Lee Garrett Bounty Hunter

Lee Garrett

Bounty Hunter

Author

Will Welton

Smashwords Edition

Copyrights 2010

Copyrights on all Welton Novels wrote by

Will Welton are held by

Crystal Welton-Betts

Copyright at the Library of Congress

1998

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either is products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental unless other wise noted.

Introduction

Bounty Hunters

Bounty hunters have existed since the days of the old west, right up to the present day. Then a bounty was placed on someone whom had committed a crime and had eluded the justice system. The same job, same rules as law enforcement, a fee was paid to bring the person back for the law.

The bounty hunter is not a sworn officer or even deputized in law enforcement. They are citizens doing a job for the justice system for a fee.

In Taylor v. Taintor (1873), the Supreme Court set broad parameters for bounty hunters. When bail is given, the principle is regarded as delivered to the custody of the bail bonds as a continuance of imprisonment

The towns and places named in these books are all real. As the Indian Territory came closer to becoming the State of Oklahoma, a lot of the town names changed or simply no longer existed. Towns such as America, Moon, Ida (Battiest), Dookesville, Punkabua (Broken Bow), Bismarck (Wright City), Chance, and Scullyville (Bartlesville), wouldn’t make it after the Indian Territory was awarded statehood, some became ghost towns, or just places with some reminisce of where they was.

This novel in no way reflects on the living or dead when using names. Even if the names might refer to some of your kinfolks or mine because this novel is fiction in most ways.

Towns and places named in Welton Novels were all there at one time. Now they might have the names changed or only be the remembrance of some of the old folks like me. A lot of the towns are underwater, some towns moved to the lakes shore, from the numerous lakes the Corps of Engineers has created.

This novel and others that follow of stories told from over fifty years ago. One of the men who told some of the stories fought under the only Indian General, Stan Waite of the Cherokee in the Civil War between the States. Other members of the family have delivered food and supplies to Robbers Cave in Oklahoma, as late as 1915 until the Officers of the Law knew about the cave. In addition, they delivered to other places near the cave until the 1930s to what people of the time called the modern day outlaws.

Chapter One

The horse tied to the hitching rail in front of the house whinnied softly and shifted its feet, and Garrett snapped awake. He had been dreaming of the battle at Lawrence again, and there was a moment of disorientation as his mind transitioned from the wrenching terror of the dream to the quietness of the house. Then memory returned. The pale, bleached light of the setting moon was coming through the open window, bathing the room with a ghostly, almost luminescent glow.

The old woman was still asleep, her grey hair scattered on the pillow and her thin, wrinkled fingers clutching the edge of the tattered homemade quilt. He eased himself out of the rickety chair and crept toward the door on tiptoes to keep his spurs from dragging against the floor.

He lifted the bedroom door on its leather hinges to keep it from scraping against the floor and pulled it closed behind him and walked quietly across the front room to the door. It was open to let the night breeze sweep through the house, and the moon shone through it and made a square of bright light on the rough, heavy wooden planks on the door. The horse had his ears cocked and was looking to his left. Garrett walked into the doorway, his left hand brushing against the grip of the long, heavy pistol in the cutaway holster hanging against his left thigh and his eyes searching the clearing in front of the house.

A dark shadow moved at the edge of the dried sagebrush, and Garrett’s eyes moved toward it, identifying it. It was a coyote, drawn by the scent of the raw flesh and blood of the skinned rabbit hanging under the eaves by the front door. Garrett stepped outside, and the horse turned his head and looked at him. His spurs clinked faintly against the threshold. The coyote uttered a short, faint bark, and the sagebrush rustled as he raced away.

Jarhead moved his feet and bobbed his head, and Garrett put his hand on the horse’s muzzle, patting it. The horse made a soft sound in his throat, nuzzling against Garrett, and Garrett scratched his ears, looking at him. He was thin and rangy, and he needed grain and a few days of rest in a comfortable stall. Garrett sighed and patted the horse’s shoulder, and turned away and walked across the dry, stony yard.

The tiny, two-room house was made of stones and sod, with a roof of pieces of slate lay over mesquite poles. It was on a low rise, out of the danger of flash floods from torrential rains of the summer but exposed to the frigid blast of the north winds of the winter. Most of the corral was gone, and there was a rusty axe on the ground by a couple of rails from the corral, indicating that the old woman had been cutting it up for firewood.

The small barn and the tiny tack shed had collapsed. The area immediately around the small complex of buildings was devoid of vegetation, not even a weed growing in the flinty ground, and beyond the open space, there was the brown, summer-dried sagebrush and gnarled, stunted mesquite.

He sat down on a large stone and took out his tobacco an papers. There wasn’t much in the pouch, and he turned his back to the breeze to shelter the paper as he shook a few grains of tobacco onto it. He rolled the cigarette and lit it, and put the tobacco and papers back in his shirt pocket. The moon had set and the shadows around the house were darker in the feeble light from the stars.

The breeze freshened, becoming chilly. Garrett finished his cigarette, ground it out under his heel, and walked over and picked up the axe. He cut slivers and a few large pieces of wood from one of the rails, gathered them up, and took them into the house to kindle a fire in the fireplace in the front room. The wood was well seasoned, and it burned rapidly, snapping an popping as it filled the room with a flickering, reddish light.

He crossed the room to the bedroom door, quietly opened it, an looked inside. The dim light of the fire filled the bedroom wit dark, wavering shadows. The old woman was still sleeping. He quietly closed the door, went back outside, and took a couple rawhide thongs out of a bag on the saddle by the front door. The horse nudged him impatiently as he bent down in front of him to hobble his front feet. He smiled and patted the horse’s muzzle standing up and pulled the bridle off. Jarhead shook his head and kicked his rear feet friskily as he turned away from the hitch rail and the horse ambled over to the edge of the foliage and begin nosing in the sagebrush, searching for tender shoots.

Garrett went back into the house and took the iron pot off the hook in the fireplace, and brought it outside and dipped water into from the olla hanging from a rafter in front of the house. He set the pot down by the door, took the rabbit down from the rafter and taking his pocketknife out cutting the rabbit into chunks dropping them into the water. The rabbit was skinny from lack of food and water and from its constant flight to avoid the predators, which scoured the barren, hostile land in search of food. Wiping his knife on his trousers, put it away, and picked up the pot and carried it back in.

There were a few small bunches of wild onions, a string of peppers, and a few dried stalks of young poke shoots hanging from the rafters under the slate roof. He pulled down an assortment of them and tossed them into the pot, searched among the bottles and boxes on the rough shelf over the table and found a bag of salt, and salted the water and put the pot back on the hook over the fire.

The sky was brightening in the east and there was a hint of thunderheads along the edge of the mountains on the horizon, and the stars were beginning to fade. He opened the bedroom door to catch the last of the breeze and keep the cabin cool for as long as possible, then sat down in the homemade chair again and folded his arms. The old woman was still sleeping. The sound of her breathing was a soft, rasping noise, which rose and fell. Garrett made himself comfortable in the chair, stretching out his legs and pulling his coat around himself, and then he dozed off. He immediately began dreaming, his mind reliving the thunder of gunfire, the shrieks of injured horses, and the screamers of wounded and dying men. His features and his fingers twitched as he slept.

The old woman moved, making the wooden bed frame squeak. Garrett’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and searching and his hand moving toward the pistol. Then his memory returned. He sat up in the chair, lifting his hat and pushing his hair under it. I thought I had dreamt you come back, Lee boy, the old woman murmured in a dry, cracked voice. I woke up last night and was here by myself, and thought I dreamed you were back.

I’m back, Ma. How are you feeling?

She sighed softly, pushing her hair back from her face with a thin, feeble hand. I’ve been better, Lee, but I’ll do. I’ll get up from here directly and fix you something to eat."

You’ll lay there and eat what’s fixed for you, Ma. There’s a rabbit cooking, and it’ll be ready to eat in a little while. Would you like a drink?

Yes, would, Lee boy.

He nodded, rising from the chair, and went into the front room. The sun was rising over the mountains on the horizon, and the sky was clear, promising another blistering, sweltering day.

He picked up a battered enamel basin from the table, took a dingy rag from a peg and dropped it into the basin, and went out to the olla. The water in the olla had been there a long time, and If it was cloudy and had a slightly sour odor. He dipped water into the basin, filled the dipper again, and took the basin and dipper back into the house. She had pushed herself up and leaning against the sod and stonewalls, behind the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and held the dipper to her lips, then held the basin while she dabbled her hands in the water and sponged her face with the damp rag.

She smiled gratefully, and he smiled and kept his eyes away from hers so she couldn’t see what he was thinking. When he had left, she’d been a tough, leathery woman of indeterminate age, hard and resilient as weathered mesquite. Now she was old and she had the sour, bitter smell of age about her. In addition, she had the withered, pallid look of death, a look he knew well.

I wasn’t fit to talk to you when you got here last night, was I Lee, I don’t hardly remember it. You fixed some thing to eat, but now’ don’t hardly remember.

You’re sick, Ma, he said, standing and picking up the basin and dipper. He walked to the window, tossed the dregs out of the dipper, and emptied the basin. The parched ground soaked up the water almost immediately. A few days of rest and having something to eat, and you’ll be all right. How long has Pa been dead?

It’s been two months or longer, Lee. 

You’ve been out here by yourself all that time?

I walked to town to tell the sheriff about it. I started out on the day after it happened, and it took me three days to get there and back. I’ve been here by myself since then. I meant to go get me a few supplies a while back, but started feeling bad.

You should have stayed in town, Ma.

This is my place here, son. It’s the place, your pa and I worked for all our life and I will not walk off from it. Anyway, what would I do in town?

What about Pa’s brother over in Franklin County.

He probably has enough family to worry with.

He looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded silently and went back into the other room. The fire was burning down, and he put a couple more pieces of wood on it, put the basin back on the table, the rag on the peg, and went out to the olla to replace the dipper. His mouth felt dry, but his distaste for the smell of the water was greater than his thirst. He went back in and put a couple more pieces of wood on the fire, then went back into the bedroom.

I can smell that rabbit cooking, Lee.

It should be ready before long, Ma. I will get us a couple more today, and when you’re feeling better I’ll ride into town and get some flour, bacon and beans and things. She looked at him with a fond smile as he sat back down.

You’re a good boy, Lee. The good Lord didn’t see fit for me to have a child from my own body, but you’ve more than made up for it. The day we took you in was one of the best days of my life, and it’s good to have you back here again, son.

It’s good to be back, Ma. Tell me what happened to Pa.

Her smile faded, and she looked down at the threadbare quilt, picking at a loose thread. It was two men, Lee. Two men come, and they wanted the horses. One of them was Deerdon, and the other one was Ashburn. Your pa knew who they were, because he called them by name to me when they rode up. One of them had a horse that was wind broke, and the other one’s horse had gone lame. They wanted your pa’s horses, and they just wanted to take them instead of paying for them. Your pa fought them. They shot him down right out there in front of the house. They took the horses, and your pa’s life, too.

The thin, hoarse whisper faded into silence. There was sorrow on her face, but it wasn’t the raw, fresh sorrow of the loss of a loved one. It was the grim, resigned sorrow brought on by one more blow in a life of misfortune. He looked down at the floor, scratching absently at the long, thin whiskers on his cheek. Deerdon and Ashburn were the names your pa called them before he died. I told the names to the sheriff.

What did the sheriff say?

He said this man Deerdon was wanted by the laws over in New Mexico Territory. He didn’t know of the other one.

What did he say he was going to do about it?

He said he’d be on the lookout for them. Garrett nodded, his face settling into hard, tight lines, and he looked out the window.

Maybe he’ll want some help, he said quietly.

The old woman sighed wearily, shaking her head. Lee, Lee. They killed your pa over two horses, and maybe that didn’t make sense. Maybe it didn’t, because two horses aren’t worth a man’s life. Nevertheless, if the two horses are all he had, then maybe there’s another way of looking at it. Moreover, those two horses were about all he had, so to him maybe it made sense to fight for them. However, you don’t have your pa to fight over, son. There’s no sense at all in getting killed over your pa.

I’m not pa, he said quietly. It’s not likely I’ll be killed. If you found those men, it wouldn’t be fighting them over Pa. I’d be fighting them over killing him. She looked at him in silence for a moment, and then slowly nodded.

Yes, somebody might be trying to saddle a mustang if he wanted to kill you. You’ve changed, ain’t you, Lee? 

He sighed and looked back at the window. Everyone changes, Ma.

You’re wearing a gun now.

I’ve been where they wear guns.

Yes, she murmured sadly, looking down at the quilt and picking at it again. They have guns in the Army, don’t they? Moreover, they kill people. I didn’t favor you going any more than your pa did, but there was little enough we could do about it. However, maybe it turned for the best. You’re more of a man now than you was when you left, even though you look too old for your years now, son. You’re a little over twenty years old now, but your eyes look forty years or better.

I shouldn’t have gone. If I hadn’t, all this wouldn’t have happened.

Or it might have been worse. There might be two graves out there instead of one. So don’t blame yourself, Lee boy. You did what you had to do, and that’s the end of it. That’s your Army britches and coat you have on there, ain’t they.

He nodded, looking down at the cavalry uniform trousers. I haven’t got around to getting any other ones yet.

Has anybody offered to give you any misery because you’re a Johnny Rebel? 

He smiled and shook his head. No. 

Where did they send you, son? 

His smile faded, and he turned his head and looked at the window again. He was silent for a long moment, and then he rose from the chair. I was with a man named Captain Star, Ma, and we went to a lot of places, he said, walking to the door. I’ll take a look at that rabbit.

The pot was boiling furiously, the onions, poke, and pieces of rabbit swirling around in it, and over half the water had boiled away. He fished out a piece of rabbit with his pocketknife and tested it, then dropped it back into the pot and went out to the olla for another dipper of water. It was already getting warm, and the front room was warmer from the fire. He poured the water into the pot, put a couple more pieces of wood on the fire, and took off his coat and put it on the table, hung the dipper on a peg over the table, and went back into the bedroom. It looks like that rabbit was a grandpa, Ma. We might have to boil him all day to be able to slice the soup. She smiled and nodded, and he sat down in the chair again.

Her eyes moved over him as he looked out the window, and her smile faded into a sad, thoughtful expression. You aim to go?

I’m going to stay here and take care of you, Ma. You’ve been too long without a man here, and there’s a lot to do. 

I don’t think this will be a job that will keep you long, son.

You’ll be all right, Ma. Some rest and some good food for a change, and you’ll be all right. 

She shrugged, dismissing the subject. Do you have any money, Lee?

I have a little over twelve dollars. That’s enough to get us some supplies.

She nodded, not listening to him, and lifted one of her thin, wrinkled hands and pointed toward the other side of the room with a shaking finger. Go over there and pull out that rock by the side of the table. That side, over that way. That little rock right beside it.

He got up from the chair and went to the table, and pulled the rock she indicated out of the sod around it. There was a tobacco bag