Alliance Against the Devil – Extended Epilogue

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Vernon, Texas 1878

The sunrise over Vernon, Texas held the promise of another mild winter day with wisps of clouds from the south that looked like the possibility of rain. Wendell Clayton rose with the roosters and had coffee, and a warm biscuit dipped in honey before leaving the kitchen of the crew house. The men and women working around the clock in the vast ranch kitchens were usually older, mostly blacks or Mexicans who had worn out their knees and backs toiling in the cultivation fields that stretched over 30,000 acres.

The central house kitchen staff and crew were interchangeable but never replaceable. One of the true pleasures of working on the sprawling Waggoner Ranch had to do with Dan and his son, W.T. or, as Wendell called him, Tom. They were the kind of employers willing to give people a chance to prove themselves. Sometimes, they gave people second chances. That was how Wendell ended up thirteen hundred miles southeast of his hometown of Antelope Spring, Montana. Tom and Dan liked hard workers with commendable personalities.

Wendell had fit into their work ethic enterprise following the tribulations that had happened to him in Deer Lodge. The day Wendell showed up at the ranch months following Harry Bowen’s unfortunate passing, Dan and W.T. took him on as one of their drovers. And Wendell wasn’t alone when he arrived at Waggoner Ranch.

He knew the value of dedicated workers, and with his limited experience with Tom during their time in Deer Lodge, Wendell knew age wasn’t an issue for the Waggoners. They had agreed to hire Wendell’s father, Edwin, to oversee the farming needs as one of the foremen. Wendell’s mother, Alice, dedicated her time to kitchen help, laundry, and sewing. She became interregnal to main house operations and Dan Waggoner’s wife’s close friend.

“I got those notes you made about rerouting our water supplies,” Tom said when he found Wendell standing on the green lawn leaning against the fence. “You made some suggestions about getting our feed from Kentucky instead of Kansas City.”

Wendell liked his coffee and biscuit outside in the company of the foaling mares that had separations from the rest of the horses. Dan and Tom liked keeping the careful notes on the mares coming into heat. Some of the horses on the ranch were the highest selling animals in the country. During Wendell’s time as manager, the Waggoners had seen record-breaking sales of Quarter Horses. Much of it had to do with Wendell’s keen business sense and ability to anticipate changes in administrative and financial needs. Sometimes, it wasn’t only about equine duties but what the horses ate during their formative months.

“We’re getting dry grain from Kansas City. The western crops aren’t getting the rain they need. By the time the train gets here with the feed, any moisture will have already evaporated,” Wendell said before finishing his coffee. “I read in the Lexington Standard early last month that rainfall in Kentucky’s produced big crops. They got more than they need, and some farmers are willing to sell wholesale at good prices.”

Tom nodded with satisfaction. “We might get some flack from our suppliers in Missouri.”

“We’ll barter for beef trades. If you’re worried about losing graces, I could look into sweetening a deal with a few workhorses. That will satisfy them until their crops come back, and we’ll unload some of the sore-back horses we got around here.”

“You never cease to impress me, Wendell,” Tom said. “You’ve been here less time than most of our foremen, and you do twice the work.”

“I think it has to do with my employers,” Wendell said as he watched a two-month-old foal prancing inside the paddock with its mother. Complimenting Dan and Tom didn’t work to ease Wendell’s duties. But, he didn’t mind the hard work.

Dan only laughed and said, “I think your wife probably misses you when you spend too much time working. Of course, we appreciate it, but you put in more hours than most.”

“I don’t see this as a job,” Wendell said.

He turned from looking at Dan to take in the rest of the area. Waggoner Ranch encompassed more than 500,000 acres. It spread over five counties, and they were actively looking to purchase more adjacent land without leaning on the other ranchers in the area.

“You know, when I was sixteen, my father sent me to Kansas City with a group of drovers, fifty saddle horses, and five thousand steers. I was the youngest of the drovers and in charge of all of them. I was wet behind the ears and had the thrill of a lifetime. Dad made me full partner at seventeen.” Dan looked at Wendell. “I want you to take the Quarter Horses up to Deer Lodge next season.”

Wendell looked thoughtful and nodded. “I’ll do whatever you need. But don’t you and Dan usually go up there?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t want Dad traveling that distance anymore. I got a lot of moving parts here I want to keep an eye on. We’re still trying to figure out how to get that oil out of the way and clear the pastures. That’s taking a lot of time, but I got some fellows from Pennsylvania coming down in a few months to take a look at all that crude. They seem to think there’s money in it. I think it’s a lot of shit to haul away to make room for cleaner land. I don’t have a lot of people I can trust like I do you.”

“I’m honored, Tom. Thank you,” Wendell said.

“You’ve earned more than your keep. You can handpick your crew.” Tom smirked lightly and added, “You think your wife might want to go along?”

Wendell considered the question as a way for Tom to tease him.

“You could ask her yourself,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s something that would interest her or not.”

“Well, I already asked her,” Tom said. “Samantha was the one who convinced Dad to have you go instead of me.”

Wendell shook his head slowly at the idea of Samantha boldly making a case for Wendell to lead the Quarter Horses to the racetrack and equestrian show. “She didn’t say anything to me.”

“Well, how could she? You’re always working. I think she insisted on having you go with her accompaniment to have some more time with her husband,” Tom said. “You got a fine woman who’s got more fire than blood in her veins. But she’s still young like you, and the both of you need time together to grow a family.”

“We’ll find time for a family later,” Wendell said. “We’ve talked about it.”

“If you’re worried about setting down roots and rearing a family while you’re here, you have nothing to worry about,” Tom said. “As far as we are concerned, your family is our family.”

“Thank you, Tom. That means a lot.”

Anyone visiting Waggoner Ranch had to come to the main house before they went anywhere else. The main house sat on a peninsula in the middle of the larger of the two privately owned lakes. Water was a precious resource, and the Waggoners knew to protect their reserves. Dan put the house on the outcropping land because he liked waking up every morning to view the placid lake.

“Looks like we got some men looking for work,” Tom said. “Want to join me?”

Wendell left the tin cup turned over on the fence post as he followed Tom. Both men dealt with newcomers often. Tom liked putting people to work in a trial by fire sort of way. If they lasted a few days of hard labor, they usually got a bed in a bunkhouse and three square meals, plus money to spend. The Waggoners didn’t need cattlemen who made claims they couldn’t fulfill and no use for drovers who used brawn over brains. Dan and Tom had built a successful business with business partners who saw beyond the frontier ways to smoother paths to commerce.

“Morning,” the man said from horseback. Wendell recognized him immediately. He saw the pistol in the holster half-cocked, like the rider expected trouble everywhere. “We’re looking for the owners of this grand ranch.”

Wendell surveyed the three riders. They were weather-beaten, saddle-worn men who spent more time on the range than in a dwelling. He stood beside Tom and waited patiently. He recognized all of them. Their lead talker had a prominently twisted nose from a prior altercation some years back.

“I’m W.T. Waggoner. This is my land.”

“You got yourself a big place here, Mister. We were coming down from Montana looking for work. A few fellows in Vernon told us this was the place.”

“Well, we’re open to hardworking men,” Tom said. “There might be something here we could use some help doing.” He glanced at Wendell. “What do you think?” he asked.

Wendell saw a rider galloping across the fields.

There had been an empty spot next to him in bed that morning. Samantha always got an earlier start on the day than Wendell. She rode her father’s horse every morning, usually looking in on the herds and checking on leg wraps for the horses. Samantha took to the horses with a passion, and when the veterinarian wasn’t available, she sometimes got her hands into helping with the births.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in honey and strapped to an ant hill, is that Wendell Clayton?” the man asked. He sat back in the saddle and glanced to the others with smugness. “Boys, you remember Wendell, don’t you?”

“Sure do, Neil. He’s got hisself a right nice gig here, I reckon,” Oliver Patterson said. The man had lost some of his hand. It didn’t take a lot to see life after Antelope Spring hadn’t been kind to all of them.

“You know these gentlemen?” Tom asked, looking at Wendell. But Wendell kept a keen eye on Samantha as she rode between the paddocks and headed toward them. No one had noticed her except him.

He loved watching her ride. She was a free soul on horseback. The floppy hat usually fell back from her head when Samantha rode fast. The ties on the hat kept it loose against her back while her sable-color hair flowed around her head like silky waves.

“Why, sure,” Neil Bray said, “Wendell here is an old friend. Ain’t that right, Wendell?”

Bray had no patience or consideration. His domineering personality got in the way of objective thinking. Instead of waiting for Wendell to speak, Bray put in the words he thought necessary enough to get him employment with Tom.

Tom was a level-headed man who valued opinions from people he trusted. Wendell knew interrupting Tom wasn’t how to get in the man’s good graces. Tom turned to see what Wendell saw, and the other three men waited while Samantha rode the horse fast and hard into the compound. She pulled at the reins to halt the horse behind Tom and Wendell. When she dismounted, there was a bounce in her step.

“Well, now, I remember that little filly.” Bray had crossed the line, but the man didn’t know it. Tom was a family man, and disrespecting Wendell’s wife wasn’t going to win him any favors.

“And I remember you, Mr. Bray,” Samantha said. She stood between Wendell and Tom. Wendell saw the scowl on Tom’s face. He’d made up his mind but had continued to allow the three men to stay for the moment. “I see my husband’s mark remained on your face. That nose never healed properly.”

Bray wasn’t a man who believed in politeness. He took personal repute as a challenge. The man lived his life thinking he was right when everyone else got it wrong. Wendell had summed him up the moment he dealt with him the first time. So, when Samantha commented about the twisted nose on his face, he dismounted and shifted the gun belt, as if trying to intimidate everyone. It wasn’t about a job anymore. It was about saving face.

“You best muzzle that bitch, Wendell,” Bray said. “Or I’ll see to it that she can’t do nothing but grunt when I’m finished with her.”

“Sir, do you know you’re on my property?” Tom said. “You’ve got no business here anymore. It’s best if you turn around and leave.”

Wendell saw Oliver and Wilson Randolph exchange glances. If they had expected following Bray would lead to good fortune, they hooked their wagon to the wrong horse.

“You ain’t got no gun,” Bray said. “I’ll go when I’m ready.”

“You’re armed, so you think you’re in charge, is that it?” Wendell asked. “You’re in a different world now, Mr. Bray. The way of the gun is in the past. It would be best if you left with Mr. Randolph and Mr. Patterson. Tom had no intention of hiring you, anyway.”

“What the hell do you know?” Bray said. “You ain’t in charge here.”

“Actually, he is in charge,” Tom said. “Wendell’s manager for the ranch. I wouldn’t have hired you if he wasn’t for it. But the minute you disrespected his wife, you lost all favor.”

Bray pressed his palm against the pistol grip. Wendell wondered if he had used that gun to kill a man or if the moment hadn’t itself presented yet. It wasn’t something he wanted to find out directly.

“What happened to the ranch in Montana? I thought you worked for Mr. Jackson.”

“Jackson got himself shot over bad debts,” Oliver said. “He lost the ranch at gambling. He wrote something called a bond or something for the railroad. They found his body floating in Grasshopper Creek.”

“The marshals tracked down ol’ Boyer in Utah last year. He killed two of them before they took him down.”

“That was my bounty,” Samantha grumbled.

“What you see in this man, anyway?” Bray said. His hand rested on the grip. Samantha glanced at Wendell with her icy blue eyes and frowned lightly. He understood the look. She saw what he had picked up the moment Bray arrived.

“Sir, you and your friends need to leave. I’m not asking you again.” Tom rarely got angry. He surrounded himself with people who knew how to do their jobs without needing a lot of direction. People appreciated their work under Tom’s employ. Wendell and Samantha enjoyed their positions and were willing to lay down their lives to ensure the safety of others at the ranch.

The confrontation drew more people outside. Early morning chores didn’t wait. Wendell saw his parents had exited their small cabin and lingered on the porch, watching. Even at that distance, they saw how Bray had an itchy finger.

“I ain’t going to work for you anyway, mister. You got nothing but Mexicans and Redskins here.” He gestured at Wendell with his left hand, keeping the pistol covered. “You got this asshole working for you and his little whore thinking she’s better than anyone else.”

Wendell tensed, ready to go after Bray. But Samantha had anticipated his moment. She grabbed his arm before he could step out and confront Bray directly.

“Wendell, I lost my daddy because of two stupid, greedy men.” She smiled up at him. “I don’t want to lose my husband to a selfish milksop.”

“What the hell did you call me, bit—” Bray didn’t finish because Samantha hadn’t lost her edge. He hadn’t anticipated how fast she was or her understanding of firearms.

When the pistol went off, still holstered, the frosty shock registered on Bray’s curling face before he built up the breath to scream and fell over. He held his leg with his hands, reeling and squealing in the dirt. Wendell watched Oliver and Wilson exchanged looks again. They remained on horseback without helping immediately; neither of them when for their sidearms.

“Oh, how did that happen?” Samantha asked, trying to sound innocent through her smile. When Bray fell over, she had removed the pistol from the holster through sleight of hand.

“Someone go fetch the doctor and the sheriff,” Tom shouted. He stood by Wendell and shook his head. “Did she do that?” he whispered.

Wendell shrugged. They watched Samantha empty the bullets from Bray’s gun with the cartridge ejector.

“See, Mr. Bray, sometimes men go around half-cocked,” she said. “It’s dangerous because if you don’t load that gun right, and it goes off…” She spun the empty cylinder after the bullets had rattled against the ground. She looked at Bray and clicked her tongue. “Well, sometimes the gun can go off, and someone like you, a filthy-mouthed pissant, can up and shoot themselves.”

“You did it,” Bray said through his pain and gritted teeth. His red face with the broken nose stared up at Samantha from the ground. Wendell glanced at Tom. His employer held back from smiling.

“How could I possibly have disarmed you?” Samantha said. She tested the weight of the unloaded gun. Then, she spun the pistol on her trigger finger. It whirled in the air, and Samantha caught it again. “I don’t know a damned thing about guns. I don’t like guns, Mr. Bray. I am here with my husband and my family, and we haven’t had the need for guns.”

While Samantha spoke, she continued to show off her skills with the pistol. Wendell felt thankful that Samantha didn’t load it again. She looked around at the others who had heard the gunshot and come running. Alice and Edwin were watching her with mute fascination.

“Now, did anyone see me shoot Mr. Bray?” Samantha asked. “I saw that he carried a pistol and that he insulted me, my husband, and Mr. Waggoner. But I don’t know nothing about the claim that I shot him.”

“I stood there watching the whole thing,” Tom said. He pointed a finger at Samantha. “All I know is Mr. Bray had the nerve to disrespect my friends. He shot himself.” Tom glared at Oliver and Wilson. “Now, the both of you might want to think long and hard about what you saw here before the sheriff gets here. I can tell you he doesn’t have any patience for men who think they can make excuses using guns.”

Tom looked at Samantha and shook his head. “Mrs. Clayton, I think you could give that gun to me to hold for a while.”

“Of course, Mr. Waggoner,” she said, handing it over after flipping it, so it was grip first. “I hate to think someone else might get hurt playing with that gun.”

Wendell saw Samantha grinning at him and winked. He’d never felt prouder of her.

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