They Called Him Reb: The Story of Upshur

By Otis Morphew

The year is 1856, only a few days before William Upshur's tenth Birthday, and was the day the Upshur farm was raided and his family brutally murdered. He was sole survivor of a planned massacre that left him with nothing but his memories, and troubled dreams filled with revenge.
Convinced he would never find those responsible, he spent the next five years in recuperative torment, then to leave his adopted family in 1861 to enlist in the war,...hoping to satisfy his hatred, and hunger for revenge.
Could he learn to survive in a cruel, war-ravaged land? Can a boy really cope with the death and brutality of a man's war? Would it be enough to quell his hatred and desire for vengeance? Could he live long enough to quench that desire?...Who knows?
This is the story of Upshur, one of hate, love, intrigue and death, during a time of of war, distrust, schemes, cruelty and revenge.
A dark time in the annals of history, and the journey a boy takes to become the man, they called Reb!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 12, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440104886

Otis Morphew

As I have always been a believer in life on other worlds, this is my first attempt at a novel of this kind. Hope you like it! Of course it is of a western genre, as I love the old west, and love writing western novels. Check them out by using Google, Yahoo, etc., type in Otis Morphew and go to my site. Or go to books and type in title. Thanks, Otis

Book preview

THEY CALLED HIM REB, the story of Upshur

Otis Morphew

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Bloomington

THEY CALLED HIM REB, the story of Upshur

Copyright © 2008 by Otis Morphew

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4401-0487-9 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-0488-6 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 11/24/2008

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Prologue

Otis Millard Upshur, and his wife, Ethyl had migrated from Virginia to this region of northeastern Texas known as the Blossom Prairie in early 1820, settling on the rich, fertile grassland there, and building a modest home with logs hewn from a track of timber a few miles away. The cabin done, he immediately began proving up on the homestead by sowing all 240 acres of the fertile black land in cotton, corn and wheat.

However, unknown to him, but suspected, this area of east Texas was quite alive with Indian activity, as they soon found out. Luckily, on two occasions, they had seen the Indians in time to leave their home before the attack, returning both times to find nothing but ashes in the wake of a Caddo or Cherokee raid. Both times they rebuilt their home and the Upshur farm continued to prosper, because the next year a son was born, and then for the next twenty years, lived and prospered in peace.

When young Otis Parker Upshur turned twenty-one, he met and fell in love with a seventeen-year old, young woman at a Church function and later that year, Otis Parker Upshur and Louise Wilson were wed by ceremony at the Wilson homestead by a traveling minister and afterward, he took his new bride home to the farm. The brightest of futures lay ahead of them as they pitched in to the farm-work, working side by side with the Upshur seniors. But then one day while Otis and Louise were away cutting timber for a home of their own, tragedy struck once again. Millard and Ethyl were alone at the farm when a roving band of Comanche Indians struck, killing them both before a posse of militiamen could intervene.

Devastated, young Otis and Louise set aside their plans for a home of their own, and with help from the Wilson family, rebuilt the original house and out-buildings again,…and the Upshur farm continued to flourish. Then, in the Spring of ’46, William Otis Upshur was born, naming him after his father and grandfather, as well as his great grandfather, Otis Millard.…his father had also been named for William’s great Uncle, this Upshur had once served on the Virginia Legislature, as well as Justice to the Supreme Court, and later was Secretary of the Navy and Secretary of State. The name, William, however, came from his mother’s side of the family.

The Upshur farm grew and prospered and they themselves became a prominent part of the community around the village of Blossom Prairie, some few miles southeast of the farm, and was where they attended services on Sunday and where William attended school, when a teacher was available. But, be it Upshur destiny, or something more sinister,…fate was still set against the Upshur family, as tragedy befell them once again. River-Pirates stormed the farm one early morning, murdering William’s father outright then making him watch as his mother was raped and killed.

Left for dead, William managed to crawl away from the burning barn and then for another five miles. Blinded by a severe blow to his forehead, William was barely alive when eventually found by a posse from the township of Paris some ten or twelve miles west of the farm. William Otis Upshur survived, perhaps only because of the hatred in his fevered mind toward his family’s killers. Even as he lay comatose for two long years, the hatred festered as he subconsciously relived that day over and over again,…and on the day he awoke, all that was on his mind, was exacting revenge on the men he hated.

But how could a blind, ten-year old boy ever hope to accomplish that? Only time would tell, because the circumstances behind the raid that day, and the men involved would be far-reaching, a puzzle with a lot of missing pieces. Would he be forced to give up the crazy notion of revenge? Would time also become his enemy,…because people change, and even die with time? Or could he just put it all behind him and live a normal life, knowing they were still out there somewhere? Because in a young and savage land, there are always obstacles,…and therefore,….only time can tell.

This is the story of Upshur…will fate, at last, be cheated?

Chapter One

In savage times

He knows he is falling and can’t help himself, he sees the gaping hole below him and knows he should try to stop his descent,…but his arms are much too tired. He looks longingly toward the top of the pit as he falls, and as he plunges deeper into the void he knows he will never see her again. He is about to accept the emptiness, but as he starts to close his eyes, he sees the leering faces of the men he hates. They are laughing at him, mocking him and the hatred is so great, the desire to kill so overwhelming, that he begins to claw at the emptiness.

To his amazement he begins to slow, he finds new strength in this and begins to claw his way back toward the top of the gaping hole. Hate is like a demon in his mind as he claws his way upward. He can see lights at the top now, growing brighter as he climbs and at last, he is there. He clutches at the rim of the pit, but is unable to pull himself over the lip,…and he is about to lose his grip when strong hands begin to pull at him, lifting him from his endless void of death.

The lights are like a fire in his head as the hands, that were lifting him, are now gently shaking him,…and for the first time in all the darkness and emptiness, he feels the very presence of life around him. He is aware of gentle voices that seem to come from the very core of the light, and from far away,…and then, for a fleeting instant, and for the last time, he sees the smiling, knowing face of his mother,…and knows that it had been her that had brought him back when all was lost. He sees her fade away as he relents to the soft voice above him.

* * *

Doctor Walter Bailey bowed his aging head in silent prayer and raised tear-filled eyes to nod at the strained face of his wife, Mattie. Did you see that? He choked, swallowing at the lump in his throat to grin weakly at the question in her eyes, smiled and took a deep breath,…letting it out slowly in a sigh of relief.

Two years. He said with a distinctive quiver in his voice then he looked back at the patient. This poor, frail, lost soul of a child has been laying here in this bed, hanging on to life,…God only knows how. Waking me up nights when he cried,…and as God is my witness, Mattie,…there was never a day his heart wasn’t as strong as a full-grown mans’. But Mattie, as sure as I’m sittin’ here, he didn’t have a heartbeat a minute ago….He died, Mattie. You know what I’m sayin’?…He died! Tears were running down his leathery cheeks as he looked back at her.

All I did was take his hand, and darlin,…it was as if I just pulled him out of the arms of death….As sure as there’s a good-Lord in heaven, he came back when I shook him! I’ll never forget what I felt go through me when I touched him….I can’t explain it, but I sure won’t forget it!

Mattie Bailey was wide-eyed as she stared at his wrinkled face, then she looked at the boy on the bed and somehow,… had missed the reason for his excitement. His words had not penetrated a mind and heart, that had already accepted the child as being dead in both mind, and body.

You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,…have you, old Darlin’? He grinned as she shook her head numbly. That’s okay,…I didn’t believe it, neither, until a couple of minutes ago. He looked back at the boy then. I’m not a hundred percent sure yet,…but I think he’s gonna be all right. I think our miracle has happened.

Walter? She sobbed then began shaking her head. I,…I don’t know what you see that I don’t,…but he hasn’t twitched a muscle that I’ve seen….So don’t you go teasing me, because I can’t take it,…and stop grinning at me like that!

He opened his eyes, Mattie,…he’s gonna be all right. He wiped at his eyes with a kerchief, then took her hand and kissed it. I would never tease you about somethin’ like this, old Darlin’ He said softly then kissed her hand again.

Are you sure, Walter? She sobbed, and she was trembling so hard she could hardly stand.

Yes, my love,…I’m quite sure.

Dear God above! She dropped to her knees beside the bed. Dear God in heaven! She lowered her head on her arm and cried.

He’s never even tried to open his eyes before. Continued Doc as he went around the end of the bed to the window. Course, I ain’t real sure. He pulled down the shade, throwing the room into semi-darkness then came back to stand beside her. But, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he wasn’t layin’ there listening to you cry right now. He grinned and reached to help her to her feet, then looked her in the eyes before pulling her to him in a hug. He’ll make it now, Mattie. He whispered.

Thank God! She sobbed, clutching at him. Thank God!

* * *

The first settlers in this region of Northeast Texas, was the John Emberson family in 1824. And slightly less than a year later, a large pioneer movement began in the northern section of what was then called the Red River Valley. It was not until 1836 that a permanent settlement was made by the Chisum family.

The village, which was called Paris was established by a Mister George Wright, and a Frenchman in his employ had then insisted on making his mark by naming the village after his native homeland,… and Wright had consented.

In 1845, Paris was surveyed and plotted by an Engineer, on 50 acres of rich land between the Sulphur River on the South, and the Red River on the North,…the land had been donated to Lamar County as the County Seat, with Lamar County having been created from Red River County in 1840 and organized in ’41, was chartered in ’45 and named after the President of the Republic of Texas, Mirabeau B. Lamar.

Among the crew of the surveying team, was a Doctor from Massachusetts. Doctor Walter M. Bailey had been employed as Physician for the party. Doctor Bailey had approved of the site from the start. The beauty and freedom of this vast wilderness had played a large role in making up his mind to return and practice his medicine in Paris.

Since the Red was the only established trade route at the time, as well as the fastest way of travel, he had decided not to prolong the trip. So Doc and Mattie did return and thus, built their home in Paris in the summer of ’47. Most of their household goods and other belongings had been shipped by flat-boat from Shreveport Landing to Jonesborough, then by ox-cart to Paris,…and at last he hung out his shingle and settled down to help his town grow.

* * *

The streets were busy with activity on this day of days in the late fall of 1858, busy with the constant passage of heavily loaded wagons and cursing teamsters. Men on horseback and families in spring-wagons were dismounting to crowd the square’s boardwalks and markets. This was trade-day in Paris, and wagons loaded with melons and vegetables decorated the center of the square. Bushels of corn and potatoes were being carried away to homes and eateries, or placed in wagons for the trip to the outlying ranches and homesteads. Teams of mules and plow-horses huddled together in the center of the circle of wagons, patiently waiting for the day’s end and the trip home.

It was on this day that the door to the Sheriff’s office opened and a tall, thin man closed the door behind him, and after a look up and down the busy street, he adjusted his hat, ducked his head into the North wind and stepped down onto the frozen, rutted street.

* * *

Doc and Mattie walked timidly on either side of their patient as they helped him down the hallway to the kitchen. At last they had him seated at the table and worriedly watched as he breathed heavily from the exertion.

You all right, Son? Breathed Doc as he sat down across from him.

Yes, sir. His unused voice was barely above a whisper.

Doc looked at his bandaged face, seeing the pale tint to him, then looked up at Mattie’s worried face and shook his head.

Well. Sighed Mattie. Would you men like some hot coffee before Lang gets here?

I sure would. Came Doc. And I’ll bet William would like a slab of that chocolate cake to go with his,…wouldn’t you, Son?

I sure would. He grinned.

Mattie poured the coffee and served the cake then stepped back to watch as he felt along the table for the cup. She had started to help, but declined at a hard look from Doc,…and at that moment, the knock sounded.

That’ll be Lang, I reckon. Grunted Doc as he got up. I’ll go let ‘im in. He shuffled off through the house, shutting the kitchen door as he left, to hold in the heat.

William heard the door close behind the Doctor and began to tremble inside. He had been dreading his talk with the lawman, and didn’t know if he could relive his nightmare in front of him,…had been afraid ever since Doc had asked him to. He could feel himself tighten up inside as he mentally recalled the dreams then the actual horror of what happened at the farm. How could he describe how his mother died to a stranger, when he could hardly stand to even think about it? He wasn’t at all sure that he could, not when the hate was so vivid inside of him. Mattie’s hand on his shoulder was a comfort however, and he relaxed a bit and sighing, began sipping at the hot coffee as he waited for the men to return.

He could tell that Doc was behind the lawman as they came back, could feel the man’s awesome presence, and immediately felt that he would like him. But the man, and his authority was enough to make him afraid and he felt himself tighten up again as Lang approached the table.

It’s been a long time, Son. Said Lang gently as he picked up the boy’s hand and gripped it warmly. I couldn’t believe it when Doc told me,…and,…ahhh, well, I just want you to know that I’m proud for you. He stood beside the boy’s chair as he searched for the right words to continue the conversation. He looked at Doc and shrugged, then stared down at the boy’s bandaged head.

Some hostess, I am! Boomed Mattie, seeing the need for interruption. Lang,…you sit there next to William while I get your coffee,…we’ll eat directly. She poured the coffee then hurriedly set the table with food.

The meal went quietly, idly discussing current events, the town’s growth in population, etcetera as they ate, but to William it seemed to never end, and he could feel the tension as the meal was finished. Mattie cleared the table and poured fresh coffee as Doc gave Lang a cigar and held the lighted match for him, both smoking leisurely for a time, as neither seemed anxious to open the subject that had brought the lawman to supper.

But after all, that had been the reason, so Doc cleared his throat and knew it was up to him. Son,…you feel up to talking with Lang now?

I know this is gonna be hard, boy. Came Lang quickly. So,…if you’re not up to it yet,…I sure won’t pressure you about it.

There was a moment of silence before William finally nodded. I don’t know if I can remember all of it. He whispered weakly. But I’ll try.

Well, then you take all th’ time you need in th’ tellin’, and we’ll listen,…okay?

He hesitated, as if trying to remember then began his tale of terror. He was taking an agonizingly long time in the telling, however, as he could barely speak above the whisper,…and as he got deeper into the tragedy, Mattie began to cry.

The two men listened intently, except for an occasional grunt from Lang, but neither had as yet looked up from that private piece of table their eyes were glued to. It was a tale of terror, depravity and shamelessness,…an act of murder in the vilest form of the word.

Mattie had to leave the room before he finished by telling them of the last thing he remembered,…choking up as he told of the large, bearded man that had smashed his head with his rifle-butt, and after which,…had known nothing else until three days ago.

The men were silent for a time then Doc finally scraped his chair back and got up. Going to the cupboard, he took down a bottle and two glasses, one of which he gave to the lawman before filling it with the amber liquor. Lang nodded his thanks, his face still expressionless, then tossed it off as if it were water. Doc refilled his glass then sat down with his own drink.

Son? Came Lang, thoughtfully toying with his glass. can you describe these men any better for me?…Was there anything special about ‘em,…any scars,…maybe a limp, anything at all? He waited, and when William didn’t answer. Could be I got a wanted poster on ‘em, Son….Anything you can tell me, might help me find ‘em.

He turned his head toward the lawman then. I don’t remember. He whispered. Doctor Bailey thinks I might be able to see when he takes these bandages off,…did he tell you?"

Lang looked sharply across the table at Doc then back at the boy. no,…he failed to mention that. He looked back at the Doctor then and saw him shrug. But it’s good news. He sighed loudly then. But, let’s us get back to these outlaws….You had to have seen their faces, son. Did you,…or don’t you remember?

William was silent for several seconds before shaking his head. I,…don’t remember. He whispered. I just can’t,…sorry.

Lang stared at him and the silence was like an impending storm, then he quickly drank the shot of liquor, wiped his mouth with the table-linen and looked back at the boy. Well, then. He grunted. Ain’t much I can do, I reckon….I’ll put th’ word out as soon as I can, maybe they did this same thing somewhere else.

I,…I’m sorry, sir.

Ain’t your fault, Son. He looked at Doc, then at Mattie as she reentered the room.

Lang,…can’t this wait till some other time?…He’s so worn out?

Sure, Mattie. He sighed. He’s told us about all he can for now, anyway.

Help me get him back to bed, Walter.

Doc nodded and pushed away from the table. Be back in a minute, Lang.. He came around the table and took the boy’s arm.

I’m sorry I couldn’t remember, Mister Lang…..Good night.

Lang watched them lead him down the hall, then sighed and poured himself another drink,…he was staring blankly at the wall when Doc returned.

Well, Lang? Grunted the Physician as he sat down again. What do you think?

I don’t quite know what to think, Doc. He sighed and sipped at the liquor. He’s been to hell and back, that’s for sure,…but he’s got more grit than anybody I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to believe he was found more’n five miles away from that farm,…and still crawlin’ in that creek bed. In fact, I didn’t much connect him to that farm at all, till now,…how could he have crawled that far, bein’ hurt that bad?

I don’t know. Sighed Doc. And by all that’s holy,…he shouldn’t be alive right now to tell us about it.

Exactly. Returned Lang, his mind going into deep thought. And now, I’m gonna speak my mind to you, Doc,…and I hope I don’t make you mad at me.

You know better than that, Lang,…go on ahead.

Lang nodded. First off,…that boy is very intelligent, with a craw full a sand,…else he couldn’t have done what he done. But I got a tell you,…I think a gut full of hate is all that kept him alive for that long….I think he lied to us, too. I think he knows exactly what those men look like.

Oh, no, Lang! Blurted Doc. He’s just a very sick boy right now,…I’m surprised he remembered what he did, having been through so much.

I’m sorry, Doc. Shrugged Lang.

Naww,…I’m sorry for being so defensive, Lang….But I think you’re wrong. He’s been in a coma for the better part of two years, been through an ordeal that no boy his age should have been put through.

I know what you’re feelin’, Doc. Sighed the lawman. But I know what I felt when he answered me.

Well, why would he deliberately lie about it?…Wouldn’t he be wanting those men brought to justice, even more than we do?

He might not, Doc. Lang sighed and got to his feet I’ve seen it before. But for yours and Mattie’s sakes, I hope I’m wrong this time.

Wrong about what?…What’s on your mind, Lang?

The lawman went to the hook behind the door and reached down his coat. Revenge, Doc. He said as he donned the Mackinaw. He knows he’s gettin’ well, and that he might see again. He looked at Doc then. He wants to hunt those men down his self, Doc. He said as he pulled his hat down on his ears. And I can’t say I blame ‘im none, because I know how he must feel. But for most men, it becomes a sickness,…men and boys alike get it when somethin’ like this happens. Th’ sad part is that sometimes it eats ‘em up inside, till they ain’t men, or boys anymore,…just killers. Most turn out just like the men that killed young William’s folks,…with nothin’ left but th’ sickness, and th’ way of life it forced ‘em to. When that happens,…th’ only way they can ease th’ pain is to kill and keep on killin’,…until somebody stops ‘em.

Then William needs our help more than ever. Sighed Doc, coming to stand in front of him. I’ll keep talking with him, Lang. But in the meantime, check them wanted Posters,…they might help.

I will, Doc,…but with out some kind a descriptions to go on, it’ll be a waste of time. He won’t be able to see a face on a poster anyway. He opened the door then and started off down the hall, with Doc still on his heels. Lang stopped at the front door to look sadly at his old friend.

Half th’ men in Lamar County are big and ugly, and most wear beards….But I’ll check around,…just don’t get your hopes up too much. He buttoned the coat up and turned the collar up around his ears. If any of the old-timers in town know anything about this bunch,…they’ll tell me. He took Doc’s hand in a firm grip. Two years is a long time, Doc,…we need that boy’s help.

I’ll try, Lang,…and thanks for coming.

You thank Mattie for that fine meal. He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, nodded at Doc, then quickly went down the steps and into the wind.

CHAPTER TWO

The hard land

Texas, in it’s own right, a young and hard land was infested with rampaging Indians and bands of outlaws. Scums of the earth, these renegades and killers were free to prey on the unprotected and weak. The dreamers coming west to the settlements in this untamed land, were people that had given up positions and homes, and even life savings for the chance to own land in the west. They were, for the most part, God-fearing folks,…but were no match for the ruthless hordes.

No trail was safe from these killers and renegades unless traveled in numbers and heavily armed. Such was that breed of man born to violence, men of poverty and hate, the rare ones who enjoyed the suffering and death of others. These men used their inabilities like a crutch, an excuse for thievery and murder,…but then again, this was the wilderness. This was Texas in the year 1858, a land on the threshold of war.

Dallas, Texas, a city destined for greatness, ugly almost in its enormity of rough, weather-beaten buildings with their false-fronts of warped lumber and clapboard. Founded in 1841, but had been a settlement since 1839, becoming a township in ’56. From a distance, the town was almost invisible in the dust of the day’s travel. A humming, bustling metropolis of the times,…a town born to sin and the lack of morality. Honky-tonks and brothels lined the streets and the loud off-key pianos could be heard even above the noise from these crowded streets. Open prostitution and nightly muggings was a common thing, making darkness an unsavory time of the day to be outside the closed doors of home.

Huge freight wagons with straining teams and groaning wheels lumbered constantly in and out of town, mostly loaded with machinery and tools for the sawmills and Kiln factories to the South. Occasionally a loud curse from a bull-necked teamster could be heard above the din, usually followed by the pistol-like crack of a long whip as it bit at the ears of the straining horses.

Already a wild and untamed place, Dallas was crowded to capacity and with more moving in every day. It was easy pickings for every cutthroat gambler, prostitute and killer in the west, of which made up a sizable part of the population. But there was still those men, or man, who controlled these vices. A man who held the law in his gun-hand, and in those he employed.

Across the Trinity, a few miles away, white adobe buildings could be seen scattered around the Army outpost overlooking the Trinity, as well as the stockyards and holding pens just to the west. The huge Oaken Bridge that spanned the river was a constant bustle of traffic…. Fort Worth had been established in 1849.

* * *

Jason Ryker was immaculate in his knee-length coat as he stepped from the door of the barbershop, and having had his daily shave and trim, he felt good. He walked across the rough planking of the boardwalk and surveyed the deep-rutted street, his black eyes shining as he fished a long, thin cigar from a vest pocket then struck a match on a porch-post and lit it, inhaling deeply of the strong smoke as he thumped the match into the street.

He missed nothing in his study of the dusty street, his quick, black eyes took in everything, the people, the animals,…everything,…and it was all his. Dallas was his town, his people, bought with fear and greed,…and paid for with ruthlessness. Yes, a happy and very prosperous Jason Ryker smoked his cigar in the shade of the barbershop’s slanting roof on this bright and hazy morning.

Jason wasn’t a tall man, was in fact a little on the short, husky side,…but the bigness of him was evident under the fullness of his coat. He was a wide man with the shoulders of a teamster, barrel-chested and narrow of hips. The trousers were hand-tailored and expensive, the legs of which were stuffed into the tops of his imported boots. A silk shirt could be seen beneath the snakeskin vest, on which was pinned the badge of Town Marshal. To one side of the star, and beneath the lapel of his coat, was the unmistakable bulge of the short-barreled version of the Dancer Brother’s Dragoon tucked away in his armpit.

Sighing deeply, he turned, and after tipping his hat to a lady with an armload of packages, smiled and walked along the boardwalk, speaking when necessary as he made his way over the loose planking to finally push his way through the swinging doors of the Gold-Piece Saloon. He elbowed his way through the mass of foul-smelling cowboys and teamsters until he reached his favorite spot at the end of the bar where he stopped and propped a boot on the brass railing. He waited patiently for the bartender to bring his usual bottle of imported Brandy and then poured himself a drink. He was content as he leaned on the bar to watch the milling crowd.

The noise was deafening and the piano’s sour notes even louder, but he never got tired of it. It had helped make him a rich man and he loved it. This was his town,…he was boss, law and even Judge and Jury, and when necessary, executioner. He never thought of his past anymore, it was as though this had been his just calling right from the start. It was what he had always wanted, and it always would be. He had it all now, land, money and power, and lots of it,…and he rolled in it like a king in a harem.

All that Jason Ryker had, he’d gotten with his gun in one way or another. He had no hang-ups or inhibitions about any of it, because killing had been a necessary means toward his goal in life,…of which, until he had come to Dallas, he’d not known what that goal was. But now that he had plundered and murdered to get here, nobody would ever take it away. He sighed contentedly and caressed the badge on his vest.

In the Territories of Kansas and Missouri, he had been known by many, and feared by most for his quickness and accuracy with a Musket-pistol,…and with only one shot in that old gun, he had to be, but he was also known to carry as many as four of the single-shot weapons on his person. However, once he got his hands on his first six-shot revolver, he quickly became a legendary figure to others of his kind. He’d been a young man then, and was fairly cocky by the time he ventured into the Indian Territory. But no evil can exist for too long in any one place,…and so it was that he had left the Territories only hours ahead of Federal Marshals. And so, as fate would have it, he crossed the border to Texas,…and in late ’56, eventually on to the new township of Dallas where he immediately set himself up as king of the realm.

Being an opportunist, he began by carefully laying plans to take over the job of law enforcement,…first by planting small seeds of doubt in the minds of the people of Dallas, to the effect that the present lawman was a thief,…and was using them to further his own gain. To prove his point, he had hidden a few well-placed and well-chosen items where they could easily be found by a selective group of the City Government. He had then set himself up as their champion of justice.

It had been easy to provoke the frustrated lawman, because by then, he had figured out what Ryker was up to and was determined to stop him. But the aging lawman had been no match for him, out-classed in the fight that followed,…after that it had been easy to convince the Town Council that he was the man for that job. In fact, he convinced them, that by making him Town Marshal, they’d have no need to fill the customary Sheriff’s position. Because as Marshal, he could easily keep the peace in town,… and with two or three good deputies, in the county as well. And so, in the dust of Main street, after a lengthy and convincing speech next to the body of the dead lawman,…he was sworn in as Town Marshal. That had been almost three years ago, and he was still wearing the star.

Too late, they had realized the evil in Ryker,…too late, they realized that it was him, and not the older lawman who was the thief. But the fear he had instilled in them had brought the desired effect,…and Jason Ryker was left the victor. The Council had wanted him to step down from his ill-gotten position, but none were brave enough to approach him with the request and so, it was only natural that he take advantage of the situation. He began putting the squeeze on them until at last, he had them where he wanted them,…under his controlling thumb.

Ryker took his eyes from the gaming tables and scanned the rest of the room, catching sight of the familiar form of the Deputy as he pushed through the swinging doors, and scowled darkly as he watched the lanky gunman nudge his way toward him. The Deputy was also scowling, as was his usual way, by the time he leaned on the bar next to him.

Henry Raymond Mallory, better known as Snake, was the first Deputy he hired after being elected Marshal,…hiring him because of his own reputation as a gunman,…and because they had been associated from time to time over the years. Snake was in Dallas when Ryker arrived and once hired, had come all the way from mugging for pennies in dark alleys to what he was now, paid killer and watchdog for the Marshal. He was a thin man, just under six feet tall and weighing close to a hundred and thirty pounds. His face was long and narrow, and the close-set eyes could look right through a man. Snake Mallory was considered as dangerous as the name implied, but in all reality,…was far more deadly.

Snake’s eyes mirrored no emotion at all as he stared at his boss, but the obvious hatred he felt toward him was quite evident,…as he never tried to hide it. He had always held a grudging respect for Ryker, however, because he never failed to make money for the both of them,…and making a lot of money was the one thing that he had never been able to do on his own. Snake hated himself for that disability, as well as his one weakness,…not being able to make himseld do what he wanted most to do,…kill Jason Ryker. But he really didn’t want to cave in his gold mine. He grunted after a minute, then waved at the bartender for bottle and a glass.

Ryker glared at him. He had always disliked the thin man, in fact, that dislike was close to hatred, yet he feared him, too, needed him in his climb upward. As long as he could control him, he was sure he would continue to be an asset. But, should it reach the point where he could not control him,…he was equally sure that he could dispose of him. His thoughts were interrupted then when Snake turned toward him, his eyes shining.

Well, Jace! He grinned thinly. How’d it go last night? He took his eyes from Ryker’s face and poured a drink from the bottle, then held the glass up to stare hungrily at the nude painting behind the bar,…then quickly drank the liquor. He had not seen Ryker’s jaw tighten when he called him ‘Jace’, and not Mister Ryker,…but he didn’t care, either. He knew that no man was on a first-name basis with him, not since he had become so prominent, but he continually got away with the jibe, knowing how much it riled him.

With all else that he might be, Jason Ryker was no fool,…a gambler and killer, yes, but no fool. He had known that his mistake had been in letting Snake know that the pet-name had bothered him,…but he had, and now the man had become a burr under his saddle. On occasion, he had thought of ridding himself of that burr, believing in his mind that he was the better with a gun but then, he would remember seeing the man in action,…and knew that he was not at all sure he wanted to gamble with the difference. He had the dreaded feeling at times, that should they fight, there would be two dead men in the street when it was over. Shuddering inwardly, he shook his hatred away and nodded.

Packed all night, as usual! He said loudly, in response to Snake’s question. How about on th’ streets? He turned his attention back on the early crowd and sipped at his brandy, completely free of anger.

Jail’s full this mornin’, that ought a tell you about my night. He reached then to pull the platter of sandwiches toward him and helped himself. Had a killin’ on th’ Southside. He stuffed his mouth full of bread and cheese, his beady eyes still lingering on the painting, then jerked a thumb back over his shoulder as he swallowed. Down at th’ stables. He said, and filled his mouth again.

Ryker glared at him. He hated it when Snake didn’t finish what he was saying outright. But being a man whose very lifestyle depended on knowing what goes on in his town, waited patiently. But when Snake didn’t continue and instead continued to eat, he slapped the bar with a hard fist.

God damn it, Snake! He yelled. Who th’ hell was killed?

The Deputy turned hate-filled eyes on him as he swallowed. Nobody we know,…’Jace’ He said, then shrugged. Don’t get your drawers in a knot,…it was just a Mex’, Homer took his body over to th’ Undertaker. His eyes were shining as he poured his glass full again and tossed it down, spilling some on his chin then wiping it away with a silken sleeve. He was about to reach for another sandwich when Ryker stopped him.

Leave some for th’ payin’ customers!…Now, who th’ hell killed th’ Mex’?

One a Double Trey’s boys,…said th’ Bastard was stealin’ his horse! He stared at Ryker’s concerned face. You’re getting’ a mite soft in your old age, Jace,…ain’t like you to spook over a killin’.

I’m careful, God damn it! He snapped. We can’t afford any gunslingers in town that don’t work for me!

Snake shook his head. That ain’t it. Returned Snake. You been touchy as a whore in church for days now,…what’s wrong with you?

You,…for one thing!…You don’t know what bein’ careful means! I hear th’ Mayor’s tryin’ to get th’ Governor to send th’ State Melitia in here!…You know what that could do to us? He saw Snake shrug. Well,…do ye?

"Yeah,…I get th’ point you’re makin’,…but they ain’t gonna send no melitia in here,…it’s all bull-shit!…And if they do, so what?…they can’t prove nothin’.’

Couldn’t they?…All he needs do is demand we be arrested,…after that, everybody in Dallas would come forward as witness. We can’t afford that chance, what with all we got goin’ for us….And you’re forgetting about Patch comin’ in tonight! I wouldn’t want the State Police, or some Gunfighter putting a snag in that operation,…would you? He forced a grin at the hard-faced Deputy and took a deep breath before leaning closer to him.

"Look,…th’ Governor’s already tryin’ to organize, what he calls, th’ Texas Rangers,…and there’s already rumors that a war might be breakin’ out between th’ North and Southern states….That’s why I want to know when there’s a killin’ here,…and who does th’ killin’….You’ve been around me long enough to know I don’t take chances I don’t have to take! He sighed then and drained the Brandy glass.

We got it good here, Snake,…real good! But I ain’t fool enough to think we’re gonna get away with it forever,…and for damn sure, not by bein’ careless. The lid’s gonna blow off someday,…and before it does, I’d like to have me a friend in that Capital building,…an ace in my pocket, you might say.

Snake stared blankly at him, grudgingly admitting to himself that he was right,…as he usually was and that, he knew, was the only reason he had stayed with him for so long. The man had the ability to think things out before doing them, to make the right decisions at the right time. He admitted a grudging respect for Jason Ryker, but he didn’t have to like it a damn bit!

Well,…I got a say, that’s pretty sound reasoning, Jace. Grunted Snake. But I still don’t think th’ Governor’s gonna pay no attention to th’ bitchin’ from a senile old Son of a Bitch, like th’ Mayor.

Regardless. Went on Ryker. That ain’t what worries me th’ most,…it’s all th’ war-talk. If th’ people here,…or th’ Governor ever got wind of the other business we’re in, what with all th’ rumors that’s goin’ around,…they’d hang us quick!….True enough, we’re in a state that ain’t sympathetic to slaves,…but if we’re found out, we’re dead for sure….Especially since our business is stealin’ ‘em first and sellin’ ‘em later.

Things ain’t like they used to be. Continued Ryker. We didn’t have to think much past the end of our gun barrel in the old days,…but it’s different now. We’d be ripped apart if we’re found out,…somethin’ to do with morals,…safety in numbers and th’ like. Right now, we got Dallas in our pocket,…we got everybody buffaloed. But all it would take is for some Bastard with a hard-on to come in and organize th’ citizens against us….That melitia would just be th’ start of things."

Snake stared narrowly at him then shrugged. If you’re right,… it would be a dangerous situation all th’ way around…..But a war,… over a bunch a slaves? I can’t see that happenin’. He shook his head then downed his drink. But what th’ hell. He shrugged. You’re callin’ th’ shots, Jace….We’ll do it your way. I sort a like livin’ like this.

We’ll, you need to stop buckin’ me at every turn. Came Ryker calmly. You do what I say, and let me run things, we’ll be rich men before that war starts. I’ll have me a State Representative in th’ palm of my hand and th’ war can’t touch us….We’ll be set for life, Snake. He grinned and poured their glasses full from his private stock as he spoke.

We don’t like each other much! he continued. And it ain’t no secret. Truth is, though,…we need each other….If we both didn’t know that was true, we’d a shot each other a long time ago,…and I’ve been thinkin’ about that. He held his glass up to the Deputy. I think it’s time for a truce, Snake,…what do you say?

Snake stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

The truce completed, Ryker turned to lean his back against the bar and hating what he had just done. But if he had gotten through to the gunman, he might have changed their relationship to his advantage. Snake was right though, he’d been jumpy of late, and he couldn’t account for it,…he was feeling discontent and fear for his future. War rumors seemed to be escalating far too far in advance to his liking, and there was a good chance he could be caught flatfooted, with nothing he could do about it. He cast a furtive glance at the thin gunman then,…and at that moment, would have given a lot to know what was on his mind?

Well, Jace! Said Snake suddenly. What do you want a do about that shootin’?…I’m sure it was Double Trey,…had a witness to it.

We’ll take care a that later. He said, turning around to lean on his elbows. Ask around though,…if he is a gunhand, you’ll know what to do about it. He grinned then. We wouldn’t want folks lookin’ on us as somethin’ other than peace-loving lawmen,…we’ll still need th’ protection of these tin stars for a while yet.

Snake nodded and pushed away from the bar. Well, I got a go see th’ Judge about fines. He started to leave, then looked back. When’s Patch gettin’ here?

They’re at th’ Ranch now,…he’ll bring ‘em on in about midnight to change horses. Be sure to station guards at the usual places,…wouldn’t want anybody accidentally walkin’ in on us.

I’ll take care of it. See you at midnight,…’Jace’! He was looking right into Ryker’s eyes when he empathised the pet name, then laughed loudly and pushed his way through the crowd.

It was the way he had of saying it that irked Ryker so insanely, and he allowed his sudden anger to take control of him as he watched him leave. Suddenly, he cursed him long and hard and angrily pushed away from the bar.

Someday I’ll kill that Son of a Bitch! He muttered as he headed for the stairs and his office, then on second thought, he hesitated then abruptly shouldered his way to a narrow door beneath the stairwell, unlocked it and went inside. Slamming the door behind him, he bolted it and stood with his back against it to let his eyes accustom to the darkness. He began breathing heavily as his eyes began to focus on the sparsely furnished, tiny room to finally come to rest on the narrow bed in the corner. His heart quickened as he could just make out the dim shape of the cowering, very young black girl as she pressed herself against the wall. The sheet she had pulled up to her neck to hide her nakedness was much whiter than she was in contrast to the room, and he watched breathlessly as she tried to hide herself, his desire mounting as he watched the sheet rise and fall as her full breasts strained for release.

The sight of this teenaged, helpless and naked slave-girl sent a rush of animal lust through his loins, making him glad that he had saved her until now. She was terrified in her fear of him, gasping as she watched his clumsy attempt to remove his clothes, and he all but tore them from his body. Then, in one lunge he was on the bed and tearing the sheet from her hands to reveal her virgin body.

His eyes were dilated in his madness as he hovered above her, forcing her into position as his eyes raked her naked flesh hungrily. He was perspiring profusely as he lowered himself to her wriggling nakedness. Her agonizing screams filled the room as he viciously took her.

* * *

The territory of Texas had won its independence from Mexico only a few months before the treaty was signed in February of ’48. But for years afterward, it was still wild and disorganized, making it easy for men with ambition to come to power,…and even easier, when in ’49, word came that gold had been discovered in California in such quantity that all a man had to do was scoop it into sacks.

This succeeded in causing a migration of settlers and get-rich-quickers from all over the country, Texas being no exception. Farms and business places were boarded up and left empty, giving both, the marauding Comanche and the cow thieves the opportunity to do their thing to destroy what was left.

California was also newly won from Mexico, and this newly acquired western land renewed the conflict between the slave and the free states, drifting them further apart than ever. The South had, even before that, been close to seceding from the Union.

Jason Ryker had seen the unrest growing to way out of proportion, had known that eventual war was inevitable. The only thing he did not know was when it would happen. He had kept up with every scrap of news he could lay hand to,…and so a plan had taken shape. Henry Clay’s compromise bill had shown him a new path to riches far greater than the gold in California.

He had been ready by the time he was forced to leave the Territories for Texas, had felt the time was right to put the plan to work. A few short months later, after his election as Town Marshal in Dallas, he’d gathered his force of trusted men, made his necessary contacts,…and he was in business, in fact, had worked hard to keep the situation well in hand,…until now.

Now, with the war so close, he knew the time was right to quit the slave business. It was becoming too dangerous and besides, his plans were already made for when the war broke out. Jason Ryker was aiming for politics. He had all the land he could use, enough to make him the largest cattleman in Texas. And when the Union won the war, as they surely would, a position in the Senate could enable him to move even farther into Texas. He’d be able to purchase land anywhere in the state,…and being a Union sympathizer, no boundaries would be placed on what he could or couldn’t do.

He had already made a small fortune with the passing of the Compromise Bill of 1850, which had provided for the fugitive slave laws and the enforcement of returning runaways to their rightful owners. But still, he’d had his heart set on a much larger amount before he had to quit.

The years that followed the Compromise Bill was the stillness that preceeded the war. Pierce was newly elected and his whole administration was filled with bitter feelings. The lands west of the Missouri were ready to organize and according to the Compromise, would automatically become free states when they joined the Union.

The initiation for the first trans-continental railroad was on the dockets, and this alarmed the slave states as they feared that if there were any more of the free states represented in Congress, it would endanger the enforcement of the slave laws,…while the free states were trying to make it apparent to Congress, the inhumanity of the law. The thunder had now rumbled for years, and the lightening was surely about to strike.

Ryker had seen it coming, had known it would happen and was making his preparations for the explosion,…and he had planned well. He knew that a war was just around the corner, and the Compromise Bill about to go under, and so, after thinking long and hard then blending that with careful timing,…he was sure that the time was now. One or two more trips would be his last ventures into the slave traffic.

* * *

Two months had passed since his talk with Snake, and even though the Deputy had changed somewhat, the tension between them had grown. The gunman hardly came around him anymore, usually spending his time in the Cantinas across the river. Even though there was a better understanding between them, he knew that something would have to be done about him, but with all his years of scheming and planning,…he didn’t know what!

A single kerosene lantern sent its flickering light dimly across the dung-covered expanse of the wagon-yard, and Ryker was seated uncomfortably on an empty, wooden crate in the tack-room smoking one of his thin cigars. He had been there for some time mulling over his problem with Snake,…that, and making his plans for the wagons when they pulled in,…and at that moment, a blast of cold wind found its way through a crack in the wall and cursing, he pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears.

He returned to his thinking about Snake then and weighing his chances of success with him around,…and not finding much there to work with. No, he thought angrily, the lanky gunman was far too dangerous to his plans at this point. He couldn’t afford to keep him around any longer, and he couldn’t get rid of him, neither,…aside from killing him. But his plans for the future did not include a fight with Snake. No,…he would have to use his brain for a way out,…think of something that would make him want to leave,…and just maybe,…if he could see where leaving would be more profitable to him than staying, he might want to go. He smiled then, maybe there was a way after all,…maybe there was a fool-proof way, expensive though it was, and he sat for a long time going over the plan.

So engrossed was he in his thoughts of Snake, that the noise from outside the tack-room startled him, and completely without thinking, his hand had snaked the short-barreled Dragoon from the shoulder holster. He got up and picked his way across the loose planking of the floor then moved to the side of the sagging door,…and was standing there when the knock came again.

Hey, Jace!…you in there? Came a muffled voice. It’s me, Snake! Open up, will ye,…it’s colder’n hell out here?

Muttering a curse, he lowered the hammer on the gun and opened the door, stepping back as the Deputy entered then put the pistol away. The gunman’s eyes met his hatefully for a moment then he continued on to the crate and sat down.

God damn, it’s cold! He gasped, putting his hands in his coat pockets. Where’d this fuckin’ storm come from? He stomped a boot on the floor. Four hours ago, I was sweatin’, now I’m freezin’ to fuckin’ death! He looked up at Ryker and caught the Marshal’s eyes on him then grinned slightly.

Got a drink, Jace? He caught the bottle deftly and grunted his thanks before taking a drink.

I’d began to wonder if you was gonna make it again! Said Ryker with sarcasm. You ain’t been around in so long.

Snake cut his eyes at him, ignoring the remark then took another long drink from the bottle. Hot damn, that’s good! he gasped then wiped his mouth on a coat sleeve. No, sir,…ain’t nothin’ better than a good pull on a bottle when it’s cold. He stared at Ryker then, a knowing smile on his face. Especially on a night like this. His eyes were sparkling now. Unless, maybe,…its humpin’ one a them little nigger gals you got hid out over there in th’ saloon. He grinned wider as Ryker’s face turned red. Ain’t that right, Jace?

Snake felt the tension then as he recognized the danger signs,…and wished immediately that he had not said that. He knew this was not the sort of a night he wanted to fight on and nervously laughed in an effort to ease the self-inflicted situation. He tilted the bottle again, never taking his eyes from Ryker’s face. Awww, hell, Jace! He laughed, wiping his mouth again. Don’t mind me none, ye hear?…I’m in a hell of a mood tonight, that’s all,…mad in general, I guess.

There was a pause as the tension continued to mount. The eyes of both men bored into those of the other until at last, Ryker took