The Last Dance

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

Taft, you struck a nerve and like a wore out racehorse I can't wait. Lets do it!

 

------------------

 

Was sittin outside Flemings Saloon in Mobeetie, Tx. Flem allowed as how I was a good customer to move a table outside under the porch where the light was better. Armed with a bottle of Evan Williams, proper tools, and what have you I proceeded to correct the glitches in my Remington. Carlos Gove,up in Denver, had done a wonderful job of installing set triggers in my 44-77 but there was a burr somewheres in the innards so I had it dismantled and spread all over the table. Wasn't a major problem but the last trip I'd made to the Llano with my nephew, Bud McAlister, the triggers wouldn't engage properly and had failure often enough to receive some not deserved hoots from my companions. Disgustedly and with some regret, used a Sharps 40-90 there on out I'd bought from T.E. Jackson in Ft. Griffin. But it was worth it as we had a grand time experiencing the last of the free prairie.

 

Was trying to stone a little on the sear when a bunch of rag tag soldiers from Ft. Eliot came ridin in. That mixed with a raucous crowd of riders pushin a herd up off the big LX ranch to Dodge City interupted my efforts and I said to hell with it. Poured me three fingers more, lit a ceegar, and leaned back. Was just drifting into that realm of pastoral bliss remembering good times. As with all good things, something or somebody always interrupts. And it put me on edge. Instinctively, a hand fingered the grips of a fancy Colt also procured from Ft Griffin. Happily, what ensued warmed up my ole bones.

 

"Whatsa matter ole Man, you need a spyglass to see if you're fileing the right part or just your nails?" Danged if it wasn't a ghost of the past. Yep, Colonel J. Mark Flint was standing there with a bottle in one hand and arm around a little red haired filly's waist....hadn't seen him in a year or so but he was a sight for sore eyes.

 

"Set your butt down Flint and have one on me! What the blue-eyed hell have you been up to?"

 

Flint grinned and was about to speak and mentioned something about ridin over to Tascosa when a rider appeared down the dusty streets. Recongized the type...just off the driftin trail and for sure no one to to mess with!

 

---------

 

OKAY FELLERS, ITS ALL YOURS

[EE Taft]

Awww, this sounds too good to pass up. I ask one question and now involved in two stories..... If'n ya copy it, I want a copy.

 

 

 

 

The paint thundered up in front of the Saloon. just a fast as the horse got there an equally slow movin' rider slid down from the mount. The man turned facing the saddle glaring right over the seat at the pair sitting at the table, then slid out a well worn '66 and 12 gauge from the saddle.

 

The rider started to make his way to the boardwalk when Sam locked eyes with him. "Taft, is that you?" The rider turns to them wild eyed with his hand on his Colt, the blood running out of his leg just below the holster........"Sam.....J.Mark?, dadgum boys, glad to see ya."

 

"What 'cha do Taft, lose a gunfight?" J.Mark asks.

 

"Damn rustlers" Taft replies, "We come up on 'em on the line this mornin'. I'z outta range so I rode up on 'em to get off a shot and got bushwacked! Bastards got my boy in the shoulder and took out with a string 'a horses and half my cows. The dirty Sons 'a B!tches"

 

Sam leans back in the chair and says, "Well, come on up and have a drink and we'll find someone to dig that bullet out. Then we'll go see 'bout those horses and cows. I didn't have nothin' else ta do but ta sit around here and kick around these drunk cowboys anyhow."

 

Taft grits his teeth with a bit of pain. "I've tried ta walk the sraight and narrow, boys, but when I try to be good, someone always puts me in a killin' mood!

 

 

Run with'er, boys!!

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

The post sawbones from Ft. Eliot, motivated by prospects of free whiskey and an eagle coin, extracted the bullet from Taft, cleansed the wound with carbolic, and started sewing him up.

 

"Just when did you start forking a cowpony anyway Taft?", asked a curious Flint.

 

"Well, I drifted down from Trinidad to Tascosa. Wandered to here a few months ago and ran into a widder woman whose English husband had foolishly braced some cowboys over property lines. Don't know if you knew it or not but your friend Bat Masterson fancied himself a surveyor back before he went to Dodge Bat the surveyor. It'll take some years to straighten that mess out. In the meantime, its put a lot of small ranchers on edge."

 

Chuckling, I probed Taft "So's you just up and volunteered to help that widder out,huh? Thought that was Flints line of work!" Winked at Flint and he had the look of 'how did I miss that one?'

 

"Yep, she's scared and selling out. Between that bunch of outlaw rustlers over in Tascosa, questionable deeds, and loss of her husband she's trying to round up what she's got and move to Wyoming."

 

Flint and I laughed. "Dang Taft, what I hear from Charlie Goodnight, Cheyenne's bout as rough as this place and Tascosa combined. Howsumever, Clay Allison and his brothers live Northwest of here and that makes life interesting. He ain't killed nobody lately but he rode through town nekkid as a jaybird firin his pistols off. He's drunker n a skunk but nobody complained either."

 

Taft winced and hissed through his teeth,"Yep, Allison and his brothers may be part of the problem. Can't prove it. Anyway, he stays too drunk to be much of a threat nohows."

 

"So, you're gonna fork a saddle and just mosey right on up to Cheyenne with a herd...just to help a lady out?"

 

Flint smirked, I was grinning, and Taft was red as a fresh painted barn. "So Taft, just who is this lady you're smitten with?" Flint and I might want to tag along just to help out ya know."

 

Taft's eyes bugged out and he stammered "It, it, well ah, her name is Deja. Deja Vous Fitzgerald."

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger stood on the top of the hill leaning against the tree, taking advantage of the shade. It was going to be a hot one today. His horse and mule were busy cropping grass from the other side of the hill. He had been watching the activity below him in the little valley where the small brook ran, fed by a hidden spring.

 

He had come here looking for fresh meat, but instead found a small herd of cattle milling around and a few cowpokes moving around a camp fire. He decided to sit and wait and see what was going on. It was not his nature to rush into a camp without some time watching the folks mending the fire.

 

Somehow this just did not look quite right to him. He figured caution was a better plan that being social.

His big Sharps stood next to him just in case.

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

The throaty roar of a buffalo gun carried far in the evening stillness. Even in the surgeons house it was faintly audible. A pause, then a second,third, and fourth round. No one else paid attention but Sam. Being an old hunter himself he wondered what all the fuss was...there hadn't been huntable numbers of shaggies in 4-5 years in these parts. Another echo from northwest of Hidetown! Gotta be a big .44 or 50 cal to make that much racket for so far away.

[Blackwater 53393]

"That's four of the varmints down," muttered the big man as he snapped the bolt open on the Remington Keene .45/70 and stooped to retrieve the brass from the grass that hid him from view. He stayed low as he moved back from the escarpment overlooking the rustlers camp.

 

He noticed a glint of reflected sun from the knoll with only a single cottonwood across the little arroyo from where he'd taken his shots. "Someone else to contend with?" he asked himself. "Or another hombre that's huntin' these owlhoots. Guess I'll know soon enough."

 

He turned and catfooted to where he'd ground staked the Appaloosa stud and slipped the big scoped rifle into the boot which hung from his saddle. He removed the grey slouch hat he'd left on the saddle horn and pulled it down over the bandana that covered his head. Looking over his shoulder as he mounted the horse, to be sure no one was watching, he nudged the animals flanks and rode toward Hidetown. With his almost white shoulder length hair waving behind, he hummed a light hearted tune about "Loosiana Women" as they cantered toward town.

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger watched as the four rustlers fell to the unseen marksman. He saw the smoke from the rise across the way and decided that this ambush was not anything he wanted to be involved in. He hurried to his horse and gathered his mule, and rode over the rises to the east. He sat in the saddle and often rode over the hill to watch his back trail, then rode on. He did not want to be ambushed by someone along the way. The ways of the trail were deeply etched in his habits. A few hours later he saw the roofs of buildings in the distance. Must be a town, he thought. He was not particularly interested in towns, but thought me might ride in and if there was any law, perhaps tell them of what he had seen. A hot meal might be a good thing also.

[Blackwater 53393]

Hidetown was your typical down at the heels boomtown. The buffalo hunters and hide merchants had brought a sudden flood of money to what began as a rendesvous point, with little more than a dry goods store and a saloon to recommend it.

 

The army had thrown up Ft. Eliot as an outpost to support the effort to control the indians who raided what few homesteads existed, and constantly clashed with the buffalo hunters. Had it not been for the army post Hidetown would have been washed out as the flood of money had receded. When the army left the rest of the towns inhabitants would likely follow.

 

As the stranger with the white hair and the beard that reached more than halfway down the front of his shirt entered town from the west, he sized up what was to him a crowded, dusty little rathole of a town. Marcus Hatfield wasn't fond of towns and this one had nothing to offer except a good bottle of rye whiskey and a bath, to change his opinion.

 

He saw a familiar figure coming off of the trail at the other end of town riding slow and leading a mule with a pack saddle and gear aboard. This wasn't one of the hombres he was looking for. It was a friendly face from the past, and he hoped that face would remember his and join him for at least a drink. A drink to wash away the dust from the trail and the taste of death. The death he had brought to the rustlers in that arroyo earlier in the day, and the death of the woman he'd burried a month before. She'd never had a chance when the band of outlaws had ridden up and asked to water their horses. Seven of them had ridden in that hot afternoon, and when they left she was no more.

 

Willow had been his salvation, the only thing that had brought him back from the place in his mind where he'd gone when the wanton killing of the War of Northern Aggression had ended. He'd fought beside Forrest until the last day, and only gone home to Willow when it became clear that killing Yankees would surely get him hanged.

 

That time was behind him now. This was different. This was justice. He'd stumbled onto the outlaws' trail by accident. He was headed this way to find fighting men. Men he knew would side him when others not fit to live needed to be dealt with. He'd heard that Flint was down this way, and now here was Badger. The three curs that had split off from this bunch had better have their funeral suits all ironed and ready if Badger and Flint threw in with him.

 

He drew rein and stood as his old friend approached. "Stand you to a shot o' coffin varnish, Badger. I got news, and I'm payin' fightin' wages if yer interested."

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Iz that you, Hatfield?

Badger stared at his old friend in disbelief. I heard that you lost your topknot up on the Arkansas last year, but I never figured it were true. Badger stepped down off the horse and walked over to greet his friend.

I never turn down a drink with friends but I ain't never took money to back one either. Let us discuss you

situation over a drink and I will tell you the tale of strange things I saw today.

They hitched the stock to the rail and entered the Saloon.

 

They stepped inside the batwings and let the darkness settle. They both had sized up the patrons of the establishment before they moved and then they walked easy to the bar. Badger called for whiskey and the bar keep poured two drinks on the bar.

 

Badger dropped a coin and took the bottle and one of the glasses and headed for the table at the back of

Saloon.

[Blackwater 53393]

"As far as the topknot, they wouldn't get much," the big man chuckled as he doffed his hat and pulled the bandana across his forehead, exposing the thinning hair atop his pate. He set his own glass down and Badger poured it to the rim, never spilling a drop.

 

"I hear Flint is down this way, maybe over Mobeetie. What I got is a job for one man or several," Hatfield explained. He took a sip of the warm amber liquid, looked at his old friend carefully and downed the rest. "Tell me a story, ya' look a little rattled."

[EE Taft]

I'm sure we can set this up where we all meet up in Mobeetie. I'll be waitin'.

 

Hole in my leg and all!! Hurry 'afore I bleed ta death!

 

~EE~

[Blackwater 53393]

EE, things have gotta be happenin' over that way too. Keep the liquor warm 'n' the beer cold 'til we get over there, 'n' keep yer powder dry. These hombres done some real bad things an' we're gonna' have a rough time makin' 'em own up. Come ta' think of it, you might oughta' buy you a new rope! Three of 'em are still on the loose.

[G. I. Tarpicker, SASS #998]

BTT

[Deja Vous]

I'm sure we can set this up where we all meet up in Mobeetie. I'll be waitin'.

 

Hole in my leg and all!! Hurry 'afore I bleed ta death!

 

~EE~

Deja was P>O>D.. cuz was not invited along cuz her story telling skills are really bad.. but still her she is hoping to save this thread.. lol

 

Badger heard the click, but he was way ahead of it.. he had the trigger pulled and laided out five men in the Saloon before EE's could draw his gun.. The BP filled the air, and the smell of blood, guns, and sweat and fear entered the night..

[EE Taft]

Meanwhile back at the Saloon(ACS)........

 

Taft swirls the thought around in his head for a moment at the notion that Sam had cooked up in his head about him and his widowed employer...........

 

"Gosh no boys, It ain't like that! I just have respect for Miss Deja fer toughin' it out like she has."

 

Sam leans in close and grins, "Ya mean ya don't fancy her at all, EE?"

 

EE Shutters a bit and his eyes pop open wide, "well Boys, there's lots ya didn't know 'bout me, like the fact that while we rode together in Mexico chasin' them baditos and huntin' Greeenriver, My wife was at home in Missouri bound with a young'un on the way. That young'un bein' my third child. A daughter. Miss Deja is a fine lady, Don't get me wrong, but it's business nuttin' more." Taft's face got a little red even though the notion was at rest.

 

Sam leans back with his head cocked and a half funny look on his face......."never figgered ya fer a family man, Taft. Why with all the killin' and mamin' ya done."

 

"Well, I'm tryin ta put all that behind me, but it keeps comin' back and bitin' me in the ass. One of them that was shot today was my boy. he was.....", Taft grits at the doc puttin' in the last stitch, "Doc, can ya go a little deeper with that needle?!?"

 

The doc laughs and says "Aww c'mon, can't ya handle the pain, er are ya just a weak old rancher?.....Mean I thoug ....CLICK..

The doc turns to see Sam with his pistol at his head and a grin on his face....

Sam says...

 

"Doc, This ol' boy here that yer hackin' on once got shot through the shoulder blowin' the better portion of his shoulder blade out his back, and them commenced to savin' our bacon in the gun fight that followed, then he rode two weeks on a man hunt crossin' two states and inta Mexico where he gunned down two men with his Winchster and his bum shoulder....." Sam decocks his revolver....."So let's show some more respect...."

 

Ummmmmm Uh huh, groaned the doc. as he began to shake putting in the last stitch. Taft gave Sam a smile.

 

Taft pulled a shot off his flask and thought about what he might get into. He had tryed to walk the straight and narrow, but trouble kept coming. Thoughts of his family played through his mind.

 

 

...............................................................................................................................

 

~EE~ There we go, this might be a good story to do me in on. Old gun fighter turned family man goes out in a blaze of glory!!!!

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

Taft, Flint, and I found a trail alright but the suspected rustlers split up and there was too many to follow. After cogitatin a while we decided we better get some provisions and maybe talk it over with Captain Arrington out of courtesy if nothing else.

 

We rode back into Mobeetie bout half frazzled so Taft and Flint went their way and I plopped down at a table in Flemings with a bucket of cold beer. Well, it was cold for that time of year anyway.

 

Two ole grizzled, half cripped, galoots came through the batwings of Flemings Saloon. One I'd never seen before and the other sparked recognition. Hell yes, it was Badger Mountain Charlie! "Badger, you must be a ghost cause we thought them Cheyenne rubbed you out up on the Republican in 72!" Badger was a hide man in Kansas as I was and we used to howl at the moon together.

 

"Hells bells Sam!", Badger yelled with a big grin. Didn't think we'ed ever cross trails again...figured you'd be laid up in one of them Happy Homes for the Aged or something!"

 

"Nope Badger, I figure I got at least one more dance in me. Set down here and lets wash some of that trail dust out of ya. Hadn't heard any good lies and windies in a spell."

 

"Sam, this here is my old friend Hatfield. We go back aways too"

 

Now Badger still looked the hunter but Hatfield seemed a different sort...the sort that had a mission and would die trying. We nodded at the introduction and set to some serious drinkin.

 

"Badger, Swore I heard a Sharps back northwest of here earlier. Was that you blowin the soot out of that 50-90?"

 

"Nope, tweren't me but I saw a rifle in action I ain't never witnessed before. Was quite a distance but this feller rattled off four rounds in 10 seconds. Kilt four what looked like rustlers usin a runnin iron on some cattle they had corraled in a brush pen."

 

Noticed that Hatfield blinked at the mention of the incident so I pressed on. "Hmmm, musta been someone with one of them new Marlin repeaters. They make em in 45-70."

 

Badger shook his head. "No way, cause who ever did that shootin had some good sights or maybe even a scoped rifle."

 

"You mention it to Fleming yet? He's the sheriff abouts and then there's Capt. Arrington of the Rangers."

 

Badger replied he might mention it in good time.

 

"Well says I, rustlin is quite a problem. Charlie Goodnight pretty well calls the shots in this territory and he and some of the other big ranchers have come down pretty hard on the hardcore types. Now he don't begrudge a poor man takin a crippled cow for beef to feed his family but Charlie and those other big ranchers up here take a dim view of strangers takin a bunch of cattle off the range to exercise em or of those whose cows always have twin calves. They've formed an association and have decorated a few trees here and there with hemp ornaments."

 

Hatfield took on a murderous look and laid a strange looking rifle on the table. "That there's a Remington bolt action and I'm the one that blew those SOB's out of their boots. There's more of em thats gonna get to ruminate on the same diet of lead." Badgers eyes got big as saucers but didn't say anything.

 

"Well Hatfield, I don't know you but if you're a friend of Badgers I take it that they sure deserved havin hell for breakfast. Listen now, a friend named Taft got plugged by some rustlers this morning..it might be all this is related. How bout we wait till Taft hobbles down and Flint, another pard of mine, gets back from Feather Hill and maybe we can sort some of this out."

 

Thunderclaps hit my ears and the backbar mirror exploded in shards. "Yeeeeeeeeeah!" screamed the shooter. None other than Clay Allison, drunk as usual, was lettin off steam.

Fleming came out from back aiming a Greener right at Allison who just snarled in contempt "Hope like hell there's a bluebelly here. I got an itch to scratch." Laughing hysterically at his weak joke," Yep, I need to scratch me a Yankee."

 

Fleming roared at Allison who looked like, and would, kill anyone that crossed him. "Clay, you need to go home and when you sober up you come back and pay me for damages!"

 

Allison was dangerous as a rattlesnake. I did notice that all three of us at the table had our hands on pistols which may or may not have been a mistake. Bout that time a tall young man with blazing blue eyes, long curly hair like Hickok wore, wearing a buckskin shirt appeared through the door. Behind him was Taft and Flint who looked like he might just see what Allison was made of.

 

The young man wore twin colts and instead of bracing Allison he walked with purpose directly to Allisons side and whispered softly. The notorious gunman nodded affirmatively and staggered out the bar meek as a lamb...just like that.

 

Noticing our interest he walked over and introduced himself. "Temple Houston is my name gentlemen. Should you ever need the services of an attorney please feel comfortable in seeking my exptertise. I dare not brag but its been said that I can convince a jury to acquit a man who shoots a judge before said jurist eyes." With that he downed four fingers of Jamesons that was offered, turned, and was gone. Strange feller he was but then no one, even Allison, crossed Temple Houston....just wasn't healthy.

 

Flint looked kinda Haggard and Taft shouldn't even have been walking around. "Taft, tell us again about that rustler gang. This feller here name of Hatfield has a story that just might tie a few loose ends together. That is, if ya got the time before this drive your planning to Cheyenne."

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

Hint, hint! This could be where Deja, as rich widder woman and suddenly asserting her proper role, enters the saloon and demands to be informed of the situation that took her husband, threatens her livelihood, and oogles Taft.

[Deja Vous]

Hint, hint! This could be where Deja, as rich widder woman and suddenly asserting her proper role, enters the saloon and demands to be informed of the situation that took her husband, threatens her livelihood, and oogles Taft.

Okay.. i could play along.. cuz i do oogles.. lol but mostly older guys not Taft.. lol.. He is cute. but like my child.. so... Deja. moves in to the story, only to add the crazyiness of a half indian that is not rich in anything but ponies and land.. Cuz honestly she is not stuff kinda person.. lol.. But she loves people.. like you yellowhouse.. lol.

 

Deja, armed with here deadly rugers.. lo.l. okay fine colts in a brace on her sides.. toyed with the idea of unloading her little colt 22 derrigner into yellowhouse for being disrespectful.. but laughed inside.. most people are that of me.. being a french saloon gal has nto helped my image sinced I lost my husband to the battle of Little Big horn.. odd, sicne Deja was half lakota, it was hard to decide waht side she should be on..

[EE Taft]

Hint, hint! This could be where Deja, as rich widder woman and suddenly asserting her proper role, enters the saloon and demands to be informed of the situation that took her husband, threatens her livelihood, and oogles Taft.

 

My wife's gonna see this and tell me I gotta stop playin' and come in the house fer supper!

 

 

~EE~

[Blackwater 53393]

Hatfield eyed the wounded man carefully, "You count how many o' them mongrels it was that braced ya'?" He stroked his long white beard and looked Taft in the eye.

 

"Yeah, there was four of 'em. I put lead in a couple of 'em, but they didn't go down and I got this hole in my leg fer my trouble," Taft grimmaced. "I figured to plug the leak and go after 'em. That's when I run into Flint an' Sam here.

 

"Hatfield here is on the prod fer that bunch. I'll let him tell y'all 'bout it," Badger explained,"but I'd say he's took care of the four what got that hole punched in yer leg."

 

"I trailed that bunch down here from up in the Nations," Hatfield began. " I got a rancho up there with two Cherokee brothers that we started after the war. Their little sister was my woman." Hatfield paused and stared off into the distance.

 

"Them bastards I been trailin' rode through there 'bout a month ago. They beat one of my partners half ta' death an' had their way with Willow before they done for her," the big man told them as fire smouldered in his eyes. "I aim to interduce all of 'em to ol' Scratch, and I'm lookin' for fightin' men. Badger here has signed on 'n' I know ol' Flint there from our cavalry days. I'm hopin' he'll side me too." He reached his hand to Taft, palm open. "Them four that ventilated yer hide are feedin' coyotes a few miles back. I reckon we're all lookin' fer the same hombres."

 

Sam extended his hand to Hatfield, "Sorry 'bout yer woman. Ol' Taft here's been doggin' them rustlers' trail too. I 'spect we're all after the same thing.'

 

"There was three more with the bunch I was trailin'. They turned east a week or so ago." Hatfield took the extended hand.

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

After listening to Hatfields story, had to stifle some bad memories myself. I too had lost an Indian wife, a Cheyenne named Feather, and not to outlaws. It was cause of Custers foray on the Washita. Hatfield was on a reckonin and if I had any doubts of helping him see justice done they disappeared like a scairt prairie dog just missed by a hawk.

 

"Marcus, if they're headed East then no doubt those skunks'll hole up in the Nations. Me an Flint are U.S. Marshalls out of Parkers Court and know that country well...too well I'm thinking. Best we provision up...we'll send a telegram to Parker and let him know we're on the trail. Taft, know you got other duties in mind but we'ed appreciate another good man. It might take a coupla days or a coupla months though. Quien sabe!"

 

Taft hesitated only slightly. "Boys I'm game. That drive can wait. Sides, Miss Deja has some good hands that can take up the slack."

 

Hatfield smouldered. "Tell you one thing straight out fellers, lawdogs you be or not, before its over those lowlife pieces of dog dung will die slow and then et by the hogs."

 

Leaned back and downed a jolt of Jamesons then looked Hatfield straight in eye. "Marcus, don't know about the others but Flint and I like your line of thinking. Truth be known, Judge Parker has been known to look the other way under certain conditions and this is one of em. "But me and Flint best deputize all of you and send word to Parker of your appointment. Might help you in the long run."

 

"Flint, I'm thinkin their headed to Redrock Canyon area to cool their heels and hide out. No tellin what other skunks are holed up with em."

 

A smile and a grimace showed on Flints face. "Think you're right on that one Sam. We been there before a time or too and it wasn't always a pie supper. Best we get a move on while the trails hot."

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

You boys hold off if ya can stand it. Need to insert a piece sometime today and then ya'll can turn the wolf loose.

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

"Boys, ya'll get your warbags and guns ready. Spect we'll need a couple more pack mules other than the one Badger led in. I got some business to tend to first and how bout we meet back here in an hour and head on out."

 

This gun collectin was becoming a burden. Just thinkin that not many years ago all I had was the Remington 44-77 and a couple of Army Colts converted to .44 Colt centerfire. Now I had a 73 Winchester, coupla fancy Colt Frontiers, a Sharps, a Colt Thunderer, and a 12 ga Greener. And that didn't count what I'd left with my nephew Bud McAlister down between Dublin and Comanche, TX. Wondered how the boy was doing...him and niece Catherine with the ranch and all. Well, beins it might be a while I fired off a telegram sayin I'd be home pretty soon.

 

Hells bells, time was wastin. Grabbed my ole Remington, my Frontiers, and the Greener. As an afterthought I stuffed the short barreled Thunderer in a pocket sewed inside my vest. That and a Sheffield bowie rounded out my arsenal. Not taking the 73 would haunt me later down the trail.

 

As I made my way back to Flemings, saw Temple Houstons shingle. Musing, I stepped down off my old dun morgan, knocked lightly and then entered. "Mr. McAlister! How may I be of service to you this fine day?" as he extended his hand and then offered a drink. Bout thirty minutes passed and I stepped out of his office with a couple pages of legal script bound in an oilskin covering. Stuffed it in my saddlebags and made way to join up with the posse.

 

It was easy to pick up the trail this bunch left as not many people had that much business in Oklahoma Territory. Sure nough three riders were headed east into Cheyenne/Arapaho reservations and least one was leakin blood. Two days on the trail and the situation changed considerably. Six or more riders had joined this group coming in from the south and peared they had a string of twenty unshod ponies. Flint and Marcus studied the tracks a bit and Flint offered up "Looks like some of their compadres been collecting a little horseflesh from either down on the Comanche/Kiowa lands or maybe off the Wichitas over southeast to Anadarko. Probably gonna run em to Kansas, sell em, and then steal some more off those sodbusters to sell back here or in Texas."

 

A few hours later we ran into some Comanche Indian Police following the same trail. They'd stopped to rest their tired and thin ponies. They watched warily as we approached and eased up a bit when I flashed the U.S. Marshalls badge their way. Both Flint and I were fluent in the language but one of them, Hunts Alone, spoke english pretty good and was a brother to one of Quanah Parkers wives.

 

Hunts relayed that their horse herds had been raided frequently and they being spread thin gladly would let U.S. Marshals take over from there. They were out of their lands for one thing and outmanned for another. Too, it was difficult for an Indian to achieve retribution when whites were culprits.

 

Hunts Alone and his police had talked to several people on their journey and had gathered enough information to help identify the owlhoots if caught. "One had charcoal face like maybe rifle blow up." Yep, that would be Dirty Face Charlie. "Another very short for white man and had big scar across mouth and cheeks maybe where knife slashed him." Dang, that was Grinnin Joe Lowery...a low life skunk if there ever was one. "Breed injun we know as Bad Belly Ironstob." I'd heard of him too....part Shawnee,part Choctaw with a white daddy he didn't know. Mean as a cornered sow with pigs. Then came the worst.

 

"Tall, big man missing two fingers." Two Fingered Paxton Brown! Well, rip my britches! We didn't have just some penny ante rustlers, we had before us a bunch of rapists and killers of the worst kind and Brown, no doubt, was the kingpin.

 

Flint and the rest rode up along side me and Flint as we left. Flint blurted out "Ole man we've rode all over this territory in the past and had some helluva run ins with some of the most vicious and despicable excuses for humans I've ever seen. None of us are afraid of the devil hisself but we might consider riding into Anadarko and rounding up some extra deputies."

 

"Flint, if its alright with the rest of fellahs lets get this dance on before they skedaddle plumb away. There's many a soul won't rest until this bunch we're chasin rots in hell and the sooner the better!"

 

"Amen!" growled Hatfield. Taft and Badger just grinned...it wasn't gonna be the first dangerous scrap for any of us. Not one of us could even remember how many battle scars they had. All had more than their share of deadly encounters for sure.

 

As we neared the crossing of the Washita, a hard two days ride from Redrock Canyon the trail was still hot. Maybe too hot. Badger kicked up a chip fire to make coffee while we rested. "Boys, I'm gonna ride up on that little knoll and glass the cover on the river. Won't take more time than a cat to vacate a water trough.

 

Flint grumbled "Alright but don't skyline yourself. They're probably way ahead but dammit don't take no chances!"

 

"I hadn't kept my hair this long by bein careless. You remember your manners ya whippersnapper, you could be a bad influence on young Taft there. Hellfire, ya probably already corrupted him so's he won't ever be worth a plug nickel...like you."

 

Taft grinned knowingly as I nodded to all and quietly rode to the ridge. Now out of sight to the boys, I laid the Remington across the pommel and pulled out my spyglass. Nothing. Then just a wisp of smoke maybe in amongst some small cottonwoods near the river.

 

Thought to myself. I'll just ease down through this tall bluestem to a better vantage point at a clump of sand plums and check it out. Better to be safe than sorry. Just then a squawking raven flew right over me and thats bad medicine in my book. Shoulda just backed on out of there and got the boys.

 

But I eased on in anyway with the rifle at ready and just as I started to putt the glasses to my eyes, a young lop eared kid with an old Navy Colt threw down on me dang near right in my face. Still fast for my age, the Remington bellered and blew a hole threw him that would be the envy of any badger that ever dug. Kid dropped like a sack of rocks and then a hornet screamed by my head followed by the crack of a Winchester. Smoke lingered in the brush two hundreds away. Dang it, they left some yahoos to watch the back trail else all of them were camped along the Washita.

 

Felt completely helpless for the first time in my life as I fumbled for another 44-77...it was too far for the Colts and it was time to hit the dirt. Wished hard for the Winchester as I dived into the plum thicket must have hit a snag cause my whole chest went numb. Lead shredded through the limbs above me as immense pain set in.

 

"Hey Willy!" shouted one back down the hill. "I think I put a hole in that ole geezer...gonna go see!" Be danged if that addlepated fool just run right up to me like a puppy after a soup bone. I managed to raise up on one elbow. "Looking for Jesus son? Cause if you are you just might catch him on your way to hell!" First and only time I'd ever used one them fancy Colts to blow an ignoramus out of his boots! But killing sh!t for brain kids weren't gettin the job done. Tried to move but got dizzy all of a sudden...sick too.

 

Felt something wet and sticky on my belly and glanced down. "Hells bells kid, you sure did put a hole in me and right through the liver too! Damn, after all we'ed been through I fool around and get plugged by some wetnosed wannabe outlaw kids left behind as guards."

 

There was more yellin down below and two more just like the dumb clods I'd rubbed out came running out. Made an effort to cock the Colt but couldn't. It didn't matter much cause those boys looked like they'd been through a sawmill after getting hit with at least two slugs apiece from those buffler guns behind me.

 

Flint grimly ripped my shirt away and we looked at each other knowlingly. "Guess its my Last Dance ain't it pard? We sure had some gooduns for sure."

 

"You ole fool...you went and got yourself in a tub of rattlers didn't ya. Naw, we're gonna get you patched up and make a run for Ft. Reno. The post surgeon'll fix you up."

 

"Don't think so pard. Want you to look in my saddlebags. There's a will in there thats to go to Bud and Catherine. I'm not far from goin boys...I got another request and thats to get my body out of here somehow..sometime. Ya'll can take me to a railhead that goes to Ft. Worth. I want words said over me at Dublin and then Bud, Bilgewater, and Slamfire Tom can plant me where my spirit will rest. And thats right there by the big spring at the Casas Amarillas. You been there Flint and they've also been to the place thats special to me. And make damn sure Bud understands there ain't no cause for him to haul off and seek revenge. Ya'll promise there won't be any need for it...just kill em all!"

 

My vision whirled and I know longer felt any pain. "Boys, you been good pards through it all." Spitting blood, I mumbled and laughed "Don't drink all my Jamesons up I may need a drink at the Pearly Gates just for medicin....."

 

Light spewed through my eyes and I relaxed as a crowd of people close to me, but long deceased, appeared. One in particular stepped forward and kneeled aside me. Feather then took my hand and led me to them.

 

"Dammit!, Taft groaned to Flint. "Sam knew all along didn't he?

 

"I reckon he did for a fact!" Flint picked up the Remington and wiped it carefully then turned and walked up the hill to find Sams horse.

 

 

 

.

[Blackwater 53393]

"Somebody go get my war bag!" Marcus Hatfield barked as he knelt to look at Sam. He opened the wounded mans shirt and removed the small bag that rested on the man's chest, gently raising his head and slipping the rawhide tether over his head. First he touched the medicine bag to the wounded man's forehead then placed it in his right palm and carefully closed Sam's fingers.

 

As Badger returned with the saddlebag, Hatfield reached inside his own shirt and snatched a beaded bag of his own, breaking the rawhide strip that held it. This he again touched to Sam's forehead and folded the fingers of his left hand around it. From the war bag he fetched out a small pouch of tobacco and taking a position at Sam's head he faced first north and sprinkled a small pinch of the herb to each of the cardinal points of the compass, all the time chanting in a low melodic voice.

 

When he had finished he turned to the others. "He's in the land of his ancestors. If his medicine and mine are strong enough, he may come back to us. Do what you can to stop the blood and try to keep him warm. I'm goin' up on that rise over there and talk to the Father. I'll be back at dark."

 

Flint and Taft gathered wood to build a fire for their friend, while Badger stood watch. They had bound the wound and wrapped Sam in his bedroll. If he made it 'til morning they'd make for Ft. Reno. If not they'd take him to Ft. Worth. It was the least they coud do for a fighting man and friend. Either way the bill had just gone up for the ones they'd set out after.

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger watched the embers of the fire slowly die to a black and red glow. He could see the stars starting to come out and there was going to be a small moon. He checked that everything looked quiet around the camp and saw that everything was the way it should be. He spoke in low tones. I am going to scout around to make sure we don't get any visitors after it gets real sleepy around here. He set up his blanket and set his hat on the saddle to make it look like he was asleep. He would have no need of the big buffalo gun in the dark, so he left it leaning against the tree next to his bed roll. In the darkness there was a soft sound like the wing beat of an owl, and Badger disappeared into the darkness. He traveled in a ever growing circle, moving slowly and taking advantage of each bush and tree as he moved silently about. Satisfied that there was nobody about, he leaned against a tree in the darkness and sat quietly. He could hear the sounds of the night all around him.

 

From time to time, he would move to a new location, making certain that he did not make any noise. He continued to circle the camp. From time to time he could hear his companions talking in low tones. He wondered how Sam was doing. He could still smell the smoke of the fire even though the glow was gone from the night. That will travel far in the soft night wind, he thought. Most likely go to the north and if anybody come in they will probably try to come in on the flank.

 

About midnight his figuring began to pay off. He could hear a faint sound of someone moving in the underbrush. He sat still waiting to learn where the interloper was and which direction he was coming from.

 

After a few minutes he heard another, and then another, each in a different location. He slipped the big bowie out of his belt, and waited. One of the visitors was coming directly toward him. He waited as the dark shadow appeared almost next to him. All Badger had to do was reach out with the knife and quickly slide it along the throat of the intruder. There was no scream, only the sound of thrashing in the brush and then it was quiet again. Badger noticed that the other two had stopped in their tracks and were quiet.

Badger did the same. It was going to become a waiting game. Time however was on Badger's side, because with the coming of dawn, there would accounting with Hatfield and Flint to deal the cards. Three against two would be pretty good odds, even for lowlife like these folks.

[EE Taft]

As the sun broke over the rise, the camp started to glow with the moring light. J.Mark and Taft sat with their friend's body while the others kept a close watch skirting the camp. Taft stands with his back to the site looking towards a ridge to the west....

 

"Them bastards got it comin' to 'em." Taft mutters. With a quick twist he turns to Flint and looks down to the body of his friend laid out on the ground and wrapped in an old bed roll. Taft pulls his boot knife and checks the edge as if he were going to do surgery. He then kneels down to Sam.......

 

"Taft, what are you doin'?" asks Flint.......Taft stops at the sudden question posed by Flint......I've never known what it was like to be injun, but I've know quite a few. Most that I've know were good men, and had ways about them we don't understand....

 

Taft reaches down to Sam's head, right behind his ear and gently pulls a braid sized strand of his hair. He then gently shaves the hair right at the head and carefully harvests the hair without cutting his friend. Almost as if he were still alive and he didn't want to hurt him..........

 

"What the hell are you doin'?" Flint half shouts. Taft stands with the lock in one hand and the knife in the other.....

 

"I don't understand injun tradition," Taft says in a growl "But I do know that Sam, or a least a part of him should be there when we kill those sons of b!tches. I'll braid it, tie it around my right wrist, and let Sam help me do the killin'. He would want that, and I'm gonna give it to him."

 

Taft sits and begins to braid the hair with the utmost care so as to show honor to the loss of his friend.......When he finished he wrapped it around his wrist and tied it off with his teeth and free hand. Then with a quick movement he gets up and picks up the Winchester leaned across the saddle.

 

"Now ya startin' to act the way I remember ya, Taft, plum mean and crazy!!" Flint said with a grin.

 

Taft's face was somber and calmly mad. "I'm goin' up to the ridge. Them boys are out there wait fer us."

 

Flint jumps to his feet and grabs Taft by the arm, "Stay down fer now, damn it! we'll all stike out together soon.

 

"I'm goin' " Taft says as he pulled Flints hand away. Well don't skiline yerself, can't afford to lose anymore of us.

 

"I'm gonna park my ass right on top and wait fer 'em. And when they come, they're gonna die!"

 

Flint smirks and says, "Well if'n yer goin' wait fer me."

 

Taft grins,"Well.......alright then."

 

..............................................................................................................................

 

~EE~

[Blackwater 53393]

The first report from the 45/70 caught Badger by surprise. It wasn't that he didn't expect it. It was just that the report and the grunt from the brush to his left were so close together. Hatfield was close!

 

"Two down," he thought.

 

"BOOM!!" That was Flint's big bore rifle sending the other stalker to his sulfur an' brimstone reward.

 

"You kin ease on back, Badger," Flint called from top of the rise,"they won't be troublin' ye' no more!"

 

Hatfield turned and walked back to the camp. "Those hombres killed a U.S. Marshal," he said looking down at the body of a friend he'd only just met. "All of 'em together ain't worth the dirt under his fingernails."

 

As Hatfield stooped to cover the fallen warrior's face, he noticed the cleanshaven spot behind the man's ear. He looked around and saw the braid of hair on Taft's wrist. "I wish you'd cut me off a little of what's hangin' from the end o' that. I'm makin' me a new medicine bag and that'll be the first thing in it. I'll not trouble Sam for the old one. He can give it back to Willow when he sees her. She gave it to me.

 

Flint and Badger joined the others and they told Hatfield of some of their times with Sam. As they prepaired to see Sam on the start of his journey home, they knew that the bastards that took his life would be waiting somewhere for the justice that surely would find them.

Come hell or high water these four would see to that.

 

"You reckon they can get him home from Ft. Reno?" Taft wondered aloud. "FT. Worth is a far piece and these varmints' trail will be awfull cold by the time we cut it again."

 

"We'll take Sam to Ft. Worth," Flint declared. "As long as I'm above ground this trail won't ever get too cold for us to pick up later. Paxton Brown is a big man. He cain't hide for long, an' I'm guessin' Hatfield here knows ways to make him tell us what we want to know," he nodded toward the big man who stood slowly stroking his beard and brooding. "Damn!" Flint muttered, "Ol' Judge Parker won't be fit to be around now! Sam was one of his favorites."

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger loaded his pack and headed out to scout the trail ahead. The sun was full on the morning and the birds and insects made noise. A fresh morning for so much killing Badger thought. He had been in Texas only a short time, having come down from the country of the north. He knew that the bison and beaver were mostly gone and that the shinning times were a long way behind him. From a hill top he watched his companions as they broke camp and headed toward Ft. Worth. In his journey he had crossed a few towns that had been buffalo wallows and trails in the past. There were still wagon trains but not a large as before, and the railroad had brought a lot of folks to plow the land and there were even wheat fields in some of the buffalo grazing lands.

 

His thoughts took him back as he watched the trail. In his mind he traveled back to the War, and how as a young man he had been swept up in it. He tried to push the thoughts of death and destruction from his mind, but for some reason they would not leave. Even as he scouted along, checking the back trail often, he could not shake the dark thoughs. He rode on in silence.

[EE Taft]

As Badger scouted the trail ahead Taft, Flint and Hatfield traveled together on the trail to the south and east briefly crossing the Red River and skirting along the border. This was dangerous country but a faster route and they didn't want to lose time. Trailing behind Tafts horse was a pack mule and a seemingly comfortable deer hide stretcher hauling the body of their fallen friend. Taft, weary eyed rested in the saddle but kept a close eye to the skyline for movement.

 

Flint speaks up, "Ya reckon we'll make our crossing before night fall, Taft"

 

"Gonna have to, Pard" Taft says in a worn voice," Lest ya wanna sleep out here with the renegade injuns, they'll pluck yer scalp while yer sleepin' fer sure."

 

Flint rubs his head, "Yup, we better find a place ta cross."

 

Taft cuts a piece of the makeshift braid from his wrist and eases over to Hatfield, "I knowed it meant somethin' to ya ta have this, Hatfield. We all need what we need to make this right." He hands it to Hatfield. "Thank you friend." Says Hatfield as he places it neatly into the medicine bag." no problem, Pard." Taft says as he glairs out over the river.

 

Soon they come on a place to make the crossing and begin an easy desent down into the river. The sun was getting low in the sky and the weary travelers eased into the water. The cot carrying Sam came to a gentle float. The horses began to thrash through the water and the group monitored their movement enough to divert their attention from the bank on the other side for a moment.

 

Taft looks up to see Dirty face Charlie, Grinnin' Joe, and Bad Belly casually sitting on the other side.........

 

Taft and the bunch come to a stop as Grinnin' Joe speaks up......." Paxton ain't gonna take to y'all trailin' him. Y'all best turn back 'er there'll be more killin'."

 

Taft's fumes with anger and grabs the revolver on his side. The outlaws miss the movment and stay put for the moment. Flint looks at Taft....."Pard, this ain't the place fer this."

 

"This place is as good as any." Taft whispers to Flint. Taft then hollers out to the gang......

 

"You want killin'?..........HERE IT COMES!!!!!" Iron leaves leather and the first shot fired was from Taft's Colts hitting Grinnin' Joe in the chest and shoulder. Dirty Face Charlie levels his shotgun on Taft and fires dropping the paint horse to the water and peppering Taft in small bits in the face and shoulders as Taft hits the water. The firing contiues as Flint gets a shot off on Charlie hitting him in the head but not killin' him. He races off on his horse to the trees and continues firing.

Suddenly Bad Belly finds himself alone and firing.......

 

.......Taft comes up out of the water waist deep and sees Bad Belly firing scratching Flint's shoulder.......

 

YOU SON OF A B!TCH!!!! hollers Taft bringing both Colts up to fire. Bad Belly gets off one more shot hitting Taft in the side of the jaw loosening some teeth and taking a small chunk of meat with it. .......Then the blast of all guns including Taft's Colts!

 

Bad belly falls to the ground riddled with holes. Taft looks up to see Flint, Hatfield, And on the bank Badger with buffalo guns at their shoulders.

 

Taft goes to shore to find Grinnin' Joe clinging to life with blood pouring. By now Dirty Face Charlie had ridden off to bring warning to Paxton Brown. Hatfield comes to shore leading his and Flint's horse in one hand and a revolver in the other.

 

"Where'd that other bastard go"? asks Hatfield As Taft leans over Grinnin' Joe he says "I don't know, let's ask him....."

 

Taft leans down with blood running from his face, "Well boy, your dyin'. Tell us where he went and I'll end ya quick." Taft pulls the reins of the black that Grinnin' Joe was riding.

 

"Go to hell!" Joe says. When you get to Ft. Worth Paxton is gonna kill you all."

 

"That's all I needed to know." says Taft as he pulls the hammer back on the Colt. The shot rings out as the night darkness falls.

 

"Well, we're back in Texas boys, let's make camp." Taft says wiping the blood from his face. "Flint, when ya get that scratch patched up, see if you can do something about what's left of mah jaw"

 

Taft reachs in his mouth and pulls out two teeth with a groan. He wades out to the paint horse and pulls the saddle and bags from the water. The mule had already been pulled to shore with Sam by Flint.

 

Night falls on the camp.........

 

...............................................................................................................................

 

~EE~

[EE Taft]

Had to edit.......I forgot Grizz ain't in this story yet.

 

~EE Taft~

[BIG TIM]

OH MAN!!!!! You folks sure are good at this story tellin!!!!

[EE Taft]

OH MAN!!!!! You folks sure are good at this story tellin!!!!

 

The real challenge is takin' what ya write and turnin' it into a song.......

 

.....It harder than it sounds!

 

~EE Taft~

[Apache Hawk 60642]

The lone rider looked down on the herd of cattle and thought about the war he fought and the friends he made, and lost.

I had to keep a low profile cause I fought for Dixie and round here, if you are a breed and a Reb, that will get you're neck stretched. The cattle was his, along with this ranch, and his pride. 2 Snakes, it was named for the brand. And for the peace I had forged with my brothers, the Apache.

Sitting on his Appalooosa, he looked down, watching the herd, remembering men by the names of Taft, Sam, Flint Badger. Those were his friends and men I had killed yankees with like Hatfield, Allison and Houston where as mean sa you could get said Capt. Arrington of the Rangers. I heard myself chuckle as I thought of the good ole times we had, and I wondered if I would ever seem them again. Well, if they where to come by here, I'll put them up for as long as they want.

The 2 Snakes Ranch has an agreement with the Apache. They are most welcome at the ranch, to take as much cattle as they need, and I am welcome to graze their lands. And if need be, will fight for me and I for them. This type of agreement was made in heaven !

[Blackwater 53393]

"Hey J.M., You an' Badger get Sam took care of, will ya?" Hatfield called. "I got some bandages an' salve in my war bag, 'n' ol' Taft here is lookin' a little worse fer wear. C'mere Pard, let's have a look." He pulled off his bandana and handed it to E.E. "Lemme get a fire started and we'll get you patched up. Cain't do nothin' 'bout them choppers 'n' thet jaw might be broke, but the hide's only punctured in a couple of places."

 

Flint and Badger found a good place for Sam to rest and turned to cooking coffee and grub. Taft sat by the fire while Hatfield cleaned and dressed the side of his face. "I don't think ma' jaw's broke. I kin bite down an' it don't give any. Hurts like the devil though!" Taft said as Hatfield wrapped a piece of bandage cloth around his head and tied a knot on top.

 

"This way you can keep yer hat on yer fool head an' them holes in yer cheek won't git full o' dirt. Flint let's have a look at that shoulder." As he stood up from the fire to meet Flint, he wondered aloud "E.E., what the hell were you thinkin'? Them three had the drop. I don't wonder you're always getin' yer hide shot fulla' holes."

 

"Ol' Taft here has always had a short fuze an' it's always burnin' on both ends," Flint laughed as he pulled off the buckskin shirt. "I'll put a stitch er two in this while you doctor on this damned scratch."

 

"Hey Taft! Yer gettin' better lookin' all the time!" Badger laughed as he poured a cup of steaming Arbuckle's. "We allus pick our spots when we go to shootin'. That way it's more likely we ain't the ones takin' lead! Them's some awful big cholos yer sportin' ta' jes up an' jerk iron on them three!"

 

"I figured you three had my slack, and that damned Grinnin Joe just naturally rubbed me the wrong way!" Taft grumbled loudly, "I been aimin' ta' send him ta' hell fer a long time."

 

"Well him 'n' ol' Bad Belly're smellin' sulphur fer sure now!" Badger chuckled. "Supper's ready! Get it or I'm throwin it out!"

 

The four tired and aching men sat and ate quietly, each one lost for a while in thoughts of Sam and their reasons for wanting to kill Paxton Brown.

 

"It ain't Sam's Jameson's, but this dab o' liquor 'll take the edge offn' them missin' teeth an' such." Hatfield said, handing a bottle of rye to Taft. "You'll want this later an' we'll all sleep better if you ain't moanin' in yer sleep! I'll take first watch."

 

Flint pulled his hat back on and adjusted the shirt to ease the crease on his shoulder. "I don't figure them ornery cusses 'll be back tonight, but you roll me out in a couple hours. Hey Taft! Lemme have a slug o' that who hit John!"

 

"Here Hatfield, have another cup of coffee 'n' then show me that rifle of yours 'fore I bed down. Somebody else oughta' know how to work it if you cain't get to it."

 

"Good idea, Badger. It ain't much use in the dark but any little bit of light is good enough to show you how it works," Hatfield explained. "A lever gun's probably faster but it holds seven rounds, and you can feed it one at a time too."

 

As the other three bedded down, Marcus Hatfield sat on a rise overlooking the camp and studied the darkened landscape. He looked to the east and thought of Willow and swore quietly through clenched teeth, "Two Fingers Paxton Brown, there's no place this side of hell that you can go to get away from me!"

[Yellowhouse Sam # 25171]

Badger relieved Hatfield's watch after a few hours. Hell, he couldn't sleep anyway as all the night sounds weren't what he was accustomed to and he still couldn't believe that Sam was gone. His mind drifted off to the past,even to his boyhood and he chuckled at ribbing he used to take as a kid cause of his ears. Although his shaggy hair covered them they stood prominent enough to make a mule take notice. Suddenly one of them got real cold. Damn, the realization hit him as even he couldn't believe that the business end of a Colt would fit in his ear!

 

Looked around slowly and was startled to see a very somber Mexican cowboy holding a finger to his lips and whispering "Silencio, Senor!" Another cowboy with braids, musta been Indian motioned him up and toward the others. As they reached the campfire, other heavily armed men appeared out of nowhere. Total surprise for range hardened men of the plains!!

 

"You fellers don't make a move or you'll be wolf bait a lot sooner than you're ready! And that'll be soon enough most likely!"

 

You'd think that a bunch of rough hewn men would've slept with one eye open and heard a mouse burp but it didn't happen that way. Sometimes carlessness can get you dead just like Sam was all covered up in his soogans.

 

A slender and rawboned man...hell it was a kid not twenty held a cocked Colt at his side and ordered everyone up with their hands high! Flint bristled but there was little that he could do given that a half dozen guns were pointed his way. Badger grimaced as he thought Taft was gonna go for broke but hesitated at Hatfields nod to not try anything yet.

 

A cowboy stepped in and kicked up the fire then the young man, obviously the leader, took in all of the camp and his eyes fell upon a freshly oiled Remington sporting rifle leaning against Flints saddle. Death dealing fire lit his eyes as he growled "Mister, where in hell did you get that rifle?"

 

As the fire blazed anew and lended better vision, Flint looked like a ghost as he muttered "Bud? Bud!?"

 

The young man was clearly shaken as he strained his eyes and exclaimed in recognition "Mr. Flint, what in the hell are you doing here? Where is my uncle?"

 

Got silent as a buncha rats trying to avoid a bullsnake. Flints eyes dropped and then he strode to Bud, put an arm over his shoulder, and pointed to the soogans in the shape of a man off near the edge of camp.

 

Bud slowly walked to the still form and pulled back a corner of the covering. Uttering no sound, he sat there motionless just staring at his uncle until daybreak.

 

"Bud, we were going to bring him home and its time to get moving or he'll start getting ripe. Hate to be hard but thats God's truth."

 

"I know Mr. Flint but I want to know what happened." The boy was a man for sure although it wouldn't have taken much to just break down. No one could look him in the eye else they'd all join in bawling like a bunch of weanin calves.

 

Bud heard the whole story including the part where Sam sternly was set against his nephew getting involved.

 

Grimacing, Bud said, "We saw the men you talk of yesterday and they were headed north to the Nations. We're up from the ranch at Dublin and had taken delivery of ten high bred Hereford bulls from Mr. Waggoner (3D-reversed brand). One of my hands, Joe Eaglehead, said he recognized one or two as known outlaws as he'ed heard of and had seen them at the whiskey dives in Thackerville and Purcell way. For sure Paxton Brown and his brothers who have a hideout up in Redrock Canyon country. Yep, he's got a bunch of kin and quite a band from what I hear from some of the crew thats made drives up through to Dodge." Anyway, they or someone ran off some of our horses across the Red from Spanish Fort. We trailed em to here. Helluva deal ain't it Mr. Flint? Just seems like we were supposed the meet here in the middle of nowhere and I don't know how or why. Joe just said we gotta follow the raven. Funny, one kept squawking at us most of the day."

 

That last shook each and every man to his core...even Taft and Badger who had limited experience with the omens and spiritual aspects of the Indian way.

 

Bud took an offered cigarillo from his segundo, Chaco Ramirez, and hunkered down on his boots in deep thought. Chaco was actually foreman of the A-A connected brand and had taught Bud almost everything he knew...including the art of the pistolero. The long range shooting skills had been passed on by Sam and particularly when on a several month foray to hunt buffalo on the Llano. Just a year ago....just a year. Damn!

 

Stomping the smoke out Bud spoke with the authority of one many years older. "Don't care what Uncle said, I'm going with you fellers come hell or high water. The boys can take Uncle Sam to Thackerville, there's an undertaker there who can do him right. When this is over, I'll take him out to the Llano and bury him where he wanted...I know where cause he made a big deal of showing me the exact spot."

 

Taft interupted,"Bud, your uncle didn't want this. Let us take care of it."

 

Bud's moistened eyes blazed with determination,"No sir, this is a family matter and my sister nor I can rest until that whole gang is as dead as a pile of rotten stumps."

 

"By the way, was there a medicine bag around his neck?" Hatfield knowingly responded and promptly handed it to Bud who put around his own. Holding it tightly, Bud almost choked out the words. "Quanah Parker gave this to him long ago as a gift and told him that he should always listen to the raven." With that announcement he rose, walked over and picked up the Remington sporter and hefted it like a long lost friend. With the rifle cradled in his arms he walked out into the brush. No one followed him.