Texas Blood Feud. Dusty Richards

the back door and stuck his head in. “Any rolls today?”

      “Oh, for loafers, no,” Susie teased, coming to meet them.

      “I’ve got two bronc busters with me. We’ve been taming Neddy’s bad colt.”

      “Oh, well, I have rolls for bronc busters. Come in my kitchen.”

      “There we go,” he said, and herded his boys into the kitchen’s warmth.

      “I may need to go to Mason and get some supplies this week,” Susie said. “And the choice of material at the Maysville stores is so limited.”

      “Take Reg and J.C. along.”

      Helping the boys up on chairs, she turned and frowned. “Why?”

      “I don’t want anyone out by themselves from here on.”

      “Do they know?”

      He shook his head for the boys’ sake. He and Susie could talk later.

      She agreed, and the four had a fun time eating cinnamon rolls. She fixed him some tea with honey, and he sipped it by the window as sunlight poured into the room. When the two little ones finished, they went out to play and to keep an eye on the Bugger for him.

      “Don’t go in the pen with him,” he said as they went outside.

      “We won’t.”

      “Why should I take the boys along?” she asked, closing the door behind her back.

      “They’ll find out sooner or later about our remuda being stolen and us going after the rustlers.”

      “But they’re boys.”

      He shook his head. “You grow up fast in this world we live in.”

      “Then you feel it will be more than Earl’s blustering that he did at the dance that Ryan Thomas told me about.”

      “Lots more. Take the boys. You hire anyone to help?”

      “I thought I’d find someone in Mason.”

      He nodded. Then, sipping on her sweet tea, he looked across the yard and watched the small puffs of dust the rising wind picked up. The wreck was coming. He only wondered when.

      Late afternoon, he checked on his oat patches. The oats were a few inches tall and waving in the ruts. He might need to graze them if the warm weather held on. Once the plant grew past the first joint, a sharp freeze could kill it. Plenty of deer were coming in and eating the oats. Their hoofprints were all over. After checking his fields, he spotted a fat deer moving across a hillside, and slipped the .44/40 out of the scabbard. Taking aim, he downed it. The deer fell downhill and he rode up to it. Roan snorted at the blood, so he hitched him to a bush. Rifle in the scabbard again, he drew out his skinning knife and cut the deer’s throat. The blood ran out and soaked into the grass and rocks. It was young, so he could lift it and strap it on behind his saddle. Then he mounted up and took in some more range, circling around until he was satisfied he had no one watching him. Then he carefully dropped off into Marla’s country. From atop the ridge, he used his glasses. The team and buckboard were not in sight. Gone to San Anton. Good. A red-tail hawk screamed and circled on the wind looking for a meal. A smile crossed Chet’s face as he dropped downhill.

      The roan hitched behind the outhouse in the cedars, Chet eased his way to the back door. When he knocked, he heard her hurrying across the floor. She cracked the door, and a pleased look crossed her face as she opened it wide. “Well, you did come.”

      “I shot a fat deer coming here. We better gut and skin it. I guess he got gone, all right?”

      “For five days.” She threw open her arms and hugged him.

      I figured you could always use the meat.”

      “Sure, thanks. I’ll get a pan for the liver and things and some knives. We can hang him in the shed and do it there.”

      “Won’t cause you any problems, will it?”

      “I shoot deer when they get in my garden. What will be the difference?”

      “I mean,” he said, leading roan over there, “will he ask a lot of questions like how and why?”

      “I’ll shoot that old single-shot rifle off when we get to the house. He can smell the barrel when he gets home, and he knows I’m capable.”

      For the next thirty minutes, they worked shoulder to shoulder to eviscerate the strung-up deer. The air was filled with the copper smell of blood and guts as she worked right beside him. The blood dried on his fingers and stiffened them. They separated the heart, liver, and kidneys into her pan, along with the lacy fat. Then, working as a team, they pealed off the hide, and soon the deer was dressed and its red muscles shone in the light.

      “He’s fat enough.”

      “Been eating my oats.”

      She laughed as Chet tossed the heavy hide on a bench. “It’s fine right there. I’ll tan it later after I scrape the fat off the inside. Get an ax. I want his brains for that job.”

      This was the first time he’d ever worked beside her doing anything like this. Her efficiency and skill impressed him. When the deer was pulled up high enough and tied up so a varmint couldn’t reach it, she nodded her approval. “Thanks, some fresh meat won’t hurt me. Let’s go wash up.”

      She brought hot water out on the back porch and poured some in the basin. They went to work side by side, washing their hands and forearms with lye soap. With a big grin, she bumped his hip with hers.

      “You ain’t half bad help. Jake Porter would have squatted on his boot heels and let me do it all.” After they rinsed, she flung out the water and handed him the flour-sack towel.

      “Let’s go inside. When you get out of that sun and you ain’t working, it ain’t real warm.”

      “I been thinking—” He came inside behind her and closed the door.

      She looked up and blinked her eyes at him. “Yes?”

      “Why don’t you get a divorce and marry me?”

      “Your conscience bothering you?’

      He shook his head. “No, but I’d like to stop having to sneak around to see the woman in my life.”

      “You know there’s a lot more attached to being the woman who divorced her husband than for a man who divorces his wife.”

      “You talking about them shunning you?”

      “That and the rest.”

      She moved up against him, untying his kerchief and fussing about him. “I say we get in bed and then we can talk about it there.”

      He looked at the kitchen ceiling for help. He gathered her in his arms and shook his head. Their conversation was going nowhere. She wasn’t going to leave Porter. No way on earth to ever convince her.

      It was sundown when he rode off for home, taking a wide circuit. He rode in when twilight shut down, and Reg met him at the corral. “I led ole Bugger over to the water tank and feed him two measures of oats and tied him back up.”

      “Thanks. That’s all he needs.” Chet dropped heavily out of the saddle.

      “He’s a handful, isn’t he?”

      “I’d call him a double one. He strike at you?”

      “Yeah, he did bringing him home, too.”

      “We’ll get that out of him.”

      Reg made a face. “What in the hell was that old woman doing with him anyhow?”

      Chet laughed. “She’s broke tougher ones than him before.”

      “She must be wiry.”

      “She is. Good gal. Just don’t