Apache Son Read online

Apache Son

  By Darrel Bird

  Copy©right 2014 by Darrel Bird

  “Buckeye, do you reckon they is another River like this in other places?”

  “Sure they are, I once heard a feller over in Shafter said he went clear to the Columbia River once.”

  “Where is that do you reckon?”

  “Well, it’s a sight far from Big Bend country, that’s how far it is.”

  Chaps and Buckeye Jenkins sat at campfire along the banks of the Rio Grande talking in low voices.

  Chaps sat with his back to a tree roping his toe with a piggin string. Chaps was sixteen and Buckeye was seventeen. They both worked for the Driskel ranch. The rancher had taken them both in as youngsters. Buckeye’s people had been killed by Mescalero Apache, and Chaps was of questionable descent of which no one knew. His only name was Chaps.

  He had stumbled onto the ranch when he was about five years old, dirty, wet and starving and all he could speak was the Mescalero-Chiricahua language which nobody could understand or cared too. This added another mouth to feed for John Driskel because the boy was white as they come with a shock of blonde hair.

  He had taken Johns chaps off the hook by the door of the main house and wouldn’t give them up, he squalled every time John tried to take them, so John made himself another set and left the boy have them. Thereafter the name Chaps stuck.

  “Buckeye, who do you reckon my folks was?”

  “I don’t know, some say you were taken by the Chiricahua and some say the Mescals got you. I reckon they was afraid of the buffalo soldiers so they set you off near the ranch. That’s what Mr. Driskel reckons anyhow.”

  “I ain’t never heard of no Apache being afraid of anything. Buffalo soldiers or not.”

  “No, I don’t reckon they is afraid. It probably made better sense to them to set you off so the ranchers would find you rather than keep you, and fight a war over some snot nosed kid. It was the better part of valor.”

  “The better part of what?”

  “Valor. I read it in a book, it mean it’s better to do one easy thing even though it don’t seem right, than to keep doin’ what you is.”

  “That’s nonsense Buckeye, you better quit readin’ them books!”

  “What do you know, you never read ary a one to try, and educate yourself.”

  “Wonder why they didn’t just knock me on the noggin’ with a rock and be done with it? That would be the better part a valor.”

  “The Mescals and the Chiricahua look after children they take in raids like their own, its down right bad luck to kill one of their own children I reckon. Now will you shut up Chaps? I want to get some sleep before we have to get them cows out of the brush tomorrow.”

  Chaps settled down with his head on his saddle and covered up with the horse blanket and started to doze when he heard the distinct sound of a breaking stick in the brush near the camp, he rolled over and went for the one rifle they had between them and Buckeye beat him to it. Buckeye shot into the brush without thinking.

  “Hey you dern igits, are you trying to kill me? Put that thing down before you hurt somebody!” Old Dover Stubbs walked out of the brush leading his mare.

  “We thought you was Mescals Dover!” Buckeye said with a grin.

  “They ain’t no Mescals down here you fool, the Army done run’em off!”

  “Well, you could have been a Mexican bandito or sumpin’ I reckon.”

  “Well I wasn’t you whelp, sides, you couldn’t hit the side of a barn.”

  “What you doin’ down here Dover?” Chaps asked.

  “I got bad news boys, a gun slinger done kilt the boss over in Shafter.” Dover looked down at the ground, his weathered face hidden by his sombrero in the light of the dying fire.

  “Kilt him… you mean he’s dead?”

  “I reckon you is dead if you is kilt, ain’t you? I hated to have to come down here with news this bad boys, I surely did.”

  Chaps stabbed at the ground with the toe of his boot, “Who was it kilt him?”

  “They say it was Turk Benson what came to work for the double J a couple weeks ago, they say he is fast with a gun and a killer of men.”

  “Why would someone want to shoot the boss Dover?” Buckeye asked.

  “I reckon Morton hired him.”

  Chaps picked up his saddle and walked to the picketed horses, “Where you goin’ boy?” Dover asked.

  “I’m going to shoot me a man, that’s where I’m going.”

  “Son, don’t do that, we got to bury the boss tomorrow, and besides, that man will kill you for sure if you go out there.” Dover pleaded.

  “I’m a goin’, you boys bury him, I aim to kill that man.”

  “But you ain’t never kilt nobody son, come on to the ranch with us and we’ll get some help to bring him in.”

  “Dover, they ain’t no use talking to Chaps when he gets that way, just let him be, maybe he’ll cool down afore he gets to the double J.”

  Chaps put his foot in the stirrup, “I reckon I’ll be seeing you boys sometime.” He walked his horse off into the brush.

  “Lawdy me, what has the world come too?” Buckeye looked at the brush where Chaps had entered.

  “Lets go on back to the ranch, we got a burying to tend to, the vaqueros will go back across the Rio and there won’t be anybody but us left.” Dover said.

  “I reckon…do you think chaps will actually go out to the double J all riled like that?”

  “He might, the boss is the only family he ever had. Lawd a mercy, if he does we’ll have another one to bury this day.”

  After two hours of hard riding, Chaps came out on the flank of the large hill that overlooked the ranch. He saw a couple horses in the corral, but no other sign of life.

  He turned the gray and kicked him into a lope toward Shafter. He got to the edge of Shafter just as the sun was going down.

  He walked his horse to the front of the saloon, but instead of tying him to the hitch rail, he dropped the reins to the ground extracting the Winchester, and walked into the saloon.

  There were a couple cowboys playing cards at one of the tables and the bartender was at the end of the bar talking to them, they glanced up but paid him no mind.

  “Where is the man that Kilt Mr. Driskal?”

  This got the attention of the men, “Whos askin’?” The bartender said.

  “Why if it ain’t Chaps!” One of the men recognized him. “What you doin’ in town boy?”

  “I aim to kill the man what shot my boss, that’s what.”

  “Well, he’s out at the double J, so I reckon you got a ways to go before you can do that.”

  “Thanks, I reckon I’ll be on my way then.” He turned to go.

  “Boy, you better turn that horse around and go home before something bad happens to you.” The cowhand said as he followed him to the door. “You just go on home now, before you get into trouble you can’t handle.”

  “What home?” Chaps returned as he spurred the horse down the short street of Shafter toward the double J ranch that lay twenty miles to the east.

  The two cowboys and the bartender watched in silence as Chaps horse turned a corner and was out of sight. “Let’s finish our hand.” The other cowboy just shook his head as they returned to their game.

  Chaps walked his horse quietly up to the bunk house, got down and leaving the reins on the ground, he pushed the bunk house door open slowly with the barrel of the Winchester.

  He saw the man with two guns in cross draw holsters right away, he was bragging about how fast he had drawn to shoot Driskel down.

  The men looked past him at the rifle pointed at them, then the man turned to see what they were staring at.

  When he turned to look Chaps fired the Winchester, the bullet took most of th
e mans forehead off as the brain matter spattered the faces of the other three cowboys.

  The men were in shock as he walked out and got on the gray and put the spurs to the gray.

  The gray, not being used to having spurs dug into his flanks, leapt into a full gallop out of the ranch yard. He didn’t slow the horse until he was a quarter mile from the ranch house, then he stopped the horse and got off. He doubled over as he vomited on the ground, the sight of the mans headed peeled back indelibly branded on his brain.

  He wretched until there was nothing to come up, then he leaned against the saddle shaking from head to toe.

  After some time he remounted and walked the horse toward town. In a few hours he was back at the Driskal ranch. He climbed into his bunk and slept.

  He jumped as Buckeye poked him awake,