Ralph Compton The Kelly Trail

Chapter One

At that precise moment on that fine spring morning, William "Bull" Kelly figured he was probably the happiest man in Texas.

He had just made the last payment on the ranch that would forge his dynasty.

As of ten minutes earlier, the ranch he had spent years paying off was entirely and legally his. He had spent a fair portion of his life driving cattle to markets up north. Kansas. Nebraska. Even Montana on occasion. Cattle that had belonged to other men. Cattle that had made other men rich.

Kelly and his beloved Mary had been scrimping and saving every cent for decades to provide for their five sons and keep their own small ranch running. And now the day they had dreamed of together for so long had finally come. He only wished Mary had lived long enough to see it.

He looked up to toward the sky, where he expected his departed wife to be, and said, "We did it, girl. I only wish you were beside me to see it with your own eyes."

He blinked away a tear and dried his nose on his sleeve as the weight of it all finally hit him. Now the aging Irishman could finally make his lifelong dream a reality. He and his five sons could set about driving the three thousand herd of cattle he had amassed north to the market at Dodge City and sell it to the highest bidder. This early in the drive season-early April-and with cattle going for twenty-five dollars a head, he would make a tidy profit for his boys to start their new lives in the cattle business.

After all of those years of making other men rich, it was finally time to have something of his own. Free and clear of all debts.

With his beloved Mary now gone, his sons' future was all that mattered to him. He knew she would live as long as they did.

Jacob and James and Jeremiah and Joel and Joshua.

Their mother had named them all, as he had been on the trail when each boy came into the world. She had kept their names biblical, and in honor of her own father, John, back in the old country, had used the initial J for each boy. Kelly had known her father and did not think the old miser was worth the memory, but Mary did, and her happiness was all that had ever mattered to him.

He hoped she would be happy now.

He wiped another tear on his sleeve and tucked the deed to his ranch into his coat pocket. He knew a man of his age was a fool to be taking three thousand head of cattle north to market in Kansas, but William Kelly had never been accused of being a practical man. He had not acquired the name "Bull" for nothing.

He knew a man in his position should take the easy part of the trail for a change. Maybe riding in the chuck wagon with Concho, his friend and the outfit's cook. But age was only a number to William Kelly. He had seen many a gray-haired old man act like a child and many a boy be more of a man than expected.

His exact age was a mystery, even to himself, but he imagined he was somewhere in his middle fifties. He imagined it was all written down in the parish church back in Ballinamuck, but he had never been curious enough to find out when he had still lived there. And he had no intention of going back after all of these years. Besides, his mind had never been sharper than it was at that moment and he could not remember a time when he felt quite as strong as he did now, not even during all of those years earning saddle sores and sleeping outdoors at the whim of the elements.

Back then, he had been working for someone else. This time, he would be the head of his own outfit and his own herd with his own boys riding with him. He was working for himself and for their future. That was a feeling to savor at any age.

As he walked to his horse, he could feel summer was in the air, but so was the windy chill of a mild spring. The men who owned farms near his ranch fretted about the effect a cold spring might have on their crops. It was a fear he had grown up with. Kelly's father back in Ireland had been a farmer and all of his brothers were still farmers.

But a life tied to a plot of land owned by another had never held much appeal to William Kelly, which was why he had set out early in life to see the world with his own two eyes.

And he had seen enough to fill ten lifetimes. Perhaps too much.

No, he only cared about the grass along the trail being green and tall enough to keep his herd well fed on the way to Dodge City. Kelly knew one drive would not make a dynasty, but it was an important first step in making the Kelly name mean something in this new world called America.

Kelly ignored the ache in his bones as he walked toward the hitching rail, where his black Morgan mare stood waiting. He knew the townspeople were looking at him oddly as he set one foot in the stirrup and climbed atop the large animal.

Many men told him a man of his experience should know better than to take such a large beast on the trail. The Morgan was not as swift as some of the other breeds of horses he could have chosen for the drive. He knew that was true.

But Bull Kelly had never won anything based on being the fastest or the most practical. Everything he had earned in this world had been won through his own sweat and determination. His own instinct.

Determination had kept him alive on the prison ship to the hell that was Fremantle. Cunning had helped win his freedom and had steeled him and Concho during their long voyage to America. His instinct had kept him and the Spaniard alive on the streets of Boston and helped him send money back home to Mary in Texas while he worked the cow trails that snaked their way north from Texas.

Determination for a better future had made him endure all of the obstacles life had thrown down before him. And in his bones, Bull Kelly knew he was destined for greater glory in this life and the next.

The few chuckles of the townspeople died away as they watched Kelly mount the great black mare and bring her around with ease. They stopped laughing altogether when they saw the coiled bullwhip tied to his belt by a tong. Several beasts-and more than a few men-over the years had made the mistake of believing the bullwhip was just a gimmick, but soon learned the error of their belief when he cut loose with it.

Years of practice and bitter experience had made the whip an extension of Kelly's hand. Twelve feet of kangaroo hide with a metal popper on the end gave the weapon a sinister look. His skill in wielding it made it as deadly as any pistol; perhaps even deadlier. For fear or rushing a shot made it easy for a man to miss a shot in a gunfight. Bull Kelly's whip never missed.

The story behind the whip-and the circumstances under which he had obtained it-would have been hard for most men to believe had he ever chosen to tell it. But some things were best kept to oneself, especially the most horrible things.

Kelly rode the big Morgan he had named Morgan for the sake of simplicity down the street toward the general store, where his sons and Concho were gathering the final supplies for the trail ahead. He had hired ten hands to help with the drive. Combined with him, Jacob, James, Jeremiah, Joel, and Joshua, he thought that number would be sufficient. Concho's cooking would be a welcome way for the McCabe outfit to wake up in the morning and wind down at night after a long day in the saddle.

As he approached the general store, Kelly saw four of his boys helping Concho load sacks of supplies into the wagon. Jacob, James, Jeremiah, Joel, and Joshua could have been twins had ten months or so not separated each of their births. The boys were younger images of him, all standing just shy of six feet tall with lean frames. He was glad they had inherited their mother's fine features and thick black hair but bore the blue eyes he had given them.

They were all good, hardworking boys, too, another quality they had inherited from their mother back while he was riding the trail to support the family. The sight of the four of them there in front of the general store working hard to load the wagon made him proud.

And, much to his disappointment, the notion that one boy was missing did not surprise him in the least.

Kelly pulled up the horse beside the wagon. "How's it coming, boys?"

"Just fine, Pa," said Jacob. At twenty-five, he was the oldest of the brothers and the quietest. "We'll be done here before you know it."

Kelly looked at Concho, who many people mistakenly took for a Mexican. Given that this was Texas, it was a forgivable mistake to make except for Concho. The Spaniard used to fight men for making the assumption, but like Kelly, the years had mellowed him to the point where he allowed most slights to pass.

"Where's James?" Kelly asked his old friend in Spanish. They had always spoken to each other in Concho's native language once Kelly had managed to pick it up.

"Where do you think?" Concho nodded toward a saloon farther down the street. An ancient wooden sign swung above the door in the gentle morning breeze. It was called the Golden Dream Saloon.

Kelly had been expecting that. His second-born was the most capable of all his sons. The best-looking, the brightest, and the most affable. The one Kelly boy who had inherited all of his mother's finest qualities and all of his father's worst vices. A boy like that could get into a lot of trouble anywhere, particularly in Texas, where trouble was easy to find. And James had already uncovered more than his fair share of it at an early age.

Unfortunately, James was also allergic to hard work, an affliction he had developed entirely on his own.

"How long has he been there?" Kelly asked Concho.

"About an hour, give or take," Concho told him. "I haven't heard any fights break out yet, so I think he might be behaving himself this time."

Kelly knew that probably was not true and would not last long if it was. Trouble had a knack of finding his second-born wherever he might be, and James had a habit of embracing it.

"Want me to go get him?" asked Joel, his second youngest.

Kelly knew it would be pointless to send either Joel or Joshua. They idolized their older brother and often sat up well into the night listening to James lie about all of the women he had loved and the dangerous men he had bested in bar fights and brawls. Sending one of them to get their brother would be like sending a field mouse to get a tomcat.

Kelly let up on the reins and urged the Morgan forward. "I'll fetch him and bring him back here. You boys keep up the hard work. I won't be but a minute."

As he hitched his horseÕs reins to the rail in front of the saloon, Kelly decided the Golden Dream looked more like a nightmare. The yellow paint had long since begun to crack and peel from years of exposure to the harsh Texas weather. Kelly had been able to smell the place from halfway up the thoroughfare and the stench had only worsened now that he was in front of it. It stank of cheap whiskey, stale tobacco, and wasted hours.

It was exactly the kind of hellhole James loved.

More out of habit than menace, Kelly rested his hand on the bullwhip coiled at his hip as he walked up the steps and pushed his way through the batwing doors of the saloon.

He stood in the doorway and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. He looked for his son but could not find him in the sea of faces. Despite the early hour, the place was packed with drinkers at the bar and gamblers at the tables. Working girls with too much perfume to cover their stench and too much face paint to cover up their sins flitted among the customers like bumblebees in a garden.

A gambler at the table closest to the door looked up at Kelly from his cards. His spotless bowler hat and a brocade vest adorned with a gold watch chain spoke of prosperity. His waxed mustache and trimmed gray beard only served to enhance Kelly's impression of the man as something of a dandy. But his narrow eyes spoke of something more. Something Kelly saw in the mirror when he shaved each morning.

Kelly had never liked it when people looked at him. He had always done his best to blend into a crowd and never draw attention to himself. Attention often got men killed and Kelly still had plenty of years ahead of him.

The gambler squinted up at him. "You lost, mister?"

"Hardly," said Kelly as he kept looking for James.

"I ask on account of it looks like this is your first time in a saloon is all, standing there like you are. The ladies' league holds meetings up at the church around this time of day if you'd prefer their company."

The other gamblers at the table laughed.

If William Kelly did not like people looking at him, he liked people laughing at him even less. "I'm here for James Kelly, mister. Not you. Best go back to your game and leave me about my business."

The gambler smiled. "You the law, mister?"

Another laugh from that table and from others who had come to notice him.

"No. I'm his father. I'm here to fetch him home."

The gambler cashed out his hand and flopped his cards on the table before settling back in his chair. "Well, it seems to me that if your boy is old enough to be in here, then he's old enough to make up his mind on where he wants to be, now, ain't he? Why don't you leave him alone? Let the boy have a good time."