The Call Chronicles:

Desperate Search

By Kathi Sprayberry

 

The second oldest Call brother, Brian, yanked off his hat and sleeved the sweat dripping from his hair onto his forehead despite the relatively cool morning. The heat in his blood had finally chilled and he was now able to look at the devastation wrought during the gun battle with a dispassionate eye. He'd arrived in his hometown less than twenty-four hours earlier with two things on his mind. The first was to avenge his parents' deaths and the second was to get back to his wagon train as soon as possible.

"Damn!" Brian stared in horror at a bullet hole in his hat, a tall Stetson that added to his relatively short five feet, nine inches; short in comparison to his brothers who were all well over six feet. "That was close."

The bullet had pierced the hat at the crown. Brian brushed a hand through his wavy blonde hair and found no indication he'd sustained an injury. Releasing a piercing whistle, he returned his attention to Black Hawk. The street was littered with the bodies of men no longer part of this life and those moaning out their injuries. To a man, those hurt or killed in the heated exchange of bullets were all filthy and wore kerchiefs in an attempt to hide their identities. So far as Brian was concerned, in several cases, the masks hadn't worked. He recognized Two-Bit Billy, Fleet-Foot John, and Mac 'Bull' MacDonald. Those three had ridden in one of the wagon trains Brian guarded on their journey west. Point of fact, the wagonmaster had thrown them out after only two nights on the trail.

"Should have made for the tall and uncut like you were told," Brian said. "I warned the three of you what would happen if I ever again saw your ugly mugs."

Two-Bit, Fleet-foot, and Bull ran a crooked poker game a year back during a trip across the Santa Fe Trail. None of the pilgrims had complained about their losses but Brian had noticed how those three's saddlebags began to bulge with their booty. He'd confronted the men, who admitted their guilt in a way that proved their lack of a conscience. None of the hootowls appreciated losing their winnings but a threat to notify the U.S. Marshal assigned to Santa Fe sent them running after they relinquished the loot.

"Should have kept moving," Brian said with no regret for their fate. "But you did give me the most excitement I've ever experienced." He looked around the town. "Until today."

None of the buildings escaped unscathed. A trickle of molasses crept across the boardwalk. Avery Millikan, owner of the general store, kept a couple of barrels of the sticky treat near the front door for those inclined to sit and chat a spell. Every board of the stage office was splintered but the safe was still in the same place and appeared untouched. The batwings of both saloons hung at crazy angles and moved back and forth with the creak of protesting hinges.

"This beats all." Brian shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. "Never seen such a thing."

Rumors abounded about the dangers of crossing the west in a wagon train but those rumors rarely addressed the truth. Most journeys arrived at their destination with nothing more exciting than a child wandering off during the long days or perhaps a coyote attempting to make off with some of the livestock. In all the times he'd crossed the lower part of the burgeoning United States, Brian had seen Indians once and then only from afar. If he hadn't taken some time off to visit Adrian at Fort Golden, Brian would have missed the most excitement he'd ever experienced, the reason he'd shaken the dust of Black Hawk from his boots four years ago and signed on as a guard on the wagon trains.

"Almost a good enough reason to settle back here." Brian glanced toward the southwest and his mind focused on the only reason good enough to take him away from his family again. "Wonder if Annie misses me?"

Annie Wilson was the only reason Brian would abandon his family again. She was the wagonmaster's daughter and had joined them a year back, after her ma succumbed to a fever and left Annie alone in Kansas City. Brian had started walking out with Annie six months ago and their relationship had progressed to where he'd promised her to search for a place for them to call home. He had yet to ask for her hand but that wasn't far off. The attractive young woman shared his affection but Brian had serious doubts about ever going back to the wagon train at this point. Adrian would probably attempt to convince his brothers that he was leaving the Army to stay and rebuild the ranch but his affection for Susannah would leave their oldest brother longing to find his lost love.

"Guess it's up to me." Brian mentally said goodbye to Annie and turned his attention back to the town. "We need to go after Griswold. That man will rebuild his gang with the worst miscreants this side of the Mississippi if we don't."

His second youngest brother, Jason, stormed away from the church where he'd been talking with Aunt Priss and Eliza to join Brian.

"Adrian wants to leave in a couple of hours," Jason said. "He and Hank believe we can run Griswold to ground at his camp if we hurry." He glanced at the Call women. "Eliza's making noises about coming with us. I think Aunt Priss will keep her in line. If not." Jason grimaced. "I'll tan Eliza's hide. She needs to start acting like a woman."

"Good luck with that," Brian said with a smile. "Eliza's never acted like a woman. We didn't give her much of a chance, what with all the times she chased us around the ranch trying to prove she was as good as we are."

A yawn pressed against Brian and he held an arm over his mouth. What he needed was serious sleep but he couldn't disagree with Jason. Griswold would remain a torn in their sides, always coming after the Call brothers, until the outlaw joined the those of his gang who'd survived the ambush in jail.

"Aunt Priss thinks we need eat first," Jason cast a look at the church, where the women and children hidden in the cellar trickled out of the door. "I can't really argue with her. There's a big hole in my stomach that hardtack and beans won't fill."

"Yup." Brian started toward where Adrian, Hank, and Matt conversed with the sheriff and that irritating Pinkerton's man. "Any chance of leaving Fistless behind?" He snickered, out of keeping with all the death around them but Brian couldn't help himself. "I wonder how many times Fistless has had to use his fists when someone gave him a hard time about his name?"

"Probably never." Jason laughed. "Sure describes him, though. He's been nothing but a pain in the backside ever since he latched onto Matt and me in Denver."

The brothers walked side by side past the men from nearby ranches taking weapons from the outlaws on the street. A cowboy Brian remembered as working the Winding W, one Jonas Wilkerson, hefted one of his brethren over the false front of the hotel and bundled the body over a shoulder.

"That's Matthews," Brian observed, grief pressing against him. "We've known him for years."

The list of sins against the Griswold Gang grew by the minute. A few of his gang lay dead on the street. One boy with no sign of facial hair came to his feet and stared at the gun held on him by a defender. Tears ran down the lad's face as he wailed for his mama.

"Probably no more than fifteen," Jason observed.

"Younger." Brian shook his head in disgust and addressed the boy, "How old are you?"

"S-seventeen," the boy stammered.

More likely, the boy wouldn't see seventeen if he kept up this charade. The lad looked all elbows and knees bundled into a body sprouting upward at a fast rate. A good inch showed between the hem of his britches and the top of his boots. His shirt sleeves stopped well short of his bony wrists.

"Lying won't help you now," Brian said. "Tell me your age and be quick about it."

His voice sounded gruffer than he'd meant it to be but this boy was playing with his life if he didn't give them his true age. Brian suspected the boy wasn't much into his teens and had probably never traveled beyond his home before joining the gang.

Brian and Jason exchanged an exasperated glance when the boy gulped a couple of times and more tears ran down his face. The kid swiped a dirty fist under his eyes in a failed effort to wipe away his tears. The result was an even dirtier face than he already had.

"Thirteen," the boy said. "Two months ago."

Every defender within earshot hissed in disbelief. This boy belonged at home, tending to his chores or getting into mischief with his friends. Brian couldn't conceive of how a child this young came to join the Griswold Gang.

"Where are your folks?" Jason asked in a gentle voice.

"Gone," the boy said, his voice forlorn. "Ma sent me into the barn on my birthday to milk the cows. The house caught fire. I don't know how that happened but I heard my family screaming and ran out." He sniffled. "My whole family was inside. I couldn't do nothin'."

His voice trailed off and he lowered his gaze to the ground. Tears dripped off his chin and plopped against the dirt.

"Aw, hell!" Jason muttered under his breath. "Sending that kid to the gallows ain't right. Prison either."

Brian agreed with his brother but had to know how the boy hooked up with Griswold. Figuring out how the kid's whole family perished and he got lucky would help, too. Something wasn't right here.

"What's your name?" Brian asked.

"Lukas," the boy said. "Lukas Allen Gray."

The boy never raised his head. His voice showed no emotion at a strange adult questioning him. Everything about this child said shock and grief but Brian had no idea how to combat that except to treat him like he needed to remember his manners.

"Look at a person when they speak to you, Lukas," Brian said.

Lukas raised his head.

"How did you happen to join Griswold's Gang?" Brian asked.

"Mr. Griswold showed up when I ran out of the barn," Lukas said. "He told me I could join his men and they'd take care of me. Mr. Griswold said I'd have a lot of adventure and no stupid rules." He swiped a filthy sleeve under his runny nose. "It ain't fun like he said it would be. But I ain't got no one left. I have to stay with the gang."

"I'll just bet Griswold happened to show up." Jason glanced at Brian. "Aunt Priss?"

Their aunt had taken in foundlings ever since she moved to Denver after her fiancée abandoned her at the altar. Aunt Priss would probably stay in Black Hawk to look after her niece and nephews but would never let them hear the end of her disapproval if Lukas went to jail, or even worse, the hangman's noose.

"Aunt Priss," Brian agreed and jerked his head at one of the defenders he'd known for years, a bald-headed man known for his sense of humor and love of children. "Curly, take this boy to Aunt Priss and explain the situation. Jason and I will deal with the sheriff."

"Will do, Brian," Curly said in gruff voice that came nowhere close to hiding his gratitude. "Come on, Lukas. Miz Call will probably dunk you in a tub first and make you wash behind your ears but she's one of the best cooks around about these parts."

"Really?" Lukas asked. "Can Miz Call make flapjacks?"

"Sure can," Brian said. "Light as a feather and leave you asking for more. Her molasses syrup will have you drooling and she's a dab hand with biscuits, too."

"Thank you, sir," Lukas said. "Thank you. You don't know what it means that you care."

Brian did know what it meant to a boy on the cusp of manhood to have someone care about him. His pa had always made time every day with each of his sons, ensuring they didn't need anything special in the way of advice or taking them hunting with him. This boy would miss that now, unless someone took him in.

"We'll be on our way," Curly said. "Good job, Brian. It's nice to have you back."

Curly winked at Brian and Jason before leading the boy toward the church. Lukas didn't argue nor did he drag his feet.

"Now that we've taken care of Lukas." Brian cleared his throat. Darned dust kicked up during the gun battle had him near about ready to choke. That must explain why his eyes were watering so much. "What say we see about riding out after Griswold?"

"Works for me," Jason said.

The brothers hurried along the street. Neither paid much attention to the other outlaws begging for a second chance. To a man, the rest of Griswold's Gang looked old enough to know the difference between right and wrong.

"That boy Curly took to Aunt Priss wasn't old enough to go to jail or face a hangman," Brian said to the sheriff when they joined the others. "Kid's name is Lukas Allen Gray. Griswold 'happened' upon his family's farm right after the house caught fire with the kid's family inside."

"We figured Aunt Priss could straighten Lukas out," Jason took up the tale. "The kid seemed like he might reform."

Sheriff Watkins shoved back his hat and stared at the church. His affection for Aunt Priss was the worst kept secret in Black Hawk. More than a few of the residents had bets laid down at The Silver Spur as to when the sheriff would start walking out with Aunt Priss.

"I had a notice from the sheriff up near Fort Morgan." Sheriff Watkins shook his head and faced Brian. "A family minus one child was found in the ruins of their house a couple of months back. Their neighbors rode out for the sheriff because they'd heard a bunch of hootowls whoopin' and hollerin' afore they saw smoke. The sheriff up there, along with the Army, are looking for the boy."

"Are you sure this is the same boy?" Brian asked. Deep in his heart, he knew Lukas was the boy missing from the farm north and east of their location. Brian's hatred for Griswold grew. "Yup." Sheriff Watkins cleared his throat. "They found the kid's hat near the barn. Bunch of horse prints and one of the horses from the Gray place was missing, a Morgan. But the kid doesn't have any family out here and the sheriff isn't sure where to start looking for a relative willing to take him." Many a family found themselves in the same position out in the West. Brian had seen this happen on more than one occasion while guarding wagon trains. One of the wagons would go off the trail in the steep Sangre de Cristo's and kill most of those aboard, except for a child lucky enough to get thrown clear. Or illness might strike and leave a child orphaned without anyone to protect them. The Code of the West demanded those adults around the child take him or her in and care for that kid until either they grew up or family was located. "Then Lukas will be part of the Call family," Brian said. "He'll be fine with Aunt Priss riding herd on him." The rest of his brothers voiced their approval but Fistless protested in such a way as to draw attention from the defenders around them. "We ain't got all day to put up with you makin' trouble." Brian's voice dropped until it was near impossible to hear. "Hush your mouth."

"It's not right," Fistless argued. "That boy needs to live in a civilized town and with his family. Why, the lot of you will have him riding a horse and shooting a gun when he should be in school."

Red edged Brian's vision and his hands curled into fists. His temper was on the verge of exploding and he knew it was time to walk away, but honor was at stake. Fistless' accusations were untrue and it was obvious the man hadn't spent much time in the west.

"Listen to me, you miserable cur." Brian's lips pulled back into a humorless sneer. "Lukas probably doesn't– "

Hank clamped a hand onto Brian's shoulder right as blackness began to creep around Brian. No one other than his brothers was capable of dashing cold water on his temper at this point.

"He ain't worth it, Brian." Hank glared at Fistless. "Boy, I don't really care to keep listening to your mealy-mouthed insults. You don't know how lucky you are, Fistless. See, Brian here might be the runt of our litter but his temper's fearsome. I done seen him take on men as big as me or bigger and leave them unconscious and bleeding but he never had a scratch on him."

Fistless gulped and stepped back a few steps. He nodded his understanding and wiped sweat from his forehead with a pristine white handkerchief.

"Now that we're settled about Lukas," Brian said, happy to have avoided pummeling the louse into a pulp. "I suggest we get on Griswold's trail. I'm a fair to middlin' tracker thanks to a half Apache roustabout on the train. Hank knows the way to Griswold's camp. We'll take point." He faced the sheriff. "Will you come with us, Sheriff?"

"I need to stay here," Sheriff Watkins said. "Fistless will go with you. I deputized him a couple of days ago, so he's the law, even if he refuses to wear a badge."

His brothers groaned but Brian fixed the Pinkerton's man with a glared designed to melt steel. Fistless would learn to keep his citified attitude to himself or learn a harsh lesson.

"Now, Fistless might be the law on this posse," the sheriff continued, "but he won't be in charge. That responsibility falls to Brian with Hank as his second in command." He gave each of the Call brothers a sad smile. "Bring back that hootowl to stand on the gallows, boys. This town deserves that much."

Without another word, the Call brothers and Fistless mounted their horses and trotted out town. Brian and Hank took the lead but wasted no words discussing what they saw. Evidence of Griswold's flight was ample, from broken tree limbs and crushed brush to the blood splatter from his nose.

"Nice job with that knife," Brian said as they paused outside the canyon Hank indicated the gang used as a hideout. "Where'd you learn how to throw like that?"

"Real quick and darned near didn't live to tell the tale," Hank admitted. "Me and a puma had a disagreement about who'd use a certain watering hole in the Sangre De Cristo's. That puma came close to ripping out my throat." He grinned. "Except for the fact, I tossed Toothpick a bit faster than he jumped. First time I ever threw a knife and I hit my target head on."

"Must have practiced quite a bit since then," Brian said while looking over the deserted camp. "Damn! Where's Griswold?"

The cookfires had guttered out and there was no sign anyone had returned here, not even Griswold. A few saddlebags littered the ground near where Hank pointed out the place where Griswold had camped the previous night. Blankets smoldered near one of the fire rings and moldy hay covered near about every inch of ground. Brian groaned at the thought of all those horses back in Black Hawk coming down with colic. The problem came from a horse not eating clean food and from the looks of things in this camp, the livery would have to deal with a bunch of sick animals, or put them down if they were too bad.

"That man deserves to hang for this," Brian muttered. "It's bad enough none of those men took a bath in a month of Sundays with a couple of Saturdays tossed in for good measure but to feed their horses this stuff." He spat onto the churned up ground. "Criminal!"

"Don't I know it." Hank patted his horse's neck. "Nightmare here didn't get any of that hay, though. I always keep enough corn to see him through a day or two in my saddlebags."

"One of these days, you'll have to tell me how you got that horse," Brian said. "And what happened to your Palomino."

The sound of a twig snapping brought up Brian's head and he turned in the direction of the sound. The canyon walls rose upward to a ledge overlooking where they sat on their horses. A glint in the sunlight sent a warning through Brian and he threw himself to the ground, slapped his horse's flank, and pulled his weapon.

"Take cover," Brian yelled. "He's over us!"

A rifle cracked from the spot where Brian had noticed the glint. He dove for the dubious cover of a couple of rocks and sparse grass, his weapon at the ready. The sound of horses running and five other people doing as he'd done satisfied Brian that his brothers and Fistless were safely behind some type of cover. Another rifle shot cracked in the early morning stillness and Brian aimed at the spot where he'd seen a puff of smoke.

"Come on out, Griswold," Brian hollered. "We have you covered."

"Looks more like I have you pinned down." Griswold's maniacal laughter echoed in the canyon. "All I need to do now is keep you that-a-way until my men come back."

Griswold hadn't checked his men during his mad dash out of Black Hawk so he was unaware none were on their way. Those outlaws not killed in the earlier exchange of gunfire were now in the jail with the seven miscreants taken into custody last night.

"Throw down that rifle or we'll open fire," Adrian yelled.

"Never!" Griswold let off with another volley of shots, all of the bullets coming too close to where Brian, his brothers, and Fistless hid from certain death at the hands of the madman. "I'll kill all of you Calls and anyone with you."

"Now see here!" Fistless stood.

The rifle sounded again as Adrian yanked Fistless to the ground. A bullet whistled past where the two men had stood only seconds before. Brian crammed his hat hard on his head and scuttled from where he hid to another group of rocks closer to the spot under the ledge where Griswold was.

"Fistless, you put your head up again except to shoot and I'll take care of your problem," Jason yelled.

The threat drew another round of fire from the hootowl. Brian scurried closer to the ledge and looked up. From where he stood, there was no clear shot at Griswold.

"Damn!" Brian looked over to where his brothers tried to stay alive. "Any of you have a shot?" he called in a low voice.

"Nope." Hank rolled over to where Brian had first taken cover. "Can you get up them rocks and take him out?"

"Not sure." Brian holstered his gun and tested the slope. Pebbles and bits of splintered rocks showered him as Griswold moved overhead. "Maybe, if the lot of you keep him busy."

With the same dedication the Call brothers had always shown outlaws determined to rustle their cattle or make trouble in town, the others opened fire as Brian scrambled up the slope. He used whatever openings he could find in the rocks to drag himself further and further up until he was right below the ledge.

"I'll kill all of you," Griswold hollered and unleashed another volley of shots at the camp below. "Cowards!"

The man had the nerve to call them cowards when he sat in ambush and murdered innocent folks. Griswold had to be off his rocker just a bit to act like he did. Come to think of it, Brian figured Griswold was way off his rocker to take on the Call family for any reason.

"Okay, Griswold, time to finish this," Brian muttered and began the precarious journey around the bottom of the ledge.

By his reckoning, he'd be in the line of fire for a couple of extremely long seconds but that didn't matter, if Brian came up behind the hootowl. Hand over hand, Brian made his way up the bottom of the ledge and had just reached around to swing upward when a shout stopped him.

"Look out!" Hank hollered and loosed sustained fire at the ledge.

Brian hugged his wiry body against the underside of the ledge and peered around as best he could. Above him, a horse screamed and then another shot made Brian's blood run cold.

"Don't move, Brian," Adrian yelled and began shooting.

A shadow flew past Brian and he risked a look. The body of a fully outfitted horse dropped toward the ground below, the animal twisting and turning as if to stop his plunge.

"Lord Almighty!" Brian stared in shock at the animal as it slammed into the ground. "Hanging's too good for that hootowl."

"No one will take me alive!" Griswold hollered. "Come after me if you dare, cowards."

Pebbles scattered over the lip of the ledge. Brian swung around to one side and climbed the rest of the way up. He hunkered down and got his balance while getting a good look at his surroundings. The first thing he saw was Griswold's back as the outlaw darted into a cave.

"No time to call for the rest," Brian said and took off after the outlaw, his gun in one of his hands. "He's mine."

Once he was inside the cave, Brian waited a minute for his eyes to adjust and saw a stream of flame coming from the barrel of a gun right of him as he heard yet another shot. He dove for the ground and prayed as he never had in his life.

"Hands up, Griswold. You're mine."

Puzzled, he climbed to his feet and made his way over to the corner of the cave. The female voice sent fear shivers through Brian. That was Eliza but she should be back in town under Aunt Priss' care! He wasn't sure how Eliza evaded their aunt but knew one thing for certain. Eliza had one heck of a punishment to look forward to, as soon as he got his hands on her.

THE END

 

The sixth installment of The Call Chronicles: BABY SISTER is now available.

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.