Fiction: Jaudon – An American Family (a novel) [34]

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Chapter 34. Timber War

As wars go, the Timber War was not a traditional war. There were no marching bands, no uniforms, and no cavalry charges. It was more of a guerrilla war, not unlike what the Indians waged in rustling cattle, as when the Kiowa Indians raided James and Goodnight’s herd on their drive to California. The Indians would come in small groups, take a few logs, and be gone before anyone got wise to them. They even stole the 14 logs James had left on the ground to rot after killing the four thieves. The other six were still stacked on the ground beside the road to the house.
    James was not an environmentalist – far from it. If not for the spring that had become the lifeblood of his ranch, he would have cut the trees years ago. He had drilled three wells on his land looking for another source of water, but all three were dry holes. James saw the protection of the trees as a life or death matter.
    He set up guards at the road leading in and out of town. For the most part, all the guards saw were other ranchers accessing their own places. But trees were still disappearing. Even Clara was missing trees. The thieves seemed to have a system, and James was starting to think it might have something to do with his ranching neighbors helping them.
    He was sitting at Clara’s table, with a cup of coffee. “Clara, you’re friendly with the other ranchers. They haven’t spoken to me since I blocked off the government land. Do you think they’re helping the log thieves? The logs are getting back to town somehow, and it’s not by the main road.”
    Clara sipped her own coffee and thought about the question. “That might be what’s happening with the trees on the other side of your hill, but my logs are next to the government land. I rode out with my foreman and we found wagon tracks and followed them for a few miles, but we lost the tracks on the slate in Indian bottoms. From there they could have gone in any direction.”
    James was trying to draw a picture in his head of how this could tie in with his logs. Suddenly it came to him. “Yes, that’s it!”
    The outburst surprised Clara. “What is it?”
    “They must have a wagon trail back to the main road. None of my people go on the government land anymore. All of my cattle are fenced in. If the thieves have cut a trail around my property and down alongside the Guadalupe, they can come across the government land, hit Indian bottoms, and stay on that slate all the way back to the main road, with a straight shot to town.”
    He got up to leave. “Where are you going?” Clara asked.
    “I’m getting some men and we’ll be waiting for the bastards tonight.”
    Clara signaled for him to wait. “James, there’s something I have been hesitant to tell you. I know Sara is married to Jake Butler, and I don’t want to be the cause of coming between family members. But a cross was burned at the entrance to my ranch a week ago.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
    “Butler’s connected to your family, so I thought it was nothing. But I’ve also had some cattle killed. And it wasn’t for their meat – they were killed and seemingly left for me to find. I believe they’re sending me a message to sell my trees or things can get worse.”
    “So, you think the Klan is behind the whole tree-logging thing?”

    “I don’t know if they are stealing the logs or maybe just working for a lumber company. Your brother-in-law has his fingers in a lot of businesses, and he may just be using this in an attempt to scare me into selling my timber. To be honest with you, it makes more sense to sell it than to have it stolen.”
    “Clara, that’s something we don’t do. We kill thieves; we don’t give in to them.”
    Clara picked up the coffee cups and carried them to the sink. “You do know that if you kill them on government land, it’ll bring in the Texas Rangers. The Rangers have a long memory, James, and you’re not one of their favorite people.”
    “I haven’t seen the Rangers doing anything about these thieves. I never got their help in the past when I could have used it, so why would I think they would do anything now?”
    Clara came back from the sink. “Why not contact them? If the logs are being carried across government land, it’s their responsibility to capture and arrest the crooks.”
    James put on his jacket. “By the time the Rangers get around to doing anything, there won’t be a tree left on your property or mine.”
    “God bless you, James. You’re the last of a breed of men that made Texas what it is today, but the days of being your own law— Those days are gone. If you go out there and kill those men, they will arrest you and they will hang you.”
    “That may be so, Clara. But if they do hang me, it will be because I was protecting my land, the same land I protected against Indians, Mexican bandidos, and cattle rustlers. This scum is no different from anyone else that tries to take what’s mine.”
    Clara put her arms around him. “I do so love you, James Jaudon, but this time you’re biting off more than you can chew.”
    James opened the door and started out. A cold October wind was blowing. “It’s going to be a cold night. You might want to bring in more wood. Tell Sophie good-bye for me.”
    Clara watched him ride off and she remembered a time when her late husband, Harold, would have been at James’ side. She wiped her eyes with the bottom of her apron. Out loud she shouted, “You old fool!”

That night the wind continued to blow out of the north, and James and the five gunmen he had hired to guard the main road rode with there heads bent low to hide their faces from the cold.

    Up ahead they could see lights from four lanterns. One was attached to each of four wagons, with what looked like six outriders. That implied at least ten guns, maybe more if there was more than one man on each wagon. The outriders, with their white hoods, looked like Klan members riding security for the wagons, or maybe they were all part of the Klan, even the drivers. To James, there was no difference.
    James and his men were coming up from behind, and they were now slow-walking their horses to try to get as close as they could without being seen or heard. At sixty feet they were spotted. A shout went up from one of the outriders and then a shot rang out. James spurred his horse. He and his five gunmen were ready to fight. The wagon drivers slapped their mules with the reins and picked up speed while the outriders turned and faced the oncoming charge.
    Both sides were firing and riding toward one another, and in seconds James was head to head with one of the hooded outriders, who fired, his bullet hitting James in the side. James returned fire and both men fell from their horses.
    James lay stunned on the ground. The fall had hurt more than the bullet. He rolled over in time to see the other man without his hood. It was Jake Butler, and he was coming down with a knife.
    A shot rang out and Jake’s back snapped like a dry twig from a dead tree as the .44 slug passed through his spine. He fell to the ground like a rag doll, twitched a few times, and died.
    The man who had killed Butler knelt at James’ side. “Take it easy, boss, we’ll get you home.”
    James came up on one arm. “Drive their horses across the river and throw these bastards’ bodies into the Guadalupe. We don’t want anything left on government land. If questioned, this gunfight took place across the river.”

Clara moved in at James’ ranch to take care of him, and Claude came home for a few days. He came with a lawyer from Austin, who pointed out to the City Council that the six men were still wearing their Klan gowns when pulled from the river. He promised that a trial would expose the complicity of the town with the illegal activity of the Ku Klux Klan, which could leave them liable to be sued for any or all damages done by the dead men.
    No charges were brought against James, and everything was swept under the rug. James’ main objective had been achieved – it was the end of the Timber War.
    James offered Sara a home on the ranch but she didn’t want to move back there. And besides, Jake had left her with his two daughters to take care of and a good chunk of money. So she stayed in her house with the girls. She and James never spoke again.
    James’ gunshot wound healed fine, but his back injury from the fall was another story. Something in his back had been damaged, and he would never sit a horse again. After he rose from bed, he needed a cane to walk. Texas hadn’t killed him yet, but it had clipped his wings.

Copyright © 2020 by Ed Rogers