Alpine Glow

Chapter 2

2

Jacob Lauren Murray, leaned casually on the horn of his saddle spitting over the shoulder of the bay beneath him. The saddle leather creaked, even under his wiry frame. His horse shifted to his other hip adjusting to his rider. The shade that the mesquite bush had provided earlier was quickly evaporating in the late morning sun. Jake began to question his father’s plan. Why would they try during the day? The water could easily be found any moonlit night, especially by thirsty cattle. He and the bay took a deep breath nearly in unison. He patted the pony’s neck.

“Just a little longer and we’ll head back,” Jake promised the horse.

The only indication that the horse was awake was the twitch of his ears as he listened to his rider. The locust buzzed in turn down the ravine, taking short arcing flights to the next tuft of bear grass. The heat brought the scent of salt cedar and grease wood up the canyon on a slight breeze that was far from refreshing. In an hour the canyon would be blazing with direct noonday heat. Even the birds were settling in for siestas this time of day. Jake took off his hat and mopped his forehead with a rag from his front pocket.

“Shit.” The explicative covered a gamut of emotions. He replaced the hat and rag and squinted down the canyon.

The Caversons had been stealing water for weeks, maybe months. Bringing their cattle in through this canyon and stopping on the edge of the Murray’s land, using the Murray’s watering hole. Fences had been torn down and the Murray’s own cattle had to be rounded up, they had lost a couple dozen head. It had to be stopped. Caversons could drive their cattle through conventional trails and pay the per head fee at the conventional watering holes. Jacob’s father, Lionel Murray, was determined to stop them. But first they had to catch them.

Jake and his brother Clint had taken turns at this post above the canyon in hopes of catching the thieves red handed. So far, a week's worth of watching and no sign of any of them or their blasted cows. There were so many other things Jake would rather be doing. Drinking, screwing, even mending fence, or castrating steers would be better than this! He spit again.

Suddenly his horse lifted his head and c****d his ears forward, looking down the canyon.

Jake, with the instinct of a horseman followed the animal's gaze, taking advantage of the enhanced sight, hearing and smell the horse allowed. Both he and the horse stiffened and waited. A distant echo first, clattering hoof on rock and then the distinct low of moving cattle came up the canyon long before the herd was visible. Jake’s heart beat heavily and the horse’s nostrils flared at the new scent and sound coming toward them. Soon the lead animal, a Longhorn, pushed around the bend followed by about thirty head and three riders.

“s**t,” Jake muttered again. This time in disbelief and disappointment.

Now the Murrays would actually have to do something. He couldn’t identify the riders yet but the cattle weren’t his, he knew that much.

They drove the animals slowly like seasoned cattlemen. Moving cows too fast in this heat would lead to exhaustion. Still the animals could smell water and they began to get anxious. Lowing became bellowing and the cowboys worked hard to keep them from breaking out into a trot. Clouds of dust were being kicked up.

“One shot,” thought Jake, and he slowly reached for his six-shooter on his hip.

His horse quivered. Jake’s plan was quickly squelched by his father’s words of warning before he left.

“Don’t do anything rash, boy!” The old man had bellowed at him. “Just make sure it’s them. We’ll take care of it together."

Why did it always have to be a family affair? Jake could pop off all three of them before they knew the first one dropped. The cattle would scatter, no one would be the wiser.

“You hear me boy!?” Lionel Murray’s voice rung in Jacob’s head.

He obediently let go of the butt of the gun. The cattle and riders where right in front of them now. Jake watched them in silence, sweat pouring down his back and down his face. He dare not move to the shade now. His horse was sweating too, itching to jump into the fray. Jake could see the rider’s faces, ruddy with heat and determination. It was definitely the Caversons, the two younger brothers, Jace and Carson, and their older cousin Marshall. Old Man Caverson and his oldest son Seth were nowhere to be seen.

The three men whistled and moved on their mounts still keeping the cattle at a slow trot. As fast as they came, they passed, and Jake watched the dust settle behind them as they moved up the canyon. The small herd plunged headlong into the only water source for miles. A slow burn began in his belly. That was his water, his family’s water. When he was certain he was beyond their detection, he reined his horse quickly around and headed back to the ranch house. His father would be proud of his discretion.

The Murray ranch sprawled over 12,000 dry, yucca and scrub brush covered acres of the southern Texas territory, about twenty square miles. The cattle that could survive out here were thin and tough skinned. Usually a Longhorn-Brahma cross that were easy to breed, calve and sell to the Mexican meat markets. There was little money in it, the land alone was where the family got their prosperity and only land with water was worthy. The more acres you owned in this part of the world the more your family was respected by the gun toting government that ruled the west and the greater chance of finding water.

Land, and the water rights that came with it, changed hands in the most nefarious ways; gambling, theft, and even murder, were just a few. They went to deserving brothers by brothers not so deserving and vice versa.

The Murray family were only the second generation land owners. Earl Lawson Murray had purchased the first 10,000 acres after the territories independence from Mexico in 1836. The last 2800 acres had been fought for by the Murrays over the last generation in skirmishes with the Mexican government and various Mexican border dwellers. The land had claimed the lives of the entire first generation of Murrays to occupy it through disease, drought, and dust choking work. It had claimed three of this generation's sons through bloodshed and violence.

Either way the price seemed too high to Jacob. Disputes over barren land, bitter water, and boney cows seemed senseless to him. But, he was a Murray.

His bay pulled up fast to the hitching post outside the main house. Dust flying around his legs, Jacob barely let the horse stop before sliding off and bounding up the front porch. The temperature dropped noticeably even in the thin shade under the eaves. Lunch had already been served. The hired men would be napping on the east side of the buildings trying to rest during the heat of the day. Lionel Murray always took this time to stretch out on the floor of the ranch house office at the back of the house.

“Pa?" Jacob could see his boot bottoms as he turned the corner.

“Mm-hmm,” the elder Murray had been asleep. “Did you see um, Jake?” He asked.

“Yeah, it was them," Jake made himself slow and leaned against the door frame, “Three youngest Caverson boys and about 30 head.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lionel Murray was no longer sleepy, Jacob could almost hear his mind clicking. “Call your brother, we need to set this right.”

Jacob, sighed and squinted into the dark room to better see his father’s face staring up at the ceiling. He was suddenly hotter, more tired and hungrier than he remembered. He wanted to baulk at the instruction, make an excuse. He paused too long.

“Go, Jake!” The old man barked and Jake, as usual, jumped to his bidding.