Last Cattle Drive for Justice (Preview)

Chapter One

In the heart of small-town Nebraska, Christian Ridley woke up when the sunlight peeked through the small window of his tent, shining directly on his face. He sat up, turning his head to see his lovely wife, Jolene, next to him. Even in the dim light of the morning, with strands of her blonde hair sticking out of her night cap and with her mouth open, emitting a slight snoring sound, he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He’d gotten lucky. Or was he blessed?

The smell and sound of food cooking outside the tent piqued his interest. He felt the years in his bones as he pushed to his feet. He reached for his trousers and jacket. After pulling both on, he pushed the flap of the tent open and stepped out into the fresh morning air. To his surprise, his son, twelve-year-old Emmett, was the only one up and he was cooking breakfast.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, strolling to his son, staring down at the eggs and sliced bacon sizzling in the cast iron pan on a grate over a fire. He ruffled the boy’s jet-black hair, so much like his wife’s. Emmett chuckled but pulled away.

“Come on, Pa. Cut it out. I’m not five anymore.”

Christian laughed softly. “You’ll always be five to me,” he replied. He reached out again but Emmett leaned away once more. Though he had a smile playing with the corners of his lips, he narrowed his eyes as a silent threat to his father. 

 “Uh oh,” Christian said, backing away as if intimidated. That made Emmett smile wide, sitting up straight again, using a flat wooden spatula to move the eggs around in the pan.

“Coffee there for ya, Pa,” he said, pointing with the spatula to a black coffee pot sitting on the edge of the fire on a large flat rock. 

“Thanks, son.” Christian grabbed one of the mugs from a pack close to him. The pack was filled with cooking materials. “You drinkin’ coffee, too?”

“Nah,” Emmett replied. “I don’t like the stuff. I’d rather drink whiskey.”

“You’re too young for whiskey.” Christian’s response was stern but halted. He saw the side-eye his son gave him. “Oh, you’re teasin’ me. Good. The only time you get anything like that is when you’re injured. You ain’t injured, so you get no whiskey.”

“You keep that in mind, Pa. When I stub my toe or sprain my finger, I expect a whiskey bottle. Agreed?”

Christian just shook his head, pouring coffee into the mug. He set the pot back down and lifted the mug to his lips, looking over the rim at the newly rising sun. 

“It’s a nice morning,” he said. 

Emmett looked up toward the horizon. “You think it’s gonna warm up today, Pa? It feels like winter is already here and it’s barely September.”

“Dunno,” Christian responded, sitting on a chopped log flattened to create a seat. He looked down and kicked several small rocks out of his foot path. “You’re right though. It’s been colder sooner this year.”

“Ma still sleepin’?” Emmett took a plate from the bag with the cooking supplies and spooned out two eggs on the plate, adding several slices of bacon before handing it to his father. 

“Yeah, I don’t expect her up for another hour or so. I just wanna tell you, son, how good I think you’re doin’. For your first cattle drive, you’ve been pickin’ up the duties and tasks faster than some of the helpers I’ve employed in the past. And I don’t even need to pay you! That’s the best thing about it.”

Emmett laughed. “You just watch and see, Pa. When I’m older and I go out on cattle drives myself, I’ll ask for more money than you’ve ever paid any of them!” 

“And you’ll likely deserve it. I’m real proud of you. I want you to know that. I’m impressed with everything you’ve learned in such a short amount of time.”

Rustling leaves near the two made them both turn their heads and look out at the woods. This area of Nebraska was loaded with wooded lands that many small critters called home. Christian couldn’t count all the rabbits, squirrels, groundhogs, moles and other animals he’d seen since they set out from their home of Kearney, which was a small town on the east side of the state. 

“Look!” Emmett stated eagerly, pointing at a fat gray squirrel racing up the trunk of a nearby tree. “Look at that thing go! He acts like somethin’s chasin’ him.”

“Sure does.” 

They watched for a few minutes before Christian pushed to his feet, leaning to pick up an empty bucket nearby. “I’m gonna go clean off my face and hands, get us some more water from that creek I saw.”

He headed for the swampy creek situated inside the woods to their left. The water running in the stream was so clear that the ground underneath could be seen. It was only about a foot deep. The surrounding forest was overgrown and presented many dangers he’d warned Emmett about. He walked calmly through it, looking all around him to make sure no animals found him at all interesting. 

When they first arrived, they’d waited until they saw an animal drink from the creek before they’d filled buckets with water. Animals knew to stay away from rancid or poisoned water. That was one of the tips he’d taught Emmett years ago. 

He knelt on the shore when he got to the creek, reaching down and rinsing his hands in it. He splashed some on his face and used the bandana to dry off before dipping the bucket in. 

As he lifted the bucket out, drops from the sides splashed down to the creek. A louder sound drew his attention. He looked to his right. His heart jumped in his chest when he spotted a half dozen men, two on horseback, the others on foot. They were splashing through the creek, jabbing sticks down into the depths, a rudimentary way to fish. He watched them for a moment before slowly backing away from the creek. He didn’t want to put too much foliage between them because he wanted to keep an eye on them. But he also didn’t want to be seen. He only had his small .22 in the ankle holster he never took off, even when he was sleeping. 

He crouched, moving stealthily through the bushes, trying to be as quiet as possible. The men were ten yards from him when he stepped on a branch, and it snapped loudly. 

His heart nearly came out of his chest. He instinctively looked down at his feet but only for a moment. That moment was long enough. When he lifted his eyes to the group again, he was devastated that he’d gotten their attention. 

Christian backed up, stumbling but keeping himself on his feet. He dropped the bucket and bent to grab the gun from the holster, thinking it wasn’t nearly enough fire power against six fully armed gang members.

There’s no way out of this, he thought to himself. I need a lot of luck.

He unsnapped the strap that held his gun in the holster and pulled it out. But not fast enough. His worst fear became reality when he stared at one of the men, who drew his gun so fast Christian barely saw it. 

A second later, a bullet from that gun pierced his shoulder. Pain erupted from the shot. He stumbled back, heard his own feet splashing in the water of the creek. He fell back, his gun flying from his hand, landing somewhere near him he couldn’t see. His head came down hard in the water, which gave little cushion to the blow he took, knocking him unconscious.

Chapter Two

He came to, hearing Jolene screaming his name. He tried to get to his feet but found himself weak. He turned over, placing one hand on the back of his head. When he brought it back around, it was covered with blood mixed with creek water. He must have hit his head on a rock. The outlaws must have left him thinking he was dead. 

 He reached the end of the creek and tried to use his left hand to balance himself but there was no strength in that arm. The long sleeve of his shirt was pink from the blood coming from his shoulder while he was in the water. 

“Jolene…” He could barely speak her name. “Jolene.” He scrambled to get to his feet, hurrying back to the campsite. To his horror, the other men on the cattle drive were already dead, their bodies strewn around the clearing. The fire still burned in the firepit. His son lay on the ground next to it. All the breath left his body. He fell to his knees, agony stripping him of any strength. 

One of the outlaws was holding a fighting Jolene, who struggled mightily to get out of the man’s grip. She kicked with her feet, jerked her shoulders, tried to punch and bite the man in front of her while at the same time wriggling out of the outlaw’s hands. 

Seeing her in the hands of the outlaws and his son’s blood spilled on the dirt created a new energy in Christian. He tensed, his back bracing, his muscles tense. He ran straight at the nearest outlaw, who was clapping and laughing, egging his buddy on. His intention was to take the gun from the outlaw and shoot every single one of them. 

But once again, fate was against him. He stumbled just before he got to the outlaw, tripping on a small pile of sticks his son had most likely put together to start the fire when it went out. He fell into the man instead of tackling him with purpose the way he intended. The man fell forward. 

All he did was distract the outlaws. The one holding Jolene didn’t let go. In fact, he laughed when he saw Christian, who was now struggling on the ground with the man he’d tackled. 

“Get ‘im, Butch! Show ‘im why you got that name!” 

Jolene fought hard to get out of his hands. Christian could tell. She was shrieking and squirming, stomping with her feet, bloodying the bottoms since she had not had time to put on any clothes. Her night dress was ripped in several places, but Christian noticed that only one shoulder was exposed. The rest of the rips showed no skin. 

“Let me go!” Jolene screamed. “Let me go! Chris! Chris!”

“Jolene…” He couldn’t scream as loudly as her. The bandit he was fighting had him in a hold that was taking his breath away. 

Suddenly, Jolene broke free from the man who held her restrained. She bolted to him and the outlaw he was fighting, throwing her entire body at the man, knocking him from his straddling position over Christian. 

With renewed strength and presence of mind, Christian leaped to his feet, jumped in the air and came down on top of that same bandit. He struggled to snatch the gun from his side. 

“Get his gun, Jo!” Christian called out. “Get his gun!”

Jolene did just as she was told, snatching the gun from the holster at the bandit’s side and shooting two of the bandits before she was overcome by another. Christian ran at the man who’d been holding Jolene. For a moment, in just the brief few seconds it took to reach him, Christian’s mind searched for where he’d seen him before. He was tall, a mean look natural to his face, his skin tanned from the sun, his eyes blazing as if he felt the current fight was unjust.

The agony of losing Emmett spurred on Christian’s movements. It gave him the strength he needed despite the bullet going completely through his shoulder. Somehow he could move that arm, not to throw a punch but to keep himself balanced when he threw himself at the bandit with the blazing dark eyes. 

He knocked the man down and they rolled several feet one overtop the other. Christian found himself on the bottom again. Before the man he’d run into could get him in a similar choke as the last one, he threw out his hand and grabbed a pan from the bag of cooking supplies his son had brought out and left open. His hand wrapped around the pan handle, and he swung it as hard as he could. The pan slammed into the bandit’s head, knocking him away. When he was free, Christian got to his feet and hit the man in the head three more times with the pan, splattering blood all over the bottom of it and the ground around them. 

He snatched one of the guns from the man’s belt and swiftly turned in the direction of his wife, who was fighting like any man would just a few feet away from the body of their son. 

He wondered if she, too, was fueled by the painful loss. 

He slid his finger over the trigger and pulled it right when another outlaw came up beside him and grabbed his arm. The bullet that was intended to stop the man attacking Jolene shot low and penetrated the outlaw in the leg. It caused a reaction but didn’t stop him from continuing his attack. In fact, it seemed to just anger him more. He drew back his fist and punched Jolene so hard she fell back several feet and hit the ground. 

He saw Jolene try to get to her feet as the man who’d hit his arm, making him miss the good shot, brandished a knife, twisting it back and forth. “Looks like you need a lesson.”

“Get ‘im, Carl! Get ‘im!” The voice that rose up cheering was the same one who’d initially been clapping and laughing when Christian came up on the scene. 

Anger split through Christian. He ducked and dodged as Carl sliced the air in front of him with the knife. He leaped backward, skillfully keeping his body out of range so Carl couldn’t use the knife on him.

“Somebody shoot this guy!” Another bandit yelled. “I ain’t got bullets in my gun. Shoot him!”

Christian figured if he could just keep moving, he could dodge any other bullets that might come his way. He also thought about using Carl or one of the men on the ground as a shield. There were so many options. 

“Why you fightin’?” Carl asked, his smile wicked and crooked, his nose wrinkling as he sneered. “You gonna die, you know it. You gonna die. Just makin’ it harder on yourself.”

“Get back!” Christian yelled, looking right behind the bandit at the tent where his guns were. 

“Oops, saw that, mister, but your tent ain’t got no weapons in it now.” At that, Carl reached around to his back and pulled a pearl handled Colt .38 from his waistband. He turned it left to right, displaying it for Christian. There was no need. He knew where it was from. It had been a present from Christian’s own father, William, on Christian’s 21st birthday. “You gonna get shot with your own gun.”

Anger and fear mixed together in his mind. He backed up slightly, preparing himself for another run at the man but an explosion went off when Carl pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the side of his head right above his ear.

Chapter Three

Christian jerked awake. He sat up in the bed, making it bounce slightly. It had been four years since he lost his family, but the nightmares had never ceased. The long scar from the bullet that had struck his head ached as if it was a recent wound.

It had never stopped hurting. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the cigarette box from the nightstand. Inside the tin box were four already rolled cigarettes, ready for flame. He used a match from the packet he also took from the box to light one of them. Smoke curled from the end of it, mixing with what he exhaled through his nose. 

He blew the remaining smoke through his mouth and sat forward, reaching up to rub the scar the bullet had left.  

The woman he’d paid to spend the night with him stirred in the bed. He twisted to see if she was awake. She turned over so her back was to him, clutching the blankets tight around her naked chest. 

She wasn’t as beautiful as Jolene. In fact, none of the women he spent time with ever held a candle to Jolene. He doubted he would ever find another to spend his life with. Did he even want that life anymore?

The sad fact was that Christian truly did want that life. He wanted a farm to tend, children to raise and a wife to dote on. But he didn’t want just any wife or any kids. He wanted Jolene. He wanted Emmett.

He cleared his throat softly, unwilling to wake up the woman. Rubbing his head more, he let it hang, pushing his fingers through his brown hair. Tears pooled in his eyes and throat, but he choked them down, making them go away, just like he always did every single morning for the past four years. 

Christian had taken up residence in Sunlake, Kansas. When he’d lost his family, he’d traveled south, entered the state of Kansas, leaving Nebraska and all its pain behind. Would he ever go back? 

His heart broke when the image of his son flashed through his mind. He’d woken up after the bandits were gone. He remembered the prayer he’d sent up to God, thanking Him for the continuation of his life. But when he saw what happened to Emmett and Jolene, he became angry. He’d lifted his clenched fists and shook them at the sky, vowing to find the men who had killed his family. He’d become a warrior on that day. 

Now, four years later, what did he have to show for all that energy spent? What did he have to show for his vow that had never come true? Nothing. Nothing but a cigarette and a lady of the night in his bed. He was a drunk, spending most of his time working at his friend, Elias’, saloon as a strongman. His version of security was to hold nothing back, punch first and ask questions later. 

Christian was tall at 6’5, with broad shoulders and a muscular chest. He was stronger physically than anyone he knew. Even with the bullet through the shoulder, once he was healed, it was like the shot had never happened. He had the scars to prove it did, but the bullet had missed anything that could cause permanent damage.

He was lucky because of that.

“Mmmm, what’r you doin’?” 

He twisted his body to look at the woman. She was pretty, which was saying a lot considering her line of work wasn’t conducive to healthy living. She didn’t make much money, smoked a lot of cigarettes and cigars, and cussed like any man Christian knew in his entire life. 

“Nothin’,” he replied. “Just thinkin’. Go back to sleep. You don’t have to leave yet.”

“Mmmm,” the woman responded, quietly. She’d turned back to him and closed her eyes, bunching the blanket up under her chin. “Why don’t you get under the covers with me again? It’s cold.”

“Nah,” Christian said, shaking his head. “I’m up now, awake. Don’t want to do anything… strenuous.”

There was no better way to tell her he’d had enough of that for a while. He only sought out the affections of a woman when he needed stress relief. He found no pleasure in it, other than the physical. He didn’t love these women. He loved Jolene. He was in love with a dead woman. 

The thought made him turn away from her, while he might have admired her for a moment longer if he could forget his deceased wife. 

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbled. He heard her sigh but shortly afterward, she was breathing steady and deep, a sign she’d had no trouble with his instruction. 

He put the cigarette in his mouth and let it hang from his lips as he pulled on his trousers, standing up to button them and pull the already-attached suspenders over his shoulders, leaving his chest bare. It was a little chilly. He thought about putting on a shirt. 

He was reaching for the drawer that held his clean shirts when someone pounded on the door. 

“Chris! You up?” he heard his boss’s voice. Elias was the owner of the saloon. Christian had been renting room and board from Elias, paying the bartender with his muscles instead of money. 

“Yeap,” he answered, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and tapping the ashes off. They drifted to the floor as he walked to the door. He pulled it open. 

“Got another one for ya, buddy,” Elias said, looking up at him. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Christian moved his eyes in the direction of the railing that looked over into the lobby of the saloon. He heard a man’s loud voice proclaiming he was willing to fight anyone and everyone in the room. The slurring of his words was a sign he’d had too much to drink.

“What the hell is he in here yellin’ about at this time of the day?” Christian asked. 

Elias, a short, stocky man with dark brown hair and a thin mustache, was not a fighter in any form of the word. He stood eleven inches shorter than Christian and had told him several times his height made Elias feel like a midget. 

Elias shrugged. “I don’t know. Can you take care of it, please?”

Christian raised his eyebrows. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

“Yes,” Elias said, taking a step back, sweeping one arm in the direction of the stairs. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Christian thought about telling the woman in his bed to stay where she was but when he looked back, he saw she had turned over once more and lay in the bed with her bare back exposed all the way down to her waist. He shook his head, leaving the room, not bothering with his shirt. It didn’t matter if someone shot him. He didn’t want to be alive anyway. Not without his wife and son.

He was surprised by how easily he could think, considering he’d been drunk from one am to five am that very morning. Thoughts of his lost family helped to sober him up every time.

He stomped down the stairs and turned at the bottom to go into the lobby area. Several men were trying to eat, giving the drunken man who was ranting the side eye. Christian saw several of them display relieved expressions when they saw him. 

He went up to the man, who was towering over one of the small, frightened serving girls, making spittle-filled demands of her. He came up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder.

The man spun around, a look of fury on his face. Christian didn’t hesitate. He punched the man so hard in the side of his head, he flopped down on the floor like a fish out of water. Christian scooped him up, carried him to the door and dumped him outside on the small porch. He kicked the man, making him roll down the steps onto the dirt road. 

Christian turned and went inside the saloon without looking back.

Chapter Four

To Christian’s surprise, the drunken man was not done. He heard gravel shifting and while holding the door open, turned his head and looked back. He was a bit too late in his reaction. The man tackled him from behind. 

Christian had been in a lot of fights the last three years he’d been working for Elias. He was so tall and muscular, he had never been knocked down by another man, especially from behind. He wasn’t knocked over by this one either. 

The man clung to his back, likely surprised that Christian hadn’t gone down. 

To his credit, he reached around Christian’s head and scratched his face with long, dirty fingernails.

The pain was minimal. But it fueled Christian’s anger. Still hungover from his night of drinking, his head pounding, fury filled him faster than normal. He reached over his head and grabbed the smaller man by the neck. He used every ounce of strength he had to rip the man from his back and drop him to the floor like a stone. 

Christian lowered himself so he was pinning the man down, one knee on each shoulder. He saw the fear in the man’s face. He didn’t care. In his mind, he saw those bandits, those evil men who had killed his son and violently tormented his wife before killing her, too. 

He was no longer taking care of a drunk in Elias’ saloon. He was landing blows on this man while seeing another face, several faces, in fact. Blood splattered from left to right and he repeatedly punched, left, right, left, right. He saw a tooth fly from his mouth. The man wasn’t screaming anymore. His eyes had rolled back and closed. He showed no resistance to what Christian was doing to him. 

It wasn’t until a few other men intervened that Christian was able to stop. Fury still pulsed through him. Three men, one on each side and the other behind him, pulled mightily, throwing their body weight backward so he could no longer punch the unconscious man on the floor. 

His breathing was hard and heavy. His eyes cleared as he realized what he’d done.

“Chris, are you all right?” Elias was by his side, giving him a concerned look. 

Christian nodded at the men restraining him. All three looked just a bit fearful of him and they gently let him go, lowering him to sit on the floor. He rested his arms on his upright knees and stared at the man he’d beaten to a bloody pulp with no regret or remorse in him. The three men all moved to the man, picked him up and took him outside. 

“Chris?” Elias put one hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and looked up at his friend.

“No,” he responded, a heavy darkness taking hold of his mind. “I haven’t been all right for a long time now, boss.”

The concern and compassion on Elias’ face was as clear as the freckles on his nose. He nodded. 

“I understand.” His voice was soft. He held out a hand to help Christian to his feet, which amused Christian a bit. His weight would more likely pull Elias down than life Christian up. He took the offered hand anyway, accidentally smearing a bit of blood from his knuckles onto Elias.

“Sorry about that,” he remarked, pointing out the red smear.

Elias shook his head, though he looked stricken, pulling the cloth from his belt and wiping the blood away.

“Christian.” 

He turned to see it was Sheriff Nate Dooley, whose hazel eyes flashed with disappointment. The lawman stood with his hands on his waist, shaking his head. He lifted one hand and beckoned Christian with his fingers. “Come on. You know you gotta spend some time with me after this.”

Christian nodded, resigned to his fate. 

“Can you take care of the woman in my room for me, Elias?” he asked the owner, who was also the bartender, who handed him the towel to wipe the blood from his hands. 

“Ya know I will, my friend. I’ll come and get ya in the morning if ya need me to.”

Christian nodded. “I reckon so.”

Elias gave him a sad smile. “I always do. Get some rest while you’re there.”

With a final nod, Christian turned to Sheriff Dooley, who was patiently waiting for him at the door. 

As they walked along the dirt road toward the jailhouse, Christian saw passers-by glance at him and then move along. None of them stared or said anything to either him or the sheriff. They weren’t afraid of him, as far as he knew. Most of them understood his pain and avoided crossing him in some way. He considered them all his friends.

“How’d ya know what I did?” Christian asked curiously. 

“Lady came and told me you were beatin’ somebody up with a crazy look in your eyes.”

Christian had no response to that. He believed it. He had, in fact, lost his control. That’s why he surrendered to the sheriff without a fight. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone too far as a guard for the saloon. On a good day, he could control it. But on a bad day…

He went into the jailhouse and walked back to the cells, finally noticing the pain in his knuckles. It was likely he’d fractured a bone in his left hand. It happened so frequently, his hand would be deformed if he kept it up. He was resistant to the pain, ignoring it or rather, adding it to the rest of the agony in which he existed. Many times he’d questioned the Lord, wondering why he’d been forced to live while his family died. Every day he wanted Emmett to run to him like he’d done when he was a small child. Every day he woke up and turned to see if Jolene was next to him. She never was. She never would be again. 

Sheriff Dooley closed the cell door with a clang while Christian went to the small cot pushed up against one wall. He sat heavily, making the cot creak under his weight.

“Am I gonna have to charge you room and board, buddy?” Dooley asked, slight humor in his voice. 

“You might wanna consider it,” was Christian’s response.