Raiding With Morgan by Jim R. Woolard Page B

your grandfather’s bobber had gone under. An upstanding Baptist elder didn’t dare shun his own blood. He could disown a straying son, but renouncing a helpless infant would subject him to public scorn. That’s a fate worse than death for a hard-shell believer.”
    The cooking fires were smoldering embers and General Morgan was expecting them. Ty hurriedly asked, “What became of Dagon McVey?”
    â€œI hired a friend, a Louisville lawyer, to investigate the status of Bran McVey’s holdings after Bran’s death. By Bran’s will, I wasn’t given a stake in them. Your mother was granted the other two-thirds interest, not held by Dagon. Upon her father’s death, that portion passed to you. Bran’s faith in his brother was misplaced. Soon as Dagon had control of a substantial sum of money, gambling became his prime interest. Unfortunately, he was a poor judge of horseflesh and a sucker for a hot tip from hangers-on, who knew even less. His debts totaled in the thousands after a single racing season. He ducked his creditors for a while, but those he owed grew tired of his excuses and came calling with drawn pistols.
    â€œThat’s when the money-grubbing leeches grabbed control of the Iron Gate. They cut the spirits with water and cheapened the food, wanting to gain a quick, fat purse. Without the draw of Keena’s piano, Bran McVey’s charm, and the superb menu, the quality people drifted away. The end wasn’t pretty. Bran McVey’s assets—the tavern, the farm, and the horses—sold at sheriff’s sale for far less than what they were worth. Dagon was found severed in half on the L and N Railroad tracks. The authorities ruled his death a suicide. Given the ruthless bunch of scalawags he dealt with, I believe he had help.”
    Lieutenant Shannon approached Ty and his father with a tin cup in each hand. “Coffee laced with Corydon’s best brandy,” he said, “courtesy of E.J.’s private stash. It’s time, Captain. General Morgan’s messenger said he’s ready for us.”
    Accepting the offer of coffee and brandy, Owen Mattson said, “Give us a couple of more minutes, Shawn.”
    Ty found E.J.’s mixture quite tasty. His ears perked anew when his father said, “Ty, I had good reasons for staying in Texas after the war. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to claim you or raise you. With Dagon’s demise and the loss of the McVey fortune, I decided the safest and best place for you was with your grandparents. I was a poor ex-soldier in a Texas known for its Comanche, cattle rustlers, horse thieves, outlaws, and cutthroats. I rode with the Rangers and arrested or killed all of their kind at one time or another. My knowledge of horses gained me partnerships in a cattle ranch and a freighting company. We lost the ranch to rustlers, twisters, and droughts, and the freighting outfit to renegades with red, brown, and white skins.”
    Owen Mattson drained his cup and stood. Ty did the same. “Ty, Texas is more dangerous than the Arabian Desert for a stripling with no mother and a footloose father with empty pockets. Trust me, I haven’t liked being separated from you all these years. You know your grandfather as well as anybody. If you live with him, it has to be on his terms. I can’t, so I stayed away.”
    Owen Mattson’s smile was a mile wide. “Maybe it will all work out. I suspect your grandfather reared a son for me that I’ll be proud of when this campaign is over. Now, before we try our general’s patience, let’s see what he has in store for you. Just be prepared for anything. John Hunt Morgan is a very resourceful military officer.”
    Ty tried to keep his mind clear during their walk to General Morgan’s tent. It was nearly impossible. Questions that had kept him awake many sleepless nights and questions that wouldn’t have dawned on him to ask had been