Blood Bond 3 (7 page)

Cindy's name was not mentioned in the Carson house. As far as Ed was concerned, his daughter no longer existed. Her being with child out of wedlock had nothing to do with it. That she would consort with the enemy was the straw that overloaded the camel. Whatever she had left behind at the house was removed and burned at Ed's orders. Her name was removed from the family Bible. In Ed's mind, Cindy Carson was dead.

On the night before the wedding, the lamps went out early in the ranches of Sparks and Carson. And everyone went to sleep with a smile on their lips. Cowboys occasionally chuckled in their sleep.

Long before dawn tinted the horizon with day's rebirth, the wagons were rolling slowly toward Crossing. The drivers wanted to be in as close as they dared when the exodus of the townspeople began.

At nine o'clock, the air hot and still, the first buggies and men on horseback began leaving the town. Matt lay on the crest of a low hill, on his belly in the short grass, watching the town through field glasses.

“Get them ready,” he told Tate. “It won't be long now.”

At nine-thirty, Matt watched as Al the bartender walked through the silent town. He made his loop, returned to the end of the street, and waved a white handkerchief.

“Let's go!” Sam yelled.

Whooping and hollering, the cowboys slapped the reins on the horses' butts and the wagons rolled into Crossing.

“We'll take no one's personal possessions,” Jeff ordered. “But I helped build this damn town—put up some of the money to buy the lumber—so I figure at least a part of it belongs to me. Take it down.”

It wasn't as difficult as it might have seemed. With a few braces knocked out, several ropes in the right places, and cowboys on horseback with the rope around the saddlehorn, a wall came down. As soon as that was done, teams began dismantling the wall and stacking the lumber in wagons.

“How 'bout the boardwalk?” Gilly asked.

“Take it,” Ed ordered.

The sounds of protesting rusty nails being pried up with crowbars filled the air. The first wagons left the town within fifteen minutes, the wagons filled with merchandise from stores. The town was being moved eight miles south, onto Circle S property. With people working frantically, the job did not take nearly as long as some had imagined.

They left behind them a very strange sight: beds and feather ticks and chamber pots, cookstoves and washtubs and dressing tables, dressing screens and parlor lamps and corset chairs, spittoons and foot warmers and mop buckets, all sitting forlornly on the rolling prairie.

The men left the outhouses intact, and that only added to the bizarreness of the sight.

Sometimes when the sides of structures were jerked out, the roof fell in and landed intact. If the building had been small enough, mules were used to simply pull the roof away from the town's rapidly vanishing site to be dismantled later.

By midafternoon, the town of Crossing no longer existed. Eight miles south of the site, hammering and banging and sawing had been going on for hours. All hoped that no stiff wind would suddenly spring up, for the new town, for awhile at least, was going to be flimsily built.

Stocker's General Store and Emporium was changed to Lia's Family Store. Crossing Stable and Livery was changed to Dodge's Barn. Harris's Saddle Shop was now Gene's Leather Goods. Crossing Hotel and Saloon was changed to the Pecos Rooms and Bar. The café was now the Eats. The barber shop was now the Hair Palace (that was Lisa's idea). Matt Bodine was now the new town marshal, elected to the office in the same election that made Jeff Sparks the new mayor.

“What are we going to call it?” Sam asked.

“Name it,” Ed said.

“OK. That's good enough,” Matt said.

Nameit was about to be born.

“What's good enough?” Sam asked.

“The new name.”

“What
new name?” Sam yelled.

“Nameit.”

“You want the town to be called
Nameit?”

“Why not?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jeff said.

“I'd like to call it Prairie Flower, or something like that,” Lisa suggested.

“I ain't bein' the mayor of no damn town called Prairie Flower,” her father said.

“Why don't we just stay with Nameit?” Sam said wearily. He walked off muttering, “Prairie Flower?”

 

 

Nick and Cindy were united in holy matrimony—more or less, since there was no preacher and John Lee married them after reading a few words from the Good Book. The party got underway. About seven o'clock, he sent riders into town to bring back more whiskey. They returned in a cloud of dust and confusion.

“There ain't no town!” Pen told John.

“I beg your pardon?” John looked up at the man, still sitting his saddle.

“There ain't no town!” Pen repeated.

“Are you drunk?” John yelled, as a crowd began gathering around.

“Hell, no, I ain't drunk! I'm tellin' you what I seen with my own eyes.” He paused. “Or what I didn't see, I reckon would be the way to put it. There ain't no damn town left.”

“Towns don't disappear!” the man who used to be the owner of the general store said. “You must have got lost.”

“I ain't lost, you igit!” Pen hollered. “Even the dogs is gone.”

In the new town of Nameit, hammering and sawing and banging and cussing were still going on. Shelves were being restocked and signs painted. The men and women all knew they were working against time.

“. . . The privies is still standin',” Pen said. “Tables and chairs and chamberpots is there. Clothes all over the place, blowin' here and yonder. But there ain't a buildin' left standin' nowheres and dammit I know what I seen.”

 

 

Sam drew up papers proclaiming the town of Nameit legal and binding—sort of. He dated the paper a year back. “Does anybody here know what the governor's signature looks like?”

“I don't even know if he can write,” Ed said.

Sam scrawled the governor's name on the bottom of the page and held it up for all to see. “This town has been in existence for one year, folks.”

As tired as they were, they all cheered and applauded.

 

 

John Lee looked over what was left of his town. He had a pretty good idea what had happened and where it was. For this to have been done this quickly also told John that Sparks had indeed hired himself a bunch of new hands, and they wouldn't be fresh-faced greenhorns either. They might not be gunslicks, but they would be men who knew what a fight was all about and who would fight and die for the brand.

He also saw the fine hands of Matt Bodine and that damned half-breed brother of his in this work.

John sat his saddle and sighed as he watched the bewildered-acting people who once owned businesses in the now-gone town wander around trying to salvage something—anything. There was damn little to pick up. And no goods at all. Jeff and Ed and the others had not only taken the buildings, they'd also taken all the damn merchandise that had been in them.

“This is flat-out stealin'!” the man who had run the general store hollered.

“Prove it,” Bam Ford said quietly. “That is, if you want the law in here.”

John glanced at him. “There is that to consider, for a fact.”

“Well,” Bam said, trying awfully hard not to smile. “It ain't all bad. They did leave the folks a pot to pee in.”

John jerked the reins and rode off. He was in no mood for any jokes.

“Man just don't have no sense of humor at all,” Bam said to Kingman.

“I don't like you, Bam,” Kingman said shortly. “And I don't trust you. You was always a little wishy-washy to my way of thinkin'. I just don't know what side you're on in this fight.”

“I'm takin' John Lee's money, Kingman. I made it clear to him from the start that I fight growed-up men. Not women and kids and children's pet animals. I'll leave that up to people like you.”

“I oughta kill you right here and now!” Kingman snarled at him.

Bam met him look for look. “Anytime you feel like dyin', Kingman, just make your play.”

“The day will come, Bam,” Kingman said. “Bet on it.” He turned his horse and rode off.

Pen Masters had been listening. He walked his horse over to Bam. “What's the matter, Bam?”

“The same thing that's been gnawin' on you, Pen. I ain't fightin' no women and kids.”

“We ain't fought no one yet, Bam.”

“John Lee's a ruthless man, Pen. A man used to gettin' his own way, anyway he sees fit. You and me, Pen, we rode out of that mess up in Utah, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember. I need the money, Bam. It's just that simple.”

“I need money, too. But I also need sleep at night. I ain't never killed no women or kids and I ain't gonna kill no more cattle or sheep. That made me sick up in Utah. I just ain't a-gonna do it no more.”

“Let's stick this out for a few more days, Bam. If it gets to where innocents is gonna get hurt, we'll pull out.”

“Deal.”

The next morning, John Lee, accompanied by his small army, headed south, following the wagon tracks from what used to be Crossing. Over forty strong, they kicked up a powerful lot of dust as they rode. They reined up at a freshly painted sign nailed to a fence post.

Nameit, Texas—one mile.

“Nameit?” Lopez said, taking off his hat and scratching his head.

Bam and Pen both ducked their heads to hide their smiles.

“Very amusing, I'm sure,” John said. He lifted his reins and paused, watching a large group of riders heading their way. They were all carrying Winchesters.

“We got 'em outnumbered two to one,” Lightfoot pointed out.

“And he didn't even have to take off his boots to use his toes,” Bam said.

Pen laughed and Lightfoot gave them both dirty looks.

“Nobody wins in a fight with this many people, this close up,” John said, knowing full well that if a fight started, he'd be the first one dead. “Just stay calm and let's see what they want. But spread out just in case.”

As John's men spread out, the riders coming from the south broke out of their bunch and spread out. It was a sight that caused even the most hardened gunhand to wonder why he didn't pursue some other line of work.

The line of riders stopped about twenty feet from John's army. Jeff and Ed, flanked by Matt and Sam and Gene and Noah, sat their saddles and stared at John Lee. Various hands formed a line behind them.

Nick had been so hungover and sick he'd been unable to ride that morning. Cindy hadn't helped matters by vomiting while Nick lay abed moaning about his head hurting.

“This is a public road, Jeff,” John pointed out. “You have no right to try to stop us from using it.”

“That wasn't my intention at all. With all the dust, we thought it might have been the Army coming to visit our town, or a band of outlaws,” he added.

“We just thought we'd pay your new town a visit, Jeff.”

“New town?” Jeff looked puzzled. “What new town is that, John?”

John was not a patient man. He had very little in the way of a sense of humor. He struggled to keep his temper in check as he pointed to the sign by the road.
“That
new town.”

“Nameit? Why, John, Nameit's been here for near 'bouts a year. We just had an election. Matt Bodine is the marshal and I'm the mayor. You boys are welcome in Nameit. Just don't start any trouble.”

“A . . . year?” John said.

“That's right, John,” Ed said. “You need to get out more, see all the changes that are takin' place around you.”

“Broaden your horizons,” Sam said with a straight face.

“You won't get away with this, Jeff. None of you. What you done was stealing.”

“Get away with what?” Jeff asked. “Stealing? What did any of us steal?”

“How are things in Crossing?” Matt asked. “Is business good or are conditions a little . . . vacant?”

John drummed his gloved fingertips on his saddle horn. He just didn't know what to do. He'd always been in command, always taken charge. This new development had caught him off guard and he wasn't sure how to handle it.

“The . . . ah . . . town of Nameit, is it on your property, Jeff?” John asked.

“Oh, no!” the rancher said with a serious look. “I deeded the land to the town. A hundred acres. All legal and proper. We expect Nameit to grow with the times. Things are changing, John. Even you must see that.”

“Some mighty good people lost everything they had back at Crossing,” John pointed out.

“Did something happen at Crossing?” Sam asked. “Tornado touch down maybe?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, hatred for the man who killed his father very evident in his eyes, “I seen a funnel cloud yesterday—'bout noon, I think it was. I told ever'body I thought it musta hit Crossin'. But since you think you're Lord God Almighty, and forbid any of us from visitin' Crossin', there wasn't much none of us could do about it, since we shore didn't want to do nothin' that might upset you. You bein' such an important man, an' all.”

“Except pray,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dodge said. “As soon as we seen the funnel cloud, we immediately got together and held a prayer meetin' for all the good people of Crossin'.”

“It was wonderfully inspirin',” Chookie said. “Brought tears to my eyes. 'Specially when we all lifted our voices in song and sang “The Mighty Winds Do Blow.”

“No play on words intended,” Sam added.

John Lee kept his face bland. But inside he was boiling and burning with fury and hatred. John Lee did not like to be the butt of jokes. But this time there was nothing he could do about it, except take it.

“Have your fun, boys,” John said, in a voice that was choked with rage. He lifted the reins and all could see his hands were shaking. Then his anger boiled over. “I'll pay your town a visit some night and burn the goddamn thing to the ground! Let's ride, men!”