February 2013

The Brother

Chapter 1

Wilton Lemay was first and foremost a man who wanted to make money. For the most part he did this honestly by hard work and being one jump ahead of the next man. His latest venture was an enormous cattle ranch in south Texas. He really couldn't remember how many acres he owned, but he knew it took him almost two days to ride around the boundary. He had built a beautiful ranch home for himself, his wife and 2 children and now was looking for ways to increase his wealth. Cattle were cheap – even free in those early years if a man was willing to go out on the open range and herd up the strays. That was what Wilton and his younger brother Max had started out doing. All went well until one day the younger brother had ridden off.

Max Lemay had never been too enthusiastic about hard work. His brother Wilton was his senior by more than ten years and Max truly admired the man, even so after a while he decided that there must be easier and quicker ways to get rich. Accordingly he learned all he could about a deck of cards and taking a small amount of stake money left the ranch to start finding his own way in life. At first the riverboats provided the excitement and easy money he enjoyed, but then his name became known and the dealers were reluctant to have him on board. He left the river and headed west for the saloons of dusty mining towns in Colorado. There money from the mines flowed freely and gambling was a high stakes profession. His skills made him a small fortune but of necessity Max had learned other skills along the way, skills that involved a colt pistol in a fancy tooled holster worn low on his right hip. In these wild towns it was up to a man to defend himself and the further west he went the more those skills were needed.

While Wilton could be patient and careful in the way he made his money, Max wanted to accumulate his fortune as quickly as possible. The older Lemay understood the wild spirit in his brother and never tried to stop him, he only asked that the boy send regular communications so that he knew his whereabouts. Accordingly he had received letters and cards from his younger brother on a fairly regular basis during the year or more since he left. They first came from New Orleans then various stops along the Mississippi River as far as Memphis. After that Max obviously took a land route and headed southwest to Texas, he didn't stay there long because the next letter Wilton received came from Denver Colorado. Apparently he stayed in that area for several months after which he worked his way south again stopping at several dusty mining towns that were barely on the map. The last letter he had received from his younger brother, informed Wilton that 'the boy'– he always thought of his younger brother that way – was in Pueblo. Technically it was the last letter, a couple of months went by until finally a note arrived, with very brief wording saying simply that he was leaving Colorado and heading towards Dodge City, KS. The note looked like it had been written in a hurry. Another week passed with no communication and Wilton was beginning to worry about Max.

-()-()-()-

Jerry Jackson was a good ranch hand and also and excellent trail boss. At least that is what Lemay had been told when he hired the man last summer. So far it seemed to be true. The man worked hard, did what was expected of him and sometimes a little more, he also turned out to be good at handling the five other cowboys that worked the ranch.

This would be the first year that Wilton had considered sending cattle on a drive to be sold at the big stockyards. The previous 3 years he had spent building up his herd, now he was ready to start shipping them back east and make some money. He had heard that a good steer could bring as much as $40.00 at the railhead and with three thousand head that would be a lot of money.

It was just after the New Year celebrations that Wilton called Jerry Jackson to the big ranch house. Wilton was a tall, brown haired man of stocky build, about forty years of age. His manner was pleasant enough but he always seemed to have so much energy behind him that he could not stand still in one place for longer than a few minutes. Jackson was shorter and of a much quieter disposition. He always looked a little scruffy with a few days growth of beard on his face. His hands were roughened by the work he did, and his clothes showed similar wear. He had the quiet confidence of a man who knew he could take care of himself.

Wilton Lemay started the conversation from behind the big mahogany desk upon which he had set a map showing Texas, showing several of the cattle trails that led all the way up to Wichita, Kansas. Most herds were trailed to Abilene, KS, and this was the point to which Jackson had led many drives over the previous five years. Now this ranch owner wanted his cattle taken all the way to Dodge City of all places.

Jackson was about five years younger than Lemay. He had lived most of his life outside in the harsh Texas landscape, on the prairie, the scrubland or even north in the hill country. He had been on a dozen or more cattle drives in his time and had been trail boss on at least eight of them. His first three drives had been straight up the Shawnee trail to Sedalia Missouri, but when that route was closed down he had traveled the so called Chisholm Trail and driven herds to Abilene, Kansas. He was so familiar with the terrain between south Texas and Abilene that he did not need to look at the map that Wilton Lemay had laid out before them.

"Mr. Wilton that is a lot of extra miles on those beeves, there is no reason to take them that far, why head west to Dodge when we can go straight up the Chisholm."
"I'm telling you Jackson, I want it done this way. I have my reasons."

He came in front of the desk and pointed at a line on the map.

"All you have to do is to push the cows along the Chisholm trail just like usual, then after you cross the Cimarron you take the cut off that takes you to Dodge City. I plan to meet you there."

"I'll need a good scout then, Mr. Lemay. I have never been that far west, but if there's good pay in it for me and the men, we'll take those steers any where you want."

The terms were agreed on and the two men shook hands.

It took a good four weeks for all the arrangements to be made. Jackson knew how to get a trail drive together; he had done it so many times before. He always looked forward to the challenges. What other people thought of as hardships on the long ride, he thought of as the comforts of home. He enjoyed sleeping under the stars and eating round the cook's campfire. Even the storms, the dry creek beds or the floods all held a special fascination for him. Most of all he enjoyed riding night patrol, just quietly circling the herd, listening to their soft grunts and bellows while being buried in his own thoughts. It gave a man time to think and space to be at peace. Of course there were bad times when everything seemed to go wrong, stampedes, flooded rivers, violent storms, but even these had their own special meaning for him. He had never married, oh he had met several women that he had thought he loved, but the call of the trail was so strong for him that he knew there was no way he could survive the containment of living in one place for any length of time or the permanent commitment to another human being.

He figured that for this drive he would about fifteen drovers, a cook with a wagon load of supplies, and a scout. He had enough connections that all of this was arranged quickly and efficiently so that towards the middle of February the drovers he had hired began arriving at the ranch and the herd was ready to set off.

Jackson agreed to send telegrams back to the ranch whenever he hit a town along the way that was big enough to have a telegraph office, so that Lemay could plot their progress.

Two months later, Wilton got word that his herd was on the final leg of its trip but still the rancher had received no word from his brother "the boy". He decided it was time to head out towards Dodge City. Of necessity he would be taking the stage for the most part of his trip. He did not look forward to that, but other than riding his own horse all the way there was little alternative.

-()-()-()-

In Dodge City the spring cattle drives had already begun arriving. The Marshal had just released two drovers from the jail that morning. They had downed a little too much whisky the night before and got into a fight at the Texas Trail saloon.

This was only the second drive of the season, and they could expect at least five or six more before the summer heat put a stop to most of the cattle business.

For Marshal Dillon it was a time of hectic nights, some of which lasted until daybreak the following morning. In an effort to catch up on needed sleep he would often cat nap on the boardwalk outside the office in the mid morning hours. The warmth from the sun was pleasant at this time of year and made dozing easy. He was leaning his chair back against the brick wall, with his hat pulled well down over his face when he heard the midday stage arrive. Usually he would go to meet it just to see who was coming to Dodge, but today he decided to stay right where he was. About a half hour passed before he felt the presence of someone standing in front of him. At first he thought it was Doc coming to chide him for sleeping there, but the voice he heard was definitely not that of his long time friend.

"Are you the Marshal here?"
Reluctantly Matt straightened his chair, pushed his hat back and looked up at the man standing in front of him.

"Who's looking for him?"

The man reached out his hand "Wilton Lemay."

"Matt Dillon," the Marshal replied, standing up and reaching out his hand. "What can I do for you?"

"I was looking for someone, Marshal, and wondered if you had seen him here in Dodge."

"What's his name?"
"Max Lemay, he's my younger brother. The last letter I got from him said he was headed this way."
"Where was he coming from?"
"Most likely from Pueblo, Colorado."

"Can't say the name means anything to me, of course a lot of people come and go through Dodge that I never get to see or even hear of."

"I am staying at the Dodge House for now, so if you happen to come across him I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. I have a herd of about 3000 head that should be arriving in the next few days, so I'm going to be down at the stock yards much of the time."

"Who's your trail boss?"

"Fella by the name of Jerry Jackson."
"I've heard he's a good man," Matt stopped for a second and smiled at a distant memory, "but doesn't he usually go into Abilene?"
"Yes, but I thought I might get a better price by bringing them here."

The conversation was over and Wilton Lemay walked away and crossed the street, heading for the Dodge House.

TBC