The Call Chronicles:

Bittersweet Reunion

By Kathi Sprayberry

 

Yet another day dawned in much the same way as all the others had in the ten days since Matt Call and his twin, Jason, discovered their ranch buildings burning and their parents dead. The only thing that really happened in that time was sending off telegrams to their other three brothers, Adrian, Brian, and Hank. As yet, they'd not responded with the date when they'd arrive or even a quick notice they'd received the bad news. The lack of a response from his older brothers bothered Matt more than he'd ever admit to anyone other than his twin. Call's stood beside each other. His family had always responded to any kind of emergency since their parents moved to this rough and tumble country on the edge of the frontier.

"They'll come." Matt tipped his flat brimmed black hat forward until it shaded his eyes from the rising sun. "Adrian, Brian, and Hank haven't ever ignored a call for help."

Matt balanced a straight backed chair on two legs until he could see the whole street but any passersby would think him napping rather than watching. His black booted feet crossed at the ankles, he took in each man meandering past the house on Black Hawk's main drag, in an effort to locate Flint-Eyed Tom.

"Show your face, you lousy cur," Matt muttered. "You're responsible for this itch I can't scratch."

The compliment about Flint-Eyed's character failed to make the miscreant appear. In the ten days since Matt and Jason rode into Black Hawk with the Pinkerton's man, Fistless, Sheriff Watkins, Aunt Priss, and their baby sister, Eliza, Flint-Eyed Tom had been conspicuously absent from his usual haunts. Both saloon keepers claimed they'd not heard a word regarding Flint-Eyed's whereabouts but shifty eyes from those men told another tale.

"Sit tight," Matt told himself. "Flint-Eyed will get thirsty soon enough. He'll show in another day or two."

Patience wasn't Matt's best virtue but he'd learned a lot about sitting around and doing nothing since he and Jason rented this house from the banker and moved their sister and aunt into the building. For the first couple of days, he and Jason rode back and forth between Black Hawk and their ranch in an effort to locate the rest of the Call herd and then sell off those animals to local ranchers. Their next duty, distasteful as it was, was to clean up the burned buildings. The decision to wait rebuilding the house and barn was a difficult one but necessary as both Matt and Jason figured locating the Griswold Gang and dealing with those murdering scum was a bit more important.

"Things would have moved faster if Fistless had told us what he knows." Matt peered hard at a man skulking along the boardwalk but decided the gent had a hangover to beat all and was headed home. "But no. That Pinkerton's man has more secrets than a gaggle of giggling girls and gives them up a lot slower."

The Pinkerton's man, Harley Fistless, accompanied the brothers out of Denver on a mission to speak to their father. Although Matt and Jason prodded and pried the first few hours of their trip home, Fistless refused to say much more than the leader of the Griswold Gang hated their parents for some horrible but unnamed reason. Fistless did promise to reveal the whole story once the rest of the Call family was present, so as not to tell the tale twice, and maybe forget an important detail or two.

"Where are Adrian, Brian, and Hank?" Matt whispered. "Shouldn't have taken this long for the Western Union man to find them."

A new worry beset Matt. Perhaps the Western Union man here in Black Hawk would appear to let the Calls know the Griswold Gang had struck prior to arriving at the ranch. It was possible Matt and Jason were the only Call men left to avenge their family's honor.

The smell of coffee twitched Matt's nose. He tilted his head to the left when a door opened and smiled at Eliza. The youngest Call child balanced a tray with two steaming tin cups of coffee in one hand while she pulled the door closed with the other hand.

"Don't bother to help," Eliza said in a peevish voice. "It's not like I'm important enough to do anything but tote and fetch for everyone else."

Matt sighed. He'd done a lot of that since Eliza got over her fright from when the Griswold Gang attacked the ranch. Not seconds after she stopped crying and jumping at shadows, Eliza began demanding to go along with Matt and Jason when they took off after the murderous hombres.

"Not this morning, sis." Matt took one of the coffee cups and held the hot brew under his nose, to let the delectable aroma clear the cobwebs from his brain. Sitting guard duty on their rented house sure put a dent in the amount of sleep he got. "Is Jason up and around yet?"

The clatter of horses hooves against the hard-packed dirt street caused Matt to turn his attention to the south end of town. Three men approached the livery with the look of having ridden a long and hard trail. One of the men wore the blue uniform of the United States Army. The second man's khaki pants and double-breasted, blue shirt bore rips and tears, as if he'd come through an Indian attack and lived to tell the tale.

"Of course Jason is up," Eliza snapped. "He said to tell you that Sheriff Watkins and Mr. Fistless will be here for breakfast in about ten minutes."

"Sooner." Matt glanced at where Fistless and Sheriff Watkins stopped across the street to look at the newcomers before returning his attention to men he believed he knew. "Go on inside, sis. There might be a problem."

There would be a problem if Eliza figured out the reason for Matt and Jason's worry these last ten days might have disappeared. Matt focused on the third man of the trio dismounting their horses and grinned. The last man was a big bear of a man with waist length coal black hair and a bushy beard. He wore buckskins from head to toe. All of Matt's worries about his brothers vanished as soon as he identified Hank.

"Thank you, Lord." Matt set his coffee cup on the railing and swung Eliza into a tight, grateful hug. "Tell Aunt Priss to set three more places, sis. Our brothers are home."

This house sure wasn't home but would do until the Call's rebuilt their ranch. Matt winced when her boots connected with his iron hard thighs. Of all the children in their family, she sure came out darned short, coming no higher than the middle of his chest.

"They are?" Eliza squirmed free and dashed into the house. "Jason, our brothers are here!"

As soon as she slammed the door, shutting out the Call's private pain from observation by any casual passersby, Matt vaulted the railing and ran along the boardwalk.

"Tell Jason I'll be there in two flicks of a lamb's tail," Matt hollered at the sheriff as he passed the lawman. "He already knows Adrian, Brian, and Hank are here." "See you at the table." The sheriff yanked Fistless alongside and hurried toward the house. Unwilling to let his brothers walk into one of Eliza's hissy fits or come upon the Pinkerton's man unwarned, Matt sped up. His spurs jingled and jangled against his boots. As he got closer to his brothers, Adrian, Brian, and Hank slapped leather. The three of them relaxed and laughed as Matt slid to a stop in front of Banker Milton, out for his morning constitutional. The banker automatically stepped to the left while Matt went right. Matt burst out laughing, held onto the banker, and turned in a circle, and then ran over to his brothers. "Just need a fiddle and a woman, Matt," Hank joshed. "Thank ye for stepping aside, good sir. Our youngest brother is apt to trip over his own feet when he's excited." Matt let the good-natured insult slide. Later, when they were alone, Hank would discover the younger brothers he'd given the duty of helping their pa had more than grown into their responsibilities and then some. "Brian and Hank happened to be with me when your telegram arrived," Adrian said. "It took us a day or two to get away. My fault." He pulled off his flat brimmed blue hat with gold adornments and swiped a sleeve across his sweaty forehead. "Command means I can't just leave without taking care of a few details." "I see." Matt's gaze fell upon the silver eagle decorating Adrian's collar, another promotion in a career that had been nothing but stellar. "When did that happen?"

The Army uniform fit Adrian like a glove but his posture indicated troubles more than their parents' deaths. Last Matt heard, Adrian had taken to stepping out with the daughter of one of his sergeants, a winsome young woman by the delightful name of Susannah. Adrian's letters often contained little but stories about Susannah's virtues, including her attempts to provide a bit of gentility in a fort teeming with men often given to crudeness and unused to women, until Matt and Jason had sworn to tease the life out of their oldest brother once he returned home for a visit. All the Call brothers loved women but none had yet to settle, mostly owing to the fact they all wanted a woman much like their mother, soft when necessary but tough enough to withstand the rigors of the frontier. From Adrian's loquacious descriptions, he'd found a woman worthy of the Call name.

"A month ago." Adrian's lips tightened into a grim smile. "Indians nearly overran us. They managed to take some of the women but we got them back." His voice sounded troubled. "Except one. I have patrols out looking for her."

"Who?" Matt asked, glaring at Brian and Hank when they hissed for him to drop the questions.

"Susannah," Adrian said. "We have a good lead as to where the war chief took her but I'm... I'm not sure she'll want to come back, no matter how much her father and I reassure her nothing's changed as to how we feel about her."

Without further explanation, Matt understood his oldest brother's sadness and the sense of a difficult decision in the offing. Adrian might have made the Army his career but he'd always indicated he'd take on the duty of overseeing the Call Ranch once their pa wasn't able to handle it any longer. None of them expected that to happen for many years and with the troubles Adrian had experienced, he must be torn about what to do next.

"Sorry," Matt said, meaning the short condolence with everything he held dear. "If you want to--"

"Susannah would have wanted me to be with my family," Adrian interrupted. "I saw Watkins but who was with him?"

Pain etched into Adrian's eyes stayed further questions on Matt's part, for the time being. As soon as they had an idea where the cowardly Griswold Gang lit after leaving the ranch, Matt would approach his other brothers about working on getting Adrian back to where he really needed to be, searching for the woman he loved.

"That would be Harley Fistless, Pinkerton's man. A bigger pain in the ass doesn't exist," Matt said. "Gather your gear and let's put some moves into getting to the table before Fistless has a chance to sniff Aunt Priss' biscuits. That man eats enough for two of your battalions, Adrian."

"That man better not eat everything before we get there," Hank said. "I'm hungry enough to eat a bear and go back for seconds."

Not an unusual feeling for Hank or any of the Call brothers after they'd put in a hard day's work. Matt accompanied his brothers back to where their horses were hitched outside the livery. After gathering their gear, Hank, Brian, and Adrian followed Matt back to the house. The reunion was sweet but also sad, as everyone missed the presence of Ma working with Aunt Priss to scramble up enough eggs for three battalions of men. On mornings when the whole family gathered, Pa always sat at the head of the table and read Bible verses while they awaited their meal. A large lump formed in Matt's throat as the knowledge those days were gone forever again hit him.

"Drop your gear in a corner out of the way and wash up," Aunt Priss ordered, her voice sounding half glad and half sorrowful. "Food's ready."

"That big buffoon outta take his hide on down to the bathhouse and see the barber after he cleans up whatever stink has stuck to him," Fistless said with more than a little malice in his voice as he stared at Hank. "You too." The Pinkerton's man pointed at Brian. "You both look like you tangled with Indians."

Hank growled low in his throat. "You're right, Matt. This man is the biggest pain in the backside that ever walked the Earth."

"The Crescent still have that funny balcony?" Brian asked.

"Of course," Eliza said, sounding far better than she had when she brought Matt his first cup of coffee. "Why?"

"Want to dangle this fool over the ledge, Hank?" Brian asked. "It's obvious his education in manners is sadly lacking."

"Sure." Hank reached for Fistless. "We'll just let him hang upside down until all the blood rushing to his head turns on his brain."

Fistless, to his credit, darted into a corner but then proclaimed his cowardice by inching over until he stood behind Aunt Priss. She glanced at the Call boys.

"I didn't slave over this meal to have it get cold whilst you teach an idiot manners," Aunt Priss snapped. "Leave him alone. Fistless doesn't know the ways of the west." She looked around the silent room. "What's everyone waiting on? These eggs will become as hard as last year's hardtack if you keep standing around."

Adrian, Brian, and Hank rushed out to the back porch. The sounds of their good-natured griping about cold water warmed Matt's heart. This was like a normal morning on the ranch, almost.

"You could have taken out that block of ice in the water," Hank complained as he came back inside with Adrian and Brian. "I near about froze off my whiskers cleaning up."

"Dropped that ice in just for you," Jason said. "I knew you'd enjoy the memories of winter mornings at the ranch."

Eliza zipped between the stove and table with platters of ham fried up to a turn and large serving bowls of those creamy eggs and the light as heaven biscuits. After a prayer of thanks for bringing the family back together, the men fell upon the food like locusts attacking a wheat field.

"Wonderful, Aunt Priss," Brian said. "You do a better job on your biscuits than our cook on the wagon train. Keep this up and I might not go back."

"Oh, go on with you." Aunt Priss flapped her apron in front of her red face, whether from the heat of the stove or his compliment, Matt wasn't sure. "Eat, everyone. There's more coming in a tick."

"Join us," Jason said around a mouthful of eggs and ham. "None of us are slouches at the stove. You and Eliza have done enough this morning."

Breakfast went on much longer than it had since Matt and Jason settled Eliza and Aunt Priss in this compact but well-maintained house. Over cups of coffee, the men sat in silence after all the food had disappeared while the women cleared the dishes.

"Those can wait, Priss," Sheriff Watkins said. "Fistless will now tell us what he knows about the Griswold Gang and why he thought it necessary to hide that information from Matt and Jason after convincing them to let him ride with them back to the ranch."

"What?" Hank glared at Fistless.

Matt snickered at Fistless' obvious discomfort. The Pinkerton's man still had to learn Western men didn't cotton to strangers telling them how to act.

"I'll only say this once and then I'm on a stage bound for Denver," Fistless said. "The sooner I get out of this mannerless town, the better I'll feel."

"We'll see about you leaving after you tell us the tale," Sheriff Watkins said. "I have other plans for your travel."

"You don't tell me what to do." Fistless puffed up like a bullfrog preparing to scare off an enemy. "I take my orders directly from Mr. Pinkerton and the last thing he told me was to warn David and Martha Call and return to my base as soon as was possible."

The Call brothers glanced at each other. Each reflected what Matt felt. Puzzled at how little Fistless cared about imparting the information about why their parents had run into the Griswold Gang at some point and anger at the Pinkerton man's attitude about frontier justice.

"Fine." Sheriff Watkins slapped a telegram onto the table. "Here's your new orders from Alan Pinkerton. It seems you've forgotten that little talk we had last night but I haven't. Alan and I go back a long time. He agrees with my assessment of this situation." He grinned, a grin full of a promise to make Fistless' life miserable. "Read 'em and weep!"

Fistless stared at the telegram for a very long time. Matt hid a smile of triumph at how Watkins bested the Pinkerton's man behind a sip of coffee. Since conning Matt and Jason into accompanying them home from Denver, Fistless had done little but make their lives miserable. The darned man had moaned and groaned about riding a horse instead in what he called the relative comfort of a stagecoach, Matt and Jason arrived home a day late - a day that would have made a major difference between burying their parents or perhaps saving their lives.

"Well?" Adrian leaned his elbows against the wooden table and leaned forward. "What does the telegram say?"

Fistless' mouth opened and closed several times. He crumpled the offensive missive into a clenched fist and stared at the Calls.

"Mr. Pinkerton says I'm to stay as long as it takes to bring the Griswold Gang to justice," Fistless spat out. "And I'm to understand that your kind of justice might mean a short rope on the side of a trail rather than a proper trial and prison."

"Yup." Brian nodded. "Out here, folks don't cotton to hardcases killing good folks. We might get those men in Griswold's gang into a jail here in Black Hawk but I can guar-en-tee you they won't last a night as soon as folks figure out what they did."

"Barbarians." Fistless sipped coffee for a couple of minutes. "Here it is. What I've been told by decent law officers I interviewed after the incident. Back in 1868, a couple visited Kansas City, a couple from near Black Hawk, David, and Martha Call. They were hopeless country bumpkins but managed to make a decent proposal with the local cattle brokers for their ragtag herd."

A series of low growls didn't startle Matt, as he'd released one himself. Fistless had just insulted their parents a total of three times. The sheriff laid his shooting iron the table, eliciting another gulp from Fistless.

"I believe we'll stop the editorializing about how you feel regarding David and Martha," Sheriff Watkins said. "Remember, you're a guest in the house of their children."

"Certainly." Fistless looked at each of the Calls in turn. "Well, there was a bit of trouble with one of the pioneers going through Kansas City. A man by the name of Halsey Mintonka, a half-breed from what I've heard."

Brian gripped the edges of the table, shaking coffee atop the linen cloth Aunt Priss had sewed up the first night they stayed here. Coffee splashed across the linen fabric in puddles from the cups.

"Don't insult a man by using the term half-breed unless you know he's a troublemaker," Brian said. "Don't you dare insult anyone else. Tell the damned story." He glanced at Aunt Priss and Eliza. "Sorry for my poor manners. This man is about to make me very angry."

Fistless stared at his now half empty coffee cup and curled his hands around the tin cup.

"Halsey Mintonka had a wife and three boys with him in their Conestoga," he said. "They were stocking up for the trip west, heading for California, somewhere up near Sacramento, but Mintonka fell afoul of Archibald Griswold and his thugs. There is a bit of confusion here, no one's sure who drew first, but the ending was that Mintonka died at the hands of the Griswold Gang and they decided his wife would accompany them in their travels but not her boys."

"How old were those boys?" Aunt Priss asked.

"Naught but one, three, and five," Fistless answered. "Well, this is where things really get confusing. David and Martha Call happened upon this altercation right as Griswold shot the oldest boy between the eyes and gave the Mintonka woman the choice of watching her other brats die or going willingly and leaving the boys for someone to take care of." He stared down to avoid the incredulous looks from the Call's. "If anyone would, given how those boys looked like their father, Cree through and through."

Fistless went on to explain how their parents interfered with Archibald Griswold and saved not only the children but their mother from certain death. Eliza began to cry but silently, her tears dripping down her face. Matt was about ready to jump up and find his horse right then. That he'd find Griswold and his cowardly gang wasn't in question. What happened to those scum once Matt did had a lot to do with stakes, honey, and a very sharp knife with a bit of salt to loosen tongues into confessing.

"Your ma managed to find the sheriff and a couple of deputies while your pa held the Griswold Gang at gunpoint," Fistless said. "But when the law arrived, Archibald laughed and started shooting when your pa's attention wandered for a minute. No one else died but the gang escaped." He finally looked at the Calls. "There's a rather large reward for the Griswold Gang, five thousand for each man in the gang."

"Dead or alive?" Adrian asked.

"Don't matter." Fistless shook his head. "I don't care if those men did murder your parents and Mintonka and his kid. It isn't right to hang them without a trial. It just isn't right."

Silence reigned in the kitchen as Fistless' words faded away. Matt pressed the heels of hands against the table's edge. These men, the Griswold Gang, weren't fit to live. Frontier justice demanded a quick hanging for anyone murdering women and children. It was just that simple. No matter how Fistless felt, it was his family's duty to go after those murdering scum.

A crack of knuckles brought Matt back to the family and he glanced at his brothers. To a one, they looked ready to take on whatever stood in their path between them and the Griswold Gang.

"Well, since I'm the least recognizable, I'll be the one to find out where Griswold and his bunch are hiding," Hank said into the silence. "I'll start by hanging out at the saloons and listening real well."

A protest immediately rose up Matt's throat but then he swallowed his words. Hank had a point, to a degree.

"No," Adrian said. "Matt and I will take the Silver Spur. Jason and Brian will sit around the Golden Crown. We'll give it day or two to hear any news."

"Or maybe Flint-Eyed Tom will finally crawl out of whatever hole he's been hiding in," Jason said. "I'm thinking Flint-Eyed done took up with Griswold and his gang."

"Mayhaps," the sheriff allowed. "I agree with Adrian, Hank. The way you look now, with them buckskins and your wild hair and beard, Griswold will figure out who you are in one sweep of a lamb's tail."

"So." Hank reached over a shoulder and withdrew a rather large knife from a holster on his back. "Me and Toothpick ain't run into nothing we can't get out of."

"What is that?" Aunt Priss' voice rose to a screech. "That thing looks positively evil, Hank."

"Nothing but an Arkansas toothpick, Aunt Priss." Hank set the oversized knife on the table. "Picked it up from a gent who didn't need it anymore." He grinned and Matt sat back at how much he understood from that grin. "That gent thought to relieve me of my supplies and pelts one night. He has nothing to worry about anymore, especially his belongings. What I didn't need, I sold off," Hank said.

Without any further explanation, Matt stood and glanced at Adrian.

"We'll need to get to the Silver Spur," Matt said. "Flint-Eyed hasn't been seen anywhere in town for two weeks. That's his longest dry spell. I figure he'll show up today or tomorrow."

"About right." Adrian stood as did Brian and Jason. "Aunt Priss, can you help our Hank look like a hardcase?" Adrian asked.

"Easily," Aunt Priss said. "All it'll take is a few minutes with the sewing shears and some new clothes." She looked Hank up and down. "None of the rest of you resemble a bear so we'll have to pick up some things at the General Store." She favored Fistless with a withering glance. "You'll do for that. I'll tell you the sizes and what I want. Don't get creative. Hank won't be attending a cotillion. Make one mistake that endangers my nephews and you'll discover Call women are far more dangerous than their men."

Sheriff Watkins chuckled. "I'll figure out a name to put on wanted posters, Hank, and put them around town so folks think we have another miscreant loose hereabouts."

"Tucker Tupelo," Hank said without pause. "No one's using that name any longer."

"I have a few dodgers for him," the sheriff said. "He's a bad one. Are you sure you want folks thinking you're Tupelo?"

"Tucker won't object." Hank unleashed that eerie grin again. "He's fertilizing some ground up in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He's the man who tried to take my pelts."

Everyone nodded but didn't voice the one question running through Matt's mind. Hank had gone north, to Montana and beyond, to trap beaver and bears. Why in heaven had he been in New Mexico, on the Colorado border?

 

*         *        *

 

Five hours later, Matt hunched over a mug of beer at the Silver Spur Saloon. Adrian stood beside Matt. Both had nursed their drinks most of the afternoon.

"Maybe Brian and Jason are having better luck." Adrian raised his mug, took a sip, and grimaced. "That soup the day Sgt. Mason boiled his boots with stringy jerky tasted a whole lot better than this swill. The Silver Spur sure has changed since the last time I was here."

Matt couldn't disagree. Decent men avoided the Silver Spur after the owner sold it to one Nick Bellows last month. Bellows stood at the other end of the bar and polished a whiskey glass with a kerchief he'd removed from around his neck. A small man, no more than five foot, six, Bellows was thinner than a string bean with pale blonde hair, and faded blue eyes. Everything about the man was pale, as if he never dared to let the sun touch him. His mouth remained in a half twisted grimace at all times, owing to a scar that ran from the point of his chin to his right eyebrow.

"I done told ya that Fl--" Bellows gulped and stared at the batwings, now slamming against the walls of the saloon. "Aw, hell!"

Matt followed the barkeep's gaze and grinned in anticipation of a confrontation he'd wanted for ten days.

"He's here," Matt whispered to Adrian. "That's Flint-Eyed Tom."

Both brothers shoved their beer mugs along the counter toward Bellows. The Call men slapped leather and moved as one across the room. Flint-Eyed Tom, known for his quick, lancing gaze from eyes so black they appeared darker than a moonless night, reached for his shooting iron, hung low on his hips. The town bully's weapon hung up on the rawhide thong holding the gun in place and he cursed.

"Where is the Griswold Gang?" Matt demanded, aiming both his Colts at Flint-Eyed's belly. "Be quick about it. I've held onto this itch to corner you for ten days now. My finger won't wait much longer."

"Me either." Adrian pointed a long barreled Colt at the man.

"I ain't tellin' ya lousy Calls nuthin'." Flint-Eyed stared at the three guns pointed at his belly.

"You'll get nuthin' outta me."

The hardcase wiggled his gun in its holster, in an effort to draw.

"You'll talk." Matt's grin widened. "Tucker Tupelo will see to that."

"Tupelo's here?" Flint-Eyed squeaked. "I thought he'd gone to cover after that marshal in Dodge City put up a five hundred dollar reward on him." He looked around the mostly empty saloon. "Tupelo won't want to swing for all them stagecoach robberies."

The batwings swung open again, slamming even harder into the walls. Matt stared in shocked amazement at the man coming through them. The only way he could identify the individual as his brother, Hank, was by his size. Few looked as massive and mean as a grizzly awoke from a winter nap. But this Hank was in no way the jovial man who'd volunteered to find the Griswold Gang. This Hank looked purdee murderous!

THE END

 

The third installment of The Call Chronicles: NEFARIOUS PLANS is available now!

Kathi Sprayberry has always had a fascination with the nineteenth century Wild West and the untold stories of survival and living on the frontier. She currently lives in Northwest Georgia with her husband and youngest son. When not writing, Kathi enjoys photography and reading. Her western stories, BROTHERS UNDER THE SKIN, DESERT ROSE -- BOUNTY HUNTER, and "JACKIE RYAN -- US MARSHAL" have appeared on the Frontier Tales website. Another story, "THE PREACHER'S DAUGHTER," will debut in November. Both "BROTHERS UNDER THE SKIN" and "DESERT ROSE -- BOUNTY HUNTER" won Best Loved in the months they appeared.