Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3 Read online

  ~~~

  Rod Owen pulled his horse to a halt by the tie rail in front of A. G. Boone’s store. He dismounted and waited for his sons to join him before he spoke.

  “Rulon, you take James and Albert and hunt up the law in town. We missed the trading caravans to Santa Fe by a long time, so find out what measures we need to take for safety. Carl and Clay, you come with me. I’ll hunt up Mr. Boone. Your Uncle Jonathan told me to trade with him if ever I got this far west.”

  Rod wrapped his reins around the rail and swung under it, stepping onto the board sidewalk. Carl and Clay followed him, while the other three went off down the street.

  Before entering the store, Carl turned and surveyed the bustling street. Even though the traders were gone, the traffic seemed constant. He glimpsed some soldiers up the street, loading a wagon with supplies, and recalled that his father had mentioned Fort Leavenworth up north a ways.

  Wagons passed the store, narrowly missing each other in the intersection, their drivers yelling obscenities at one another, filling the air with strident shouts. Then the street was empty for a moment, and Carl’s attention was drawn across the street by a group of three men lounging outside a saloon.

  From the loudness of their talk, Carl guessed they had already visited the bar at some length. Two of the men were of average height and weight, wore nondescript trousers and shirt, and had full beards and shaggy hair. The third man was swarthy, tall, and of a powerful build. He wore tight black pants of a cut Carl had never seen before. His shirt was white, topped by a black vest that was embroidered with a light-catching thread. On his head he wore a hat with a wide brim and flat crown. The hat, too, was embroidered—with colored threads in fancy designs. The man’s face was clean-shaven, except for a full-flowing moustache.

  Carl gazed at the man for several seconds, until the dark, fancily dressed man removed the thin black cigar from his mouth, chuckled, and said something amusing to his companions. They laughed, and looked over at Carl, who noticed the whiteness of the big man’s teeth beneath his moustache. I reckon he’s a Mexican, he thought, and turned and entered the store.

  He glanced around the crowded establishment. Three areas of commerce—dry goods, hardware, and groceries—shared the room, crowding the shelves and aisles. Pa was headed for the hardware counter, where a solidly built redhead in his fifties minded the store. Clay looked like he was enjoying himself browsing through the dry goods section, and Carl joined him.

  Rod stopped at the counter. “I’m looking for A. G. Boone. You be him?”

  “I am not. Mr. Boone is out to lunch. I am his clerk, Samuel P. Flaherty, at your service.”

  “Well, it ain’t anything you can’t handle, I reckon.” Rod looked around the empty store. “You don’t have much business today.”

  “It’s the lunch hour. If you want to see business, sir, stick around until the end of the month when the traders return. Then you’ll see business!” Mr. Flaherty bobbed his head in anticipation.

  “I don’t plan to stay that long. I’m here for provisions. That’s my list. Can you fill it?” Rod put a bit of paper on the counter.

  The man took up the list and peered at it. “Surely. If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.” He looked up at Rod. “You going far?”

  “We have kin west of here,” Rod answered warily.

  “Well, I wouldn’t presume to ask, except if you’re going to the Colorado Territory, you’d better check your supply of guns, powder, and lead.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes, sir. The Indians are on the warpath out there. Seems some militia colonel named Chivington wiped out a bunch of Cheyenne and Arapahoe at Sand Creek last winter, and three or four tribes took exception to the action. They’re raiding all the way from the Platte to the Arkansas, and on east into Kansas.” Mr. Flaherty stopped to pull some cans from the shelf. “Indians favor sneaking up on a body when they attack. It’s almost like they’re invisible until they’re on top of you.” The clerk scratched his chin.

  “Dangerous fellows,” said Rod.

  “Yes sir. I see you’re not wearing handguns. Handguns are right handy to have when an Indian is five feet away and swinging a hatchet at your head. I expect you’re a rifle man, yourself. Well, a rifle’d just get in the way with an enemy so close and set on revenge. Some of them don’t care if they lives or dies, just so their kinfolks is avenged.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “But I do say. If I was you, I would outfit my entire party with handguns, belts, and holsters. That’s if I was you and going out to the Colorado Territory.” Mr. Flaherty folded his arms and leaned forward on the counter.

  Rod looked at the clerk, waiting there for a sale. He said nothing, but tucked his chin into his chest for a moment, then moved over to the dry goods section of the store.

  Carl had spent his time admiring the clothes on display on the counter. There was a pair of blue jean trousers, waist overalls, that would suit him fine. He wished he had a couple of coins to rub together, or better yet, to spend on new trousers.

  His father looked around for Clay, who had moved over to examine the candy counter. He saw Carl looking at the trousers, and approached him.

  “They would look mighty nice, son, and you surely do need them, but I can’t spare the cash right now. If what the clerk says is right, looks like we’ll be needing handguns worse than a change of clothes.” Rod looked chagrined. “I was hoping to get a little keepsake for your ma, but I reckon our safety comes before trinkets.”

  “Trouble on the trail, Pa? Outlaw?”

  “Indians. Somebody broke a treaty, and the whole east part of Colorado Territory is running with blood. We might have to fight our way in.” Rod grinned and winked. “Don’t mention it to Rand Hilbrands. He’s not much for fighting.”

  “Now, Pa,” Carl responded. “Mr. Hilbrands ain’t so bad. I don’t reckon he’s a cowardly sort. He just spent the whole war behind a store counter, and didn’t get the chance to harden up like we did.”

  “That’s so. And he saw a right smart lot of Yankees going up and down the Valley, but he sometimes wears my patience mighty thin.”

  “Pa, speaking of the Hilbrands, don’t you think we could rustle up a preacher in this town so Ida ‘n me can get married?”

  Rod looked sharply at Carl. “Are you sparking on that wagon seat, boy?”

  “I’m driving. Ida does the sparking.” Carl grinned. “It’s time I got wed, Pa.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. It’s surely a shame that preacher never came around back home. He put a bad crimp in my plan.” Rod gripped Carl’s shoulder and turned away toward the counter where Flaherty was loading his order into a couple of emptied grain sacks. “What are you asking for a handgun set?” he asked the clerk. “I might be persuaded that I’m interested if the price is right.”

  “Well now, we’ve got a mighty nice piece of goods for twenty-five dollars, complete with belt and holster. It’s an Army model 1860 by Colt, .44 caliber with six shots. It’s your standard percussion cap revolver, ain’t been used much. Twenty-five dollars, ammunition extra.” He brought out a big revolver for Rod to examine.

  “If it saw action in the war, it’s been used more than a mite.” Rod looked it over, checking the cylinder and the heft of the nearly three pound gun in his hand. “You got any more like this?”

  “Some. The Army dumped them on the market a while back, and they’ve been selling good.”

  “Let me have my pick of six pistols, you throw in the belts, holsters, and a thousand rounds of shot, with caps and powder enough to shoot them, and I’ll give you a hundred dollars, Federal cash.”

  “Done!” said Mr. Flaherty.

  ~~~

  “Hallelujah, Pa! You got me a gun!” Albert’s voice cracked in his excitement. “You really got me a gun, a humdinger. Thanks, Pa.” The boy lifted the pistol in two hands, sighted down the barrel, then put it back into his holster.

  “Albert, we’re likely to run int
o some trouble up the road. I expect you to learn to use that pistol, but it’s for protection. I won’t stand for gun play. Don’t forget that!”

  “No, Pa, I surely won’t. Boy, wait until I show this to Andy. His eyes will pop out of his head.”

  Rulon hitched his gun belt to a more comfortable position. “It feels strange, Pa. I’m more at home with a rifle.”

  “Rulon, it’s mighty handy to have a weapon strapped on with enemies coming right at you. Mr. Flaherty spoke of Indian raids in the Territory. If we aim to find your Uncle Jonathan, we’ll need guns at hand, I reckon.” Rod hitched up his own belt.

  James swung into his saddle, and retrieved his pistol as it slipped loose. “Pa, how do I keep the revolver from falling out of the holster when I’m mounting, or jogging loose as I ride?”

  “Look at this thong, here. Loop it over the hammer, and the gun will stay in there real snug. If you expect trouble, just slip off the loop, and you’re ready.”

  James fixed the rawhide thong as Rod had directed, then kneed his horse into the street. He cantered down a block, dodging wagons, then waited for a clear moment and returned at a gallop.

  He pulled up before his father and brother, checked his pistol, and declared, “That works right fine.”

  Rod caught Carl’s arm and spoke confidentially. “I found a preacher, son. He’s willing to speak your wedding words this evening.”

  “That’s good, Pa.”

  “See if you can talk James into marrying Miss Ellen, too.”

  Carl nodded and got on his horse. “Pa, I reckon I’ll ride ahead and give Ida the news. She’ll be happy to hear it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Rulon volunteered. Rod and the others mounted their horses, and rode out of Kansas town in a cloud of dust.

  As they completed the first mile of their ride back to camp, they heard gunfire and rode forward cautiously. Before them in the road, the big Mexican with the fine clothes trotted his horse in a circle, shooting his gun and laughing, while his two cronies followed him, enclosing three young women, who huddled together in fright.

  Carl and Rulon, ahead of the other men, looked at each other, anger darkening their features.

  “That’s Marie, and Ellen Bates,” Rulon shouted.

  “And Ida Hilbrands,” finished Carl.

  Chapter 7

  Carl spurred his horse into the midst of the rowdies, knocking the guns from the hands of two of them before Rulon arrived. As he whirled Sherando to face the man in the black vest, Carl saw the gun pointed at his chest.

  “Do not be foolish, señor,” Black-Vest warned him. “I shoot very fast, and I do not miss.” He drew back his lips in what passed for a smile, and his teeth, white beneath his moustache, seemed large as headstones.

  The other Owen men arrived, and noting the gun covering Carl, sat their horses in stolid silence, hands held carefully in sight. The two bearded men dismounted and retrieved their pistols, laughing as they brought them to bear on the Owen party. One man stepped backward and tried to caress Marie’s cheek with his free hand. Marie shrank back and cried out.

  Ellen’s eyes went dark and glittering, and she snapped at the big Mexican, “What kind of cowards are you, picking on girls and honest men?”

  Black-Vest’s smile vanished. “Coward! You will see that Berto Acosta is not a coward. I withdraw my gun.” He holstered the weapon and lifted his hands. “Now you see I am no coward. Joven! You with the quick temper. Let us see if your hand is as quick as your anger.” He motioned to Carl to try to outdraw him.

  Carl shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t beat you. I just got the gun today.”

  “Ah,” said Acosta. “But when a man puts on a gun he must be prepared to use it. What do we do now?” His hand dropped toward his gun.

  “You’re still a coward, or you’d let us go,” Ellen hissed.

  “That little one has fire,” Acosta said, then leaned over to stroke Ida’s blonde curls, “but I choose this white little goddess.”

  “No you don’t!” shouted Carl, looking at Ida’s chalky face. “I can’t meet you with guns, but I sure can beat you with my bare hands!”

  “A champion,” laughed Acosta, baring his teeth. “Mis amigos,” he addressed his friends, “we will have here a fine contest, and all will know I am no coward. If he wins, they will all go free.” He threw back his head and laughed a long time. “But I will win, and then we shall enjoy the spoils!”

  Carl flung himself off Sherando and stripped away his gun belt and shirt. Acosta seemed confident, dismounting with a lazy grace that spoke of long, hard muscle and great control. The big man gave his holster and belt to one of his companions, but he made no move to take off his vest or shirt.

  As he looked at the Mexican, Carl imagined him holding Ida in his arms, and a cold rage welled up into his throat, nearly choking him. He stepped up to the older man and threw the first punch with his right fist. Acosta ducked and laughed, and hit Carl a short, sharp jab to the stomach. Carl backed up, sick from the powerful blow.

  Acosta followed and slugged him again. When Carl doubled over, Acosta chopped down from above, aiming for the back of Carl’s neck. The youth twisted out of the way, and Acosta’s joined fists glanced off his shoulder. Carl stumbled sideways, knowing his opponent was following him, then he thudded up against Sherando. He gasped for breath, then moved out to meet Acosta’s attack.

  This time the blows caught him on the face, and he tried to escape by ducking as Acosta had done. The Mexican swung into air, and Carl, surprised by the success of his maneuver, followed up by butting Acosta with his head. Caught off guard, the rowdy went down, Carl on top of him.

  They rolled together, dust filling their lungs and coating their bodies and clothes. Carl broke away first and got to his feet, coughing and shaking his head.

  His rage was now a steady, burning drive to defeat the older man. He tasted blood as he licked his upper lip and realized that the Mexican was still unbloodied. “I’ll change that now,” he muttered, setting himself for the next attack.

  Acosta got to his feet, threw back his head in anger, and cried out, “You have soiled my clothing, señor. This I do not forgive.”

  He’s prideful, Carl thought. It makes him angry to be mussed. Carl raised his arms to turn aside Acosta’s renewed attack, then hit his foe in the face as hard as his work-toughened muscles would allow. He heard the crunch of the nose breaking, felt the moistness of blood on his knuckles, but he hit again, with his left, opening a gash over Acosta’s right cheekbone.

  Stunned with the blow, unused to having his own blood flow, Acosta panicked, jabbing ineffectually at Carl’s body. He paused once to wipe the blood from his ruined nose, and the sight of it on his hand seemed to cause him more alarm.

  He swore at Carl, words that lost no venom for being in a foreign tongue. “You have ruined my face,” he finished.

  Carl gathered his strength and punched Acosta on the side of the head. The Mexican went down and stayed down, and Rod and young Albert pulled their pistols, covering the three rowdies, while Carl climbed on Sherando and his brothers boosted the girls up behind them on their horses. They all left at once, as the two men tried to revive their unconscious amigo.

  When the Owens arrived in camp, Carl slid off Sherando and ran to gather Ida into his arms as Rulon lowered her to the ground from his saddle. Carl held her close to his dusty chest and stroked her hair, feeling the shivers that seized her body.

  “There now, Ida,” he soothed, calming her with little pats and strokes. “I took care of him. He won’t never bother you again.”

  “Oh Carl, I thought he was killing you.” She sneezed from the dust, then peered at his bruised and bloody face, and patted the puffiness under his left eye. “Oh, Carl!” Ida covered her mouth with her hand. “He spoiled your handsome face.”

  “I left him more a mess than he left me,” he said, flexing his swelling hands.

  ~~~

  Marie and Ellen slipped to the ground and tried to
get to their wagons, but Rod Owen barred the way, and he was soon joined by Chester Bates. Then Julia and Muriel ran up, with the rest of the party close behind.

  “Marie,” demanded Rod. “Why were you on the road back there?”

  The girl took one look at her father’s contorted face and began to blubber hysterically. Ellen put an arm around her and tried to smile.

  “Ida said she needed to get some things from the store, and we agreed to go with her. We was almost there when those men rode up and began to torment us, shooting off their guns and making rude comments.” Ellen looked up and saw Ida in Carl’s arms. “If Carl and the rest of you hadn’t come just then—” She turned her face and broke into sobs.

  “Ellen,” Marie cried out, and wrapped her arms around her friend. “You been so brave, and you talked back to that awful man. Don’t cry.”

  Ellen shook her head and wept on, throwing her arms around Marie’s neck.

  “There, now,” Muriel soothed her daughter. “We’ll take you over to the wagon, you can lie down a spell, and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “No,” she sobbed. “Leave me be.” Then she whispered through her tears into Marie’s ear, “Take care of your brother’s face. It wants cold cloths, and Ida sure ain’t going to think of that.”

  Marie drew back and gave her a sharp glance, then looked over at Carl and Ida. “I’ll take her, Mrs. Bates,” she volunteered. “We’ll both be fine with a little rest.” Marie took Ellen’s hand and led her away from the buzzing group.

  When the girls arrived at the Bates’ wagon, Marie turned to Ellen. “You’re not crying because you’re scared. You’re crying over my brother!” She scrutinized Ellen’s face, not allowing her to cover her eyes with her hand. “You like my brother. I do declare!”

  Ellen wiped her tears. “He saved my life. Twice, now. And I can’t go over there and fix him up. You’ll have to tend to that.”

  “You’re right. Ida won’t think of it, and Carl sure won’t bother. Why, he ain’t even got the sense to put his shirt back on. And I reckon his hands could use some tending, too. Ellen, you bathe your face, and I’ll tend to Carl’s.”