Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Caleb's Price
    Caleb's Price
    Caleb's Price
    Ebook234 pages4 hours

    Caleb's Price

    By Troy D. Smith

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Cattle vs. Sheep...
    Grazers vs. Squatters...
    Life vs. Death...

    Joey, a nine-year-old orphan, leads a lonely existence. His uncle and aunt have an impending range war on their hands and don't take much notice of him. Then a mysterious stranger named Caleb enters his life.

    Caleb, a gunman who is in turn tender and brutal, has a deadly secret.. Will he save the downtrodden settlers, or destroy them? Joey's life will never be the same. And what will the price be to Caleb?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWestern Trail Blazer
    Release dateFeb 2, 2011
    ISBN9781458165589
    Caleb's Price
    Author

    Troy D. Smith

    Born in the Upper Cumberland region of Tennessee, Mr. Smith has loved books even before he could read them. In 1995 his first short story was accepted by Louis L'Amour Western Magazine, and he has been published in magazines since then on a fairly regular basis. Author of numerous award winning short stories and novels, Troy is currently a Doctoral candidate in the History Department at the University of Illinois. He says, "I don't write about things that happen to people—I write about people that things happen to."

    Read more from Troy D. Smith

    Related to Caleb's Price

    Related ebooks

    Action & Adventure Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The 'Peculiar Institution' Is No Artifact Of The Dead Past

      Aug 18, 2019

      Perhaps you've heard of white fragility. The term was popularized by sociologist Robin DiAngelo in her 2018 book of the same name that seeks to explain why white people often find it so hard to discuss race, why the subject frequently makes them angr

      2 min read

    • Article

      The Kid An ‘Outlaw’?

      Aug 9, 2022

      Your informative magazine has lots of stories about incidents that are not well known, but boy, oh boy, you got it wrong with your December 2021 cover that calls Jesse James and Billy the Kid Iconic Outlaws. As far as Billy is concerned, that’s 180 d

      4 min read

    • Article

      Class Is In With ‘Cowboy Mike’

      Jan 22, 2019

      Beneath his black hat and behind his boisterous laugh beats the heart of a diligent historian. Michael N. “Cowboy Mike” Searles spent a career as a teacher, engaging students from elementary school through college age before retiring as a professor e

      3 min read

    • Article

      Reconciling America’s Original Sin: The Millions Interviews Deanne Stillman

      Nov 7, 2017

      I think it’s kind of a universal situation—that sooner or later we often find ourselves accepted for being one thing, but in our hearts we’re something else. The post Reconciling America’s Original Sin: The Millions Interviews Deanne Stillman a

      8 min read

    • Article

      Letter From The Founder

      Feb 11, 2021

      Letter From The Founder
      5 min read

    • Article

      My Queer Southern Lit

      Nov 28, 2018

      My Queer Southern Lit
      6 min read

    • Article

      BILLY & JESSE

      Oct 26, 2021

      BILLY & JESSE
      8 min read

    • Article

      The Unexpected Cowboy

      May 1, 2022

      The Unexpected Cowboy
      7 min read

    • Article

      Nora And The Jews

      Apr 20, 2023

      Nora Ephron was Jewish but glamorous. Jewish and glamorous. Glamorous, in part, because she was Jewish. The post Nora and the Jews appeared first on The Millions.

      18 min read

    • Article

      THE PLOT thickens...

      Oct 11, 2020

      THE PLOT thickens...
      3 min read

    • Article

      No Country

      Nov 11, 2019

      No Country
      10 min read

    • Article

      MICHAEL BARBER On The Legacy Of The Angry Young Men

      Apr 5, 2023

      Over the past few years diversity in publishing has become a hotly debated topic, the complaint being that the industry is still ‘hideously’ white, middle-class and predominately heterosexual. In the early Fifties people didn't talk about diversity a

      3 min read

    • Article

      Rock Springs Riot Revisited

      Sep 1, 2023

      Rock Springs Riot Revisited
      4 min read

    • Article

      The Real Elfego Baca

      Mar 28, 2023

      The Real Elfego Baca
      2 min read

    • Article

      Great Read

      Nov 3, 2021

      Great Read
      5 min read

    • Article

      First Lady Of Blues

      Feb 15, 2021

      First Lady Of Blues
      4 min read

    • Article

      Cup Of Tea

      Dec 28, 2016

      What inspired you to write a novel set in World War II? I really made this decision before even writing my first novel Gallipoli Street which is set during World War I. It was an early goal of mine to write a trilogy of war stories in order to encaps

      5 min read

    • Article

      Get Lucky

      Aug 28, 2022

      Get Lucky
      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Caleb's Price

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Caleb's Price - Troy D. Smith

      Caleb's Price

      by

      Troy D. Smith

      Smashwords Edition

      Caleb's Price

      ISBN: 978-1-4581-6558-9

      Presented by Western Trail Blazer

      Copyright © 2011 by Troy D. Smith

      Cover Art Copyright © 2011 by Jessica Pierson

      Produced by Rebecca J.Vickery

      Design Consultant - Laura Shinn

      (Caleb's Price previously appeared in 2001 from Writer's Club Press)

      Other works by this author:

      The Windigo

      The People in Yonder

      Brothers in Arms

      The Blackwell Claim

      Blackwell’s Stand

      Riding to Sundown

      The Divided Prey

      The Galvanized Yankees of Company D

      Smashwords License Notes

      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 ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and 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.

      Caleb's Price is a work of fiction.

      Though some actual towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters or names used within to any

      person past, present, or future are coincidental.

      Dedication

      For Finn – Daddy loves you.

      "Smith uses humor and extraordinary characterization [in Caleb’s Price]… A wonderful book with wonderful characters."

      – Doris R. Meredith, Roundup Magazine, December 2001.

      Caleb's Price

      Chapter One

      I was only nine years old when Caleb York rode into town. Of course, I didn't know he was Caleb York at the time; neither did anyone else, for that matter. It was not at all unusual, in 1875 Kansas, to see all manner of strangers passing through the various towns and settlements, so no one really noticed one more here and there.

      This was even the case in a rickety little place like Waynetown, in the Flint Hills. This particular town was named after the late Thomas Wayne, the man who founded it, opened the first business, got elected mayor, and then got murdered by a jealous husband. All this happened within the space of three weeks. It turned out his murder was somewhat unwarranted, though. The woman had entered his shop merely to buy a sack of flour. The husband, unfortunately for Wayne, was an impulsive fellow.

      So it was that this stranger was paid no heed as he entered Waynetown. By no one except me, of course, for I was in the path of his approaching horse. He was traveling at no more than a fast trot, but a horse at any speed can be intimidating to a nine-year-old. I scurried to get out of the way and found myself falling into one of the town's many mud holes.

      As the stranger rode past, he nodded in my direction and said, Don't get too wet, son.

      That was how I first met Caleb York.

      Maybe you've heard of Caleb York, and maybe you haven't. Caleb was notorious in his time, but history has largely ignored him. Where the Old West is concerned, it seems that the truly dangerous gunmen have escaped notice, while a few amateurs who hit a lucky streak here and there have become popular heroes. People have taken what little those fellows did, tacked on a bit here and sewn some on there, and today they're legends.

      In the summer of 1875 everybody in Waynetown knew about Caleb York and the men like him. They didn't know what he looked like, but they were fairly certain he wasn't pretty. They knew that what he did wasn't pretty, especially in light of their own recent troubles.

      You see, Caleb York was a hired killer. He worked for the highest bidder. In the cattle wars the highest bidders were the rich ranchers trying to keep their empires in the face of the ever-advancing small settlers. From Texas to Colorado to Nebraska, Caleb York left a trail of small ranchers lying dead behind him.

      If the folks around Waynetown had known the identity of that silent stranger they would have been quite disturbed. The majority of them were small settlers. They were recent arrivals in the valley, but they dug in with the intention of staying a good long while, despite the hardship.

      Hardship came in the form of Ike Majors, the local cattle baron. He had been running his herds through the valley for some time, and wasn't planning to change his habits to accommodate his new neighbors. He had, after all, single-handedly stolen the entire region from the Indians, so he felt justified in preventing anyone else from doing the same to him.

      In addition to being unreasonable, Ike Majors also possessed a violent temper. He was the irate husband who murdered our unfortunate town father. He murdered an additional four citizens before he discovered that the lady who'd been seen consorting with them had not been his wife at all. His wife had been out of town visiting relatives, a fact he'd forgotten in the heat of passion.

      If the townspeople thought Majors was jealous in regard to his wife—and even women who resembled his wife—they didn't yet know the half of it. The sad truth being, he was much more jealous and protective of his land.

      When the settlers refused to cooperate with him—his idea of cooperation being for them to settle in Colorado instead—Ike lost his temper. He hired several local toughs to intimidate the troublesome newcomers. The opposition served only to harden their resolve. He then informed the settlers, 'they would go either to Colorado or to hell, but they would not remain in his valley'.

      That was when Caleb York rode into town.

      Of course, as previously noted, no one recognized him as Caleb York. But that was not the strange part, not by a long shot. The strange part was that Ike Majors was one of the few people in the West unfamiliar with York's reputation. He had never heard of the man, much less sent for him. He was as surprised as the settlers when York's identity was revealed.

      Naturally, Caleb was not just passing through. He had a definite purpose in coming to Waynetown, as we would all learn later. History may have forgotten him, but our little town never did.

      Of all the West's desperate gunmen, Caleb York was probably the most desperate. I was grown before I realized that. I don't know if Caleb ever figured it out at all.

      His story was a strange one. It was a lot more interesting than any of the fiction they produce for the cinema nowadays. It's the story of a gentle killer who changed a young boy's life forever.

      The young boy in question, of course, was me: Joseph P. Cutter. Seventy years ago I was known as Joey, and at the time I lived with my Aunt Sally and Uncle Burt. They had no children of their own so it was no great burden for them to take me in when my mother had decided to go away a few years earlier.

      I wondered then where she went away to, and why. I often voiced these concerns to my guardians. I could never get a straight story from them. I eventually figured out, on my own, that she had died. Aunt Sally, my mother's sister, believed nine years old was too young to be told about death, and so withheld that crucial information from me. It was only after my brief association with Caleb York that I came to know there was such a thing as death, and just what it meant. I was able to observe the process firsthand. And how can you really know life without knowing death?

      At least, that's what Caleb used to say.

      My Aunt Sally, like my mother, was quite a looker. Of course, in Waynetown, a well-groomed horse might be considered a looker. Aunt Sally, though, could have merited that description in even the finest cities, just as my mother could have.

      In fact, to my young eyes, she and mother were practically identical. The only discernible difference was that Aunt Sally didn't smile or laugh half so much as her younger sister had.

      There was another difference, a major one, which I was not aware of at the time. This was the fact that Aunt Sally was considered respectable. My mother, in contrast, was not. I once overheard some ladies saying that Sara Cutter was a kept woman. I did not say anything, having learned at a young age that if I was seen and not heard, I was far less likely to get hit. But inside, I couldn't help bitterly disagreeing with that description of my mother. After all, I had certainly not kept her for very long.

      So, in social standing as well as in temperament, Aunt Sally was my mother's polar opposite. She seemed to possess a great sadness, even before my mother left. I was constantly trying to figure out what the solemn occasion was.

      If there was a solemn occasion, Uncle Burt seemed unaware of it. He loved to laugh. He indulged himself at every opportunity. He enjoyed playing cards with the boys, playing checkers with me (letting me win once in a great while), and singing behind the plow.

      One thing he did not laugh about was Ike Majors and his men. Irish-born Burt fought for the Union during the War. He was forever pointing that out, as if anyone could have forgotten. He always concluded his tirade by saying, I believe in America, and the American way is freedom! I ain't going to let nobody push me around, nossir! Since he was the most outspoken in his opposition to Majors, the other settlers made him their unofficial spokesman. I believe Ike Majors hated Uncle Burt more than he hated all the others combined.

      Ike's sons were a little harder to figure out. He had three originally, but the oldest one got his brains dashed out by some Kiowa several years earlier. This was longer ago than I could remember, as they say, I was barely more than an infant at the time.

      They also claimed he was a fairly nice fellow. That could be because the other Majors' crimes were fresh in mind whereas his had faded with time. I can't really say, never having met the man.

      If that was really a true picture of his character, he must have inherited the entire family's supply of scruples in one lump sum, because his living brothers were every bit as hard as their father. And they were not nearly as single-minded as he was concerning land, so whether their actions were motivated by loyalty, greed, or just plain meanness was hard to tell.

      The only member of the clan who was not dangerous was Mathilda, Ike's young and dull-minded second wife. She was even more of a looker than Aunt Sally, but I was always of the opinion that Ike occasionally rode horses more clever than his spouse. Although she was not personally dangerous, her presence—or that of someone resembling her—could be. Our late mayor could have attested to that.

      The final member of the family was the most interesting of all. This was Ruby, widow of the oldest brother, Joe. She had a will at least equal to that of her father-in-law, and many people claimed she actually ran the clan and Ike was only under the misconception that he did.

      Whatever her actual role in the family, there was one thing I knew for a fact; she didn't like me. In fact, she seemed to loathe me. I found this to be a unique experience. Everyone else just sort of ignored me, including most of the animals. And yet, here was someone who took enough of an interest in me to dislike me. I had no idea what actions of mine made me merit such attention. Had I known, I would have done it more often in hopes of making other important people dislike me. Perhaps if I could get under the skins of enough of them, it would make me important too. Ike Majors had certainly gone a long way by applying the same principle.

      On that particular spring day, I received a different type of attention, and this from a stranger.

      Don't get too wet, son, he had told me.

      This was a friendly joke and a hint of genuine concern, all rolled into one. I was dumbstruck. Such attention was rare, indeed. Oh, I got it from Uncle Burt as well, true. But he was every bit as jubilant with pigs and cow chips, so I never took it personally.

      This stranger was different somehow. I ran along the street behind him, trying to think of a way to further attract his attention. Without getting in the path of his horse, that is, or falling in the mud.

      I followed him to the end of the street and watched him tether his horse outside the Mangy Dog saloon.

      Howdy, I called out.

      He looked up at me from the hitching post. Howdy yourself, Chief.

      A very tall man, lean and muscular, his face was tanned deeply. There were little lines around his eyes which danced when he smiled. His hair was a rich reddish-brown, and he wore a neatly-trimmed beard to match.

      I ain't no chief, I said.

      The stranger shrugged. Everybody's a chief every once in awhile. You looked like you was bein' a chief today.

      Oh. I reckon I am, then.

      I thought so, he said as he brushed the dust from his trousers. Most chiefs I've ever known don't get so muddy, though.

      I was scared of your horse, I said sheepishly.

      This old boy? he said, scratching the nag's nose. He couldn't hurt nothin'. Why, he ain't even a big horse.

      Looks pretty big when you're in under him.

      He smiled. It was a pleasant smile, but a little stiff. It gave you the feeling he had given a lot of smiles in his time, but had fallen out of practice.

      You've got a point there, he said.

      What's your name? I asked him.

      Caleb.

      Just plain Caleb? Nothin' else?

      Nope. Just plain Caleb.

      That's a awful funny name, I said.

      What's so awful funny about it?

      I don't know, I said. I just ain't never heard nothin' like it, that's all.

      Well, Caleb said, straightening the brim of his hat. It's the only name I've got. I reckon I'm stuck with it.

      It sounds like a dog's name.

      He looked at me kind of funny, the way a man nowadays would look at a 'possum stupid enough to stand in the middle of the road, just before he ran over it.

      What's your name, anyway? he finally asked.

      Joey.

      Just plain Joey?

      Yeah—I mean, no. Joey Cutter.

      Well, Joey Cutter, I'm fixin' to walk into this here saloon and wet my whistle. If anybody in there tells me I've got a name like a dog, at least I'll know he's drunk.

      He walked to the door of saloon and called back to me, Do me a favor, Chief, and watch my horse. It worries me that he has to drink water out of that old trough—looks like it came direct from a sluice mine. Come in and give a holler if he drops over dead." Caleb went into the saloon.

      I thought about it for a moment—I wasn't thinking, really, but only making a show because I know people are impressed by very thoughtful youngsters—then I went through the double doors after him.

      I'd never been in a saloon before, and didn't know what to expect, but I tried to appear perfectly at ease and in control of the situation. The room was very dark due to having no windows. There were half-a-dozen men present, in various stages of relaxation. A couple of them were relaxed enough to appear dead at first glance. Only their snoring gave proof they were still on this mortal coil.

      My young nose was assaulted by a wave of different smells that nothing in my previous upbringing could have prepared me for. I resolved to learn more about this place when time allowed, but at present I had found the object of my quest.

      He was at the far end of the room, sitting at the bar. I sidled up to him as casually as a nine-year-old can.

      See here! roared Big John, the bartender. You're too young to be in here! Go on, git!

      Aw, let the kid stay for a few minutes, Caleb told the big man. He won't hurt nothin'. Do you have somethin' the little fella can drink? Sasparilla, or ginger beer, or somethin'?

      Yeah, Big John admitted after a slight hesitation. But as soon as he finishes it, out he goes.

      Caleb pushed a stool at me with the toe of his boot. Climb on up here, pard, he said. I hate to drink alone.

      I climbed up, with some difficulty, and took the opened bottle I was offered. I could tell by the bartender's scowl he didn't like me. That meant I was already going places, just like Mister Majors.

      "Tell me, Just Plain Joey Cutter, Caleb said. Shouldn't you be in school or somethin'?"

      It's summer.

      Why, so it is. Tell me somethin' else—do your folks mind you comin' in saloons this way?

      Don't know. Ain't never come in one before.

      Caleb leaned closer. What made you decide to come in one today?

      I reflected a moment. That certainly was a good question, no denying it. I wasn't sure I knew the answer myself. I decided to invent one.

      "I wanted to act

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1