“You’re sure you want it to happen or you’re sure you want to do it?”
“I’m sure I want to do it, Pa.”
“That’s a different bit of business, then.” Ambrose began to rock quietly, as he usually did when he was beginning to think. He had known this conversation would be coming the moment he’d heard Will and Tyler had been killed for the same reason their father had been killed twenty years before.
“I want to do what you did, Pa,” Matthew went on. “I want to avenge them the way you avenged Uncle Ham.”
“That was different,” Ambrose said. “Ham was my brother. The man who killed him had a ranch that would’ve moved on our own if I hadn’t killed him when I did. That death protected this family and kept those Barttleman snakes in Dodge City where they belonged.”
Ambrose resumed his rocking. “Tom tells me the men responsible for Will and Tyler have moved on at Earp’s urging. Might be best to let them keep going.”
“They’re still alive and ours are dead. I thought being a Bowman meant something.”
Ambrose stopped rocking and glared at his son until the younger man looked down at his shoes rather than try to stare down his father. “It still does and always will as long as I’ve got breath in my lungs, boy. But they got in trouble in a place they didn’t belong and went up against a man they should’ve known well enough to avoid. They should’ve done what you did with Earp today, but they didn’t, and they got killed for it. That’s why they’re lying in boxes in my front parlor right now and you and me are still here to talk about it.”
Matthew kept looking at his shoes. “I’d rather be dead than allow a slight like that to go unanswered. I aim to ride out after them tomorrow, Pa. And I’d like to have your blessing to do it.”
Ambrose decided his son had endured enough humiliation for one day and went back to his rocking and his pipe. “Sounds as if your mind is already made up.”
“It is,” Matthew said. “It was made up the second I heard they left town. What if they head up to Newton or someplace else and brag about what they did? How long do you think it’ll be before someone else tries to test one of our boys in town, only maybe they won’t be drunks or thugs. Maybe they’ll be cattlemen with eyes on our ranch? It’ll be twice as hard to stop them then, and it’ll mean more killing.”
“Plenty have tried before, son. Better men than a saloon bouncer and a drunken gambler. They’ve always failed and always will as long as this family sticks together. And I’m not sure allowing you to ride off on some damned fool vengeance trail will do much to keep that from happening.”
“That Trammel fella beat them to death, Pa. He didn’t just shoot them or even knife them in a fair fight. He beat them to death, both of them, like they were dogs. Bowman men aren’t dogs.”
“No, we’re not. And we don’t run down things like dogs, either. When we do something, we do it the right way. The smart way.”
“And what do you think the right way is here, Pa? Let Ma pray some rosaries and hope they break their legs in the wilderness? Pray they get struck by lightning?”
“We’ll hire it done,” Ambrose said. “Just like we hire cowhands to help with the herd, there are men who know how to hunt down men like this. Wichita is full of men who can do the job, men more able for it than you or me.”
“None that we can trust to do it right,” Matthew answered. “This is a matter of blood, Pa. This was done to Bowman men, and Bowman men have to put it right. This isn’t the type of thing you pay men to do for you. You have to handle it personally, and I aim to do just that.”
Ambrose rocked and smoked, but said nothing.
Matthew continued. “I know I backed down to Earp today, but I know how to fight. I fought in the war.”
“This isn’t war, boy. You’re talking about riding out to find two men who could be anywhere by now. It could take you a year to find them, maybe more. I can’t afford to have you away from the ranch for that long. And what if you happen to find them and can’t beat them. What then? I can’t risk losing my oldest son on a fool’s errand.”
Matthew sat straighter in his chair, but still didn’t look at his father. “I came out here tonight to ask for your blessing, Pa. But I’m a grown man with boys of my own. I’ll ride on without it if I have to.”
Ambrose puffed on his pipe, quietly enjoying the mixture of emotions that were broiling in his belly. Fear for his son, but pride in his commitment to doing what needed to be done for the sake of the family name. It had been a long time since he had heard such conviction in his voice, and it did his old heart good to hear it now, despite the consequences.
He dug into his pocket and tossed a small leather pouch to his son. “There’s a thousand in gold coins in there. Enough to outfit ten men for a while. Take five men from the ranch and what you need from the ranch stores. Then go into town and hire five men to ride out with you. Ten riders ought to be enough to go up against a drunk and a bouncer, even if the man is a giant.”
Matthew stood up and put the pouch in his pocket. “Me and my boys will ride out first thing after the funeral.”
“Like hell you will. I’ll not have your line rubbed out the way your Uncle Hammond’s was. You’ll take Walt with you. He’s not good for much anyway, and my sister will be glad to be rid of him. That boy’s been nothing but a heartache to poor Marcia since the day he came kicking and screaming into this world. You can take three hired hands with you, but not Cameron. He stays here. The rest you’ll hire in town. But no more than five, understand?”
“I understand, Pa.”
Ambrose Bowman stood up and faced his son. This time, Matthew didn’t look away.
“Well, also understand this, boy. If you ride after these men, you’ll have to kill them. I won’t think any less of you if you wake up tomorrow and change your mind, but if you do it, then you’re going to do it all the way. No half measures. Kill them both and come back home.”
Matthew swallowed. “Don’t worry, Pa. I won’t change my mind.”
No, Ambrose thought. No, I don’t think you will. And that’s what frightened him and pleased him all at the same time as he watched another day die in Kansas.
CHAPTER 7
Trammel dumped the last of the firewood in the center of their small encampment. He was quite pleased with himself. He had decided he had chosen a good spot to rest for the night, a space beside a small outcropping of rocks with a clear field of vision in every direction. No trees for anyone to hide behind and good grazing for the horses they had hobbled fifty feet away.
Hagen shivered beneath a blanket while Trammel did all the work. “May I have my medicine now, Mother?”
Trammel didn’t want to give it to him, but he couldn’t stand to see the man suffer. He usually didn’t have much sympathy for drunks in his line of work, but as this drunk had helped them make greater time than he thought possible, he decided Hagen had earned a drink.
He dug the bottle out of his saddlebag. “Two pulls, no more. I don’t want you drunk all over again. We need to keep up this pace tomorrow.”
Hagen greedily accepted the bottle and surprised Trammel by handing it back to him after two quick sips. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have slept tonight without that, and I’d be of even less use to you tomorrow on the trail.”
Trammel begrudgingly accepted his thanks and put the bottle back in the saddlebag. “You talk pretty fancy for a drunken gambler.”
Hagen pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders as his shaking seemed to subside. “That’s because I’m neither a drunk nor a gambler, sir. I merely like to act like one.”
Trammel