Vengeance Trail

By R. O. Hughes

Vengeance Trail is the story of a young boy who lived and worked on a Wyoming Territory ranch with his parents. One dreadful night, his world was shattered by the brutal murder of his parents by ruthless raiders, resulting in a graveside vow to bring to justice all involved. It resulted in the young rancher becoming a respected deputy US marshal and gunslinger in fulfilling his vow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524675844

R. O. Hughes

The Author, R. O. Hughes, is a retired Lawyer and Judge who has an inexpressible love for the Old West and it's Culture and can only be a part of it through Fantasy and Fiction. His admiration of Louis Lamour and others like him is what challenged him to attempt this venture into the realm of Lawmen, Gunfighters, and Owl Hoots of the Western Frontier.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

T he Bar H ranch, owned by Oscar and Lillian Hughes, was not large by Wyoming standards. It consisted of 60,000 acres, more or less, of prime ranchland with plenty of water and grass. The northern perimeter began just north of the point where the Yellowstone river separated into the Missouri to the East and Big Horn to the West. The Eastern and Western boundaries encompass both rivers for most of the distance to the Southern boundary. The ranch usually ran about one thousand head of cattle mostly longhorns. Oscar and Lillian had two sons Clay and Grayson. For the past four or five years Clay, now nineteen years old, had managed the affairs of the ranch ever since Oscar’s health had begun to fail. He had turned a profit each of those years and earned the respect of the other ranch hands by his hard work. Clay always took the roughest jobs. He was first up in the morning and last to turn his horse into the corral at night. He never asked a hand to do something he had not done before.

The work agreed with him. He stood four inches above six feet and carried 220 pounds of solid muscle. His shoulders were broad as an ax handle, and his arms stretched the sleeves of the faded denim shirt he always wore. Beneath a flat-crown, flat-brim hat that bore a wide sweat band, his straw-colored hair hung almost to his shoulders. With his square jaw, sharp nose, and piercing dark-brown eyes, he presented a striking figure of a man.

A renegade band of Sioux warriors had raided the ranch eight years ago and made off with Grayson, the other son, and twenty head of cattle while all of the hands were out gathering cattle before the roundup. Grayson was almost ten years old at the time. Oscar spent the next year searching for his son but never found him. The loss of Grayson had a devastating effect on both Oscar and Lillian, and they never quite recovered.

Ira and Mary Deavours owned the large Circle D spread east of the Bar H, about 100,000 acres. Oscar and Ira had been early pioneers to the area. They acquired their land by homestead, grant, or purchase from the government, and to keep it they fought off Comanches, Kiowas, Sioux, Crow, and Blackfoot Indians—not to mention rustlers and squatters. They were good neighbors always ready to help out in time of need. Oscar never denied Ira access to water or grass during droughts or when the need arose.

Ira and Mary had one daughter, Jessica, who was one year younger than Clay Hughes. The couple’s fading health meant that neither had much input in the affairs of the ranch. Ira recognized his dilemma and made arrangements with his brother, Jake, to manage the ranch until Jessica completed her schooling in Philadelphia, at which time she would assume control of the ranch and Jake would remain as foreman as long as he wished to stay.

Ira’s decision was a bad one. Jake Deavours, unknown to Ira, was a ruthless, self-serving person who had never been successful at anything he attempted. Ira had given him a job at the ranch in an effort to help him. Jake was a pretty fair hand, always doing his part, while down deep he was resentful of his brother’s success and his own string of failures. He knew that Ira and Mary were both very sick and their time was short. He would bide his time until their passing and then he would take over. Jessica would be the only one standing in the way.

During the winter of 1868, Mary died. After her death, Ira just gave up and died less than six months later. Jessica attended both funerals but returned to school to complete her final year. Following the death of her parents, things changed drastically. Jake took over the management of the Circle D and set about to acquire as much of the surrounding ranchland as possible, by whatever means possible. A number of smaller ranchers suddenly disappeared and their land was acquired by Jake, but in his name only. Others were threatened and forced to sell for practically nothing or their cattle disappeared and they had to abandon their property. The only real law that existed was more than one hundred miles away in Cheyenne, so the law of the gun was the rule, and the strongest prevailed. Jake had made numerous attempts to acquire the Bar H, but each time, Oscar had refused to sell. Jake had made numerous threats that he would own the Bar H no matter what it took.

A year had passed since the passing of Mary and Ira, and Jessica completed her final year in school. She notified Jake of her intent to return to the ranch, but Jake objected and actually refused to allow her return. He argued that the ranch was no place for a young lady of her quality and insisted that she remain in Philadelphia and seek employment there. He would keep her informed of ranch business and supply her with funds if needed. In the meantime, Jake began hiring riders for the Circle D to replace those who had been there for Ira. They were more gunhands and rustlers than cowhands so it was not unusual for altered brands to show up in the Circle D herd. Jake kept two sets of books, unknown to anyone, and had his own account at the bank in Warbonnet. The violent reputation of Jake and his riders was known all too well by the townspeople of Custer as well as Warbonnet.

Jake’s plans were almost complete except for one last acquisition, namely the Bar H. Jake wasted no time in formulating his deadly plan and then carrying it out. It was a cold and wintry night when he gathered his roughs and headed toward the Bar H, filled with greed and hate.

The dozen or so riders dismounted as they approached the Hughes place and walked their horses to the edge of the yard. The night was quiet and peaceful except for an owl announcing its presence from the barn. The moon on the remaining snow provided enough light to outline the figures as they remounted.

Nate, you and several of the boys come in from the corral. Scatter the horses and let ’em know you’re here. Curt, you and Seth come with me. We’ll come in from where we are. You all know what to do. I don’t want anybody or anything left. All right, let’s go.

The riders went about their grizzly job with a vengeance. They began shooting everything that moved, including the horses and cattle. Oscar and Lillian were seated by the fire in the great room, Lillian busy mending pants that should have been discarded long ago and Oscar a broken harness strap. Oscar had two riders that he kept during the winter but they were out in line camps clearing water holes and mending fences. Both were good cowhands and very good with their guns. Candy Hardin was in his early thirties, square jawed, and had broad shoulders on a six-foot-two frame that carried 185 pounds. His face and exposed skin were tanned from long hours spent on the open range. He had been sheriff in Abilene, Texas, for a number of years until the town fathers felt he had done a little too much taming, resulting in some of the trail herds avoiding the place. It was rumored that he was related to Wes Hardin, but Candy never admitted it. Duff McAlister was almost as good but nobody could touch his ability with a Winchester. Duff was in his midtwenties and short, standing only about five foot, eight, with his boots on. He had a wiry frame and a round face that always smiled but was as hard as a rock. He just showed up hungry at the ranch one cold day and offered to work for food. Oscar felt sorry for him and hired him on the spot.

It was unfortunate that both were away at the time.

Upon hearing the rampage outside, Oscar and Lillian sprang from their chairs and dashed outside, only to be met by a hail of bullets from the intruders.

Clay was in the kitchen placing firewood in the wood box by the stove. He ran to the front, grabbing the Henry rifle from the rack beside the front door as he passed. Bullets splintered the doorframe as he attempted to exit the house. He dropped to his knee and tried to fix on a target. He noticed from the corner of his eye his ma and pa being dragged toward the well, near the end of the porch. He was never able to get off a shot. Torches were being thrown into the barn and through the window of the house. Clay stood up and tried to get out the door onto the porch where he would be in the dark and in a better position to return fire. He never made it.

Clay felt the fierce burning pain of the bullet as it grazed his forehead just below the hairline and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

He was left for dead as the riders continued their rampage of death and destruction. The raiders disappeared into the darkness as quickly as they had appeared.

Clay awoke amidst a cloud of smoke and flames and snaked his way across the porch and out into the yard. The entire place was aflame: the house, the barn, and the corral with several dead horses lying about and all the rest scattered. The bunkhouse was untouched. Clay found his mother and father lying near the well, both covered with blood and trampled nearly beyond recognition. His mother was dead, but his father still had some life left in him. Clay knelt, gently cradled his dying father in his arms, and through tears asked, Why, Pa? And who would do such a terrible thing as this?

Oscar Hughes struggled to respond. Gasping for breath, he mumbled, Not sure. Think it was Jake Deavours and his bunch. Thought I recognized Jake and his sons Curt and Seth. I think I also recognized Nate, his top hand … not sure though. Go fetch the sheriff. Those were the last words his father spoke. He died in Clay’s arms.

Clay sat there for a time, his mind trying to grasp what had just happened. How could his life, so happy and content, be totally upended in such a short period of time?Clay’s thoughts slowly changed from dismay to anger, furious anger, at the murderers who did this terrible thing. Clay had never shot a gun at anything or any body in anger but now he knew this was the time for all his schooling concerning the use of guns to be put to use. He was only 19 years old but since age 15 his uncle, Will Mitchell, a bounty hunter by trade, had taught him to use both handgun and rifle, especially the handgun, from how to wear it as well as how to draw and point, not aim, even how the holster should be cut near the trigger guard so the gun could leave leather faster and smoother. Will had given Clay a brand new colt 44, with holster and belt, that he took off a card shark and bank robber named Frank Miller who, Will said, wouldn’t be needing it anymore. Clay was an excellent student. Part of Clay’s training with the 44 required him to use it to hunt quail and he couldn’t shoot until the quail flushed. Will had also reminded him on more than one occasion that quail don’t shoot back; men do. All the teaching was accompanied by the solemn advice to never pull a gun on a man unless you are prepared to use it.

Clay made his way to the corn crib, which was not touched by the fire, walked over to the barrel of shelled corn and dug out the neatly wrapped bundle, kept there because his Pa was unaware of and would have strongly objected to Clay being schooled on the use of guns by his wife’s brother, Will. Clay unwrapped the bundle and gently picked up the gun belt with the big colt 44 resting in the special holster.

Clay’s head throbbed from the bullet wound and he wanted to stop and get some relief from the pain but things had to be done. He strapped the belt on, tied it down, slid the Colt in it’s place, after checking the cylinder, picked up a shovel and went about the gruesome task of laying his Mother and Father to rest underneath the big oak tree on a small rise overlooking the house in the shadowy light of a kerosene lantern.

For some reason the fires appeared to have burned out without totally destroying the place. Clay was filled with emotions surrounding these unexplainable events, yet he was now consumed with one burning desire; to find and make sure that every man involved in the ruthless murder of his Ma and Pa died, either by hanging, or by his own hand. He would not rest until all were dead or he died in the process. Clay recalled that Deavours was wild with anger on his last visit upon being turned down once again by Oscar. As Deavours was leaving he stopped and, facing Oscar, shouted;

I’ll have this property Oscar Hughes, and I’ll destroy you and your kin to get it. Those words were seared into Clay’s memory.

He made a wide circle around the perimeter of the house and soon found one of the horses that the circle D crew scattered. Clay found a bridle on a corral post, bridled the horse, pulled his 6'4" muscular frame onto the horse and rode bareback to the town of Custer, some 3 miles away.

Custer was not much of a town, comprised only of buildings housing the bare necessities, such as a general store, blacksmith and livery, saloon, Custer Hotel, which also served as a transfer station for the stage line, land office, jail, a bath house run by Chinese, a small building that served as a church and schoolhouse and a few other buildings housing various businesses. Mabry Fleming was acting sheriff, of a sort, and was the only person to hold that office because no one else would agree to assume the position. He was also the register at the land office. Mabry never wore a badge and no one could remember the last time he arrested someone. First light was breaking as Clay rode in to Custer. He made his way to the livery stable, slid off his horse, and turned him loose in the corral. Clay walked slowly toward the Sheriff’s office, hoping he would not have to wait long for the sheriff, when two riders suddenly appeared rounding the school house and turned onto the street heading straight toward Clay. Clay did not recognize the riders at first but as they got within thirty yards of each other he felt a tingling sensation down his spine as he suddenly realized their identity; Curt and Seth Deavours. Clay stopped dead in his tracks and so did the riders. Curt looked quizzically at Seth, not sure of what to say or do. Seth backed his horse slowly to the side of the street to Clay’s right and dismounted. Curt took the signal and slowly backed his horse to the opposite side of the street, dismounted, and tied his horse to the nearby rail. Neither man spoke a word for what seemed to Clay like an eternity. Clay finally broke the silence as he looked at Curt and said, You and your Pa and his bunch raided our place last night, killed my Ma and Pa and set fire to the place. You’re gonna answer for that. Seth moved slowly toward the middle of the street and mockingly said, Who’re we gonna answer to and who’s gonna make us do all this answering?

Before Clay could respond Curt nervously blurted out: Seth, we better let Pa handle this.

Curt, you keep your mouth shut, you hear? Seth shouted. Now’s our chance. Pa would be proud of us if we ended this thing right here.

Clay spoke slowly and firmly as he looked at Seth but meant his words for both men and said: Makes no difference to me, but neither one of you are leaving this place until the sheriff gets here. I suggest you both loosen those gun belts and let them fall and we’ll make our way to the jail and wait for Mr. Fleming. You both are going to hang for murdering my Ma and Pa.

Both Curt and Seth knew they had been caught and there was no way out for them now except past Clay. Both were extremely handy with a gun and they knew it. Seth looked at Curt and then at Clay and both men turned and faced Clay, legs partly spread, not knowing what to expect from Clay. Clay didn’t move as he wondered to himself whether or not he could actually kill a man. He remembered what his Uncle Will had told him about not hesitating and he momentarily thought, jokingly, this time the quail’s shooting back.

Clay noticed that several people had wandered outside the hotel, apparently to see what the commotion was all about but quickly darted back inside when they saw what was about to happen.

Sheriff Fleming came out of the Hotel and stopped, dead in his tracks, but managed to stutter;

What’s this all about boys. Now all of you keep your hands off those guns and somebody tell me right quick whats going on.

Clay, never taking his eyes off Seth and Curt, answered;

Mr. Fleming, last night these two, with their Pa, Jake Deavours, and his crew, raided our place, killed my Ma and Pa, set fire to the place, shot me, and shot up our stock. Pa recognized all of them and told me to go fetch you just before he died. These two just rode into town and I aim to see that they pay for what they done.

Before Sheriff Fleming could speak, Seth blurted;

Sheriff, you’d best go about your business cause we’re leaving, even if we have to ride over you and this two bit cowboy.

That’s the only way your going to go Mister, is over me, Clay answered. Seth’s hand dropped to his gun but he wasn’t quite fast enough. The big 44 bucked as Clay’s bullet slammed into Seth’s head just above his nose, sending him tumbling backwards as if kicked by a horse. Seth fired but his bullet kicked up dirt in front of him as he went backwards. Clay turned his attention to Curt. Curt’s gun was out and Clay saw the puff of smoke and a ball of fire coming from Curt’s gun as he felt a burning in his shoulder. Clay fired a second time; the sound of the second shot almost absorbed by the first report of Curt’s gun. Clay’s aim was true. The bullet struck Curt just below his right eye, leaving a hole big enough to hide an egg in. Neither Seth nor Curt knew what hit them. They were dead before they hit the ground.

Clay stood motionless for a moment, not believing what had just happened. Clay turned to speak to