staggered a few steps forward and waved the un-cocked revolver before him.
Gates flung back his coat, drew a short-barreled Army from his belt and threw a shot wildly into Matters' right foot.
Matters yowled like a cat caught under a rocking chair and sent a shot toward the moon as he fell butt first into the street.
Gates threw another shot into the dirt next to Matter's holster then stepped back as Matters cursed again and carefully aimed his revolver at the buyer's nose. A second later the shot sounded and Gates' eyes went wide as he realized that it was a clean miss and he was unharmed. Gates made for a horse trough on the far side of the street. As he retreated, Matters studied the hole in his boot for a while before standing.
As the shooting angle changed the crowd scattered to get well out of the line of fire. Red River grabbed Billy by the shirt collar and made a quick retreat around the corner into the alley.
A bullet followed shortly and the corner exploded into splinters. Billy examined the hole carefully with his finger before Red River pulled him back. "Get your head down! This ain't over yet."
Matters hopped forward on one foot and sent two more rounds into the horse trough. Each round was returned by Gates as he crouched behind the trough and threw his shots wildly toward Matters without looking to see if he was hitting anything.
Then there was silence. Both combatants had emptied their guns. The boardwalk cowboys realized that it was safe to rush Matters and put an end to the affair before anymore buildings got shot up. No less than five of them overwhelmed and forced him to the ground. Gates stood dumbly, his face as pale as a sheet, the smoking Army limply held in his hand. He turned meekly, dropped his revolver and threw up his dinner on the far boardwalk.
The law arrived and settled the matter in short order. Matters was carried to the doctor's office and Gates was tossed unceremoniously into the town jail, an oversized windowless outhouse with a chain and padlock holding the door fast.
After the street settled and the stories were told, Red River and Billy bought their bottles and rode back to camp. They spent the rest of the night telling Candle of the fracas, drinking whisky and waiting for Tyle. It was Billy's first encounter with Red Eye and he paid a heavy price in the morning. The lad was so sick that he wondered if he had to get better just to die.
It was mid-morning when Tyle rode into camp, filled his coffee cup and squatted by the fire. He didn't volunteer any news and no one asked. He just sat by the fire and stared silently into the coals.
After a while, Red River decided to make his move. "What do you think, partner? We better get into town and start that money back to Townsen."
Tyle nodded. "Fair for a fact. It's time to head for home."
As they saddled fresh horses, Red River said, "We probably ought to buy ourselves some grub for the ride back. Is there anything you need from the store?"
Tyle nodded without looking up. "I could use some tobaccy but I'll have to get a loan from you."
"You spent it all?" Red River asked.
Tyle smiled and tightened his cinch. "She stole it. When I woke up this morning she was gone and my whole poke with her."
"The hell you say. We better get to the law and get them on her."
Tyle threw down his stirrup and lifted his foot into it. "No, let her have it."
Red River swung into his saddle and settled into the cantle. "That's a lot of money for one night, partner."
Tyle smiled and gently spurred his pony forward. "All I know is& for a spell there last night I was more than I ever was and more than I'll probably ever be." He turned to his partner and his eyes cut deep. "What's that worth to fellows like you and me?"
Red River gave it some thought, nodded, and rode on in silence.
*~*~*~*~*
Copyright © 2002 Randy Smith. All rights reserved.
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