The Return of Caulfield Blake (9 page)

“Remember, we've got to light the fuses together,” Marty whispered as the two of them cowered behind the rocks. “There isn't but a few minutes before the whole thing goes. Hide the fuse as well as you can. Sparks can be seen half a mile on this kind of night.”

Caulie grinned a grim acknowledgment, then darted out into the open. His feet made only the slightest sound as he tread Indian-style toward the embankment. Once safely there, he began digging in the rock. Marty soon wove his way to the far side of the creek and began placing the second charge. The two of them worked feverishly. Any second someone might notice. Caulie then carefully wedged his fuse between rocks or covered it with loose stone. He then repeated the labor and placed the final three sticks of dynamite near the dam's center.

Marty raised a hand, and Caulie lit the first fuse. He then raced for the other fuse and lit it as well. The sound of feet tramping toward the boulders attracted the guards, and one fired off a shot. Soon a half-dozen men hurried toward the dam. More shots followed. Orders bellowed across the hollow.

“Somethin's burnin'!” a guard cried out. “Powder!”

By then Caulie was dragging Marty toward the horses. Zach held the reluctant animals steady. The two raiders joined the boy just as the first explosion split the evening asunder.

“Let's get out of here,” Caulie urged as he grabbed his reins and fought to mount the rearing stallion. Marty had no easier time getting atop his animal. Zach held on to his bay for dear life. The second and third charges went off together, and the air was suddenly full of spray and debris. The ground trembled. Then the water began eating its way through the dam, and what had been a muddy stretch of sand became a raging torrent.

“We did it,” Zach cried, slapping his father's back.

“And now we'd better get out of here,” Caulie said as he turned the big black and drove the horse forward. The dam's right side collapsed, and the water was soon eating away the left. Guards fired wildly, and men alternately issued curses and orders.

Caulie gazed for a final time at the chaos behind him. And as a wall of water swept down Siler's Hollow, scattering cattle and horsemen like leaves in the autumn breeze, it looked as if they'd just get clear. Simpson's riders had no time to chase anybody. They were scurrying for their lives.

Caulie tore through the fence line a quarter mile from his original break. He sent Marty flying homeward, then led Zach toward the cabin.

“Care for some company?” Zach asked as he pulled his bay alongside his father. “Ma's accustomed to me passin' the night over at the Cabot place on my way back from town.”

“Your ma's goin' to need your help, what with the floodwaters and all.”

“She won't miss me. Marsh'll do most of it, and Carter's there.”

“I won't claim you wouldn't be welcome company, son, but she'll worry, you know. What's more, she won't be fond of the notion you rode with us tonight.”

“I thought. . . I mean . . . I guessed maybe once I proved to you I could handle a job, you'd want me along.”

Caulie pulled up short and swallowed a sudden sadness.

“You never once had anythin' to prove to me, Zach. I'm glad you're here just now, and I'd have you with me from now on if it were just the two of us that were concerned. But there's your ma to consider. I won't bring her grief and worry again. Not for anythin'. Now get along home. There'll be other days to pass together. I promise you that.”

“You're back to stay then?”

“I'm back. Let's leave it at that.”

“All right,” Zach said, reluctantly turning his horse homeward. “Before long you'd best come out to . . .to Marsh's place . . . to home. Ma can't blow up a dam, but she's surely a better cook than you are.”

Caulie laughed as the boy rode away. It was hard watching the night swallow up Zach, and the silence that ate at Caulfield Blake as he rode back to Dix's cabin was deafening. He longed for sounds, for laughter and singing. He longed for the family that had somehow slipped away. And more than ever he was determined to keep them safe.

Caulfield Blake spent an uneasy night following the destruction of Simpson's dam. Sounds of galloping horses and rampaging cattle mixed with the eerie noises of the creek eating away at its banks, tearing at rocks and hills and trees as it surged toward the distant Colorado River. By daybreak the worst of the flooding had ebbed, and all that remained was the waiting.

“Life teaches a man patience,” old Calvin Blake had taught Caulie in what now seemed to have been another lifetime. “Waters rise and fall. Seasons come and go. The land survives. The trick is to outlast storm and drought, learn to take each in your stride.”

Caulie had done his best, but Henry Simpson had ensured it wasn't enough.

Now it was Simpson's turn to pay. Siler's Hollow had gone from a lake to a swamp, and the frothing water unleashed by the dam had spilled over ten acres of prime grazing land. Cattle, suddenly surprised by the flood, had scrambled to high ground, trampling anything in their path. Those that had been a trifle slow had drowned by the dozens, and dead steers and cows dotted the range.

Downstream at the Bar Double B, cattle that only a day before had fought over the sandy banks of the Colorado now drank from the sweet surface of Carpenter Creek. Some trees had been uprooted by the floodwaters, and one field was awash, but the precious peach orchard had weathered the raging waters rather well, and the house, being atop a hill, was scarcely bothered.

Hannah knew even before Zach arrived that the dam had been blown. Why wouldn't she? Wasn't it for that very reason that she'd written the letter, called Caulfield Blake back? And now, as she stood on the crest of the hill with Marshall Merritt—her husband—she was less sure of her actions.

“I welcome the water,” Marsh told her, “but little good will come of this. The place to fight was in a courtroom.”

“Some things can't be settled that way,” Hannah objected. “Dix tried that a month ago. Six months or six years, the case never would've come to trial so long as Henry Simpson wished it otherwise.”

“I saw Zachary ride in last night. His face was painted dark, and he wore a black poncho . . . the kind Caulfield used to wear when he was sheriff.”

“You're wrong,” she declared. “Zach went into town for me. He gave me the sugar. He would never have . .

“Hannah, I've done my best to be a father to those boys, but Zach's never taken me to heart like Carter. Everybody says it. Zach's a Blake. It can't be changed by his taking my name.”

“There's no disgrace in being a Blake, Marsh. Blakes built this place, built this county. For all his faults, Caulie never gave me cause to think poorly of his name or his family.”

“I wish you'd never written that letter.”

“We'd've starved, Marsh. You're a good man, and you've been as fine a father and husband as there is in Texas. But you and Dix and Marty and the others . . . you could never square off with Simpson.”

“I never backed away from a fight, Hannah,” Marsh said, his face growing bright scarlet. “You seem to think I'm not up to it.”

“Not to beatin' Simpson, Marsh. To beat that old snake you need somebody who's not tied to the rules. Caulie will do what's necessary, no matter who comes to harm.”

“I thought that's why you asked him to leave.”

“It is. Back then I needed a husband, a man who'd stand by me, be there for the little ones. But just now we need Caulfield Blake, and I'm glad he's here.”

“So'm I,” Zach said, joining them. “You should've seen him, Ma. He was everything Dix ever said. I rode with 'em.”

“You what!” she cried.

“Had to. They needed somebody to hold the horses. Ma, he rides like a general, all stiff and straight in the saddle. He's got a way . . . like nothin' can hurt him. He misses us, too. I could tell.”

“He could've gotten you killed, Zach!” Hannah complained. “I can't imagine why you agreed to . . .”

“I asked to go,” Zach explained. “He argued against it. Said you'd never abide it.”

“He was right about that!” she thundered.

“But I remember you tellin' Carter and me how you once shouldered a musket and helped Grandma fight off a bunch of Comanches out here when you were just twelve. I figure if you could do that, I'm old enough to do my part, too.”

“You should have ridden over and told your father,” Hannah said, nodding toward Marshall. “When your granny and I did that, the men were miles away. And remember, we didn't go looking for those Comanches.”

“Ma, I . . .”

“We'll talk no more of it, Zachary. Go help your brothers with the horses.”

“Yes'm,” the boy said, turning dejectedly away and starting for the corral.

Hannah watched Zach kick rocks out of his way. He was Caulie, all right, a wild mustang straining to break free. She would never hold him, not with die world out there whispering in his ear, calling him off to try his hand at this and that.

“They grow faster'n summer weeds, don't they?” Marsh asked. “Wasn't so long ago I could carry Zach and Carter, the both of 'em, around on my back. Now look at 'em! By late summer they'll be lookin' me in the eye.”

“You think I was too short with him.”

“I never said that, Hannah.”

“But it's in your eyes.”

“I think it's your place to do what you think best.”

“But you'd handle it differently.”

“Are you askin' me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I'll go ahead and throw in my two cents worth. The boy barely knows his father.”

“
You're
his father.”

“I don't think so. Not after last night. Likely we made a mistake givin' those boys my name. They've a right to their father, to his name and his character. Carter, well, he's different, but Zach could hardly act otherwise.”

“He's in such a hurry to be a man.”

“Texas hurries 'em along. Hannah, Matt Simpson's not much older'n Carter. Like it or no, the boys're in this mess. After last night, there'll be no peace. Simpson's bound to hit back. He hasn't hired all that new help to drive longhorns to market.”

“I know, and it worries me.”

“Little point to worrying over it,” Marsh said, taking her hand and leading the way to the house. “What's bound to happen will. We'll face it when it comes.”

Even as Marshall Merritt was speaking, Henry Simpson was at work. Cowboys were rounding up the survivors of his herd while a few men set about tending to the grim task of skinning and disposing of the dead animals. Meanwhile a third band, led by young Matt and the Jenkins brothers, set off toward Ox Hollow. Marty Cabot saw them pass. Soon others were riding.

“Ma, somebody's cornin',” Zach cried as he raced toward the house.

“Stay inside, Hannah,” Marsh instructed as he took a Winchester rifle down from the mantel. “I'll see to this.”

Hannah stood at the front window and watched him go. It might have been more prudent to pull the shutters to, but she didn't. Instead she opened a small chest and drew out an aging Colt revolver. Caulfield Blake had carried that gun once. She now considered it a kind of legacy.

“Howdy, Marsh,” Marty called down as he reached the house. “Good to see you still in high spirits, Zach. We've got some trouble, my friends.”

“Simpson?” Marsh asked.

“In spades. He's sent his boys after the Mexicans down in Ox Hollow. They crossed my range maybe an hour ago. I already sent Caulie out that way. I thought maybe you and . . .”

“That's not really our affair, Marty,” Marsh argued. “They're way to the south. I can't very well leave Hannah and the little ones to themselves.”

“And if we let him, Simpson'll ride each one of us into the dust. We can't take turns, Marsh. We've got to stand together. Dix got some rifles down to those folks, so they're apt to give a fair account of themselves. If a half-dozen of us plus a few from town pitch in, we'll give Simpson's boys somethin' to remember. Bloody 'em up proper.”

“Was this Caulie's idea?” Hannah asked, stepping out onto the porch. “He sent you, did he?”

“As I recall, Hannah, it was you did the sendin',” Marty answered angrily. “Your own ma got those people settled out there. Now they're in trouble. Well, Marsh? You cornin' or not? I've ridden all the way up here to fetch you. If you're not ridin' with me, it's best I'm off.”

“Marsh?” Zach asked.

Hannah noticed the pain in Marsh's eyes. Always before it had been “Pa” or “Papa” when Zach spoke to Marshall Merritt. Somehow she sensed that would never happen again.

“Tell Carter to help you saddle the horses,” Marsh said. “He'd best come along as well.”