A Score to Settle

much!

Chapter One

Eastern New Mexico Territory, Spring 1871

The lonely howls of a wolf woke Del Lawson. He shifted in bed to the sound. The gray wolf. The one with the penetrating light eyes, the one that trotted the low hills surrounding his small ranch. Never bothered his dog or the chickens that pecked invisible specks from the dirt yard. In turn, Del would fire a shot in the air when he came across carrion for the wolf. He’d found the animal as a pup. Mother must have been killed. He left carcasses for it when he could.

The animal sounded different tonight. Several short yowls instead of the usual long ones. The strange calls set Del on edge. Was it anything? He glanced over at his sleeping wife. No sense waking her. He got up and checked on his son and Rodrigo sleeping nearby in the two-room cabin. Both boys sound asleep. He eased toward the front door and pushed aside a thin curtain covering the dusty front window. A full moon cast eerie light on darkened horsemen stealing silently toward the house. He couldn’t tell how many as murky forms advanced like backlit ghosts. His stomach knotted. Whoever they were, they weren’t up to any good. He reached over the fireplace and wrapped his fingers around his rifle stock. He hurried to the bedroom. Demi, get up! Night riders! He woke the boys and shooed them out the rickety back door into the black night. Head for the tack room. Don’t stop for nothin’!

As he rushed back and brushed the curtain aside again, the front door burst open. Rifle barrels filled the dim opening. Del fired once, twice. Two intruders fell, but a third got off a shot that struck him above the ear and put him down.

A voice in the dark said, Don’t kill him! Wilkins don’t want him dead.

Del’s rifle lay at a distance on the floor. Pain shot through his head. He pressed a hand over the wound, a sticky stream running between his fingers. He got a fleeting glimpse of the intruders as they rushed past him.

The big one said, I tol’ you to shoot the boy, not Ansel’s son. Find the kid.

Del’s sight faded to nothing.

****

Ansel Lawson rode for his life. Even in the dark, he knew the rough land his horse was flying over better than his pursuers. He hoped to trade on that now. He raced down a long rocky drop skirting a large granite formation that loomed toward him in the dim moonlight. A yank on the reins to the left at the dry wash. He stopped and listened. Horseshoes clicked faintly off rock in the distance. He jabbed his spurs into the horse’s flanks, searching for the small trail that hid in the darkness somewhere ahead. Damn! Where was it? There. After a short burst, he pulled his horse left again, up into a field of low granite where the sign disappeared. A little rock shelter he knew of there would give him a chance to live.

The dark was doing its job. By the time he’d circled a few times and found the recess, the horsemen were closing in. He jerked the horse down next to him, panting. Fought the urge to stick his head up to locate his trackers—they had to be near by now. Besides, he knew who they were. The loud clattering of hooves told him just how close. He’d never heard such a deafening noise in his life. In the shadowy dark they’d just keep on riding past, wouldn’t they? They couldn’t know he was up here. Even he had a hard time finding the place, and he knew where it was. When the clip-clop of their hooves faded, he’d lead his horse out and double back the way he came. The heaved-up ground they’d trampled riding here would surely hide his sign. He’d slip away while they combed the hills for him. A good plan.

As horses thundered by, his heart jumped in his throat. He stroked his mount’s neck. Stay calm. Quiet. He waited until the clicking sounded distant and breathed again. He eased the horse up by the reins, led her onto the packed dirt next to the rounded granite slope, and started to steal away on foot. A click of a hammer brought him up short.

Not so fast, Lawson. Freeze—unless you want my voice to be the last thing you ever hear.

Lucas Skinner’s drawl. Damn!

The outlaw fired two shots into the dark sky. The reports disappeared along with his hope.

Soon, Ansel heard riders coming. The clattering of horseshoes sounded like the seconds he had left to live. He hung his head. No way Skinner could have known he was hidden there. He’d had it all figured out, too, but he’d stayed one day too long, trying to mend fences with his wife.

Over here, Pete. Lawson’s here. Got him covered. He ain’t so smart now! I always said that—don’t know why we ever let him ride with us in the first place.

Pete Tyson eased off his horse. There’s lots of things you don’t know, Lucas. That’s why I do the thinkin’ around here. He turned to Lawson. Did you really think you could get away? He pulled a bullwhip off his saddle. That we wouldn’t figure out where you were? He uncoiled a length until the tip touched the ground. He snapped it and drew blood as it flicked Ansel’s cheek. I’da thought you knew me better than that by now. You know what we did to your boy and his family. Name was Del, wasn’t it? He chuckled. Moonlight cast a faint shadow behind him. Tyson’s voice dropped to a whisper. His mouth broke into a thin smile. Ansel, you tell me where the gold coins are. We got your son, his wife, and boy but couldn’t find the coins or the kid. You know the one I’m talkin’ about. The whip danced in front of him. You gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?

You stay away from that young’un! Ansel pursed his lips. He’d feel the bullet any time now.

Tyson considered Ansel’s reaction. Think hard now. Come across, and I might let you live.

That was a lie. No way was Pete going to let him live. He’d never let anyone live who got in his way. The only thing Ansel still had going for him was the gold coins’ whereabouts. If he was going to die, he’d take that secret with him, out of spite, if nothing else. He’d stolen them to build a new life for his wife and son. But since Del was dead, and his wife didn’t ever want to see him again, he was just ornery enough not to let Tyson have his way. Guess it’s gonna be the hard way, but it don’t matter none. Not no more. He drew in a deep breath.

Hold him, boys. Take his shirt off and tie him to that scraggly pine tree there. The scratchin’ from rough bark’ll add nicely to the hurtin’. His men knifed off enough low branches to shove Ansel against the coarse trunk. Tyson reared back. The lash sliced into Ansel’s back, and the trunk raked his chest as he lurched against the tree. He swallowed a scream. His insides shuddered, and he saw white for a moment. If that was the worst he was going to get, good—it was already behind him. Two more lashes and his knees deserted him. His stomach scraped raw against the sharp bark as he dropped, chest held tight by ropes.

You gonna talk?

Ansel kept his eyes shut, forced saliva into his mouth, and spit on the ground. You kill me…and you ain’t never gonna find…that gold. The coins gave Ansel the upper hand on Del’s killer, if only for a little while.

Don’t know how we didn’t find the kid that night, but the boy’s luck is about to run out, for sure. We did find your son’s wife—yes, we did. Pretty little thing, she was.

Ansel’s heart hammered in his ears. Another lash tore into his back. This time he felt the impact more than the pain—his upper body one pulsing throb.

"Last chance, Lawson. I will kill you."

He didn’t doubt it for a minute. Tyson always had been a mean one. He’d seen enough of his cruelty over the years. His head pounded, and his throat tightened. Like I told you…don’t matter if you do. He gasped for breath. Gritted his teeth.

Tyson shook where he stood. Damn you! I’m givin’ you a chance to live. Take it!

Ansel tried to spit on the ground. Go on…get it over with.

I hear you got a pretty woman, too.

The thought stung. She had been his beautiful bride at one time. So pretty, but he’d worn out the light in her eyes with his lies over the years. You stay away…from her. He slumped.

Tyson’s narrow smile widened until his rotten breath poisoned the moonlight air. Time to end this. Lash after lash tore Ansel apart. His body jerked at each stroke as blood streamed down his legs and pooled in the pine needles below. He sagged until he couldn’t sag anymore. His eyesight narrowed. With his last breath, he managed a feeble grin.

Dammit! Damn him! Tyson’s red face almost boiled over as he eyed the small grin on the dead man’s face. Stupid sodbuster. Gotta hand it to him, though. Took it like a man. Tyson turned toward his men, whip still in hand. They edged away, eyes never leaving the leather snake. He flicked the tip toward them. They stayed just out of range. Cut him down easy. Man deserves some respect for holdin’ out.

We gonna bury him?

He don’t deserve that much respect.

Lucas Skinner said, How we gonna find the coins now, Pete? And what about the boy?

Don’t you no nevermind about that. You let me do the figgerin’. Right now, we’re ridin’ to Ansel’s spread, so mount up! The men backed toward their horses, eyes still on the whip. Get a move on.

Tyson wiped the blood off the whip and coiled it on his saddle horn. He swung up and wheeled the stallion in the direction of Ansel Lawson’s ranch. A couple of hours of hard riding and they neared the small farmhouse. Stark black night held the place captive. Faint light in a front window disappeared. Darkness was complete. Tyson squinted as he walked his horse forward. He yelled in the direction of the shadowy, ramshackle building. Hello in there!

The front door creaked on the darkened porch. A female voice rang out. Better stay sittin’ your saddles less’n you all want to die right here, right now. Ride on out! The unmistakable click of a hammer echoed sharply in the still night.

Was the woman holding a rifle or a six gun? Tyson motioned to one of his men. The bandit quietly reined his horse left and stole away in the darkness to circle behind the house. Tyson kept up a conversation to buy time. Don’t want no trouble, ma’am, just came lookin’ for your husband is all. We’re friends of his. It’s Maybelle, isn’t it? I mean your name. Maybelle, right?

Don’t be botherin’ with my name. And Ansel don’t got no friends. No real ones. If you’re ridin’ with him, you’re as worthless as he is, so be on your way or you’ll wish you were.

Well now…since you put it that way, we’ll leave, but can we water our horses before we go?

No. I told you to git, so do it. She fired a round in the air to make her point. Y’all wheel your horses, or you’ll be spittin’ lead.

That shot was the unmistakable whine of a Winchester. Hold on, ma’am, if you would. I’d like to ask a question before we head out. You see, Ansel has something of mine, and I’d like it back. Maybe he told you of its whereabouts?

That makes us even. He took something from me, too. My youth and my dreams. Would I be living in this hovel if I had anything valuable?

Just then, Tyson’s man yelled out in the distance behind the woman. Drop the rifle, lady. Don’t turn around. Just lay it on the ground and back away. I got you dead to rights.

The woman wheeled and fired into the darkness. Her shot was met by one from Tyson’s wrangler which put her down. A dog’s growl was followed by a second shot and a yelp. As the woman lay moaning, she cried out. Damn you! You had no cause, no cause at all.

Tyson stepped his horse to where she lay with a hand to her side, the rifle a few feet away in the dirt. Just wanted to find somethin’ out, ma’am. Didn’t mean you no harm. Why don’t you tell me what I want to know now?

’Cause I don’t know anything. Haven’t had nothin’ to do with Ansel for years. You’ve likely seen him more recent than me. She looked at them with hate in her eyes, then spat Tyson’s direction. You’re the cowards that shot my son and his family, ain’t you? She groaned, then reached an arm out. Ohh…help me! Her head dropped slowly to the ground.

Just got your husband, too. Tyson called out to the shooter. Blane. Over here. The outlaw rode slowly from behind the house. Tyson leaned forward in his saddle. Why’d you shoot her? I was talkin’ to her—needed some information.

She fired first, Pete. It were her or me, and I didn’t want it to be me, so it weren’t. He said it with some hesitation but also with what sounded like a touch of pride.

Tyson drew his Colt and put a bullet through Blane’s forehead. The man dropped from the horse like a rag doll. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the still night air. He turned to his men and waved his gun. That’s for shootin’ the dog. Nobody shoots any animals less’n I say. Fire the house.

Skinner said, Ain’t we gonna bury him, Pete?

Tyson squinted the man’s direction. That’s the second time you asked that tonight. You don’t catch on quick, do you? I reckon I’m doin’ the wolves around here a good turn by leavin’ bodies right where they are, but I always did have a big heart. He chuckled, then eyed Skinner. Did you hear what I just said? Get over there. Burn the place. And the barn.

Soon, a blaze danced in the darkness while flames played over the woman’s face. She moaned. Oh please. Don’t leave me here to die!

Tyson wheeled his horse away, followed by the rest of his men. The crackling whoosh of a red-hot fire drowned out the woman’s whimpers as the gunmen stole away in the night.

Chapter Two

A year later, Spring 1872

Del Lawson scanned the gray afternoon New Mexico sky. Storm clouds hung in the air looking for a place to strike. He snugged his hat and winced as it tightened above his ear, then cinched his collar. He stroked his horse’s neck and surveyed the two-thousand-head herd. The wind was up. It wouldn’t take much to scatter these cattle to the hills. He only hoped there wouldn’t be hail. He motioned to the other rider at the rear of the herd, Kip Holloway. They joined and rode toward the front of the longhorns. Other drovers rode the flanks.

Del pulled up next to Stoney Goodwin, the trail drive’s foreman. He shouted, I figure there’s lightnin’ hidin’ in those clouds, Boss. Maybe we oughta shift more men to the front before it gets dark. Me and Kip can head up there if you want.

Kip was about his same age, early twenties, with about the same regard for the foreman as he had. Del met Kip when he joined the drive two weeks ago. First time he’d ever seen a black man in his life.

He thought back to how he came to be here and shook his head. Waking up with a hangover and finding he’d signed onto a cattle drive wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he started drinking in the Roswell saloon. But now, with a clear head, being here was starting to grow on him. He had nothing better to do, anyway. There wasn’t anyone to send money home to, so ten dollars a month would keep him in whiskey, if nothing else. He’d buried his hurt so deep it’d never find its way out. If he could just get Goodwin off his back, the drive would be almost tolerable. He glanced toward the chuck wagon for the boy. There he was.

The foreman pointed a finger at Del. Don’t ever tell me what to do, Lawson. You go where I tell you. He squinted. When the cows start to boltin’, you’re gonna be ridin’ point. Got it? Stoney Goodwin was not a man to cross.

Del nodded. That’s what he’d just said he wanted, anyway. Couldn’t figure the man. He leaned toward Kip and cupped a hand around his mouth. Let’s go rein the lead doggies in before the cracklers hit. The two riders kicked their mounts and dug toward the arrow point of the herd. Del leaned forward in the saddle as he neared the front. These cows were the fastest and most willful ones, which made the job more dangerous. All the better. A torrent of rain spilled from the sky.

Kip ran a hand over his short black beard and glanced at Del. Keep your eyes peeled. No tellin’ what these fool cattle will do once they start to fussin’. Don’t let ’em run up our backsides. And stay away from those horns.

Del nodded and tugged at his hat.

Kip said, What’d Goodwin say, anyway? Didn’t look like neither one of you was too happy. Speakin’ of happy, I ain’t too excited to be ridin’ point right before this storm hits.

Happy don’t much matter right now. Del pulled his gloves on. Looks like we’re gonna have our hands full in a minute. Just then, a muffled rumble rolled over the low piney hills that flanked them. A chill blast hit. Del spurred his mount. Here we go!

He kept his head low as the quartering wind struck full force from the west. A gust danced his hat high in the darkening air. Didn’t matter. A jagged bolt of white splintered the dark sky and raised the hair on his neck. He raised a ruckus in the rain and the mud, yelling at the longhorns. They bellowed back, eyes wide with alarm. Fine with him. He could let loose on the trail, shout his anguish, and no one would notice. No one here cared what he did, anyway. He fired his Colt into the wild sky with abandon, as alive as he’d felt in a long time. Maybe the wind would carry some of his grief away with it. Let the heavens open up, he’d ride right into the heart of the storm. Welcomed it.

Off to his right, Kip’s horse matched his, stride for stride, as they neared the front. The sky pulsed again. A solid sheet of gray backdropped by fleeting silver flashes pummeled the open range. A downpour that chilled to the bone. He’d never find his hat now. A biting cold knifed through his jacket and seized his soul. Del tried to tie his raggedy bandana around his head one-handed as he galloped, but he gave up and let the tempest have its way with him.

Before the cloudburst, the lead cows had already been milling uneasily. Now, lightning sent them hell-bent in an unreasoning rush ahead. Del grinned. Go ahead and run. Stampede your fool selves ragged. He was set on harassing them until they got tired of being harassed. He fired a couple more rounds into the clouds, the reports swallowed up in the bedlam. He kicked his horse into a sprint on a looping turn that would put him ahead of the point. All he had to do was screw up the courage to stay in front of the reckless mass and turn them. Not a problem—he didn’t much care if he came out of this in one piece or not. Kip met him partway and they joined ranks, sideways to the front of the herd now. The roar of two thousand Kay-J cattle hooves pounding the basin floor matched the crash of the roiling sky. The land became furious slop. Windmilling an arm, Del held his ground against the thunder and the trampling hooves. The cows began a wide curving turn while lightning crashed. The raging wind began to whip the storm eastward.

Del needed to impose his will on the unruly beasts. He veered toward the herd and kicked his horse directly at the lead cows, which angled away at the last minute. The turning was complete. He pulled up as the rest of the longhorns slanted away. They milled aimlessly, jostling against each other, hot breath steaming in the frigid air. He wiped the rain from his eyes and shook a fist to the skies. Damnation! Is that the best you got?

Kip trotted up as the cattle halted, still unsettled. Why on the Good Lord’s earth do you go ’round riskin’ your life like that? That was awful close, Del. He whacked his gloves against his saddle. Chargin’ those cows the way you did weren’t the smartest thing you’ve done today.

Del nodded. Seemed to work out. He stood in the stirrups and hollered at the retreating storm clouds. If we’re lucky, that storm’ll head back our way and we can whup it again! They ambled back to camp at a walk, horses snorting and panting. Del turned to his friend. Don’t expect Goodwin will be pattin’ us on the back or nothin’—just don’t let on how much we like bein’ point.

Kip shook his head. Not me—you. You like it. I don’t wake up in the mornin’ lookin’ forward to gettin’ trampled by a bunch of bad-tempered beeves.

Come on. You can’t tell me that wasn’t the best part of your day!

Kip smiled. I don’t know where that comes from in you. I swear I don’t. Stoney’s not gonna like you runnin’ his herd. You got Rodrigo, that young boy traipsin’ after you, to think about, too.

Del’s neck warmed. Deep down, Kip was right, but charging that cow pushed away the ache he carried for just a moment. A vision of his wife and child haunted him. Burying bodies he would never see again. He drove the memory back as he and Kip closed on the hundred-horse remuda.

Kip said, What’s that mangled bullet hangin’ off your neck for?

Del started to wrap his hand around it but stopped. He didn’t need to feel it to be reminded. He kicked his horse into a gallop, yanking to a stop just shy of the corral.

At the campfire, Goodwin sipped a steaming cup of coffee near orange embers. ’Bout time you boys got back. Didn’t know if you’d stopped to pick wildflowers for each other or what. He flung the dregs away, tossed his metal cup back to the cook, and glanced sideways at Del. From what I could tell, almost looked like you enjoyed yourself out there, Lawson.

Del shrugged. Was better’n gettin’ a tooth yanked, that’s about it. He wasn’t going to let Goodwin know he’d be up for anything like that he needed doing. Del still held the man a grudge for taking him on drunk. He walked toward the chuck wagon when someone called his name.

Lawson! How come you got a slug around your neck? You even know how to fire a gun? The words ended in a mocking laugh.

The cowhand’s name was Jake. Del didn’t know his last name, didn’t care to.

The man turned to the drovers around him. Let’s see if he can handle that gun. Right fine-looking weapon. Bet it’s just for show. He strode over, thumbs stuck in his waistband. Del turned to walk away. How about a shooting contest, Lawson? You and me. I’ll even let you pick out the targets. Give you a little advantage.

Del kept going.

Bet that gun’s never even been fired. The bigmouth followed right behind Del. You and me sometime. You and me. I’ll look forward to it.

Rodrigo stood next to Buck, the cook, helping him stir a large pot of steaming stew. Buck was talking the youth through holding the coffee pot, so it didn’t burn his hands. Del knew it wasn’t fair, but every time he looked at the boy, a vision of his murdered wife and son came to mind. Rodrigo was who the killer had been looking for. The boy had cost him his family. And for whatever reason, it seemed like the kid never took his eyes off Del.

Buck spoke up. Son, you keep takin’ chances like I seen you doin’ the last few days, and you’ll have just about used up whatever time you got left on God’s green earth. The cook’s voice rose at the end of every sentence, which made everything he said sound like a question. And your boy here is a natural-born cook.

Del wanted to say he wasn’t his boy but held his tongue. Del couldn’t tell how old the cook was. His bushy gray beard added years as did his round frame. Either the man had a hard life and was younger than he looked, or he had the misfortune to look his age. Del bet on the former.

The cook slopped runny potato stew on Del’s plate and leaned toward him the way a friend would to tell a secret. Don’t look like you made a buddy out of Goodwin yet, neither. I’d back off from him some if I was you. Stay away, I would.

Ain’t nothin’ about him I can’t tear myself away from, Buck, so don’t you be frettin’ about me. He scanned the plate. You usin’ carrots now, or are those potatoes so old they’re orange? But gimme some extra, huh? A second helping might wash away the bad taste from the first.

A hint of a smile appeared around the corners of the cook’s eyes. He shook his head. Nothin’ doin’, cowpoke. Try polishin’ off what you got on your plate first, then we’ll see. He turned to the next drover with a slight shake