Winterborn Ch. 01

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His plan for right now was to head back to Dewitt county Texas. His friend and sometimes mentor, Creed Taylor and his brothers were involved in a battle with a man named William Sutton. Sutton was part of the State Police and along with Union soldiers were enforcing the laws concerning Reconstruction in Texas. Dillon had recently heard of the Sutton-Taylor feud and thought he might go give his friend Creed Taylor and his brothers a hand in that ongoing battle. It didn't matter to Dillon if Creed was in the right; they were friends and that's all Dillon needed to know.

After the disastrous confrontation with his father, Dillon headed to Fort Smith. Dillon and Buck took all most two months to travel the close to twelve hundred miles from Richmond to Fort Smith Arkansas. He dodged Union patrols most of the way. Fort Smith had been known as "Hell on the Boarder" during the Civil War. It wasn't quite as wild in November of '68 but still not a place to let your guard down.

He had a reason for going to the Arkansas town. Fort Smith was far enough outside the control of the Union that he could get on a train bound for Texas. Dillon made a deal with the station master for him and his horse to ride in an empty box car on a train headed south to Houston, Texas. When he got to Houston he would continue on horseback south west to DeWitt.

He rode to Creed Taylor's ranch and found his friend sitting on the front porch of the ranch house with one of the new Winchester repeating rifles across his lap.

"Mr. Taylor, are things that bad?" Dillon asked pointing at the rifle.

"Damn boy, it's good to see you," Creed replied. "Yeah, thing are pretty bad right now. Get down and I'll tell you all about it."

Dillon hitched his horse to the rail and joined his old friend; leaning against the porch rail. "Heard about the Suttons and y'all back home. Thought I might come out and give you a hand," he said offering his help to Creed.

"Those damn Suttons are with the State Police. They're running rough shod over southern Texas and there's gonna be more bloodshed," Creed explained. As he was talking a young man rode up and dismounted in a hurry.

Stepping onto the porch he faced Dillon and said, "Who's this drifter Cousin Creed? Is he bothering you?"

Dillon stood up from his spot at the rail and faced the man. The youngster was primed for trouble and Dillon didn't want to be at a disadvantage.

"Settle down John," Creed ordered. "This is Dillon Gallagher, a friend of mine." He turned to Dillon and said, "This is my wife's cousin John Hardin; he came out to give us a hand with the Suttons."

"John Wesley Hardin?" Dillon asked. He'd heard of this youngster; some said he was the deadliest gun hand in the west. "I've heard of you."

Hardin smile didn't reach his eyes. "Creed told me about you too Dillon. Sez you're about as fast as he's ever seen." Turning to Creed he asked, "Who's faster Creed, me or Gallagher?"

"You boys pull your horns in, hear?" Creed looked at the two young men for a few seconds and then said, "Don't know for sure who's faster. You might be a touch quicker John, but I for damn sure wouldn't want to bet my life on the difference. Y'all come in for supper." Creed stood and led the way into the house.

Dillon was awake at daybreak; a habit he picked up in the army. He decided to take a short ride around the ranch to get a feel for things. Breakfast was ready when he got back; he cleaned up and joined Creed and Hardin at the table.

"What you been up too, since you left from here?" Creed asked over a last cup of coffee.

Dillon told him about his adventures and the trip back home. When he talked about Richmond Dillon's face got hard and his eyes blazed. "Wasn't much reason to stay so I reckoned I'd come back here and give you a hand."

"Don't want you staying Dillon. This ain't your fight and besides the last thing you need is to cross paths with those Union soldiers that the Suttons are running with." Creed held up his hand to stop Dillon's reply.

"There's paper on a man that fits your description from San Antonio and those Yankees would love to get their hands on you. There's even talk about a shoot up down in Mexico. Seems like a Union soldier from Laredo got shot in a cantina south of the boarder; no one talks about what he were doin there. But the Yankees are a mite upset at some payroll guard. I think you'd better ride on son," Creed finished.

"Maybe your right Creed, but I sure hate to leave you in a bind."

Creed smiled at Dillon's obvious concern and said, "You're not son. The other ranchers around here are southern boys many who served in the war and they're not too happy with the Suttons either. There's a passel of us upset with those bastards. Before this is over I intend to see that there's a several less Suttons around to bother us."

"I'll see to it," Hardin added.

Dillon looked at the youngster, smiled, and asked, "How old are you John?"

"I'm old enough to be damn good with his hog leg," he answered. "Want to try me out?"

"Wasn't questioning your skill or your courage John. I was just curious." Dillon wasn't afraid of the young pistolero but saw no need to push things. He didn't want to cause his friend more trouble; turning back to Creed Dillon said, "I'll leave now Creed. I wouldn't want to cause you another problem if they found a wanted man being harbored on your ranch"

"It's been good to see you son. Come back after this ruckus is over with and we'll have a drink or two and tell lies to each other," Creed replied with a big grin. "Take care of yourself boy."

Dillon packed up and rode away from DeWitt. Now where to, he asked himself? It was July of '69 and he decided to go to Amarillo to see the parents of some boys that he'd fought with at First Manassas in '61. He made the three day ride to Austin to get a train to Fort Worth. San Antonia was closer and had a bigger rail head but with the warrants out on him, Dillon didn't think it'd be too smart to push his luck.

Again he was able to make a deal with the agent to ride in a cattle car headed to Fort Worth; this time it took a little extra money under the table for the two day trip. Arriving in Fort Worth, he put his horse in the livery stable to pamper it a little. He paid for the horse to be rubbed down and fed with a grain mash. The animal had a long journey ahead and Dillon wanted him in top condition. He treated himself to a room in a small hotel; it was the first bed he'd sleep in for over a week.

The next morning at first light, Dillon started the long ride to Amarillo. It was close to 360 miles to his destination; he thought it would take a little over two weeks to get there; assuming he didn't run into trouble along the way.

He rode into Wichita Falls late in the afternoon of his fifth day on the trail. Dillon bedded his horse down in the livery and arranged to sleep in the loft over the stalls. The hay made a nice mattress after sleeping on the ground for four days.

Dillon went to a nearby saloon for supper and a beer or two. He'd just finished his meal and noticed the town marshal come in and talk to the bartender. Three rough looking cowboys came through the swinging doors into the saloon and saw the lawman at the bar. The marshal had his back to the door and the men quietly walked toward him. They slowly started to draw their pistols; it was obvious they intended to shoot the marshal in the back.

Yelling a warning to the marshal, Dillon drew his own weapon and fired at the cowboys. The marshal turned at Dillon's yell bringing a double barrel shotgun into play. Dillon dropped one man; the blast from the scatter gun killed another and seriously wounded the third. The marshal and Dillon both quickly looked around the rest of the room for any other gunmen.

Dillon holstered his pistol as the marshal checked on the three men. Turning back to the bartender the marshal ordered him to send for the doctor to treat the wounded man; the other two needed the services of the undertaker. He was sent for too.

The lawman stepped over to Dillon, "I'm Marshal Thomas Ryan," he introduced himself offering his hand. "Thanks for the warning. It could have been a mite nasty for me without your help."

"Dillon Gallagher, Marshal. I figured they were up to something when they tried to sneak up on you."

"Why'd you get involved? Did you have a problem with those three?" Marshal Ryan questioned.

"No sir, just don't like back shooters. Reckon if they'd faced you it was your job to handle it but since they didn't I thought I'd deal myself into the game," Dillon replied. He sat back down to finish his beer and the marshal joined him.

"Where you headed Mr. Gallagher? Or do you plan to settle here in Wichita Falls?"

"Name's Dillon, Marshal. Hadn't thought much about staying here. As far as where I'm goin, I guess I'm sorta on my way to Amarillo; not in any hurry though."

"I think I hear the south in your voice Dillon. Did you by chance serve with the Confederacy?"

Dillon looked at Marshal Ryan for a moment and replied, "Yes sir, I served with the First Virginia Cavalry. Is that a problem Marshal?"

"I reckon you've earned the right to call me Tom," Ryan said with a grin. "And no, it's no problem. Just makin an observation is all. I fought with the 2^nd Texas Cavalry Company E myself."

"That was the Texas Ranger Company wasn't it?"

Ryan showed his surprise. "Yup it was. How'd you know that Dillon?"

"Friend of mine, Creed Taylor and some of his kin rode with Company E," he replied.

"Sure, I knew Creed and his brother Pitkin both," Ryan said. Then he smiled and offered, "It's almost like old home week, ain't it."

Dillon returned Ryan's smile, paused and asked, "Why were those three gunning for you Tom?"

Before the marshal could answer the doctor came in looked around and saw the men on the floor. "That one closest to the door is your patient Doc," Ryan said.

The doctor went to the wounded man and examined him. Looking up at Ryan he shook his head indicating that the man wasn't going to make it. "He don't need me he needs a priest and the undertaker," the doctor said

"What'd you shoot him with Marshal? He sure was tore up....oh I see," he said as Ryan held up his shotgun. By the time the men with a stretcher got to the bar, the last of the three bushwhackers died.

After the doctor and his helpers had carried the bodies out of the saloon, Ryan brought another round of beer to the table. "Don't like havin to kill folks. It's a bad night all around," he said as he sat back down at the table.

"I'll ask again. Why were those three gunning for you Tom?"

"Two weeks ago I went to arrest their brother for rustlin cattle. He decided to make a fight of it and I had to shoot him. Guess the fact that he was breakin the law didn't matter to these three. It cost them dearly."

Dillon finished his beer and stood to leave. "It's been......I was gonna say nice to meet you but I think interesting is a better phrase Tom. Maybe we'll meet again."

"You said you weren't in any hurry to get to Amarillo; would you consider working for me for a while?"

"Doing what?" Dillon was surprised at the question.

"My deputy, Bill Moore, had to go to Shreveport to take care of some family business. It'll be three or four months before he comes back; if he comes back. I need someone to replace him. You interested?"

"Why would you trust me? You don't know me," Dillon replied.

"You already backed me up once, now didn't you? That took care of the trust issue. I can tell by the way you talk that you're an educated man. I went to Austin College up in Sherman; it'd be nice to have someone to talk to about something besides cows and crops. So want a job for a few months?"

Dillon had never thought about becoming a lawman. It's not that much difference than being a payroll guard, he told himself. He didn't have to work because of the money left to him by his grandfather; but that money wouldn't last forever. Might not be a bad idea to supplement my bankroll now and then, he thought.

"Okay, I'll take the job, but just for three months or until your deputy returns," Dillon said shaking hands with Marshal Ryan.

"Don't you want to know what it pays first?"

"Reckon you'll be fair and pay me what I'm worth," Dillon answered. "If I can't trust a marshal who can I trust?" Dillon grinned at Ryan.

"You'll get $50 a month and room and board over to Mrs. Boudreaux's. She runs the best boarding house in the county. That suit you?" At Dillon's nod Ryan said, "C'mon let's get your gear and I'll introduce you to Mrs. Boudreaux. This is Saturday so take tomorrow to get settled in and you can start Monday morning.

For the first time Dillon took stock of Marshal Ryan as they walked to the hotel to get his gear. Tom Ryan looked to be in his mid 30's with sandy colored hair and a big bushy moustache. He was about two inches shorter that Dillon and had a stocky build. He walked with a confidence that dared anything to get in his way. A hard man Dillon thought; a good man to have on your side but a bad one to cross.

While Dillon was taking stock of Tom Ryan, the marshal did the same thing with Dillon. Ryan saw a tall, slender, graceful young man. He had the look of a man that had seen his share of problems and had overcome or stood up to them. Ryan noticed that Dillon's eyes would sometime look haunted and troubled. That's a result of the war and its aftermath Ryan thought.

After gathering Dillon's gear from the hotel the two men walked the short distance to Mrs. Boudreaux's. Stepping onto the front porch of the large two story home Ryan explained, "Mrs. Boudreaux's a widow; her husband, Jackson, was killed at the Battle of Sabine Pass in '63. He was a foot soldier providing protection for the Confederate battery guarding the Pass."

Walking to the front door, Ryan knocked once, opened the door, and stuck his head inside. "Mrs. Boudreaux, its Marshal Ryan. You got room for another one of my strays?"

"Anytime Marshal, come on in," a voice answered from the dining room. It was just a couple of seconds when the owner of the voice came to the entry way to greet them. The woman that came into the room was not what Dillon had pictured when Tom Ryan told him she was a widow.

Mrs. Boudreaux swept into the foyer and shook Ryan's hand. "I've had nothing but good things to say about those 'strays' as you call them. I sure this young man won't be any different." She turned to Dillon offered her hand, and said, "I'm Emma Boudreaux, welcome to my home."

Dillon quickly removed his hat and took the offered hand. "Dillon Gallagher, Mrs. Boudreaux. I'm please to meet you. Thanks for taking me in."

She smiled at him and turned back to Ryan with a questioning look, inviting an explanation. Ryan grinned, "Dillon's going to take Bill Moore's place as my deputy. If you can find room for him, I'd appreciate it."

Looking at Dillon she replied, "I think we can put Mr. Gallagher in Bill's old room for the time being." She turned back to the marshal, "Same rates as before Marshal. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes 'em it is. Just submit your bill to the town council; I'll see that it gets paid," Ryan answered.

"Have you had dinner Mr. Gallagher? I just put the food on the table; you can join us after I show you to your room."

"I'd appreciate a good meal, Ma'am. Been eating trail rations for better than a week," Dillon said. "No need to tear yourself away from your other guests; just point out my room and I'll join you shortly."

Mrs. Boudreaux smiled, "Top of the stairs, first door on your right. Bathrooms out back and there's a wash basin and pitcher in the room. Come join us as soon as you get settled. I'll say goodbye to you Marshal and return to my boarders." With a nod at Dillon she retraced her steps to the dining room.

Ryan smiled at Dillon and asked, "What do you think? She's something else, isn't she?"

"When you said she was a widow, I pictured a woman about my mother's age. Mrs. Boudreaux can't be more than 26 or 27," Dillon answered.

"She just turned 38, I believe," Ryan replied. "Come out to the house for supper tomorrow evening and I'll tell you all about her. More importantly, I'll tell you about your job. Our place is the big white house at the end of Main Street. See you tomorrow evening about 6."

Dillon found his room and stashed his gear, including his pistol and Winchester in his room. He had bought the Winchester Repeater, trading in his Henry, after talking to Creed Taylor about his Winchester. He washed up and joined the group sitting at the supper table.

When he stepped to the table, Mrs. Boudreaux introduced the three other men staying with her. "This is Bill Johnson on your left; he's a salesman that stays with me five or six times a year." Johnson nodded. She continued, "Sitting in the middle is James Randle. James is the land agent for the county. And on the left is Ralph Jacobs; Mr. Jacobs works at the freight office. Gentlemen, this is Dillon Gallagher, our new Deputy Marshal, so y'all mind your Ps and Qs."

Dillon nodded at the men and sat down. His mouth watered at the smell and sight of the food on the table. The fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans were passed to him one at a time and soon his plate was full. The others let him alone so he could eat. As he ate he examined Mrs. Boudreaux more closely.

She'll stand about 5' 8, tall for a woman he thought. Her dark almost black hair was worn up on her head leaving her neck free. The style was called a French bun; Dillon knew that because his mother often wore the same style. In the light thrown out by the lamps in the room, her hair shimmered in the reflected light.

He knew her age but it was hard to believe she was 38. She had a slender but strong looking body, big brown eyes that sparkled, and a no nonsense attitude that appealed to Dillon. Fine, strong woman, he thought. She's lost a lot but doesn't feel sorry for herself or let it get her down. As he finished his assessment, Mrs. Boudreaux noticed him looking at her and smiled. Guess she's used to men staring at her, Dillon said to himself returning her smile.

The next evening about 5, Dillon got his horse from the livery. Wichita Falls wasn't that big, he could have walked to Tom Ryan's house. But after nearly two days standing in a stall his horse needed to stretch and he wanted to look around the town.

Riding around he saw the normal businesses you'd expect to see; general store, bank, stage coach depot and such. What surprised him were the three saloons in a town that size. Dillon rode on to Tom Ryan's house. As he stepped up onto the porch the front door opened and Tom motioned him in. Dillon took off his hat as he entered the house and Tom pointed to a hat rack. When he turned around, just inside the door he saw a very pretty Mexican woman coming to greet him.

"Dillon this is my wife, Juanita. Honey, this is Dillon Gallagher. He'll be taking Bill's place for a few months."

He extended his hand but she pushed past it and hugged him. "Thank you for helping Tom the other night in the saloon. He would have been seriously hurt if you hadn't stepped in."

Dillon was a little embarrassed and looked over at Tom. Ryan stood there with a big grin on his face and just shrugged. "Honey, you're making more of it than it was. I keep telling you that it wasn't that bad."

"Nonsense. I talked to Charley at church this morning." She turned to Dillon and explained, "Charley was tending bar that evening." Juanita faced her husband again and continued, "He said that those three had the drop on you and that if Mr. Gallagher hadn't warned you, you'd probably be dead." She stared defiantly at Tom for a couple of seconds and then took Dillon's arm and led him into the dining room.