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Fiction Short Story

by Leland Burkhart

Drive to Dodge

The rolling green plains of western Kansas spread to the horizon like an ocean. Under a bright blue sky dotted with white clouds, four hard case riders sat their horses staring at what appeared to be a boy. Billy McAllister sat staring back at the four riders deciding which one would be the first to die.

Billy was the foreman of a 2,500 head cattle drive coming up the trail from Texas. He recognized the ploy to steal cattle. His job was to tell them no.

At the age of 24, Billy had lived a lifetime. Born on the plains of Texas, his father died defending his family from a Comanche raid when he was 10. Five years later his mother succumbed to the fever. The next few years he drifted from ranch to ranch and riding job to riding job.

After Billy turned 20, he rode north to Ohio and joined the Union army to fight in the War Between the States. The next four years of his life filled with blood and gun smoke. Billy distinguished himself in battle and mustered out of the army as a sergeant when the war ended.

Returning to Texas, he found little of what he remembered. Strangers from the east and north had moved in and taken over land that had been held by some very old families. Broke and hungry, he rode into the yard of the Lazy J ranch.

An older gentleman with white hair and a moustache appeared on the front porch. "Hello, young man. How can I help you?"

"Name's Billy McAllister, sir. I'm looking for a riding job if you're hiring."

"My name's Samuel Johnson, son. I own this spread.” He nodded his head and looked into the distance. “We're always looking for good help but I don't do the hiring. I let my foreman do that.”

He fixed his eyes on Billy.

“When’s the last time you ate, boy? You look a bit gaunt."

"Been a couple of days ago, sir. I been living on coffee and jerked beef while on the trail."

"Well, light and set boy. Turn your horse into the corral for the night. I won't send any man away hungry. You can bed down in the bunkhouse. It will give you a chance to meet Tom. He's the foreman. If he wants to keep you on, it's all right with me. If he says you leave, then you leave. Fair enough?"

"Yes, sir. Sounds fair to me."

Billy found a home that day. He ate like he hadn't eaten in ages and after two weeks he started to fill out to a man's weight. Billy hit it off with everyone on the ranch. He did his work without complaint and proved to be a top hand. His experience and knowledge of cattle and range conditions proved invaluable. Tom Hankins, the foreman, particularly liked Billy.

Tom looked at Billy like the son he never had. Billy looked up to Tom like the father he lost so many years before.

About a month after Billy came to work on the ranch, his fellow ranch hands discovered something about Billy they never suspected. On the eve of a cattle drive to Dodge City, Kansas, Tom Hankins and Billy rode into town to pick up a few extra supplies at the general store and take care of other last minute errands. Reports of what happened were sketchy.

Some say Tom bumped a man on the boardwalk and others say the two drifters picked a fight. Tom never had a chance. His arms were full when one of the drifters pulled his gun and shot Tom.

Billy stood at the counter of the gunsmith's shop picking up his .45 caliber Army Colt revolver when he heard shots. Running up the boardwalk he saw his friend, Tom, lying face down in the muddy street with blood pooling beside him. The acrid smell of gun smoke lingered in the damp air. The two drifters laughed as Billy arrived.

"This country is mighty rough on cow nurses," one of the men sneered.

"Are you the two dogs that shot my friend?" Billy asked.

The grin quickly disappeared from the man's face.

"Who are you calling a dog, boy?"

"Mister, if you shot my friend, I'm calling you a dog. If not, I'm calling the hombre that shot my friend a dog. Which one are you?"

Billy deliberately waited for the men to draw. The two as one went for their guns. In the split second it took to clear their holsters, Billy McAllister’s Colt fired four shots that rolled like thunder.

Each drifter took two bullets through the breast pocket and never got off a shot. The news spread like a prairie fire. Billy McAllister is hell on wheels with a pistol.

Tom didn't die that day but he lost a lot of blood and was in no shape for a cattle drive. After much arguing and prodding, Billy agreed to take on the job of foreman for the drive to Dodge. March of 1866, Billy McAllister led his first drive from Texas bound for Dodge City. Two months later they crossed out of the Indian nations territory into Kansas.

Billy scouted ahead of the herd. From a distance he saw the riders. He reined his horse and waited. After a few minutes the four riders approached the hilltop where Billy sat.

"Sonny, you better go get your foreman. We need to talk to him," the leader of the four ordered.

"I am the foreman.” Billy’s voice held a cold edge. “What do you want?"

"Boy, you can't be the foreman. You ain't dry behind the ears, yet!"

The man’s tone turned ugly. "We're cutting your herd. You got some of our cows in there."

Billy knew this moment would come. If it were Tom, they might not be as confident and bold dealing with an older man. They only saw a boy before them and now tried to press what they perceived as their advantage.

Billy knew that on the frontier a man had only himself and his horse to depend on. The law was for society and the civilized people that wanted to live within its bounds. Out here, on the frontier, each man was his own law.

"No. You're not cutting this herd. We don't have any of your cows. If you get in our way or try to stop us, I'll kill every man jack of you."

He threw it right back in their teeth. What were they going to do now?

The rolling green plains of western Kansas spread to the horizon like an ocean. Under a bright blue sky, dotted with white clouds, four hard case riders sat their horses staring at what appeared to be a boy. Billy McAllister sat—staring back at the four riders deciding which one would be the first to die.


About the Author
Leland is an avid reader and decided to put his love of storytelling into print. Writing has become his passion and western his favorite genre in the tradition of Louis L'Amour. This is his second story published by T-Zero: The Writer's Ezine. Leland currently manages a jewelry store though his dream is to write professionally and live in the mountains. You may contact Leland at lsburk@sbcglobal.com.

I have learned, that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.   ~Henry David Thoreau