My Brother's Keeper

By Dallas Releford

When Matt Holt teaches his younger brother Clay everything he knows about life including how to use a gun he isn't aware that what he has taught him will bring him and Clay into direct conflict with each other. When outlaws raid their ranch and kill their family, Clay and Matt have different opinions about how they should respond. Clay wants to kill them. Matt wants to bring them to justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dallas Releford
• Release date: Dec 12, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458058775

Book preview

MY BROTHER'S KEEPER

By:

Dallas Releford

Published by

Dallas Releford at Smashwords

My Brothers Keeper

Copyright 2011 Dallas Releford

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, places, events, organizations, areas, or locations are intended to provide a feeling of authenticity and are used in a fictitious manner. All other characters, dialogue and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination and shouldn’t be accepted as real.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without explicit permission from the author or publisher except in brief quotations used in an article or in a similar way.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. if you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * * *

Dedication

I would like to thank my wife Sharon for her understanding while I was writing this book. Sadly, my wife Sharon, of thirty years marriage passed away on August 18th, 2010. She is dearly missed.

I would like to thank Dr. Rashid Kahn my family doctor for his support. Credit is due to my agent Harriet Smith and Martin Smith for their assistance.

My agent and typist, Harriet Smith deserves additional thanks for typing and revising my manuscripts. Martin Smith, my business manager is also to be commended on his hard work editing and typing this manuscript. They did such an excellent job my editing and revision tasks were much easier. That is appreciated.

To John Saul, author, for his advice that kept me going.

To Dana Reed, author of many good novels who taught me a lot I did not know including how not to give up when times were bad.

* * * * *

My Brother's Keeper

* * * * *

Dallas Releford

Chapter 1

In the summer of 1863, William T. Anderson, one of Quantrill’s raiders led a band of Confederate killers from Missouri into Kansas. These men weren’t soldiers, they were cold-blooded killers. They were out for blood and they didn’t care if you were for the North or the South. In their path, as they swept across the state was a hundred and eighty seven acres of land called the Lazy-Bar-K Ranch.

My father, Grady Holt ran the ranch. His wife was Molly Holt. I had a younger brother and an older sister. Clay, my brother was sixteen that year and Ellie was twenty four. She had lost her husband when a bushwhacker got him. Ellie had come back home to stay with her family until the war was over. For her, my mother and my father, the war was over that fateful summer day on August 21, 1863.

My father brought our family out here from Kentucky in 1857 hoping to spare them the pain of a war he knew was inevitable. Sometimes, you just can’t run far enough from something so evil.

Monday morning dawned with patches of dark clouds moving across a gray sky. The threat of rain, and maybe storms threatened us as Clay and I did a few chores in the barn. By the time we finished, it was time for breakfast. Neither of us knew or suspected that this day would change our lives forever. It was August 19, 1863.

Clay was already a man even if he was only sixteen. Hard work had bestowed on him a massive chest and wide shoulders. Add those qualities to long dark hair and deep brown eyes and that explained why so many women were interested in him.

Because of the dangers all around us I bought him an 1859 Walker revolver with pearl handles. Then I taught him how to use it. Sometimes, I think he slept with it under his pillow. I often wondered if he heard me when I explained that it was a tool, like an axe or that guns rarely solved problems.

Like most mornings we sat around the table drinking coffee and eating mom’s biscuits, eggs and bacon. Dad was forty one and already a hard life was beginning to paint his black hair white. His dark eyes were almost always focused on mom. They talked more than all the kids.

Molly, our mother always was beautiful and I can understand why our father married her. With soft red hair, blue eyes and creamy white skin, she was lovely. Ellie had many of my mother’s features except Ellie didn’t talk much.

Grady looked at me and motioned southward with his thumb. Are you boys going to check the fence down there today? I’d like to start building up a herd for market next spring.

It was too late in the year to drive cattle anywhere. We had just sold a large herd to the Union Army back in June. With the war and all the violence in Missouri and Kansas, our market was somewhat limited. So far, our little piece of Kansas had been spared. We were less than ninety miles from the Missouri border and that put us in a lot of danger. Our affiliation with the Union Army made us targets just as sure as if we wore blue uniforms. It was a gut-nagging situation where you couldn’t trust your neighbors. They might be guerillas. Confederate guerilla William Clark Quantrill could be anywhere. Few knew where he was. However, everybody knew where he had been because he left a trail of blood and tortured bodies behind him. Sure, Dad. Do you think we can sell them to the union soldiers this winter? My father forked more eggs into his mouth, chewed heartedly and then washed it down with black coffee. We were more fortunate than most of our neighbors were. We raised our food and hadn’t been raided as most of them had. Our ranch was off the beaten path, so to speak, in a wide valley surrounded by wooded hills. It seemed as if a farm or ranch was attacked every day. Emotions were high all over the country and Kansas was drowning in a blood bath. The war that had set brother against brother had just driven our family closer together. Up to now we had been able to remain neutral. We all knew that sooner or later, we would have to choose sides.

Resting his fork on his plate, Grady gave me that confident look he always kept even under the worst of situations. Of course we will, Matt. There’s not that many livestock left around here with the war going on and everything. Between Quantrill’s’ bunch and the other confederates there isn’t much left. If they destroy any more ranches and farms we’ll all starve. Seeing the look of alarm in Ellie’s eyes he quickly changed the subject. Of course, if the Union Army moves out we’ll just have to find somewhere else to sell our beef.

Clay ate slow listening to our conversation. He never talked much and that worried me. I thought that maybe he’d had to grow up too quickly. Then I remembered that we all had probably done that. Except there was something more ominous gnawing at Clay and I knew he would have to deal with it before he reached twenty one. When Clay had something to say he usually spoke right up. However, there was usually a long time he spent in silence, just thinking. Do you think they’ll move on soon, Pa?

Not very likely as long as Quantrill and all the other riff raff are around here. For the past year all the union soldiers have been doing is chasing their tails and burning out southern farmers, as if that will end the war. Lord, sometimes I wonder which one of them is the most evil.

Clay seemed to be struggling with a thought, something that was heavy on his mind. I wondered what he was thinking about. Pa, I was over at old man Hughes place yesterday. He was saying that some of the Quantrill bunch burned the Salyers farm and murdered the entire family. They struck in the night while they were sleeping and tortured them all before killing them. Clay leaned forward to face my father. Clay sat by his right hand and Molly, my mother sat across from Clay. Ellie sat near her mother as she usually did and I occupied the seat at the other end opposite my father. I could see hate and fear in Clay’s eyes and maybe anger on his face. They took scalps and mutilated their bodies. What kind of men do such things, Pa?

Dad glanced at me and both of us knew that neither of us had an answer. Clay was in love with Tom Salyer’s youngest daughter Marie even though he would never admit it. Now we knew what had been bothering him. There were four daughters and now they all were dead, if you could believe Dave Hughes who sometimes got things mixed up. Finally, Grady attempted to console his youngest son. There is a lot of hate and killin’ all around us, Clay. Anger is the biggest cause, I reckon. It just grows until terrible things get worse. I’m sorry about the Salyers. The old man, Roy is fightin’ with the northers and two of his sons is too so I guess some of the Quantrill bunch thought they was easy pickins. It’s much easier to kill innocent women and kids than to attack an army.

Before Clay could respond I made him an offer that I thought might set his mind at ease. Clay, how about we ride over to the Salyers place tonight? We should be able to finish that fence today. That way, you’ll know for sure what happened.

Clay leaned back in his chair and nodded his head. I knew he was hoping that nothing was wrong. I feared for him even though I had never been that much in love before. Ellie and Clay were close and had always been that way since they were kids. It was plain to me that Ellie was hurting too. Tears were forming in her eyes. When she got up from the table and went to her bedroom I looked at my mother for an answer. What’s wrong with Ellie, mom?

Molly Holt looked quickly at her husband and then at me. She was sweet on that oldest boy. Marie was her best friend.

It was all clear now. That was the reason Ellie rode over to the Salyers ranch so often. She had been trying to make a new life for herself after losing her husband. I stared at my mother for a second before speaking. Charles? Why, he is one year younger than she is.

My mother got up from the table and started the dish washing routine, something she did three times a day. It doesn’t matter, Matt. They are in love and that’s all that matters. Besides, Ellie isn’t getting any younger. She wants to become a school teacher. The Salyer’s have money and Charlie can help make her dream come true.

I sensed that she didn’t believe that anything had happened to the Salyers family and when I glanced at my father’s face I was sure that he was at least doubtful. Personally, I had never known old man Dave Hughes to lie. Maybe he did exaggerate a little mostly about all his battles with the Indians. Nonetheless, he did seem to keep up with the latest news. I dreaded going to their ranch. I hoped that if their farm had been raided that somebody had the decency to bury them before we got there. I would have enough trouble with Clay, if they were dead, as it was.

Getting up from my chair I walked to where my mother was standing wiping a bowl with a large blue towel. Her back was to me so I wrapped my arms around her slim waist and kissed her bare shoulder. I whispered in her ear. Take care of Ellie. It was the last time we saw my father, my mother or my sister Ellie, alive.

* * * *

Chapter 2

With so much violence around us, almost everybody went armed. The stranger you met on the road could be, and more than likely was a killer. Pa wore two Sam Walker Colts when he went out anywhere and always kept a shotgun nearby. They kept several rifles in the house and most women knew how to use them as well as any man. In fact I taught Ellie how to shoot and she could hit what she aimed at. Clay wore his pistol in a leather holster a saddle maker had made for him. Clay fancied himself as being fast on the draw and practiced every chance he got. I kept telling him that accuracy was as important as speed. I wore two 1860 Colt Army .44 caliber revolvers stuck in my belt. My coat normally concealed them. I could cross draw them or pull them one at a time. A Sharps rifle was always in a scabbard on my saddle. As the first rays of sunlight broke through dark clouds, Clay and me saddled our horses and rode south to repair fences. The land slanted up from the valley to a wide plateau covered with trees and bushes. When we reached the top of the hill we stopped and sat on our horses viewing the serene picture below.

A constant cloud of blue smoke arose from the chimney of the white wooden house in the valley. Everything looked peaceful and in perfect harmony with nature. Even the cows and horses grazing in the meadows seemed complacent and content. Nobody would have guessed that death was just over the next hill or maybe a few miles away.

Turning our horses we rode toward the south pastures where we kept a couple of hundred beef cattle. Looking back over my shoulder I saw that the dark clouds in the north east were getting thicker. I remember thinking that they must be having one heck of a storm up in Laurence, more than ninety miles away.

We rode hard for almost half an hour before stopping to inspect the first section of fence. Most of the ranch had a thick growth of trees with large islands of high grass. Most of the fence was made from rails and in some places, rocks. It was back breaking work to build either one. Repairing it was hard work too.

Where the fence began on top of a slight incline, we tied our horses to trees and walked up to the top of the hill where the fence ran along the rim snaking its way through tall timber. Nobody knew who had originally built the rock fence. We had built the rail section to fill in the gaps where someone had stolen the flat stones to build houses. We walked along the fence looking for stones that had fallen or where a tree might have fell on it. When we reached the bottom of the hill half a mile away where the hillside married the valley floor I saw a great gap in the fence and horse tracks.

Clay and me ran ahead, side by side. By the time we reached the damaged fence, we both were panting, gasping for air. We stood there, two brothers bound together by an age-old blood line trying to make sense of the tracks. A small brook ran down the hill into the level meadow. Horses and cow tracks were everywhere. Clay hunkered down and then pointed up the hill. Twenty five riders, Matt. They took at least a hundred head and drove them up the hill and through the fence. Tracks are fresh, not more than a couple of hours old.

I walked through the stream inspecting tracks. The water in the shallow stream wasn’t more than two inches deep. I agree, Clay. Somebody drove half our herd up that rise and through the fence. Let’s get our horses.

It took very little time for them to find us. We were following their trail north when the first rifle shot rang out. The bullet whizzed by my head whistling a tune I would never forget. The shot had come from somewhere up ahead. Clay saw the men, four of them, in a stand of trees near where the meadow ended at about the same time I did. Drawing our weapons we charged toward the trees.

I guess our unexpected bravado confused the rebels because when we reached them they were headed for their horses. Two of the men, grizzled and dressed in dirty gray mismatched uniforms turned to face us. I shot one in the chest and he crumbled to the ground. Clay’s shot left a neat hole in the other one just above his left eye. It didn’t take him long to die.

Then things really got chaotic as we exchanged shots with the remaining three men. Staying calm, aiming carefully I got two of them while Clay put three bullets in the third one.

Still mounted, we sat there looking at the first men we’d ever killed. Blood was splattered all over them and on the blades of grass. I could tell that Clay was having trouble accepting the fact that he had killed. It was something hard for me to swallow too. With a lump in my chest the size of my fist and my heart running as fast as my horse, Blaze, I reached over and patted his shoulder. Its something we had to do Clay. They shot at us and we were only defending ourselves.

Maybe so. He paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully and stared toward a small herd of our cattle. Who were they? Guerilla’s?

We both knew the answer and that scared us. Some of them have confederate uniforms. The others have regular clothes. They are all well-armed, so I’d say they’re part of Quantrill’s bunch. If that’s true then you can bet there’s a lot more of them out there.

We got to follow that trail and see what’s going on, Matt. This could be the same bunch that hit the Salyers Farm. We could be in a lot of trouble. We got to get our cattle back.

Clay looked at me with raised eyebrows and I could see that he was anxious for me to give the word. Killing these men hadn’t perturbed him much at all. He wanted more blood. We have to be careful. There’s probably a lot more of them around here. They may have heard those shots. They have all those cattle to herd so they’ll be moving slow. We’ll follow them and then get back home. We have to tell our family what happened. I looked down at the bodies around us. I guess we’ll leave them for the buzzards, if the buzzards will have them. They’re all killers.

It was already mid-morning by the time we patched the hole in the fence so other cattle couldn’t get out. Riding hard, following the trail others had made we kept a watchful eye out for an ambush. The Quantrill gang was known for their daring and deadly raids as well as for their brutality. They more than likely had scouts out watching for anyone following them. I knew that if they were driving almost a hundred cattle north that the rest of the bunch must be somewhere in that direction. It was clear to me that they had stolen the cattle to deprive the Union soldiers of fresh beef. The raiders usually destroyed everything in their path so the federals wouldn’t be able to use it against them.

When the sun was almost overhead shining down through white fluffy clouds with dark bottoms we came to a small ridge covered with trees. In the welcome shade we sat on our horses looking at our stolen cows in a small valley below.

I count seventeen of them and two of us. There’s probably another two or three out there scouting around. The kid paused and grinned at me. That’s ten for you and ten for me.

Clay was serious. He was always that way. As for me, I needed to do a little thinking. They had the advantage and our cattle. We didn’t have the manpower to take our property back and there wasn’t a sheriff in the state who would tackle Quantrill’s bunch. The Union army was probably off somewhere chasing its tail. By the time we found them all our cattle would be scattered all over Kansas. I had a plan even though what I was thinking might get us killed.

The guerrilla’s were dismounted and they were gathered around a campfire waiting to be fed. I suppose they might be having beans and beef except their meal was the last thing on my mind. Their horses were what I was interested in. They were tied in the trees. Pointing at the horses I spoke low. If we can spook their horses we might be able to stampede those cattle.

Clay finished up what I was about to say. He rested his elbow on the pummel of his saddle. And, in the ruckus, we might be able to kill a few of them? That was part of my plan. I don’t see a guard watching the horses. If we stay in the woods they probably won’t see us. Without another word Clay pulled his 1860 army Colt revolver and led the way. Our father believed in being well-armed. We lived in violent times. Anything could happen. I wore two 1860 army Colt revolvers under my belt as I said before and two Walker Colts in holsters attached to the pummel of my saddle. Clay wore an 1860 .44 caliber Army Colt on his hip and carried two old Paterson Colts on the pummel of his saddle. Most of the guerillas were armed with revolvers too. Our greatest weapon was speed and surprise.

As we moved cautiously through the trees I caught glimpses of the men by the campfire through the leaves of bushes and trees. Before we knew it the horses were in front of us. Shoving my gun back into my belt I pulled a large hunting knife. There were twenty or more horses with their reins tied to tree limbs. Wasting no time I rode among them and slashed their reins. Making war cries like wild Indians we drove the frightened horses through their camp with our reins in one hand and a blazing revolver in the other hand. We were through the camp and headed for the cattle before they knew what hit them.

Clay did a good job that day. I figured he wounded or killed seven of them before they knew what hit them. I’ve always believed that I killed five. What was left made a hasty rush for the shelter of the trees while we drove the herd to the west. We pushed the cattle toward our farm and then scattered them so the guerillas would have a tough time finding them. We’d have to round them up but at least they would be ours when we found them again.

When we were a few miles from where we’d had the battle Clay stopped his horse. Maybe we should go back there and finish the job.

We got most of them and the rest are on the run, Clay. Let’s count ourselves lucky that we aren’t hurt and let it go. We have to get home and let them know what we have seen. Then we need to check on the Salyers farm.

A look of sadness washed over Clay’s face. I never forgot. Are we going to check on the Bishop farm? I know you like Carrie a lot. Clay paused and when I only nodded my head, he continued. Who can blame you, big brother. Those big blue eyes and red hair, not to mention her shapely body, would grab any man’s heart.

Carrie Bishop was beautiful, no doubt about that. I wish I could have agreed that something wonderful existed between us except there wasn’t. On hot summer evenings we had gone on a couple of casual walks and we’d been to a church sponsored picnic, but nothing except friendship had ever existed between us. I thought that only I knew my true feelings about Carrie. Obviously my brother hadn’t missed the way I looked at her. Now that my secret was out all I could do was to allow him his moment of glory. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check on them. Seeing Carrie again would be nice. Fine, we’ll put the Bishops on our list. Clay smiled. We better get down and reload our guns, mine are empty. As we sat there on the ground reloading our guns, I thought about Carrie and about all the people the guerrilla’s had already killed. Worrying about my family and our neighbors kept me awake a lot at night. Most of the people who lived around us were for the North. Some of their family members were away fighting in the war. There were a few confederates and we had to be careful about their activities. Families that had been friends were suddenly enemies. War had brought horror to our part of the world. The revolvers available in those days were mostly percussion meaning that a cap had to be inserted in the chamber toward the hammer. Measured loose powder was then added. Then wadding and a bullet was rammed into the chamber. The process was slow and that’s why most men carried several pistols.

After we were armed again–my father always said that an empty gun was useless–we left the cattle and rode back toward home trying to avoid the place where we’d done battle although I knew Clay was anxious to go there and finish what