The Return of Caulfield Blake by G. Clifton Wisler Page A

why you agreed to . . .”
    â€œI asked to go,” Zach explained. “He argued against it. Said you’d never abide it.”
    â€œHe was right about that!” she thundered.
    â€œBut I remember you tellin’ Carter and me how you once shouldered a musket and helped Grandma fight off a bunch of Comanches out here when you were just twelve. I figure if you could do that, I’m old enough to do my part, too.”
    â€œYou should have ridden over and told your father,” Hannah said, nodding toward Marshall. “When your granny and I did that, the men were miles away. And remember, we didn’t go looking for those Comanches.”
    â€œMa, I . . .”
    â€œWe’ll talk no more of it, Zachary. Go help your brothers with the horses.”
    â€œYes’m,” the boy said, turning dejectedly away and starting for the corral.
    Hannah watched Zach kick rocks out of his way. He was Caulie, all right, a wild mustang straining to break free. She would never hold him, not with die world out there whispering in his ear, calling him off to try his hand at this and that.
    â€œThey grow faster’n summer weeds, don’t they?” Marsh asked. “Wasn’t so long ago I could carry Zach and Carter, the both of ’em, around on my back. Now look at ’em! By late summer they’ll be lookin’ me in the eye.”
    â€œYou think I was too short with him.”
    â€œI never said that, Hannah.”
    â€œBut it’s in your eyes.”
    â€œI think it’s your place to do what you think best.”
    â€œBut you’d handle it differently.”
    â€œAre you askin’ me?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen I’ll go ahead and throw in my two cents worth. The boy barely knows his father.”
    â€œ You’re his father.”
    â€œI don’t think so. Not after last night. Likely we made a mistake givin’ those boys my name. They’ve a right to their father, to his name and his character. Carter, well, he’s different, but Zach could hardly act otherwise.”
    â€œHe’s in such a hurry to be a man.”
    â€œTexas hurries ’em along. Hannah, Matt Simpson’s not much older’n Carter. Like it or no, the boys’re in this mess. After last night, there’ll be no peace. Simpson’s bound to hit back. He hasn’t hired all that new help to drive longhorns to market.”
    â€œI know, and it worries me.”
    â€œLittle point to worrying over it,” Marsh said, taking her hand and leading the way to the house. “What’s bound to happen will. We’ll face it when it comes.”
    Even as Marshall Merritt was speaking, Henry Simpson was at work. Cowboys were rounding up the survivors of his herd while a few men set about tending to the grim task of skinning and disposing of the dead animals. Meanwhile a third band, led by young Matt and the Jenkins brothers, set off toward Ox Hollow. Marty Cabot saw them pass. Soon others were riding.
    â€œMa, somebody’s cornin’,” Zach cried as he raced toward the house.
    â€œStay inside, Hannah,” Marsh instructed as he took a Winchester rifle down from the mantel. “I’ll see to this.”
    Hannah stood at the front window and watched him go. It might have been more prudent to pull the shutters to, but she didn’t. Instead she opened a small chest and drew out an aging Colt revolver. Caulfield Blake had carried that gun once. She now considered it a kind of legacy.
    â€œHowdy, Marsh,” Marty called down as he reached the house. “Good to see you still in high spirits, Zach. We’ve got some trouble, my friends.”
    â€œSimpson?” Marsh asked.
    â€œIn spades. He’s sent his boys after the Mexicans down in Ox Hollow. They crossed my range maybe an hour ago. I already sent Caulie out that way. I thought maybe you and . . .”
    â€œThat’s not really our affair, Marty,”