Chapter 1

I was just coming home from school when the shit started to fly (oops, Ma would skin my hide if she heard me talk like that). I was kind of unusual to still be in school, after all, I was 11 years old, and that's old enough to hold a full time job in Texas in this spring of 1871. I had been going to school, off and on, for nearly five years, so I knew enough to teach about as well as the school marm.

It was three miles from the school building to my house, so I was riding our old mule, Jehoshaphat, and not pushing too hard to get there. I had plenty of time to do my chores before supper, so I was kind of day-dreaming and admiring the beautiful day. I got close enough to hear the gunshots, and that woke me up right quick-like. I urged Jehoshaphat into a faster walk, which was all that poor old mule could manage.

We went on for a little ways, but Jehoshaphat just couldn't move fast enough for me, so I jumped off and started running as fast as my legs could carry me. I sure was glad that I was carrying my .44 caliber Starr DA (double action) pistol in a cross-draw holster on my left hip instead of tied down to my thigh. Hell, who am I kidding? That pistol was so heavy that I couldn't carry it there without it pulling my pants down! Anyway, with that pistol in its position on my left hip, I could run a whole lot faster than I could have with it on my thigh.

I ran up close to the house and saw Pa lying dead in the front yard and four men firing their pistols at the house. There was a lot of shooting coming from inside the house, so I figured that my two older brothers, John and Henry, were shooting with Ma and Martha reloading for them.

The men attacking the house were sheltering behind the well and some other stuff in the front yard. There was a little draw crossing in front of the house, so I ran to that and jumped in. It was only about three feet deep, but I was only about 5 feet tall so I had no trouble bending over far enough to be protected from the flying bullets. I ran down the draw until I was as close to the attackers as I could get and still be in the draw.

I leaned against the side of the draw and drew my pistol. There were four men less than 15 yards away, and I had five shots. I was supremely confident as I got ready to shoot. The recoil from that .44 caliber pistol was a caution, so I always held it with two hands. Since it was double action, I didn't have to worry about cocking the hammer—all I had to do was pull the trigger.

I lined up on the first galoot and pulled the trigger real gentle-like. I'd done a lot of shooting to learn how to handle that pistol, but this was the first time I had shot at a man. That gun was old, but it was smooth as a woman's cheek, as my Pa used to say. The trigger came back and the hammer rose. At the proper moment, the hammer fell on the cap, and the gun fired that lead ball into the back of the head of the bastard shooting at my family.

I paused only long enough to see that I did not need a second shot at that target and swung the gun to point at the next man in line. He had not reacted to my shot, probably because he had not noticed it among the other shots being fired that afternoon. Still holding the gun in both hands, I let if fall from the recoil position to point at this man's head. As soon as I was sure of my line, I again pulled the trigger. This bullet also ran true and hit the galoot in the side of his head behind his right ear. Scratch another of the bastards!

The third man finally noticed something when he was hit in the hand by several drops of blood and maybe some splattered brains. He turned to look in the direction of the dead man, and it was almost comical to see the look of surprise on his face when he realized that his companion was dead. Well, that was the last of my head shots. The man had turned far enough now that he had exposed his chest as a target. Pa had drilled into me that I should shoot at the biggest target, since a man never knew if his bullet was going to fly true. With this admonition in mind, I took aim on the center of the man's chest and let fly with my third shot.

He died quickly, and I was left with the fourth man. However, this was not as clear cut and straight forward as the first three men had been. The fourth man jumped around to get some protection from my shot, and he jumped too high. He was caught in the body by two lead balls and killed soon enough. Now, the shooting could stop. I shouted, "DON'T SHOOT, PLEASE! IT'S ONLY ME, TOM!"

An answer came from the house, so I climbed out of the draw and inspected the four bodies to make sure that they were dead. That was another of Pa's admonitions, namely, always make sure that your enemy ain't faking death.

By this time, Ma, Martha, John, and Henry were seeing if there was anything that could be done for Pa. I could tell by the tears from all four of them that there was nothing to be done—that Pa was already dead! Of course, I started to cry at that realization, and I wished that all four of the bastards were alive so that I could put another lead ball in their guts.

It was hard to do through my tears, but I followed another of Pa's admonitions to reload my weapon as soon as possible—you never knew who or how many more enemies might be sneaking up on your back.

About this time Jehoshaphat wandered up to the barn and started braying that he was ready to eat. Pa always said that a man should take care of his mount first, before his own needs, so I went to take care of Jehoshaphat. He had always been a faithful friend and companion, so I owed it to him.

John and Henry carried Pa's body into the house for Ma and Martha to start preparing him for burial. Once they had done that, they dragged the bodies of the four attackers into the barn. Jehoshaphat wasn't happy as soon as he smelled the blood, but the boys ignored him and went about the business of stripping the dead men of anything they had of value.

That's when they found out that the four men worked for Caleb Hopkins, a carpetbagger who was trying to buy up all of the land for miles around. Pa had refused on at least three occasions to sell our place to Hopkins, so, maybe, that's why his men murdered Pa.

I met my brothers in the kitchen where we drank coffee and discussed the situation. They told me that five men had ridden up to the house and called to Pa to come out to talk. Pa was always the polite sort, so he went out as requested. Pa had hardly gotten both feet on the ground from stepping off the veranda when all five of the men drew pistols and fired balls into his body from only a few feet away.

John had seen this from inside the house, so he grabbed up a loaded Mississippi Rifle that always hung on a rack beside the front door. John had shot at one man, but they had all ducked behind shelter before John could reload the muzzle loader and fire again. The man he shot at had been wounded in the arm, so he had climbed on his horse and ridden away. The battle against the other four men had commenced, and I was around for the end of it.

There was no question that one of us was going to have to "call out" Caleb Hopkins. As it happened to be, even though I was the youngest of the three brothers, I was the best shot and the fastest draw, so it was obvious that I was the logical choice to be the one who challenged Hopkins. Even Ma agreed to that when she came into the room after finishing washing Pa and getting him dressed in his best suit.

I planned to go into Edgar Junction and duel Hopkins the first thing tomorrow. First thing, we had to bury Pa before he started to smell too bad. The church in Edgar Junction didn't have a regular full time preacher, instead, a Methodist Circuit Rider came around every fourth week for a Sunday service that we were obliged to hold on Wednesdays because of his schedule. Anyway, he wasn't due for another three weeks, and Pa couldn't wait that long. Therefore, we were going to have to bury Pa without a preacher in attendance. Well, it wouldn't be the first time that a funeral in Hunter County was held without a preacher.