The O'Malleys of Texas

Genres: Historical Fantasy; Classics

Synopsis

From Western Writers of America Spur Award-winning author Dusty Richards comes a thrilling new chapter in the O'Malley family saga, a blazing American epic of blood, bullets, and brotherhood set deep in the heart of Texas....

Long John O'Malley is only 19 years old, but he's no greenhorn. The oldest and boldest of the O'Malley brothers, Long John cut his teeth tangling with Comanche at the tender age of 16. He risked his life to rescue a group of captive women settlers—and forged his own destiny as a hero in the making.

Now he's taking on his biggest challenge yet: riding shotgun on a wagon train across the hostile Nebraska Territory. It's a treacherous trail, and it's not long before the young Texan is earning his paycheck by fighting off a tribe of bloodthirsty Sioux. But the real test lies in the journey ahead—a genuine ride to hell and back, from the Rocky Mountains to Sante Fe and all the way home, that will make Long John O'Malley either a living legend...or a dead one.

Release date: September 26, 2017

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 432

Sample

Harper rode a red roan horse his father said was a Comanche buffalo-hunting pony. The powerful former stallion they’d neutered to save fighting with, as a stud was a tough enough horse. Harp, as his brother Long called him, felt comfortable he had the steed to carry him to Sedalia, Missouri. Both boys were wearing new shirts their mother made from pillow ticking material. She said it was the best material to last for the drive.

The memory of the tears on his mother’s beautiful face still stabbed at Harp, but both he and Long were going north for good or bad. He reset the .30-caliber Colt in the holster on his hip. His father said the revolver was a plenty big enough hand gun, plus he could put five of the five bullets in a bouncing tin can with it, and with a larger gun he would need lots more practice to be that accurate with it. The lever-action Spencer rifle under his right leg was another weapon he knew all about. Stirrup to stirrup he rode beside his brother Long, headed for Captain Greg’s ranch. They were going to be grown-ups soon and people would have to accept them as men.

“Long, what do you think Missouri will be like?”

“Mother said they’ve got more rain and the trees were bigger than Texas. I want to see them.”

“What about those big rivers we have to cross?”

His older brother shrugged as if they’d be nothing. “We can swim. Lots of Texas boys sure can’t do that.”

“You reckon those cows can swim?”

Long shook his head. “There ain’t a cow in the whole lot of them. They’re all steers.”

“Ah, you know what I meant.”

“Yeah, I bet them steers naturally know how to swim.”

Harp agreed and vowed he’d never say cows again. Among real cowhands he might sound dumb. Last thing that he wanted to happen was for anyone to think he was a dumb farm boy. They rode on to Greg’s Bar 87 Ranch that day.

The place was abuzz with activity. They dismounted at the headquarters office. A man with a quirley in his mouth came out onto the large step. “You boys are the O’Malley brothers?”

“Yeah, where do you want us?” Long asked.

“The herd is two miles west. Report to Matt Simons. You’ve got bedrolls and war bags?”

“That’s what they told us to bring,” Harp said, patting them tied on behind his cantle.

“Good. Some boys coming ain’t got nothin’. You guys been around cattle, Simon needs both of you to hold them steers in a herd.”

With everything said, the two O’Malleys turned their horses and rode west.

Harp heard the cattle bawling long before they rode out of the cedars into the meadow. Most were grazing and bawling between bites of grass. Their incisive loud calls hurt his ears, but like it or not he knew he’d hear them clear to Missouri. Several mounted herders on hard steering horses were trying to keep them contained in the large meadow. They found a rider about their age and asked him where the boss was.

He waved them north and took off after another wild steer headed for the brush. The horse the boy rode didn’t look up to the job noted Harp. In disgust he shook his head and his brother agreed by making a disapproving face after the rider.

They found Simons. An older man with gray sideburns who greeted them and told them to unload their bedrolls and things in the second canvas-covered wagon. He had watched them ride in. “I am damn sure glad some real cowboys got here. When you get your things put up, I am going to split you two up. Harp, go right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go help them, boys. I’ll send some replacements later. Long, you ride north. Those boys up there are not cattle-wise at all. They ask, you tell them I said both of you are in charge and you tell them what they must do to keep them cattle together.”

“Are there some better horses for them to ride?” Harp asked him, pained about the mounts they had seen so far.

Simons shook his head. “Not many of them.”

“If Mr. Greg’s going to herd these cattle very far, he better find some.” Harp shook his head in concern and parted with his brother.

Harp spent the rest of the day keeping the herd quitters in the large meadow. His buffalo horse could work circles around the mounts the rest of them rode. By late afternoon they finally had them settled down some. The steers were mostly lying down and chewing their cuds when Simons brought some fresh hands on more horses not ever used before for herding. Harp noted that about the mounts the moment they rode up.

“How did it go, Harp?” Simons asked him.

“None of them got away since I got up here, but if I didn’t have Comanche here, I couldn’t have held them.”

“Simons, ain’t there any trained horses like his?” a boy named Carl asked him.

“What you’re riding is what we’ve got.”

Carl dropped his head. “Man, you’ll have a real mess coming when we hit the trail.”

“Harp, you get some supper and a fresh horse. I’m putting you in charge of the night guard.”

“Sir? How many men do I have to do that?”

“Oh, five or six. Why?”

“Will they all come in for supper?” Harp asked him, concerned how he’d meet them and figure it all out.

“Who will watch the herd?” Simons asked.

Harp pushed his lathered horse in closer. “Some need to sleep. How will I set up that order?”

“I guess ride by and tell them who stays and who goes to supper.”

Harp had no idea how many men were even working on containing the herd. He told two to stay in that group and four to go eat supper and report to him when he got to camp. On the north side he found Long on his sweaty horse still busy working his section of the herd.

“How many guys are working here?”

“Why?” Long set his using horse down beside Harp.

“I am in charge of the night riders.”

Long looked at him in disbelief. “How did you get that job?”

“Brother, I don’t know that I want it, but I have it. Hell, Simons just handed me the job. Now you choose two to stay and tell them I will send replacements in a little while. The rest need to go get supper. They must report to me in camp. Meanwhile I’ll start a list.”

Long narrowed his dark eyes at his brother. “Good thing. He’d handed that job to me, I’d have shoved it up his ass.”

“Long, that ain’t no way to work for a man. I can see there is going to be lots more to this trip than I thought about as being our problems.”

Warily, Long shook his head. “All the damn cheap horses in Texas and the boys have the scraps.”

“You’re right, brother, but now I need to make a list and figure this herd guard business out.”

They had boiled beans for supper in camp. No bread, no dessert. Harp took an instant dislike to the grubby-whiskered guy named Chester doing the cooking. He had the list of the hands named on a tablet.

Simons had gone somewhere, the camp cook told him, seated on a log and smoking another quirley. Harp was busting to ask him what was coming for breakfast after the sorry showing that he served that evening, but he kept the matter to himself. He did take the alarm clock, wound it, and set it for three hours to get his next shift out on time. Simons must have gone to town. No sight of him. Harp felt a little like he’d been abandoned. In an effort to make sure he had help, he’d saved the last shift for himself, Long, and Chaw, the only other real cowboy in his book.

The herd didn’t run off, and dawn saw them back in camp for some watery oatmeal—nothing else. When he assigned the crew to go ride herd, they all were disgruntled about the food. No Simons at noon, either. More plain brown beans for lunch.

“Harp, we’re going to have to move them steers. They’ve eaten or shit on all the grass up there,” Chaw told him, hunkered down on some run-over boot heels, making frowns at each spoonful of beans he shoveled into his mouth.

“I know it’s bad food. I’ll try and do something about it.”

“I’d like to go north but I ain’t going on this crap.” Chaw rapped the metal plate with his spoon.

“Stay tight; I’m saddling up and going to where they hired us and ask some questions. If things aren’t fixed, Long and I won’t be staying, either.”

Chaw nodded. “I’m with you two.”

Harp saddled Comanche and rode back to Greg’s outfit. No one was around and so he dismounted at the yard gate. A nice-looking woman in a blue dress came to the door. “May I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am, is Mr. Greg here?”

“No, he’s gone to town on business. What’s wrong?”

“You expect him back pretty soon?”

“Not very soon. Is something wrong?”

“Ma’am, I hate to worry you, but I was put in charge of the cattle drive, and the cook they hired is lazy and—ah, well—as sorry an excuse for one as I’ve ever seen. I haven’t seen the boss in twenty-four hours, and the boys are beginning to get upset. I guess cowboys are worth about two bits today, but he might miss them when they all leave. And besides we’ve run out of grass for the steers and need to move them.”

“What is your name?”

“Harp O’Malley, ma’am.”

“I’ve met your mother—Easter?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, she should be proud of you. You could explain all that and not cuss once.”

He smiled, amused. “I know better than that, ma’am.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Harp, I’m sending Emory, the minute he gets back, over to the herd. You will have results when he gets there.”

“I didn’t come to upset you.”

“You didn’t. But Emory will be displeased when he hears all that is happening.”

Harp tipped his weather-worn felt hat and remounted his horse. On the trip back he short-loped him. Long cut him off short of camp. “You do any good?”

“Emory Greg is coming. Why?”

“Your boss come back drunk as a skunk. Asked where you were. I told him tending steers.”

“Where’s he now?”

“Snoring in his bedroll.”

“I spoke to Greg’s wife. He was in town on business. I mentioned the cook, the feed, and the men to her. The man who sent us up here was nowhere around.”

Long made a scowl. “What did she say?”

“She said Greg’d be here when he got back.”

“You reckon he will?”

Harp nodded, looking over the camp for Simons.

“He’s over in the shade.” Long pointed him out.

“Let him sleep.” He dismounted and undid his saddle.

Scratching his belly, the cook came over. “The boss wondered where the hell you were, boy?”

“I don’t work for you. Mind your own damn business.”

“When he’s not here I’m in charge.” Chester rapped his chest with his fist, and in Harp’s opinion that was a challenge. Without a word Harp stepped in and knocked the cook on his ass in a one-two punch. Chester never saw his fists coming until they struck him. Spilled on his ass, Harp pointed at him. “Load your gear and get the hell out of here.”

“You can’t fire me.”

But then there were six cowboys with sticks in their hands backing up Harp. Chaw stepped in. “You heard Harp. We’ve had enough of your bad cooking. Load your ass up or we’re lynching you, mister.”

Chester took the hint, loaded his stuff in a tow sack—cussing under his breath—and left. Harp told three of the boys to wash the cooking utensils, rinse, and dry them while he mixed flour and baking powder. Long greased a Dutch oven for him. Carl had a sharp hunting knife he washed and then sliced bacon. Norm ground some beans for coffee. Another hand put on the water to boil, and they all acted like they were relieved at last to have that nasty cook gone.

“There’s some dry apples and bugs in the supplies, will that make something sweet?”

Harp had Norm looking for supplies. Harp answered him, “Yeah, we can make something. Long, grease another Dutch oven for us to bake it in.”

“Got her.”

The baking powder, he hoped, would work in his dough. Some of his mother’s own sour dough starter would be better, but they didn’t have much choice in this case. The beans were almost boiled. Carl’s bacon was frying. Using some of the grease, Harp was frying some chopped onions in a big skillet.

Long was tending the biscuits in the Dutch oven and the second one with Norm’s slurry of dry apples, raisins, flour, sugar, water, and baking powder. Things were going all right in Harp’s opinion. They took a break for some good coffee, and everyone stood around looking smug. He had his list of hands to replace the herders after they ate. Maybe the captain would get there shortly.

The biscuits worked, but in his case he decided his mother’s were lots better. The fried onions and crisp bacon made the beans tolerable, and Norm’s dessert wasn’t café fine but they bragged on it. The herders coming in reported the herd was becoming more upset without much to eat. Those boys could hardly believe they’d run off the cook and had some real food. They were soon bragging on the grub when Captain Greg arrived.

He stepped off his horse and motioned to Harp. “What’s going on up here?”

“We planned to wait for you, but we run off the cook and cooked ourselves supper.”

“Anna said you told her he wasn’t very good. Where is Simons?”

“Sleeping it off over there.”

“Looks like you’ve handled it, Harp. What else?”

“We need to move the steers to better grass, and most of these horses are junk.”

Greg chuckled. “Where should we go with the cattle?”

“North I guess. They’re out of feed here,” Harp said.

“We better ride up there and find a place in the morning.”

Harp nodded. “We can do that. You have a lead steer?”

“No. Do we need one?”

Harp took off his hat. “Captain Greg, I wouldn’t move that many cattle a mile without one.”

“Emory is my name. I am certain I can find one. Can we move them to grass without one?”

“We can do about anything needed, but we will sure need a lead steer to go all the way to Missouri.”

“I will find one. Now about the horses? These were all that I could find.”

“They lied to you. My dad could find you some. These ones the boys are using are a sorry bunch.”

“I know where your dad lives. He’s got a lead steer, too, I bet.”

“He does but he might not sell him.”

“Can you and these boys move this bunch for me tomorrow?”

“What about Simons?”

“I’m going to fire him. You’re the man in charge, Harp.”

“So it’s okay that we run off that dirty old man that only cooked beans and made watery oatmeal?”

“You done right. I don’t blame you, and I am sure I can find a cook somewhere. You will have to handle it until then.”

“We can do that. And there’s some open country we can graze north of here. I just hope we can move them up there.”

“On Liar’s Creek?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know you can handle the men, the cooking, and move those steers north.”

Harp had another point he needed to make. “Fine. One more thing. The food wagon’s okay, but that one other sorry wagon you bought won’t even make it to Fort Worth.”

“I’ll find a wagon to replace it.”

“Good. We can handle the rest.” Harp folded his arms while Greg walked over and nudged the sleeping Simons with his boot. “Simons! Get your ass up. You’re fired.”

“Huh?” Blinking and sitting up, he still looked drunk to Harp.

“You’re fired,” Greg said.

“Why you—”

“Don’t say anything. I may kill you. If it hadn’t been for these boys here I might have lost my herd.”

On his feet, Simons wasn’t even steady, but by then Greg was on his horse. Mounted, he said, “Get the hell out of my camp.”

Simons went off grumbling and cursing all of them. Harp ignored him, talked to the men about the night shifts and moving the cattle. His plans included for Long to ride up early to look over the way north to the open country where he wanted to move the herd to starting in mid- morning. Things were set and they were all laughing over their success at shaping up the outfit while they finished off Norm’s dessert.

Harp shook his head, thinking about all the things he had to do if this job continued. Going to be a helluva drive to ever get this shirttail outfit to Missouri.

Sun rose. Long and Carl Kimes rode out, eating some leftover biscuits, to find some grass north of the site. Harp headed up the crew, making flapjacks and homemade syrup with coffee for the men. The five cowboys who rode out to replace the night guard and keep the cattle in the herd were promised breakfast relief before they had to begin the move. Things were getting done.

Two hours later Long and Carl were back. The first riders sent out were back to eat breakfast and were warned they’d not have lunch due to the day’s work ahead. In a quick huddle Harp made the two scouts his point riders and sent them back to get the move started. Two guys in camp were going to wash the dishes, load the wagons, and move to the new location. Harp put a slender boy, Holy Wars, who’d showed lots of horse sense, in charge of the horse herd. He had the draft animals harnessed and would help them get to the new site. Holy Wars would bring along his remuda, too.

Harp saddled Comanche and rode out to the herd. He hoped the crew could move them. Individual steers were butting heads, mixed with others they did not know, deciding what his father called a pecking order. Once the cattle decided which steer to follow, all that would pass. But he warned the boys about the cattle that came out of the brush; they were wild as deer and any loud noise might cause the whole group to stampede. He didn’t need that to happen.

Harp told the nearby cowboys that Long and Carl would try to start the herd and for them to push the cattle easy moving to the north. The boys agreed with him so he left, rounded the herd, telling the others they were moving and that they needed to hold them as a herd. The bawling cattle were finally on the move.

At this point it looked like they were going north in a mass. They needed a lead steer with a bell that would direct them where the cowboys wanted them to go. He hoped the boss found one before they really moved too far along the way.

At last he set Comanche down and watched the flow. The cattle had improved a lot by not doing so much head butting or breaking for freedom. New feed would help settle them down, but they really needed to get started on the drive to Sedalia.

An hour later the wagons and horses went past him. Harp checked with Doug Pharr who was taking charge of that operation and driving the first wagon. Harp rode alongside him.

“We know a well up there where we can get fit drinking water. We’ll get set up there and have food started. The herd looks like it’s moving good.”

Harp agreed, reined up, and rode back to the herd. Red Culver caught him. “This is going better than I figured.”

“So far. I think we can move them north all right. Greg finds a lead steer and we will get some more things ironed out.”

“Hey, a bunch of us are backing you. Firing that cook took nerve. Thanks.”

“We’ll see.”

Red waved and hurried off to catch a few quitters in the herd.

If Red’d had a real horse—damn this was a mess fixing to blow up. He chased another back in and things leveled off.

They were moving into an area that opened into a large grassy meadow that had water. The cattle could spread out to graze and drink. Harp went to find his wagon setup and the bawling grew farther away from him. He saw the canvas top and pushed Comanche on up there.

His cooking crew was unloading things to get started. Doug had pulled a bucket out of the well. He used a dipper to draw a drink, tasted it, and nodded. “We have some good water tonight. Plenty of fuel here, too.”

“I think the cattle will be fine. How is that worn-out wagon?” Harp asked.

Doug shrugged. “Worn out.”

Harp agreed. Before Long rode in to check with Harp, he told half the boys to go into camp with him and help getting it set up.

“Well, we made it. What, four or five miles?”

“Hmm,” Long snuffed at him. “Take three years to ever get to Sea-dalia at that speed.”

“Things went pretty smoothly. How could they go better?” Harp asked him.

“If we had a bell steer they’d fall in when they learned what that bell means ringing.”

“The boss is trying to find one. I also mentioned better horses. Told him Dad knew where they were. The boys said the old wagon made it. Captain said he’d find a better one.”

“This going to be the crew?” Long asked quietly.

“Looks that way. You, me, and him. He never mentioned finding anyone else. I don’t know who was at his house and talked to us. I thought he was part of it—must not be.”

Long agreed. “Well, I thought he had some war veterans or someone knew the way. He come back from the war after he got wounded didn’t he?”

“Yes. I heard the bullet was too close to his heart and they couldn’t remove it.”

“He looked all right yesterday didn’t he?”

“He was fine. But he’s been planning this for over a year. He says they’re real short on meat to eat both North and South. If we can get these steers on a train and shipped to somewhere they could bring a big price.”

“God will have to help us do it.” Shaking his head, disgusted, Long went for a drink.

The cooking had begun. The boys had things rolling and it looked good. They made some cinnamon rolls in a Dutch oven to tide them over.

The boss man arrived in mid-afternoon. Harp met him and noticed he looked paler than Harp recalled when he talked to them a week or so earlier.

“Well, a cook is coming. He’s army material but seems sensible. His name is Ira Smith. My brother-in-law Ken has another wagon to replace the wobbly one.” The captain sat down on a log. “Harp, there is lots to do. I thought I was ready a week ago. You think that most of them boys will stay with us?”

“Rest a minute.” Harp settled down on his haunches; he could tell the man had been pushing himself too hard. “Yes. They’ll stay with a decent cook and we get the other things ironed out.”

“I saw your dad. He’s trying to round up two dozen more ranch horses for me. He also says we can use his big blue steer if you boys will bring him back.”

“We need to go get him?”

“No. He’s bringing him and those horses in two days.”

“Good, then I think the boys will be fine. They tell me they’ll stay if we get a good cook.”

Emory jabbed his thumb in his chest and made a face that showed he was in pain.

“That bullet hurting you?”

“It does from time to time. Guess I’ve been doing too much to get things going.”

Harp agreed. Somehow the man had to take it easier or he’d not make the whole trip.

He asked his boss, “We have not talked to you about the route we will take. Do you have maps?”

“Just hand-drawn ones. We head north. Go west of Fort Worth and swing in on the Butterfield Road up through the Indian Territory around Fort Smith. Then north through Arkansas Boston Mountains; through Fayetteville, Arkansas; to Cassville, Missouri. On the plains above the Missouri line we head east. When we get to Springfield we head north to Sedalia.”

“That is the railhead?” Harp asked.

“Yes. They shut down all the railroad building for the war. The other one up there is at Rolla. But it is way over. Lots of mountains and hard to get through that way.”

“Missouri was about halfway either side during the war wasn’t it?”

“Yes, lots of support for both sides and know we will meet some opposition going up there. I have two dozen forty-caliber new Winchester rifles in the old wagon and the ammo for them. I don’t want war, but I don’t want to be denied a chance to market those steers.”

“My opinion is to get those men familiar with those rifles. So if the day comes to push or shove we are prepared to handle the matter.”

“Good idea. I am not going north to pick a fight, but the delivery and sale of those cattle is my business.”

“I understand. You have plans to hire anyone else?”

“I think you and Long can handle it. You both are educated. I spoke to your father earlier. I know he is a leader, and he told me you boys were as good as him at getting things done. He said with the Comanche still on the prowl out there, someone must stay home to defend the ranch and your mother.”

Harp agreed with a wary shake of his head. “Long and I know all about that big bell steer. It’ll be driving him home that will be the real task.”

“I promised we’d get him back.”

“Yes, sir. You say he’s bringing more horses, too?”

“He says up to twenty or so head. The best I could do.”

Harp agreed. “That will help.”

“They left that bullet in me, too close to my heart they said, and warned me it could dislodge and then I might be in dire danger of dying. If anything goes wrong on this trip, I want you and Long to finish the job and get the money that is hers back to my wife, Anna. And all the rest involved in this will need to be paid as well. Harp, I want to teach you all I know about dickering over cattle prices if I am not here. I hope I’ll be doing that. There is nothing I want more than to come home with money that will provide for my family’s future.”

“We also want you there and to come back.”

“I am a realist. There is a chance I won’t and then it lies with you boys. I consider you two men. Secure the money. Folk. . .