rode back to Jeff’s ranch a couple of days later and said his cows were indeed sold to the army post at Fort Davis. “And the seller had a scar across his chin. It sounds like that Lester Willis hombre, don’t it?” Hobie asked.
“Yeah, it sure does,” remarked Jeff.
Two weeks later, Smitty rode out to their pasture northeast of the Saber River. He wanted to make sure the cattle his boys had herded there last week were still where they were supposed to be. They were feeding closer to the river than they should’ve been. He noticed quite a few horse tracks leading from around his herd and going back toward the river, so he followed. They led into the water. Looks like someone’s scoutin’ our cattle agin,” he murmured to himself. Smitty turned his pony back toward the cattle just as a shot rang out. The slug caught Smitty high in his left lung and knocked him out of his saddle. He landed heavily on his back, looking up at the sky.
“Damn,” he whispered, after catching his breath, “so this is how I’m cashing out. I always figured I’d be killed standing up.” Smitty’s lungs began to fill with fluid. And he began coughing up bright red blood.
“Hello down there,” said the man looking down at Smitty. “Is that ground hard on your back, old son? Sorry you’re still alive, my shooting was way off today, or you’d be a dead man right now.”
“I recognize you, Lester Willis, you saddle scum,” replied Smitty between coughs. “You go to hell.”
“You go first, old friend,” replied Willis, and he drew his pistol and shot Smitty in the forehead, just above his eyes.
“That deed oughta put old Jeff Nelson in a ‘come see us’ mood, wouldn’t you say so, boss?” Willis opined to himself.
Just before noon, one of JN’s cowboys came galloping into the ranch compound.
“Somebody’s shot Smitty down by the Saber. He’s been killed.”
Someone had indeed shot him. His two Colts were still in their holsters, and it looked like he could’ve seen the person who shot him in his forehead. Jeff was numb and devastated. His right hand was gone, the man he’d went through the entire war with, in all the battles they’d fought. Smitty had never gotten so much as a scratch. And now he was dead, shot from behind and then murdered by some coward.
“Lester Willis,” said Jeff, “that outlaw is behind this. I know the bastard is. Yeah, he and Jorn Murphy are to blame. Damn, what was this county coming to?”
Jeff wanted to cry, to scream, to shed some tears for Smitty, but he couldn’t. He was too hurt, too sad, and too damn mad. I’ll find the person who did this Smitty. So help me, I’ll find him, and he’ll pay up. I promise you, mi amigo.
M. “Smitty” Smith was laid to rest beside Bo Jenkins and Ted on the small knoll overlooking the ranch. Jeff’s two best friends had lost their lives working for his ranch. Jeff suddenly felt so much guilt. Was he to blame? Jeff felt he must be.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, my darling,” Sally said softly. “It wasn’t your fault someone shot him. Smitty was doing what he wanted to do, and that was helping you on this ranch. Please try not to be so sad. Come let my pour you another drink and let’s go sit outside in my garden, then I’ll make you a nice supper.”
Jeff had trouble getting to sleep that night. He kept reliving battles against the Confederates he’d fought with Smitty and Bo, battle after battle after battle. Sometime after, he’d heard the clock in the hallway strike 3:00 a.m. Jeff was finally able to drop off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hobie Gilbert rode by and offered his sympathy regarding Smitty’s untimely passing. “Jeff, I just wished I’d had a foreman with the dedication to me that Smitty had for you.”
“Yeah, I don’t figure to find me a replacement for that man anyway soon,” Jeff replied.
“Say, Jeff, would you be interested in buying my ranch? I might wanna sell out if I decide to buy me a half interest in my friend’s silver mine.”
“A silver mine? Around here?”
“Well, it’s not very far from here, maybe an hour or so ride from here,” he said.
“You see any silver from it?”
“Yeah, he’s showed me some ore, and the county assayer says it’s mighty rich stuff too. But it ain’t from around here, the assayer says he’s sure of that.”
“Where’s it located, Hobie?”
“My friend wouldn’t tell me, he’d only say that it wadn’t too far away.”
“Well, if you really decide to sell, Hobie, give me the first chance to buy it.”
“I will, Jeff. Say, some Saturday, when I’m going to Jasper, how about I come by and we’ll ride in together and have a few beers together?”
“Yes, I usually need to buy some things on that day, stop by, and I’ll ride in with you.”
Jeff needed a ramrod to help look after his ranch and supervise his cowboys. Ed White was a good loyal friend, and he’d become a fair hand at cowboying, but Ed could never be forceful enough to become a straw boss. Jeff promoted an older cowhand named Mack who’d been for him since Jeff had brought his first cows west from Fort Davis in ’69. Mack had hit the ground running and took over running the ranch for his boss.
Monday, it rained all day, the cowboys stayed close to the ranch. Tuesday a soldier came with a purchase order for seventy-five head of cattle delivered by Friday. Jeff sent Mack and five drovers to round up that many steers and deliver them to Fort Davis. Jeff cautioned Mack and the others to remember to watch each other’s back going and coming. And he wanted them back to the ranch no later than Friday. Once again Ed was told to stay close to the ranch.
“Why don’t you never send me on them trips, Jeff? I know how to punch cattle.”
“Because I like to look at your rosy cheeks, Ed, that’s why.”
“Ah, go on, Jeff, you’re hoorahin’ me.”
Mack and his helpers were back Friday noon, and Mack turned over $1,500 to his boss.
Fall’s roundup produced another herd gain. The JN Brand’s mother cows dropped a hundred calves that needed to be branded. Thirty-nine needed to be castrated, and sixty-one were heifers who would become mother cows themselves when they became old enough to be introduced to the bulls.
The rest of the year passed quickly. Thanksgiving came and then Christmas. Cookie fed everyone full of great food. All Jeff’s employees received two weeks’ extra pay as their Christmas present, and then the first day of the January rolled around. Jeff would be an old man of thirty on his birthday.
Jeff’s ranch house was impressive; it sat on top of the broad mesa and commanded a grand view that Jeff had carefully selected. Up here, he could look out and watch his cattle grazing about and admire his ranch and see company coming when they were a long way off. He and Sally loved to sit together in the swing on the front porch and watch the sunsets. Sally had especially loved that part.
Jeff had worked mighty hard
