Death Of A Gene

At fourteen, the boys were finally able to physically contribute to the running of the small ranch Katherine had bought. The task that became theirs was to ride the fences and check for breaks or downed wires. They thought it to be less glamorous than roping, branding and castrating. Katherine and the foreman, Wade Wadelaw, explained that fence cutters and rustlers were out near the fence line and only someone trustworthy could handle such an important job as fence mending. Claude accepted the challenge of being a fence rider. Stormy could not believe it was as valuable as the other more “manly” tasks he watched the hired hands perform. Besides, he delighted in hearing the young calves bawl when the hot iron seared their hides. Both of the teenagers learned to use firearms, especially rifles, at an early age. A Texas ranch demanded that skill because of coyotes, panthers, rustlers, and, less frequently, Indian raiders from the west. Stormy was a crack shot. He was gifted with exceptionally clear vision. His ability to see in the darkness was even better than Katherine's. He loved to show off his ability to the ranch hands by shooting varmints after dark. Stormy wanted to carry a pistol. Katherine told him he could not. That did not stop him. He just did not carry it when Katherine might see it. The two boys loaded the repair wagon and packed plenty of food and sleeping gear for an extended outing. They were charged with the task to go completely around the ranch fence line. If there were no major repairs to make, the task would take almost a week. Claude was looking forward to living in the open. Stormy was not very happy about it. They left, both sitting in the wagon seat, heading westward along the fence line with their saddle ponies tethered to the back of the wagon. Near the end of the second day, the boys found a section of fence that was down. The ground was heavily divoted with fresh hoof prints. "You reckon it was buffalo?" asked Stormy, his eyes searching the horizon. "No, just cows. They ain't big enough for buffalo. Come here and look. See? And here is a...wait a minute! This here is a horse hoof print, shod. Come here! Stormy, this looks like somebody’s come in and took cattle! And it's fresh. See? The cowshit ain’t even dried." Claude strained to see toward the southwest, the direction that the trail seemed to lead. "Dammit! Somebody stealing our cattle?" Stormy’s blood quickly came to a boil. "Looks like it. We better ride back and tell Ma and Wade." Katherine had never told Claude he was not her born son. There was no value in the telling. She raised the two boys as brothers. An angry glint shaded Stormy’s eyes a darker blue. "And let’em get away? We're a day out and a day back, hard riding. Like you said, the trail is fresh. Let's get'em." "Stormy, stop that! We’re just two. We don't know how many there are of them. We're not old enough to be doing this by ourselves." "And you are the one who always says, "Stormy, you can do it?" Are you afraid? Is this tougher than shooting at some stump or climbing some big ol' tree?" Stormy challenged Claude. "Yes, I'm sure it is. Let's go get help." "I ain’t going. The only place I'm going is after my cows, our cows, Claude. You going to go with me to get our property back, or are you going to run and hide and let God knows who steal what’s ours?" Claude looked at Stormy’s raging blue eyes. He had seen the younger boy when his mood turned dark. He reconciled that there would be no way to change Stormy’s mind on the subject. "Alright. I’m with you. But I plan the attack. You're too cocksure and wild. We're going to do this right so we don’t get ourselves shot. You hear me?" "Sure. Sure. Let's ride." Stormy smiled inwardly. He had won. He was embarking on something that he knew was his calling – making the guilty pay for crimes against him and his family. He could barely contain himself. Claude’s voice crept into his reverie. "Let’s get some grub to carry first. And our bedrolls. This might take more than one day, you know." Holding Stormy in check was no easy task for Claude. He was not eager to encounter the rustlers, but he knew it had to be done. His primary concern was that they would ride headlong into a large gang of experienced and hardened men. The trail was easy to follow over the gently rolling Texas prairie. The rustlers were in no particular hurry. They had no reason to believe that anyone would be following close behind them. Claude wondered if that might also be because the rustlers knew they had numbers on their side. The boys saw dust from the herd before they saw the herd. The boys dismounted and tied their ponies to some low bushes. Afoot and staying low, the boys slipped to the top of a prairie rise to look at the herd. There were four riders moving the cattle, one on each side and two in the rear. As well as they could count the constantly churning bovine bodies, there were about thirty head of cattle in the small herd. They walked back to their ponies. "Okay, let's get'em," said Stormy. "We agreed; I plan it." "Sure. What's your plan?" "It’s going to be night soon. They'll stop. One will be awake to keep the cows together. The other three will be sleeping" "So we rush'em while they sleep?" "No, we don’t rush’em!” Claude shook his head and calmly asked, “Do you think you are any good at shooting a man in the dark, like you are at shooting varmints?" Stormy looked up into the brown eyes of the larger boy. He chuckled with delight. "You know I am." "Then, you take the rider. When the cows break to run away, I’ll raise up from the other side and fire shots to head them back. You watch the sleepers. If you can, shoot some of them. I'll be running the herd back over them. Don't shoot me, you hear?" The two followed at an unseen distance, watching the herd move slowly across unfenced prairie. As they observed their quarry, it was apparent that Claude’s plan was falling into place. The cattle were stopped and circled into a controlled herd near a small stream shortly before dark. There was ample grass to keep them grazing and with water to drink, any cattleman knew the animals would be content to stay there for the night. One man could easily keep them corralled barring a major disruption. The herders set up their campsite near the stream and behind the cattle, so the beasts would not be tempted to go back the way they had come. As darkness fell, the first night rider took his post. The other three settled into their bedrolls. Stormy moved quietly around the herd to position himself so that his rifle shot would tend to spook the animals toward the campsite. The cattle had settled down to chew their cuds. Most were lying on the grassy plain. Claude was in position to turn the cattle when the first shot rang out. The rifle report startled him even though he was anticipating it. He heard the rifle slug hit and heard a man's grunt. He peered over the small knoll he was hiding behind and saw the shadowy rider fall from his horse. The cows and steers jumped up and began to run in all directions. Claude fired his repeater rifle several times to try to turn the cattle, but it only hastened their flight in the directions they had already chosen. He heard more shots and yelling. He mounted his horse and rode toward the camp. Silhouetted against the horizon, he thought he saw Stormy mount onto his pony.