Last Chance

© 2004 Chester A. Chet Ballard.

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 04/12/05

ISBN: 1-4184-7839-3 (e)

ISBN: 1-4184-7840-7 (sc)

ISBN: 1-4208-3599-8 (dj)

ISBN: 9781418478391 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

SPECIAL RECOGNITION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

About The Author

This book is dedicated to my grandson,

Chance Arthur Ballard.

May life bring him just as much joy

and happiness as he has brought to me.

And to my other Grandchildren

Lacy Nicole Ballard

Ashton Nicole Ballard

Makenna Elise Freeman

Brennan Michael Ballard

Kayla DeShea Ballard

This book is especially dedicated to the person who makes life worth living. The one who is responsible for all I have ever accomplished in my life. She has stood by me through the good times and the bad. Her faith in my ability never wavered. She freed my mind and soul to write and create. This book is for my wife

Sharon Elizabeth Ballard.

Her smile lights up the

darkest night.

SPECIAL RECOGNITION

TO

Joan Camp - A true friend who has given graciously of her valuable time and dedicated herself to helping me make this the best book it can be. Her unselfishness is a shining example of what true friendship should be. I owe her a debt of gratitude that I will never be able to repay.

And to John Camp who has sacrificed his time with his lovely wife while she helped me.

And to my parents - Elton & Emma Ballard.

CHAPTER 1

The deafening sound of the horses’ hooves as they struck the hard ground filled the once silent prairie with a thunderous roar. Huge, swirling clouds of brown dust trailed skyward as the group of twenty men pushed their horses to the limit. The horses’ manes were laid back on their necks and their nostrils flared as massive beads of sweat poured off of them.

The eyes of each rider stared straight ahead. Their gaze never shifted to the rider at their side. The riders’ minds were not filled with concern for the dangers of the prairie. There were no thoughts of Indians that may swoop down upon them at any moment. Nor did they think of rattlesnakes that they may be trampling on. They were thinking only of what they were about to do. Each one of them knew that the deeds they would do today would live in their hearts and memories for the rest of their lives. Some even feared that they may not be able to live with their actions. Five of the men in the group had done things much worse than what they were being ordered to do today. Their hearts were already filled with many demons that they had to face every day. They had learned through the years to live with them. Those men were willing to let God judge them when they died. Although they feared that judgment, they did nothing to change the way they lived. They were hired guns. Killing for money was all they knew how to do. And they were the best of the best.

*********************************

Charles Chance walked out to the end of his front yard and stopped at the gate. He looked up at the huge wrought iron sign that spanned the distance between the two posts. He could not help but smile as he looked up at the sign and read it just as he had done at least a thousand times before.

The C\C Ranch

Charles Chance looked past the sprawling ranch house toward the bunkhouse. He could barely identify a lone figure walking toward him. It was his oldest son, Charles Chance, Jr.

Then he looked at the front porch of the house. He could see his wife standing there waving at him. His youngest son, ten year old Chad, stood next to her.

What are you doing, Dad? Charles, Jr. asked as he approached his father.

Nothing really, Charles answered. Just admiring our sign.

"It is just a sign," his son replied.

Charles reached out and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. That is where you are wrong, Son. It is not just a sign. It is a symbol. A symbol of twenty years of hard backbreaking work. That sign is a testimonial to the courage and determination of normal men that did an abnormal job. Men who braved the heat of the summer and the bitter winter cold to round up strays and to keep this ranch alive. It is even more than that. It is an epitaph for all the men who died to build this ranch. They died in so many ways, too. The fever took many of them. Others were trampled by the wild horses they tried to tame. That is why the cemetery was put on that hill over there, Charles said and pointed to a grass covered area that was filled with wooden crosses. So those men could be at eternal rest overlooking what they created. That sign is also a tombstone for the men who died and never got a decent burial. Whether they were taken by the Indians or carried away by a swollen river, this simple sign serves as their final resting place.

Charles, Jr. reached out and touched his father’s hand gently. I didn’t mean anything by what I said, Dad.

Of course you didn’t, Son. But one day you will be running this ranch. In order to do that, you must fully understand all of the sacrifices made to make it what it is today. You have to realize that the C\C name means much more than just a brand. It is the honor of the family name.

Charles, Jr. stared at his father. He was a big man with massive shoulders and muscles that rippled beneath the sleeves of his shirt. The years had begun to take their toll on this man. His face was filled with lines from the years of hard work and worry. But his father was still a force to be reckoned with. There was something on his father’s face that disturbed him.

What’s wrong, Dad? Why are you telling me all this again? I have heard about the men that died my entire life.

Charles stepped away from his son and rolled a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

I am getting old, Son. Every winter is a little bit colder and daylight seems to come too early nowadays. I want to be sure that you understand that this ranch is the legacy for you and for your brother, Chad.

Charles, Jr. then laughed loudly. "Is that all? I thought you were sick or something. You are not old. You are only forty-six."

That can be old in wild country like this. Fighting Apaches can make you old before your time, his dad explained.

You will never get old. You are too mean. Aren’t you the one that wrestled that mountain lion and cut out his heart to save Chad when he wandered away from the house a few months ago? You were not getting old then, Charles, Jr. argued.

Yes, I was. The mountain lion was just a little older. That is why I could beat him, Charles informed his son.

They both laughed and began walking back toward the house. It was almost lunch time, and the cook hated it when they were not at the table when she served the food.

*********************************

The group of men approached the mouth of a narrow pass. The rider of the lead horse put his hand up and slowly reined his horse until he stopped. The other riders stopped directly behind him.

The only sound was of the horses’ heavy breathing until one rider rode slowly up to the lead rider. His name was Red Granger. Red was over six-feet tall. Even though he was slim, he possessed a strength in his slender arms that could still wrestle down any ornery steer. He had worked for the Bar L ranch for over twenty years.

Red noticed that his boss, Harry Larson, was breathing as heavily as his horse. Are you all right, Boss?

I am fine. Just a little out of shape is all, Larson answered.

Red looked at Harry. He was out of shape. His stomach hung over his belt, and the fat of his double chin made seeing his neck impossible.

You spend too much time behind the desk counting your money, Red told him.

I can afford to, Larson agreed. You handle the ranch just fine. And look at you. You are still as strong as a bull.

Maybe so, Red said. Then his voice took on a more serious tone. Harry, are you having second thoughts?

No. I want to rest the horses for a few minutes. You of all people should know that I don’t believe in running down a good horse.

I know. I was just hoping you had a change of heart, Red slowly answered.

"You know better than that! I want that land!" Harry said angrily.

Isn’t there any other way? Red pleaded.

"No! Charles Chance refuses to sell. I offered him ten times what his ranch is worth, and he won’t even consider it," Larson snarled.

I know that, Red answered. Is the land really that important?

To me it is, Larson replied. I have a hundred thousand acres of land, and it is split right down the middle by the ten thousand acres that Chance owns.

He gave you permission to cross his land with your cattle.

"I don’t want his charity. I want his land!" Larson shouted.

You already have more land and money than anyone else in the territory, Red answered in almost a whisper.

That’s right, and I will always want more. What’s the matter with you, Red? Are you getting soft on me?

It’s not that, Red said sadly. I just think we could work it out peacefully.

Like the time we attacked that Indian village? Harry asked.

Red thought back to that incident. It brought back vivid memories of being tortured by the Apaches. If it had not been for Harry and his men, the Indians would have killed him for sure. Red remembered being put over a low fire and being ready to let the life go from his body. Then he could see through a haze Harry and his men charging into the village with their guns blazing. Harry was not fat then, and he looked like a knight as he charged into the village, killing anything that got in his way. Red remembered that Harry had fought his way through all of the Indians to get to him and pull him from the fire at the last possible moment. Harry had also seen to it that he was nursed back to health over the long months that it took the burns to heal. Red’s arms still bore the scars of that torture. And Red still carried the gratitude for Harry saving his life.

You didn’t need men like that when you took that Indian village, Red said and motioned toward the five men that were resting their horses away from the rest of the men. The five were not ranch hands. They were gunfighters that Harry had hired. They killed for money only, not out of respect for Harry or the betterment of the ranch.

Times have changed, Harry said. Men like them are a necessary evil now. They will do exactly as they are told. They don’t ask questions or try to justify everything like you are doing now.

If they did, could you convince them that they were doing the right thing? Red asked.

"I don’t know. And I don’t give a damn."

I don’t even see why you needed them in the first place, Red said with growing concern.

Then maybe you should listen to yourself. I need them because of the way you are talking and acting at this moment. If I can’t count on you, someone who has ridden beside me for all of these years, how in the hell can I count on a bunch of saddle bums? Larson demanded.

They are not saddle bums. Some of them have been with you for three years.

The only reason they work for me is because Charles Chance is not putting on any more hands right now. He has stolen most of my good ranch hands.

He didn’t steal them. They went willingly, Red said sadly.

I paid them twice as much as he does.

I guess he treats them better. Sometimes that is worth more than money, Red informed his boss.

I heard about the way he treats them. They eat the same thing he eats every day. I even heard that he lets them off when they get a little cold. What kind of a way is that to run a ranch? Larson questioned in anger.

He must be doing something right. He has tripled the size of his herd in the last five years.

That’s probably because he has rustled from me, Larson snarled.

Charles Chance is not a thief, Red explained.

Then why don’t you go to work for him if you think so much of him? Harry asked.

You know I would never desert you, Red answered quickly.

Harry Larson glared at Red. What had come over him? He had never questioned his decisions before. If it had been anyone else but Red, Harry would have shot him out of the saddle and let the coyotes and the buzzards finish him off. But Red had been a loyal foreman, as well as a good friend for many years. He would overlook it this time. But Red had better not let it happen again. Loyalty and friendship only went so far with Harry Larson.

You can go back to the ranch and sit this one out if you want, Harry told Red.

No, I’ll see it through to the end.

Are you sure? Larson asked.

I’m sure.

Then this conversation is over, Harry said as he slowly walked his horse to the mouth of the canyon.

**********************************

Charles Chance had barely stepped on the first step of the ranch house when his son stopped him.

Dad, what you said about me and Chad running the ranch. That will never happen.

Sure it will, Son. There will come a day when I won’t be around.

Promise me that won’t happen.

What?

I want you to promise me that you won’t die before I do, Charles, Jr. insisted.

I can’t make you a promise like that, Son. The Bible says that no man knows the day or the hour of his death…or something like that anyway.

Charles, Jr. looked at his father and the thought of not having him around caused a wave of sadness to rush over him. His father had always been his hero. A man that could do anything he wanted to. A man who was respected by anyone who knew him. Charles, Jr. could only hope that he could be half the man his father was when he was full grown.

I want you to promise me, Dad.

Let’s go inside. The food will be on the table.

Not until you promise me that you won’t die before I do.

Charles Chance knew his son well enough to know that they would stand on the steps for hours if he did not give in. His son had a stubborn streak that would make any mule jealous. The rumbling sound in his stomach caused by hunger was growing louder with each passing minute.

How about this, Charles said trying to reach a compromise. What if I promise you that I will do my best not to die before you do?

I guess I will have to take that, for now, Charles, Jr. said and bolted past his father and went inside the house.

Charles walked up the steps and thought about what he had promised his fifteen year old son. One of the worst fears he had in his life was that of burying one of his sons. He wasn’t sure he could live through the pain. His two sons were his whole life except for his wife Anna. That is why he left the disease and poverty of the slums of New York City and came west. He wanted his sons to know the freedom of the wide open spaces. He wanted to leave them something that would last for the future generations of his family. He wanted the name Chance to be thought of with pride and dignity just as he had done for his father. Charles Chance had no doubt that his two sons would carry the burden of continuing on that tradition. Charles, Jr. was a good boy. He was strong and big. He worked side by side with the other ranch hands and never slacked in his work because he was the boss’s son. He often worked well past quitting time to show the other men that he was pulling his weight. Charles, Jr. worked hard and could do what was necessary, yet he had compassion toward the men he worked with. Charles had no doubt that his oldest son would carry on the family name and make him proud.

It was too early to tell about his youngest son, Chad. He was only ten and he had a temper that Charles hoped would mellow as he grew older. Chad could ride a horse as well, or better, than most of the younger ranch hands. It was almost as if Chad became one with the horse. Chad could make a horse do anything he wanted it to do. There was one time when a horse was down, and Charles was going to shoot it. Chad sat up all night with that sick horse and the next morning rode him out of the barn. Chad definitely had a way with animals. He was also smart. Anna had taught him to read, write, and cipher. Chad was a much faster student than Charles, Jr. He could read any book on the shelf in the huge living room. But a source of worry for Charles was that Chad also had an affection for guns. Chad could barely carry a rifle, but he would prop it up on a fence rail and hit any target in range that he chose. Chad could also shoot a six gun with the same accuracy he could a rifle. In fact, Chad could probably outshoot most of the men on the ranch. Charles assumed that the young boy was blessed with a perfect eye. He hoped that Chad would not let that blessing be turned into a curse as he grew older. Guns were a necessary evil in this untamed land. He could only pray that he could teach Chad to know when to use a gun.

Charles knew that the ranch hands as well as his wife spoiled Chad a little too much. He also knew that he was as guilty as any of them. He had no doubt that Chad would grow up to be a good man as long as he was there to give him the guidance he needed.

Charles dusted off his feet on the top step and went into the house.

**********************************

Harry Larson rode his horse a few steps into the mouth of the pass, then turned back toward his men.

It’s time to go. The C\C ranch is five miles past the other side of the mountain. You all know what to do.

Jay Tyson rode up and stopped beside Harry. He slapped at the dust on his shirt sleeve. It fell off and revealed the long sleeve of a solid black shirt with rhinestone buttons that went half way up the sleeve. He pulled one of the two guns he wore at his side and rubbed the cylinder across his arm making sure that it was fully loaded. He repeated the procedure with the other gun. Jay was only nineteen years old, but he had been hiring his gun out for two years already. He stopped carving notches in his guns when he reached eighteen.

Do you really mean everyone? he asked Harry.

"I said everyone!"

Red pulled his horse alongside Harry. What is he talking about? I thought we were just going to try to scare them out.

You know as well as I do that Charles Chance is not going to be run off his land. He is not that kind of man.

There are women there, and Chance has a little boy who is only nine or ten years old. We can let them go.

"No, we can’t. I want everyone on that ranch killed, especially anyone named Chance. And I don’t give a damn how old they are."

Red’s face filled with rage. The color of his cheeks matched the brightness of the strands of hair that hung from the sides and back of his hat.

I didn’t bargain on killing defenseless kids! he shouted.

It didn’t bother you when they were Apache kids, and I was shooting them. If my memory serves me correctly, those kids were poking you with a stick while you were roasting over a fire! Harry shouted back.

Red pulled back on the reins of his horse and backed up. Suddenly he did not want to be close to Harry. He let his hand slip slowly to his side and rested it on the handle of his gun.

Jay Tyson noticed the movement of Red’s hand toward his gun and with a speed that was almost impossible for the human eye to follow drew his gun and had it cocked and pointed at the area between Red’s eyes.

Red moved his hand from his gun to his saddle horn.

There is no need for this, Harry said. Put your gun away, Jay. Red has been with me for years.

Jay returned his gun to his holster as quickly as he had drawn it, but he did not take his gaze off Red or his hands.

We don’t need his help, Mr. Larson, Jay said. In fact, me and my men don’t need any of these other cowhands. We can do the job without them.

These are my men. They are going to ride with me, and that includes Red. Isn’t that right?

Harry Larson sat patiently waiting for an answer from Red. If the answer was not yes, Jay would not be the one to shoot Red. He would do it himself. Red had been given the opportunity to go back to the ranch with no hard feelings. He had decided to stay. If Red was having second thoughts now, it would cost him his life.

I have ridden with you a lot of years, Harry, Red answered. I see no need to stop now.

Good. Now let’s get on and do what needs to be done. And remember that before we leave, I want to make it look like the Apaches were responsible.

Harry did not hesitate. He spurred his horse, and it began to run at full speed. The anticipation was building in Harry’s mind. He was just a little while away from being the most important man in this territory.

CHAPTER 2

Charles walked into the dining room and sat at the head of the table. His wife, Anna, sat at the other end. He gave her a little wink, and she returned a sly smile. Anna was a thin lovely woman with long, light brown hair that grew blonder the more she stayed in the sun. It made her blue eyes glisten. Chad sat next to her, and Charles noticed that his eyes seemed to become bluer each day. He looked more like his mother than he did Charles. He had the