Even at a distance, the mound of fresh earth was visible.
“But why should they have attacked you?” the lieutenant asked.
“They’ve been living off our beef for years,” Monty burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. “We’re rounding them up to sell. Now they’ll have to go to work or starve.”
“That’s a lie,” old man McClendon shouted. “Not one of my kin has ever killed a beef of yours.”
“You own no cows, so how do you explain the beef on your table?”
“We buy our beef,” the old man said. “Every one of us will swear to it.”
“If you do, you’ll be lying.” Hen’s voice was low, but it vibrated with such rage he drew every eye. “I can prove you’ve been stealing our beef.”
“That’s a very serious accusation,” the lieutenant warned.
“As serious as murder?” George asked.
“Can you show me your proof?”
“Not until the rest of our men arrive. Once we get in the middle of that clan, I don’t trust them not to murder us all.”
“This is the United States Army,” the lieutenant said proudly. “No one would touch us.”
“You’re either a fool or you haven’t been in Texas very long,” Monty snapped.
The ride to the McClendon homesteads was long and uncomfortable. George had left Salty and Silas at the house with Rose and Zac. The rest of them rode together in a tight bunch. Hen led the way, but George made sure that he and Monty rode between the McClendons and Hen.
The McClendons rode pretty easy in the saddle at first, but as they got closer to their land, George noted they seemed to be getting a little uneasy. When Hen turned east at a blasted oak, they grew visibly nervous. When Hen headed toward a grove of pecans lining a broad shallow in the creek, the McClendons disappeared into the nearest thicket. The lieutenant and his men just sat there with their mouths open as they listened to the sound of the McClendons crashing through the brush. When the sounds had faded away, Hen led them into the creek.
“Dig there,” Hen said, dismounting on a sandbar in the middle of the creek.
Less than a foot below the surface their shovels bit into leather. More than a dozen hides, all of them with the brand clearly readable.
“They were so sure of themselves they didn’t even bother to cut off the brands or burn the hides,” Monty marveled.
“They’ve been doing this since before we got here,” Hen said, “and nobody’s stopped them. They sure didn’t expect anybody to stop them now that they’re hooked up with the Reconstruction.”
“The Reconstruction isn’t here to cheat the local ranchers,” the lieutenant said, his discomfiture making him defensive.
“Now I know you haven’t been in Texas long,” Monty said. “You should have been here a month ago.”
“Why do you say that?” the lieutenant demanded.
“Ask at the land office when you get back to Austin,” George said. “What do you mean to do about the McClendons?”
“Can you swear it was the old man who killed that boy?”
“None of us can say who did it,” George admitted. “They surprised us, came up on a black night. We didn’t find Alex until after they’d gone.”
“I don’t see how I can arrest anybody on that.”
“But you were going to arrest me on no more.”
“I have an order for your arrest. I don’t have one for him.”
He showed George the order.
“My wife is the goddaughter of General Ulysses S. Grant,” George told the lieutenant, still staring at the order, his temper rising faster than a Roman rocket on the Fourth of July. “We can easily prove it if you like. I don’t think he’d be pleased to know you arrested her husband on a charge trumped up by proven cattle rustlers”—he pointed to the hides—“especially since you say you can’t arrest those same cow thieves even though they tried to kill his goddaughter and her family. You’ve got a dozen witnesses who’ll swear to it. Some of us may be ex-Confederates, but we’re honorable men.”
“He’s sending George a pardon,” Monty announced. “With that he’ll be just as good as any carpetbagger. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not in Austin already.”
“A pardon?” the lieutenant asked.
“A presidential pardon, courtesy of General Grant himself,” Monty explained. “You don’t expect a man like the General to enjoy having his goddaughter’s husband living under a cloud, do you?”
“We can prove that, too,” George added.