Lassoing Echos

LASSOING ECHOS

by

Vivian Allison

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Vivian Allison on Smashwords

Lassoing Echos:

Copyright 2009 by Vivian Allison

Smashwords Edition 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 book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to http://www.Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

PART II

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THIS BOOK

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LASSOING ECHOS

CHAPTER I

Everyone stood silently by the grave trying to listen to what the preacher said. The words were nice but meant nothing and didn’t deaden the loneliness that had wrapped around Zach’s heart. The morning sun burned hot on Zach and his Mom’s friends. Sweat ran from under the brim of his hat like a river with a broken dam. The fool who decided that people should wear black to funerals had never been to the Texas hill country on an early summer morning.

He thought for a minute about his two sisters. They had gone off to other states with their husbands, where, he didn’t know exactly, so he was his only family now.

The old four room house they lived in wasn’t much of a place but it was where he grew up and now there were only memories left. His only hope to survive was that Wagner would keep him on until he could figure out a direction for his life. He wiped the sweat from his brow and surveyed the small crowd that seemed to be wilting. He was thankful his Ma had passed quietly in her sleep. The doctor said there was no pain, she just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. He had said earlier that there wasn’t anything anybody could do and it was just a matter of time ‘til she’d quit breathing and would die. Despite his best efforts not to get all emotional, a bit of a sob welled up and broke through. But he needn’t have worried about crying no one could tell the difference between the sweat and tears that soaked his shirt.

Boss Wagner stood off to one side, his eyes diverted, looking off into the hills. Everyone knew he and Ma had been closer than he let on and today he looked very uncomfortable. Boss was good with horses and cattle but not people—much less burying them.

The preacher droned on and on. Zach shook his head and began thinking again about Wagner. He was a cheap old buzzard with unpredictable moods. Like a sudden storm, his eyes would flash lightning and he’d thunder foul language at the drop of a hat. The last time he yelled at his mom, Zach wanted to hit him, but like always she stopped him. With her gone now he figured Wagner would be looking for a reason to push him out of the way.

His thoughts jumped back to several months earlier when Boss had last gotten his hackles up, saying something ‘bout him not being his to raise.’ Once again his Ma stepped in. Hold that temper son we’ve got no where else to go, she whispered.

But Mama, he shouldn’t talk that way.

There was defeat written on her face, but there was irony in her voice, Men like Boss Wagner run the world, son. There’s some a lot worse than him and some better. One day you’ll be one of the better ones. She ended her utterance with a cough.

Zach was thankful he was able to do about any kind of ranch work. His Pa had taught him how to fix most anything that needed fixing before a bronc rolled over him, leaving him and his Ma to deal with life alone. It was ironic that they had moved west after mining coal for Pa’s lungs to clear and then have a bronc end it all. Now the same filth they had run from took his Ma.

His thoughts returned to Boss Wagner. There was a part of Zach that blamed the old coot for his Pa being dead. It was known in five counties that his Pa was very good at breaking the horses Wagner brought to him. Wagner must have thought he’d pulled a right good joke when he gave him the horse that killed his Pa.

Zach looked over the preacher’s shoulder and a grin cracked his parched lips. In the end the joke was on Wagner. Jughead was standing there all full of pride—not for the deadly accident or his name but as the best cutting horse in Edwards County.

No horse in five counties had beaten him in competition since Zach finished breaking him to the saddle. Cutting and racing seemed to come natural to him. In the end the extra money he and Jughead won bought his Ma some things to make those last days the best they could be.

Zach cringed as a heavy hand fell across his shoulders. Even though he was only fifteen and being nearly six feet tall, not many dared walk up behind him and do such a thing. No one around these parts was man enough and so that left only a fool.

Zach, Wagner offered. You need to let it go. No need in her suffering anymore. Besides, it was getting to the point she couldn’t take care of herself much less do a good job cleaning for Zell.

Now what made the old coot think there was any comfort in those words. He held his temper; it was all he could do to keep from busting his jaw. Like always a soft voice whispered in his ear and soothed the anger that rose in him, Now Zach, you can’t go losing that temper every time someone makes you mad.

He fought hard to push aside the anger if for no other reason than to respect his Ma. But it riled him that men like Wagner could think of nothing but making sure they got their monies worth.

Hell, maybe the old fart was glad Ma was dead. Likely he’d hire a squaw to replace her and cheat her to boot. Zach straightened and yanked himself free. He removed his hat and curled the brim tight to keep from slugging him. If his Ma’s struggle had taught him anything it was to feel more deeply, smell the flowers, laugh at the mosquito bites, and shrug off the evil that people did. Before you have time to look around, the words echoed softly, the picnic’s over.

After the preacher’s words had stopped and he looked down at the pine box that held all that remained of his Ma. He knew both the anger and sadness reflected in his eyes as he stood watching the casket being lowered into the grave.

Now that she’s gone, Wagner said as it hit bottom, I want you to pack your belongings and move into the bunkhouse. You can take your morning and evening meals with us. Fifteen dollars a month plus room and board.

Can’t I just stay in the cabin?

Wagner shook his head, I’ll need more help for me and Zell. It’ll have to be a couple. That being the case they’ll need your room to live.

Well, that meant the old fart wouldn’t be cheating the housekeeper. Or would it, he wondered. Every instinct boiling inside him wanted to resist, but in respect for all his Ma had taught him, he held his tongue, Okay. I’ll move to the bunkhouse soon as you find somebody.

No. Today, Wagner hissed like the snake he was.

Zach turned a hard look at the fat man but didn’t say a word. His face warmed and tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to pound his fists into that fat belly so bad that it would jiggle like the jelly-like-substance that settled to the bottom of a pot where pig rind and fat cooked at hog killing time. Why you old... He caught himself, turned and walked away.

Breakfast and supper at six. I’ll tell Zell to be expecting you, Wagner called.

Later that day with his few clothes, a blanket, a bar of soap and his Pa’s old razor in a burlap bag slung over his shoulder he pulled back the latch and opened the door. He turned and looked around the house that had been home for so long. Leaning against the heavy doorframe, he etched every detail in his mind so he would never forget.

Blinking the tears away he tried to put his thoughts in order. The unfairness of it all ate at him and he was having a hard time letting go. Pulling the door shut, he set the sack on the creaky steps and crossed the yard to the garden.

Mechanically he picked several ripe tomatoes. They had been his Ma’s pride and joy and she’d planned to preserve them for the winter, but.... Not having anything to put them in, he took off his hat and dropped the tomatoes inside, except for a small one that he popped into his mouth. Juice dribbled from his lips. He wiped it off with the back of a hand and ran the hand down his jeans. Ambling over to the stoop, he picked up the bag that held all his possessions and slung it over his shoulder.

Kicking at the dirt with the toe of his boot, he ambled toward the bunkhouse. It was a far cry from the ever clean house his Ma had kept, but he resigned himself to accept it. Wagner had been using it to house seasonal cowhands, but it wasn’t occupied now. One of last year’s cowboys had complained that the rough wooden floors yielded no protection from scorpions and centipedes. Twice a cowhand had said he’d seen a rattlesnake trying to crawl in over the yawning threshold before shooting it.

With a quick push the door screeched loudly open and Zach dropped his bag on the rough floor. The musty old mattresses were rolled up at the head of the beds, except for one and he sat down on it. He was unable to push away the loneliness that crept into his heart. With a sigh he wondered if that was what the old dog Buck felt like when Wagner’s wife, Zell ran him out of the house and slammed the door on his tail. She never liked that coon dog. Maybe that’s why he always looked so sad.

Zach pulled the leather bound notebook his mom had given him from the bag and turned it over in his hands. In it were all his memories. Years ago when he was learning to write, she had said keeping a daily journal was a good way to remember important things and to keep in practice writing at the same time. At that point he had found it hard to believe. To him riding horses and wrestling calves was more fun.

As usual she won out and insisted that he carry the journal with him at all times. Now it was a habit. At first she had given him assignments and would read what he had written after supper on some evenings. Some things were personal, but his Ma never made a point of embarrassing him. Often she would quiz him and offer tips to help him describe what really happened.

In later years it became a journal of love since his Ma loved the outdoors, but was stuck working inside most of the day. She seemed to enjoy reading the details of what he encountered while mending fences or chasing down strays. A simple picture in words of a bobcat sitting on a fence post or a brown lizard on a red rock would bring a smile to her face. That was thanks enough and made writing in the journal more enjoyable.

He smiled to himself as he turned the pages to the infamous fox passage. One day, when the work was too absorbing to write anything, he decided to scribble a couple lines about an imaginary fox he had seen hiding behind a clump of scrub cedars. As she read it her lips pursed.

What color were his eyes? she had asked.

Brown, I expect.

She shook her head. You write what you see. Don’t try to entertain me with made up stories.

By what form of magic did she know what he had done. He never was able to figure it out but from that day forward he never wrote a word that wasn’t true. Over the years the book had grown to three volumes. Sometimes it was interesting to flip through earlier pages and see the childish scribble then compare them to the full-formed letters of later years. Ma had often complimented him on how well his writing was coming along and wasn’t he glad that she had made him keep a journal. Longingly, he stroked the spines of the other volumes and set them aside. Someday he would read them, but not now. Today his thoughts still rang with the sound of dirt hitting the top of her pine box like an Indian’s drum. Instead he wrapped the books in an oilcloth he found on the small table and tucked them behind a loose board in the wall.

He leaned back against the wall and stared out the window, time had passed heavily with thoughts. The shadow of the old windmill had just touched the pine tree in front of the bunkhouse and that meant it was about six o’clock—time for supper. As he opened the door to the bunkhouse the smell of fried chicken, drifting on the breeze, made his stomach growl.

Picking up his hat with the tomatoes still inside, he closed the door and ambled toward the big house. As he walked, he noticed the cows grazing in the distance, and the sound of a mama cow bawling for her calf wrenched his heart. He forced the pain into the background as he walked up the steps and concentrated on washing up before presenting Zell with the tomatoes.

Zach, how sweet. She wiped her hands on her apron. Put them on the cupboard. I’ll slice a couple for supper. They’ll go good with the fried chicken and cream gravy, which won’t be as good as your Ma’s, but I dare say she taught me well, Zell said with a sad smile. The uncomfortable moment was just about to get to him when Wagner strode in. After washing up, he flipped his chair up to the table and sat. Come on boy. Let’s eat.

Zach still couldn’t help feeling uneasy around Wagner, even when he was being nice. Figuring that it was better to hold his tongue, he pulled up a chair and Zell began filling his plate. Since his Boss was busy grabbing his share, he figured no one would notice that he mumbled the little prayer. Zell stopped in mid-scoop. Like his Ma, she had a knack for knowing more than she got credit. Grace being said he began, and realizing he hadn’t eaten since before his Ma’s service, he was hungrier than he thought. During supper Wagner elbowed Zell and nodded in Zach’s direction. Zell, would you look at the way the kid eats, might have to adjust his wages downward so we don’t go in the hole.

Zell took a swallow of tea and stared back at him, Wag, leave the boy alone. He just lost his mom, besides he’s always given you a fair day’s work and then some.

Zach concentrated on his food and cut another slice off the chicken breast. He knew that Zell was a good person and a handsome woman to boot. How she came to marry a man like Wagner, he could never guess. But his Ma had always said there was some one for everybody and he guessed Wagner was no exception.

Not too smart on signals Wagner kept right on. Zach, we got several calves gone missin’. I want you to start chasing ‘em down before the wolves can get to ‘em.

Zach couldn’t help noticing the anguish on Zell’s face, but he knew that work was best for him. Wagner just plodded along, unaware of anything but the food and his darn cattle.

Gonna need to start milkin’ the mamas so it’ll just be you. Be careful though. I figure the calves have been stolen and I don’t want you runnin’ up against a bullet.

Zach wiped a bit of gravy from his upper lip. Maybe the wolves are after ‘em or maybe they got bit by rattlesnakes. Anyway, I’ll get on it the first thing after breakfast. If they’re to be found, me and Jughead will find ‘em. Would you listen to him, Zell? The kid’s already figuring on breakfast and he ain’t even finished his dinner.

CHAPTER II

Zach let Jughead have the lead for a while. The dry spring had taken its toll on the Nueces River. It was only a thin ribbon of water winding through the hills now. For years the river hadn’t run like it did when he was a small boy. But that was no threat to the cattle except it meant they had to plod farther up and down the hillsides for water. The day was heavy with heat and Zach let Jughead take a drink.

The Chestnut was smart and letting the horse have his way left Zach time to scan the ground for sign of the missing calves. When a plaintive bray rang between the riverbanks he pulled Jughead’s head up and pressed his heels into the horse’s side. The horse lurched toward the sound.

His thinking was that the calves would likely be in a group and somehow got separated from their mothers. Regardless, he needed to find them and get Wagner off the ideas about there being cattle thieves around. Since he was so crooked himself Zach figured the old buzzard couldn’t imagine someone not wanting his cattle.

Leaning forward in the saddle, he scouted the river bank for a time then followed one set of tracks into the upper, rockier areas of the ranch where cattle rarely ventured. A smart tracker knew that cattle didn’t like rocky areas and would only work their way upward for more grass. And as early in the summer as it was, there was plenty of grass along the river. But he also knew they could be anywhere if something was chasing them. Losing the trail in the rocks, he dismounted.

Removing his rifle from the saddle’s holster, he levered a cartridge into the chamber. More worried about snakes than rustlers he crept cautiously. Snakes or not he found himself slipping as rocks rolled under his boots.

Jughead ambled along behind as Zach examined every broken twig. The ground was nothing, but rocks now, and he bent to study each disturbance closely. His patience paid off. He spotted pimpled impressions of hoof prints and a boot print in the dirt between two outcropping of rocks.

The boot print caught him by surprise and he dropped Jughead’s reins over a cedar branch and advanced guardedly upward. Not really expecting to find people in his search, he removed his hat as he neared the top. There was no sense in making himself a bigger target. Besides, his brown hair would be harder to spot among the shadows of brush and rock. He crawled the last few yards and let his gaze follow the flat side of the limestone hill in front of him. Raising his head carefully he was finally able to scan the whole area. A cowpoke sat a couple feet to the side of the mouth of a cave he’d explored more than once.

The cave was smack dab in the middle of Wagner’s ranch so there was little chance the man was there by accident. Besides there was light smoke drifting out the opening and he figured there were more men inside. Obviously outnumbered he crouched down and wondered if it would be better to go for help or see what was going on. If he left, the men may move on, but if he got in over his head there could be a bigger problem.

He watched as the man leaned back against the rock wall and pulled his hat down to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun. A rifle lay across his legs. In these parts that precaution could simply be a smart thing, or it could be an omen of more sinister intentions.

Well now, what’ve we got here, came the heavy growl behind him?

Turning around discreetly, Zach faced a man who had gotten the drop on him. He was pretty good with a gun but hadn’t expected anyone to sneak up behind him in this rough terrain.

Now you just stand up nice and easy like or I’ll hav'ta put a hole in ya, the man said.

Who you talking to Jay, the man by the cave opening called.

A wrangler, was the reply.

Zach stood up and stepped from behind the cedar ever so easy, hands and rifle above his head.

No, just a gangly kid, Al. But edgy as a broom swatted cat.

Okay, bring him on in, and we can see what to do about him.

With a nudge of the man’s rifle, Zach marched toward the cave all too aware of the gun at his back. The ground was treacherous, but not enough to stop him from scolding himself for being stupid enough to get caught.

Hey! That’s one of Wagner’s guys, Al observed. "Let’s get him inside in case there’s more from where he came from. With that Jay took Zach’s rifle and pushed him toward the cave opening. A sharp rock gouged his right shoulder as he stumbled inside. The afternoon sun stretched deep into the cave but his eyes had difficulty adjusting to the shadowy difference. Jay shoved him against the wall and he sat down on a rock.

The two men walked over to the fire and Al quickly stirred the pot hanging over it. Zach couldn’t help but notice the sharp pointed sticks resting at an angle around the fire pit and a calf skin lying on the other side of the cave. It wouldn’t take a Pinkerton to know the meat was likely one of Wagner’s missing calves he’d been sent to find. Shortly two wet men materialize from among the shadows and Zach knew they had found the warm underground spring that made this a great place to hide out.

Four against one didn’t add up to very good odds. It wasn’t uncommon to come across a drifter or two crossing the ranch, or herders looking for work out on the range, but a group of four men lurking in a cave could only be bad news.

A neighboring rancher had been complaining that a gang of rustlers was working the area. Now he found himself wishing that he had paid more attention instead of blaming the missing calves on snakes or wolves. Gathering his wits about him, he asked, You the rustlers I been hearing about?

This brought a laugh from one of the fellas who had been in the spring. What makes you think that, boy?

Zach shrugged, You know how it is. Folks talk ‘bout anything; ‘specially the things they can’t quite explain.

The man didn’t answer and concentrated on filling his plate, and grabbing one of the skewers. He sat down and looked straight at Zach. After a moment he set about eating.

We’re just passing through, the other guy with wet hair added.

As if on cue Zach’s stomach rumbled. In the heavy silence it was loud enough to hear. An uneasy nervousness was stirring in his gut and it met up with his hunger from the long day.

Picking up one of the skewers the man named Al tossed it his direction, he scrambled to catch it. Get a plate of beans and some water to wash ‘em down.

Holding the stick Zach lowered his eyes, No thanks.

Al, who was obviously the leader, chuckled. You got nothing to fear from us, boy. Eat the grub before your stomach drowns out all this exciting conversation.

A starving stomach was no good to him; and it was pretty clear that if the law wanted these men, then he was in more than a little trouble. Like his mom would say, he just might be at that precipice and the picnic was over.

No need to starve until he came to the end, or figured out what to do. Picking up a tin plate he dipped a healthy serving of beans and meat. Sitting back on his rock, Zach pulled a piece of the meat off the stick. It was tender and sweet in his parched mouth. No doubt it was one of Wagner’s calves, but where were the others that were missing. There had been no sign of the others.

Al sat back against a rock and patted his belly. So, what’s your name, boy?

Zach Woodruff, he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Your ma and pa expecting you back soon?

Don’t imagine.

Why not?

He shook my head. Guess that’s ‘cause they’re both dead. He didn’t add any more although he figured Boss Wagner would be wondering why he hadn’t returned. However, it would take more than a few missed meals before he would start looking for him.

Al fixed him with a measuring squint and after a bit he came to a decision. Seems you should know who you’re eating with, boy. I’m Al. That there is Fred, he said, pointing to the shorter man with wet hair. The fella that got the drop on you was Jay, he added. Swinging a hand in the direction of the taller man with wet hair said, And that’s my cousin Ray."

Zach nodded to the men as Al introduced them.

So what are you doing up here? Fred demanded.

Zach didn’t much like the tone, but decided to keep his anger under control. I was looking for the calf we’re eating.

Seems you found it, Al laughed. Guess the next question is what you plan to do about it.

Zach decided that caution was best. Besides, it seemed that the men weren’t inclined to kill him – not yet anyway. Not a thing except pray for it while I eat it, he said as he tugged another bite off the skewer.

The men laughed at the obvious joke and Al offered him a cup of water.

Ray stepped out of the shadows and scooped more beans into his plate. Eyeing Zach warily, he asked, This word that travels. What are folk saying about these, these bandits?

Depends on which story you listen to. Some say they’re the men who have been hitting trains and stages that carry payroll or cargo to and from the mining companies headquarters back east. Then there are those who think they’re rustlers, picking the best of a herd, holding them somewhere until they get enough to drive to Abilene, Kansas where nobody knows the brand or where they came from.

Zach watched the men carefully and they were listening pretty close. The papers say no one’s really seen them – at least that anyone knows ‘bout. That’s not what I think. I told Wagner that wolves and rattlers were getting his calves.

Why did you say that, Fred asked. Where’s the carcass?

He was beginning to get into the yarn. They were paying attention like kids listening to their grandpa’s tall tales. He fought back his smirk, I just don’t figure there’s a gang that smart, or can work together that good.

Ray stood up. Now you can’t know that. This here gang have folks fooled. None ‘o what you said is half true. I...

Al pushed Ray back, So, you read? Think that makes you pretty smart, huh. How old are you?

The question caught Zach off guard. He had figured himself a man, being nearly six feet and all, but he said, I’m fifteen. My Ma taught me to read and write as I was growing up. I read about the gangs when Boss Wagner got hold of an old newspaper and wanted me to read it to him. He swallowed back a short sob. We buried my Ma yesterday.

And your dad? Al asked.

The tone in Al’s voice softened some and Zach finished, He died trying to break my horse a couple years back.

This brought sympathetic murmurs and shakes of their heads. Al broke the silence, So what are you gonna do with yourself?

The turn of events sent his head to spinning. The sudden sympathy was unexpected and he was not sure how to deal with it, or what it meant. And no one had asked him what his plans were. Seemed everyone just figured he’d be a hand on the Broken Wheel. I... I. Well I want to go north. Someplace good. I could be a hunting guide. I read ‘bout how things are up there.

Zach watched the men carefully. The talk was not going in the direction he’d expected. With Ma gone there was no one who cared much about what he did or where he went. Wagner only cared to the extent that he was a good hand that was young enough to be cheated until he got smarter.

Well, Al said, giving a nod to the men around him, we got some work coming up. You any good with that gun of yours?

"Better than most and not as good as others,