Blood Bond 3 Read online

  “Got a swamper you can send to fetch him?” Matt asked, placing a coin on the bar.

  “You bet.”

  Gilley was in his late thirties. His boots were patched and run down at the heels, and his clothes were old, but he carried himself proudly and wore his six-shooter like a man who knew how to use it. And more importantly, would use it.

  After the introductions, Barlow said, “Hard times befall you, Gilley?”

  “You might say that. Man I was ridin’ for lost it all and I ain’t found steady work since. You hirin’ your gun out, Barlow?”

  “I ain’t no gunslick; you know that. Man up north and west of here got range trouble. He’s payin’ top dollar for men who won’t back up. You interested?”

  “Only if you feed me first,” Gilley said with a grin. “I ain’t et since yesterday.”

  The four of them pulled out the next morning. They rode nearly forty miles before finding a small five-building town with a saloon.

  They had a beer and a cold roast beef sandwich while they were looking around the saloon.

  “I’m looking for punchers,” Matt said, and the room fell silent. “Men who don’t look under the bunk every night for ghosts and who don’t have to be nursemaided. Is there anybody like that here who wants to earn top dollar—fighting wages?”

  “Feller was in here about six weeks ago, sayin’ the same thing,” a cowboy said. “I didn’t like him a-tall. His name was Lee. John Lee, I think it was.”

  “I ride for the brand John Lee is trying to put out of business,” Matt told him. “John Lee’s hired him about fifteen top guns and looking for more. If you sign on, it’s for the duration, and you best notify your next of kin.”

  “You talk mighty tough, mister. You got a name?”

  “Matt Bodine. This is my blood brother, Sam Two Wolves. You got anymore questions?”

  The man stood up and his buddy rose with him. “My name’s Compton and this here is my pal, Tony. I’m with any man who stands up to that damn arrogant John Lee. Are we gonna stand around here all day or ride?”

  Six men rode out of the town, looking for about six more. Anyone looking at the riders knew at first glance they were men with a mission. Before leaving town, Matt had spent some of Jeff’s money outfitting the new hands. Every loop was filled on their gunbelts, the brass twinkling in the hot Texas sun. Their saddlebags were filled with supplies and clothing and other possibles. They rode abreast, unless meeting a wagon, a stage, or other riders.

  They cut south, heading for a settlement that Compton knew about, where a friend of his was working as a smithy’s helper, and hating every minute of it.

  As soon as the men reined up, the blacksmith knew he’d lost a helper.

  “You got a horse, Beavers?” Compton said, swinging down from the saddle and shaking hands with the young man with the easy grin.

  “That’s about all I got, Compton. Had to sell my saddle. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Mind if he takes a break?” Matt asked the smithy.

  “Wouldn’t do no good if I did, would it? Take off, Beavers.”

  Beavers drank a beer and listened. When Matt finished, the young man nodded his head. “You stake me for a saddle, Mr. Bodine?”

  Matt tossed money on the table. “We ride in an hour.”

  Then there were seven. They continued south. Tony thought he knew of two men working on a ranch down near the beginning of the Middle Concho. If they were still there, they’d ride in a heartbeat.

  “I wouldn’t appreciate anyone else comin’ here and takin’ my boys,” the rancher said to Matt. “But I’ve heard tell of John Lee. Man’s swingin’ a mighty big loop and from what I hear, he needs his comeuppance. You boys get done up yonder, come on back. Your jobs is a-waitin’.”

  Taylor and Cloud joined the group. Cloud said he knew of a man who just got out of jail for whippin’ a man who had beat a plow horse to death. Horse was so tired it just couldn’t work no more. His buddy just didn’t like to see an animal mistreated and he beat the crap out of the farmer.

  “I like him already,” Sam said.

  His name was Denver and they found him after two days of searching. He was camped by a little crick looking sadly at the holes in his last pair of socks.

  “If you ain’t the most pitiful sight I ever seen,” Cloud said. “I oughta just shoot you and put you out of your misery.”

  “Feed me first,” Denver said. “My belt buckle is rubbing agin my backbone.”

  Sam gave him a fresh pair of socks and Denver saddled up. The group began angling west and slightly north. At a campsite near a small copse of trees, Matt reined up and started laughing. The two men looked up and grinned at him.

  “Matt Bodine!” one hollered. “Light and sit. We would offer you some coffee, but we ain’t got airy.”

  “We’ve got plenty of coffee and food, Chookie. Let’s make camp here, boys. We’ve found the hands we need.”

  Over hot food and hotter and stronger coffee, Matt laid it out for Chookie and Parnell, two men who had worked for his dad a few years back up in Montana.

  “We seen Tanner and Peck the other week,” Chookie said. “They was makin’ their brags about goin’ to work for some big shot rancher name of Lee. Drawin’ top wages.”

  “They said they was meetin’ up with Roberts, Windlow, and Dusty Jordan,” Parnell added. “That’s a whole slop-jar full of top guns.”

  “You boys in with us?” Matt asked.

  The punchers grinned. “Just try to keep us away!” Chookie said.

  Chapter 5

  The men headed back for Circle S range. Matt had noticed that the remuda of the Circle S was not up to snuff, so he stopped along the way and bought a dozen horses from two different ranchers. The horses he bought would not win any beauty contests. They were tough working horses, trained to work cattle.

  Exactly one week after the brothers had pulled out, they rode into the ranch yard of the Circle S. Someone had spotted the dust long before the riders reached the ranch, and everyone was out, waiting for them.

  They were a rough-looking bunch, and that included Matt and Sam. Their clothing was caked with dust and stiff from days of sweat; they had not shaved in a week.

  “Barlow,” Dodge said. “Ain’t seen you in a spell.”

  “’Bout ten years, Dodge. You ramrodding this outfit?”

  “That I am.”

  “Good workin’ with you again.”

  “The same. Matt and Sam lay it on the line for you boys?” He watched the riders nod their heads in understanding. “Fine. This here,” he pointed, “is the boss and his lady. Jeff Sparks and his missus. These are his younguns. This fine lookin’ boy here is Gene Sparks, and them two gals yonder is Lia and Lisa Sparks. The cook is Conchita. Don’t make her mad or we’ll all be gnawin’ on armadiller. Which ain’t that bad, by the way. Boss?”

  Jeff stepped up. “I’m grateful to you men. More than I can say. With you here, we all stand a fightin’ chance of pulling this thing off. And I won’t forget you. Now, you boys go clean up and tonight we’ll have us a little yard party and roast a beeve.” That was met with cheers. “Tomorrow, the work begins.”

  The bunkhouse had been built to house twenty-five or more men—that many usually was needed at roundup and branding—so it was no problem getting settled in. Many of the new hands were either familiar with the names of the regulars or knew them outright, so an easy camaraderie was quickly arranged.

  Matt and Sam and those who just rode in took turns in the wooden tubs out back of the bunkhouse, with fresh water being added often. After Matt bathed and shaved and put on clean clothes, he walked up to the main house.

  Lia showed him to the study. Jeff pointed to a chair and Matt sat. Lia left the room, closing the door behind her.

  “I don’t guess the news of Cindy’s, ah, condition has reached her father yet. Least there hasn’t been any killin’s that I’m aware of.”

  “How’d the dance go?”

  Jeff look
ed confused.

  “The dance that Cindy talked about over supper.”

  “Oh! I don’t know; hadn’t heard anymore about it. I hope he called it off.”

  “Might be kind of fun going.”

  Jeff noticed the devil-may-care twinkle in Matt’s eyes. “Pull in your horns, boy. They’ll be plenty of action for everybody soon enough. How much of my money did you spend?”

  Matt tossed the leather sack on the desk. “Maybe a third of it. I outfitted some of the boys and advanced them some coins to rattle in their pockets. I’ve got it written down in my tally book. We’re gonna need a lot of supplies for this crew, and if it’s all right with you, why not take several wagons into the settlement and get it all done at one shack before John Lee hears about the new hands.”

  “Good idea. I’ll send Red over to Carson’s place and ask if he wants to send a wagon with us. Gene and Noah can drive two of the wagons. Will you and Sam go with them?”

  “Sure. What’s been the reaction from John Lee over the gunhand that Lia shot?”

  “None, so far. But from what the boys hear, the gunslick is out of action for a long time. That .44 slug did some terrible damage.”

  “When do you want us to leave for the settlement?”

  “I’ll send Red over to the Flyin’ V first thing in the morning. Probably pull out the next day.” He smiled. “But for tonight, let’s relax and have a good time.”

  But cowboys being what they are, the new hands did not lounge around that afternoon. They roped fresh mounts from the corral and rode out onto Circle S range, getting some feel of the land. The holdings of Jeff were so vast it would take them days to ride over all of the range, but they checked out what they could that afternoon and were back in time to knock the dust from their clothes and enjoy the party.

  With so many hands to feed, Mrs. Sparks and Lia and Lisa pitched in to help Conchita, while Jeff manned the steer over the cook pit, turning it often on the spit to insure even cooking. The party went off without a hitch, with everybody having a good time and everybody eating too much. Loud rumblings in the bunkhouse that night awakened the punchers often, with many rude comments made about the gastronomical escapings of certain people.

  Breakfast was served and over with before dawn. Dodge stepped into the bunkhouse carrying a sack and the place fell silent.

  “No ridin’ alone,” the foreman ordered. “Everybody works in pairs. Make sure your rifle is loaded up full, as well as your short guns.” He placed the sack on a scarred and uneven old table. “Sack’s full of boxes of .44’s and .45’s. Everybody put a box in your saddlebags. Red, you and Jimmy ride over to the Flyin’ V this morning and see if Carson wants to send a wagon to the settlement to fetch supplies. Take off. The rest of you listen up.”

  The gist of it was a roundup. While Matt and Sam had been gone, Jeff had received a reply to a letter he’d sent some weeks before. It was from an Army procurement agent agreeing to buy cattle from both Sparks and Carson. The army was sending in drovers to take the cattle to railhead. If they were heading west, it would be Dodge City. If the cattle were due to head east, they would be driven to Fort Worth.

  All knew that the drovers would be left alone by John Lee and his hired thugs. He swung a big loop, but he also had sense enough to leave the Army alone. But the move would be sure to anger the man, for he would know that now Jeff and Ed would have plenty of cash money to operate.

  “Just as soon as the Army’s drovers have left,” Sam said. “John Lee will strike.”

  “That’s my thinking, too,” Matt agreed. “He’ll either do a first strike—an all-out attack against the ranch—or he’ll start picking us off one at a time.”

  “He’ll hit Ed Carson first,” Sam said. “The smaller number of men to fight.”

  “Not if his son knows his girlfriend is with child. Not unless he’s crazy. He won’t want her harmed.” Matt was thoughtful for a moment. “Or perhaps he would, to hide his guilt. Think about that.”

  “It would take a low-down man to do something like that.”

  “Let’s talk it over with Jeff.”

  The rancher sighed heavily. Drummed his gloved fingertips on his saddlehorn. Shook his head. “You boys sure like to bring me problems,” he finally spoke. “But you’re right. Nick is crazy enough to do something like you suggest. He don’t love the girl. Never has. He’s said it often enough when drinkin’. She’s just an . . . object to him. Terrible thing to say, but it’s true. But look here, if I tell her father what we all suspect, he’ll go crazy. Killin’ crazy. You boys don’t know him the way I do. Ed’s tough. He planted some of them goddamn Northern reconstructionists who come in hereafter the war, blowin’ off at the mouth about what they was goin’ to do.”

  “It’s your decision, Jeff,” Matt said. “I suppose this puts you in one of those damned if you do and damned if you don’t positions.”

  The rancher nodded his head. “I’ll think on it. Red’s back. Ed will send Noah with a wagon for supplies. You boys be ready to pull out early in the morning and be prepared for trouble in Crossing.”

  The Circle S was sending three wagons, the Flying V two wagons. Gene, Red, and Matt would each drive a wagon, with Sam on horseback, scouting, and Noah and Sonny would drive the Flying V wagons. The Circle S crew breakfasted at Carson’s place, arriving just after dawn. Neither Cindy nor her mother made an appearance. As soon as the men had emptied the big pot of coffee and shoved in the last of the beef and potatoes, they were on the road. They expected to be gone the better part of two days. A day down and then load up and catch some sleep, then a day back with the heavily loaded wagons.

  The trip down was boring. But as soon as they pulled into the settlement, all knew boredom was over. Half a dozen Broken Lance horses were tied up at the hitchrail in front of the saloon. And several more horses wearing the brand were tied across the street.

  They pulled the wagons around back of the huge general store and grouped up.

  “We’re not here to start trouble,” Matt told the men. “But if it comes, be ready for it. And it will probably come.”

  “I’d like a beer to cut the dust,” Red said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Matt replied. “After we get the supplies loaded.”

  Red grinned. “I had a hunch you’d say that.”

  “I don’t want no trouble in my store, mister,” were the first words out of the shopkeeper’s mouth as soon as Matt walked in the door, followed by Noah and Gene. He was speaking to Matt but his eyes were on Noah and Gene.

  “There won’t be any problems,” Matt told him, laying several sheets of paper on the counter. “Just fill that order.” He had noticed two men lounging at the rear of the store, and they weren’t there to play checkers and gossip. Their tied-down guns and smirky faces gave them away.

  “That’s the problem, mister,” the shopkeeper said. “I can’t fill that order.”

  “Why not?” Matt looked around. The shelves were filled with everything imaginable: bolts of cloth to boots; canned goods to corsets; ammunition to hernia aids; nostrums to cure everything from hangnails to flat feet and medicines for various ladies’ woes. “You seem to have everything we need.” Matt casually pulled an axe handle out of a half barrel as if inspecting it.

  “Hey, you!” one of the gunslingers said, walking up to him. “Are you deaf? Carry your damn business elsewhere.”

  “Why should I?” Matt asked.

  The gunny grinned at him. He had bad teeth. Matt had a hunch he was going to make them worse in a few seconds—or make them better, depending on one’s point of view. “ ’Cause I said so, cowboy. Now rattle your hocks on outta here, before I take them guns of yourn and feed ’em to you.” His buddy moved in closer.

  Matt hit him with the axe handle. Right in the teeth just as hard as he could swing the wood. The gunhand was stone cold out before he hit the floor.

  His buddy was jerking iron when Matt drove one end of the axe handle into his belly. The air came whooshing out
as he doubled over, and Matt conked him on the noggin with the business end of the wood. The gunslinger kissed the floor.

  “Load up the supplies, boys,” Matt said, just as Sam and the others came in through the back door to see what the holdup was.

  “Tsk tsk,” Sam said. “I can’t leave you alone for a moment without you getting into mischief.”

  “Take their guns,” Matt told Red. “We can always use spare six-shooters.”

  “Oh, Lordy,” the shopkeeper moaned. “Man, don’t you know who them two is? That’s Terry Perkins and Jay Hunt. They work for Mr. Lee. Them’s real bad men, mister. I bet they kilt a hundred men between them.”

  “I’m impressed,” Matt told him. “You best be keeping a tally of what we’re taking instead of running your mouth.”

  That snapped the man out of it. He began frantically writing down what the boys grabbed up.

  Matt cut himself a wedge of cheese and got a handful of crackers. He kept the axe handle close by and his eyes on the front door. It paid off. Just as he was finishing his snack, a man stepped out of the saloon and began walking across the street.

  “Drag these two out back,” Matt said to Noah and Gene. He turned to the shopkeeper. “Where’s all your customers?”

  “These gunhands run ’em off. Told ’em not to come back ’til they was gone.”

  “When’d the gunhawks get into town?”

  “This mornin’. They knew you boys was comin’. I hear ’em talkin’ about it.”

  “That . . . obscenity of a girl!” Sam said. “She tipped off Nick knowing it might get her brother hurt or killed.”

  “Yeah. She’s a real sweetheart.” To the shopkeeper: “This one of them coming across the street?”

  “Yes. I don’t know his name. He threatened me.”

  “Did he now?” Matt leaned against the counter and waited, his guns loose in leather.

  “What the hell!” the gunhand said, stepping into the store. “Where’s Terry and Jay?”

  “They were tired,” Matt said. “I suggested they take a nap. They thought it was a good idea.”