Beneath the Texas Sky

By Cheryl Spears Waugh and Marilyn Read

Print English is a Texas cattleman bent on building a longhorn empire. First the Civil War interrupts his dream, then feisty, auburn-haired Julie Denton decides that God intends her to be the woman who shares Print's life. Julie convinces Print to marry her but his headstrong ambitions precipitate a crisis with organized cattle rustlers. Then a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tranquility Press
• Release date: Jun 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781950481200

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Beneath the Texas Sky

Beneath the Texas Sky

Marilyn Read

Cheryl Spears Waugh

Tranquility Press

Georgetown TX: 2020

Copyright 2020 Marilyn Read and Cheryl Spears Waugh

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information:

Tranquility Press

723 W University Ave #300-234

Georgetown TX 78626

TranquilityPress.com

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This book is a work of fiction. Historical figures are used fictitiously, and any scenes, situations, incidents or dialogue concerning them are not to be inferred as real. Any other similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the authors.

Cover image by Rob Greebon, ImagesfromTexas.com, used with permission. Longhorn image from pixabay.com.

ISBN: 978-1-950481-19-4

LCCN: 2020935067

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Names: Read, Marilyn, author. | Waugh, Cheryl Spears, author.

Title: Beneath the texas sky / by Marilyn Read and Cheryl Spears Waugh.

Description: Georgetown, TX: Tranquility Press, 2020. Identifiers: LCCN 2020935067 |

ISBN (trade) 978-1-950481-19-4 | ISBN (e-Book) 978-1-950481-20-0

Subjects: Texas Hill Country (Tex). | Cowboys--Fiction. | Texas longhorn cattle. | Man-woman relationships--Fiction. | Family--Fiction. | Outlaws--Fiction. | BISAC FICTION / Historical / General

Classification: LCC PN3441 2020 | PS3618.E2242 S44 2020 | DDC 813.76468--dc23

To our strong Texas men

Jim Bob, Taylor, Brooks,

Kade, Tyler, Tanner, and Jack

Other states were carved or born;

Texas grew from hide and horn.

From Cattle

a poem by

Texan Berta Harte Nance (1883-1958)

Authors’ Note

Print English is a wholly fictional character, as are all of the characters in this book. He is an amalgamation of the old- time cattlemen of early Texas, a rugged breed of men.

San Simon is also a fictional county in Texas, but all of the pivotal events of Beneath the Texas Sky are based in history. The years following the Civil War in Texas were filled with violence, simmering feuds, and large cattle drives. Red gold, the beef of wild Longhorns, furnished fortunes to men hardy enough to hunt them.

Details of open range longhorn ranching are as authentic as we are able to provide through research and the first-hand input of Marilyn’s husband, Bob, taken from his years as a cattleman. As a boy, Bob soaked up stories of old-time cattlemen from his great-grandfather, who began ranching in Texas in the 1880s. Bob encouraged Marilyn to try a novel instead of the biography and historical articles she usually wrote, but he did not live to see its completion.

God sent Cheryl Spears Waugh to come alongside and add her insights and wisdom to complete this story, and to help create the others we write to the glory of God.

Cheryl and Marilyn

Chapter 1

May 1860, San Simon County, Texas

At least Father sees I’m a woman, Julie Denton proclaimed to her canine companion. But fifteen, almost sixteen, isn’t enough for Mother. She wanted Uncle John to come with us. Called it ‘a raw frontier town.’ As if I’m not perfectly capable of walking a mile by myself to sell a basket of eggs at the mercantile store.

Julie took off her bonnet and laid it in the basket. She loved Mother and admired her ladylike ways, but sometimes her obsession with bonnets and endless rules for proper behavior were stifling. It was a wonder she hadn’t insisted on gloves.

The small dog romped along beside her. Of course, Risky hadn’t been listening to her tirade. He stopped to sniff once more. Julie laughed when he jumped back at the menacing buzz of a bumblebee. He didn’t hazard another, seeming to understand he had dodged a bullet.

You’re a lucky pup, Risky. Bumblebees are iffy insects. They resent inquiring black noses. Better stick to beetles and butterflies, although I do understand.

Some things, though Mother would never agree, were worth a bit of daring. Like risking a freckle by taking off a bonnet, or a careful sniff at an unknown insect in a dog’s world. Truth be known, Julie considered herself to be sensibly daring.

Along the country road, trees quivered with new life. Bluebonnets spilled from beneath, punctuated by pink evening primroses at the edges of the lane. The delicious breath of last night’s rain and a perfume of blooms hung in the air. Wildflowers blanketed the hills beyond in a riot of color.

A painting come to life, Lord. This day offers a hint of heaven’s garden, Julie whispered.

Nothing could spoil this glorious afternoon. Not even Mother’s worries about her being on her own in a county where rough men plied their illicit trades. Cattle rustlers were a constant threat to ranchers, but Uncle John said she’d be fine on a public road and Father agreed. After all, she was almost an adult and filled with the good sense godly parents had instilled in her.

She stopped to remove a grass bur from Risky’s paw. He offered a grateful kiss and trotted ahead.

The land rejoiced with her with the songs of birds and insects. Their melody matched the song inside her, the one that often welled up in times like this. It had no words, but her soul pulsed with its rhythm. Julie’s spirit hummed as she worshiped the Creator through her senses.

She could be quite happy here in San Simon County; but Father, being a lawyer, needed the opportunities of a larger town.

If only Father would approve my plan to become the first woman lawyer in Texas. What a world of good I could do for people.

I could work for women’s rights, Risky, and help abolish slavery. Always been my dream. So much I could accomplish. She sighed.

Father believed in education for women and promised schooling back East if she wanted, but he drew the line at studying law. He and Mother insisted she should have marriage instead of a career. They’d even offered a list of exactly what kind of man she needed, and said church was the place to find him.

Mother’s rule number umpteen-twenty- something, Risky: it’s the duty of a respectable woman to defer to her husband’s judgment. I can’t see myself giving in to some man’s ideas. My brain is as good as any male’s.

Her parents loved her, but sometimes Julie felt hedged in. Bert’s brotherly teasing annoyed her. Only Father seemed to understand, yet even he couldn’t believe in the lawyer dream.

Risky’s ears went up as he spotted movement behind a nearby algerita shrub. Julie laughed as they drooped again. Cows were not always friendly to playful pups.

Julie marched along, deeper in thought. Marriage was for life. She intended to follow the counsel of her parents. First and foremost, her husband would be a man who loved God and made decisions based on His wisdom—just as Father did.

My husband will be brave, of course; but more importantly, he’ll be smart. Father says I have a quick mind, so my husband will need one, too. He must enjoy laughing and not take life too seriously. A man needs a sense of humor. Father certainly has one.

Risky’s bark alerted her to the rumbling of a wagon out of sight over the hill. She was nearing town. A few more steps and Julie could see San Simon City, drowsing just down the slope.

The nearest building was her target—Mr. Bowden’s mercantile store, which also housed the post office. The Bowden family lived upstairs. Two horses stood tied to the hitching rail.

Next door was the saloon, which Uncle John called a den of iniquity. Not one of the no-good loafers that Mother worried about exhaled whiskey fumes on its long porch.

A wooden trough with an iron hand pump occupied the middle of the empty street. On her last visit Julie had watched a dusty cowboy fill his ten- gallon hat and pour the water over his head, while his horse guzzled thirstily. No one was there now.

The single stone structure in town, a narrow two-story office building, occupied the other side of the street. It was shared by a lawyer and the county’s only doctor, both friends of Uncle John. A few other structures on Main Street and some houses on a back street comprised the town.

Julie’s hometown of Paris, Texas was older and larger, and its architecture more refined, but she liked the frontier appearance of San Simon City. The unpainted frame building of the courthouse had not yet weathered to the gray of the saloon.

Small towns made full use of each structure until funds were available to build more, so the courthouse also served as a school and a meeting house for the faithful on Sunday morning.

Uncle John had told Julie the first church services were held under an oak tree on Main Street, and moved indoors to the saloon on cold winter days, until the courthouse was finished. The saloon owner closed down the bar on Sundays to accommodate the sensibilities of the ladies of San Simon City.

Aunt Betty’s lips had thinned when he told the story. John, that’s not a fitting story for Julie, she said. Mother, too, appeared disapproving.

But Father laughed. Truth is truth, he’d said.

John Denton was a county commissioner, and now that the settlement had become the county seat, he had great hopes for it—if war didn’t come. He and Father spent a lot of time talking about the probability of war.

Most people lived on farms or ranches, or in a couple of other outlying settlements in the county. Even the church Uncle John and Aunt Betty attended, the Crossroads Community Methodist Church, was a couple of miles north of town. It was in an older but smaller settlement, and the attending families met in a whitewashed board chapel that also served as a school. Julie found the services comforting— like being surrounded by a large family.

Risky had fallen behind, and Julie waited for him to catch up. Keep up, Risky. I know it’s hard for a pup not to dawdle and sniff, but we have an important task to finish.

Risky appeared unimpressed by the settlement, but its scents were a different matter. His nose once more to the ground, he turned back after a dung beetle rolling its prize.

Julie balanced the good-sized basket on her hip and walked on, leaving Risky to his adventure. The basket was heavy with the fresh eggs Aunt Betty gathered each morning. The money they brought would be welcome.

Hoof beats pounding behind Julie broke her reverie. She whirled. Risky, come here!

Too late. One of the two horsemen thundering down the lane swerved to tangle the puppy in his mount’s churning hooves, rolling a yelping Risky off into a mass of tall thistles.

Horrible man!

As the offending rider drew abreast, Julie dropped the egg basket and snatched up a fair-sized rock, which she sent speeding through the air. The rock connected unerringly with its target. Bert had taught her well. She didn’t throw like a girl.

The rider yelled an oath and dismounted. His ear dripped blood as his jaw turned red and swelled. Glaring at Julie, he growled, You brat! I’ll turn ya up and give ya a lickin’ ya won’t forget!

He strode toward her, mouthing unpleasant promises with each step. The other ruffian stayed on his horse, laughing and encouraging him. They were young, but too old to be acting like this. The sight of pistols hanging from their belts curled Julie’s lip. She despised guns. She squared her shoulders and stood as tall as five feet, two inches could reach.

Bullies! You two should be ashamed to pick on a woman and a defenseless puppy!

She stood glaring at her older and much taller antagonist as he neared, not at all slowed by her words. The tormentor pressed closer, forcing her to step back. Julie’s heart raced. Maybe the rock was a mistake.

The man’s pale gray stare devoured her in a most unpleasant manner. His eyes were heavy- lidded, frozen into a permanent squint. He reeked of stale tobacco, perspiration— and danger.

You’re not as young as I first thought, he drawled. I reckon a spanking’s not what ya need, missy. I’ve got several ideas how to deal with a female who don’t act like a lady.

He reached out a large hand, and Julie, despite her brave intentions, took another backward step, her stomach in a knot.

Cully, you’d best— The one still on his horse didn’t have time to finish before a big bay gelding shoved into the midst of them.

Where did he come from?

Its rider leaped to the ground. A hand grabbed Cully and spun him around. Over Cully’s shoulder, Julie came face to face with a lean, clean-shaven man. His mouth formed a grim line, and he watched them through narrow slits.

That’s enough, Cully, he growled. You’re not going to touch her. You and Tru take off, and I’ll pretend I didn’t see you bested by a child.

Child! But this was not the time to argue.

The newcomer glanced up at the man still astride his horse. What’re you doing out with this bum, Tru? Bet Frank doesn’t know where you are.

Cully bristled and the stranger gave him a shove, sending him reeling. Confronting Cully was a man near his age—one who stood firmly planted, his fists now clenched.

Cully’s hand moved toward his pistol, but stopped mid- draw as the intruder’s hand hovered near his own. His gaze never wavered from Cully’s.

All three of them wearing guns...this could be very bad.

What have I done?

Julie’s older brother had insisted she learn how to fish and how to fire a gun. Bert had slight use for squeamish females, and Julie was determined not to be one. But guns horrified her.

Cully, Con’s outside Bowden’s store with a rifle, said the one called Tru. He fidgeted in the saddle, his hand hovering near his scabbard, as his attention darted from his partner to the store.

The tightness around Cully’s mouth eased. He rubbed one hand down his pants leg, spat, and backed toward his horse. He mounted and cast a last malevolent glare at Julie and her champion. Then he and his partner trotted off.

After they were some distance away, Cully hollered, There’ll be another time, Mister High-and- Mighty, when your brother’s not backin’ you up.

High-and-Mighty didn’t even glance Cully’s way. He waved to the man on Bowden’s porch, who lowered his rifle. Then he turned to Julie and removed his hat, revealing coal black hair and intent eyes the color of dark coffee. His scowl softened as his gaze rested on her face.

Cully North and Truman Evans are not men to be messing with. They might have done you real harm if I hadn’t spotted you as I came out of the store. Why’d you throw that rock?

His voice was curt—several degrees less than friendly.

Julie glared up at him. Don’t need him to tell me I was wrong. They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity before he grinned.

Good throwing arm for a girl. Cully’ll have a sore jaw for a while. Maybe he learned something, but I doubt it.

Julie didn’t return his smile. Instead she turned dismissively and searched for Risky.

What a mess! Beside the basket, shattered brown shells and golden yolks oozed a trail over the moist earth. Julie stalked over to pick up the tail-wagging puppy lapping up what remained of the eggs. Risky greeted her with a slimy lick.

Thank heavens, no blood or broken bones. She let out a breath and set him down, then stooped to pick up her egg- stained bonnet and toss it into the basket.

Hands on hips, Julie turned to her rescuer. He needed to be set straight, blaming her for the whole thing. Did you see what they tried to do to Risky? Her voice was laced with indignation.

He squinted and bit his lip.

He better not laugh.

Risky is the best of the litter, and this is his first outing from Uncle John’s barn and I’m responsible for him. Julie pushed at a pesky wisp of hair. Those two made me drop the basket of eggs I was going to sell for Aunt Betty. I wish I’d knocked that ruffian’s teeth out!

Her voice trembled when she mentioned the eggs. Bad, that rock business. Mother would have a fit if she found out, but it was Julie’s affair, not this man’s.

High-and-Mighty’s mouth tilted upward, but he didn’t laugh. You must be John and Betty Denton’s niece. What’s your name?

I’m Juliet Booth Denton from Paris, Texas, but I like people to call me Julie. We’re here for a visit. I’ve come several times before, but I don’t remember seeing you.

Good. That sounded more composed. Don’t want him to think he’s dealing with a child.

High-and-Mighty nodded encouragingly.

It’s not right when a lady is minding her own business for a couple of seedy-looking ne’er-do-wells to come along and try something like that.

The rock aside, I do usually act lady-like.

He didn’t smother the smile in time. Julie frowned.

Botheration! He does think it’s funny. I’ll have you know—

My name is Print English. He cut in before she could give him a piece of her mind. I know your Uncle John. He and my dad are friends. You must be Albert’s little girl. You have his red hair, but you sure as tootin’ don’t have his calm disposition.

Auburn—my hair is auburn, she said through her teeth. "And I am not a little girl. I’ll be sixteen in a few weeks. And Mother says polite people don’t say things like tootin’."

Print seemed to have some trouble with his hat. He turned it around in his hands, staring down at it. Julie watched him, searching for any sign of amusement, but he seemed quite serious.

She’d heard only good things about the English family. They had a ranch near the Crossroads Community, and she had probably been in church with them on earlier visits. She liked the clean-cut appearance of Print English, even if she couldn’t appreciate his sense of humor. The tilt of his dark eyes drew her—melancholy, that was the word. Was he hurt by her sharp words?

He could have been killed, coming to my rescue. She shuddered, remembering the hateful expression on Cully’s face and his hand reaching for her.

I’ve heard my aunt and uncle mention your family, and I’m obliged to you for coming to help. She used her most charming voice and gave him a coy smile. Print returned her effort with a grin of his own. He put on his hat and remounted.

Well, almost-sixteen-years-old Juliet Booth Denton, you’d better hand me Risky. Grab your basket and climb up here with me. You shouldn’t be out on this country road alone. Cully and Tru may be waiting. I’ll take you home.

Print stood in the stirrups and fished a coin from his pocket. Tell your Aunt Betty you sold the eggs before you got to the store.

She took the coin and with a sincere Thank you, gently handed Risky to him. Then she took his extended hand to hoist herself up behind him.

Hang on, he said, as he guided the horse with one hand and held Risky with the other.

His muscles were firm beneath her arms. Must be a hard worker. Maybe marriage wasn’t such a dubious future. Especially if the lawyer thing didn’t work out. It suddenly seemed a more attractive possibility. Father said a wise person collected evidence, weighed it, and made a decision. And Mother said a woman needed a mature man—a settled one, well able to provide for a wife.

Julie rode along quite contentedly as one tired pup snoozed in her champion’s lap. Print talked easily of the times he’d spent with her father and Uncle John. He shared a recent adventure of rescuing an injured white longhorn calf he named Cotton from the banks of the San Simon River.

Print captured Julie’s interest, for sure. It might be all right to be a wife to such a man— especially after she persuaded him to get rid of that pistol.

He could be just the man for me. She considered her own checklist: handsome—very handsome. Brave. Has a sense of humor—possibly a bit too much for my taste. Well, I can repair any shortcomings.

Print was a man to consider. She’d have to find out more about him from Aunt Betty and Uncle John. Just possibly God’s intention for Julie’s future had presented himself on this afternoon walk to San Simon City.

She dismissed from her mind the two ne’er-do-wells she’d encountered.