What y'all think?

[The Trinity Kid]

So, here is the prolog and some of the first chapter of a novel I'm writing.  The title is:  "The Floppy Hat From Texas."


PREFACE

The wind pierced his coat like little knives, the rain chilled him to the bone.  His horse was pittifully thin and had no saddle. The boots he wore were more of a sock, his shirt was worn and stained, his pants had holes in the knees and his hat drooped worse than a hound. Tex Alton was barely seventeen but looked much older, his hair was to his shoulders, more of a sick grey than brown, his eyes green as an emerald and cold as ice. He had two revolvers on his hips, .44-caliber New Army's of the Remington design, his Winchester  Yellowboy he carried on his back with a sling, and a leather thong held a long bladed, elk-antler handled Bowie knife on his back.

He was headed back to Texas, back to his family's ranch. He was thinking about his mother's apple pie, his sister's chocolate cake and a warm bed when his horse whinied. He stopped, and just in time, went belly-down for a bullet flew over his head and into his horse's neck. The animal fell over into a heap, nearly crushing Tex. He had his Winchester off his back, but didn't have a target. He waited, and was about to stand up when another bullet struck his back just below the rib-cage. Ignoring the pain, he shot at the muzzle-flash three times, once just below, once to the right and again to the left.  He tried to stand but another slug ripped into his leg.  Tex's knee buckled from under him and he went down turning. He saw just a enough of a sillouet to fire and was rewarded with an agonized moan. He put his hat on his rifle barrel and stuck it up. Nothing. Tex tried to stand but found he couldn't, then darkness and he knew no more.


















CHAPTER 1


When Tex awoke the sun was noon high. He tried standing but his wounds wouldn't allow. He tried calling for help, but all that came out was a rasp. Then he remembered his guns. He drew the right revolver and fired.
   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   
   James Easton was out rounding up cattle on his Father's ranch when he heard the shot.  A young man of seventeen, he stood at five feet-eleven inches.  He was what people would call “normal” as far as looks went, with brown hair and blue eyes.  He had a Colt Navy Model of 1861 revolver around his waist, and a tan hat.
    James didn't think about the shot. It was common for other ranchers to be out hunting, or to have to finish off a horse with a broken leg.   But when he heard a second and then a third and fourth, it got his attention.  Three shots was a warning, and four meant something was bad wrong.
   Casting a glance at the small numbers of cattle he had managed to gather, he turned his horse in the direction the shots had come from.  James knew better than to just take off toward what could be a dangerous situation, but a feeling in his gut made him ignore common sence for the moment. Though he did remember to check and make sure his Colt was full, and loose in the holster. 
   He rode for an hour without seeing anything.  Than a half, still without seeing or hearing anything.  Finally the two hour mark passed, still with nothing.
   “Ole hoss,” he said to the horse he was riding.  “I don't think there was anything too all-fired inportant out here anyway.”
   He was about to turn back when he saw the buzzards. Black shadows hovering in the sky, slowly descending to feed on some dead corpse. 
   He kicked his horse into a trot and soon came upon a dead body at the top of a small hill.
   It had been shot three times in the chest and was still holding his rifle.  The coyotes had already found the free meal, and had made the most of it, so that the only thing not torn apart was the black hat, and the Henry rifle in his hands.  The fact that the person had a repeating rifle, whats more, a Henry made James suspicious.  For the most part, only Yankees, and a few privileged souterners, had Henry rifles.  And with the war only over for a year, there was a lot of animosity and tension still between the north and south.
   When he was satisfied that no identification was possible, James leaned down to check the pockets for some form of identification.  Nothing appeared, the only things he came up with being four double-eagles, a plug of tobacco, and a handful of bullets.
   Finding nothing to identify the man, James returned to his horse and continued on.
   As he crested the hill, he suddenly came upon Tex. A five foot eight figure laying with his head up pointing a revolver at him. Though the distance was about thirty paces, this stranger had a rock steady aim.
A brief silence ensued, broken only by James' horse stomping in protest to the smell of blood. It was James who spoke first.
    "You ain't fixin' to shoot me are ya?"
 Tex answered with a croaking sound.
   For a moment James was confused.  But then he saw the blood staining Tex' thin pants and torn coat.  He stumbled off his horse and, taking his canteen with him, ran to Tex.  Tex was too pained to argue and accepted the water greatfully.  When he was done with half the water he managed to speak a little,
   "I'm Tex Alton." he said, a sound closer to a bird being eaten by a cat than English.
   "James." James said looking at his wound. "I got to get you home." He said, about to lift him. Tex was a dead weight, but somehow he managed to get him to his horse.
   The ride back took what seemed like forever to James.  Because of his loss of blood and general deteriorated health, Tex lapsed in and out of consciousness.  The only difference between the two that James could make out was the pattern of his breathing. This being the case, James had to tie Tex to the saddle to keep him from falling off. 
Another factor of the increased time was the horse.  It had been worked hard most of the morning, so it was slightly tired already.  But with two men riding double, it made anything more than a walk impossible for fear of killing the horse and being left afoot.
   All those factors together made the trip take four hours to get back to the main house.
   The main house complex consisted of a two story house, painted white with blue trim, in the middle of a clear spot.  Behind the house was a small vegetable garden.  To the south of the house sat the stable and corral, where twelve horses of assorted colors sat grazing the grass that managed to grow inside.  There was also a vacant bunk house to the north, with a water pump and trough.
   James reined up by the trough so that the horse could drink and untied Tex, who was conscious at the moment.  He would have loosened the saddle on the horse, but he had to get Tex to the house.
   As he was coming to the porch his father, Mell Easton came out with a shotgun held in his hands.  He stood right at six feet, with graying hair and a wrinkled, tanned face that was covered by a bushy mustache.
    "What in the world is goin' on here?” He demanded of his struggling son.    "He's been shot pa, He needs help." James said through his clenched teeth.  And, as if that weren't enough,  Tex croaked,
   "Howdy." and tried to tip his hat but didn't have the strength and just let his arm fall to his side.
   When Mell saw this, he leaned the shotgun against the wall of the house and hurried over to grab the limp feet.
   They got him inside and onto a spare bed.  Mell directed James to get some hot water and clean cloth, then set about getting the thread-bare clothing away from the wounds. 
   When James returned, Mell cleaned the dried blood from around the holes, then stuck his finger inside to see if the lead was still there.  With a relieved sigh he proclaimed that the bullet had passed through without hitting anything vital.
   Satisfied that there was no permanent damage, the Easton men wrapped Tex' middle section and thigh tightly in cloth and left the room.  During the time they were working, Tex had lapsed back in to unconsciousness, so they let him sleep.
   "Pa,” James asked while they sat at the table and sipped some coffee to calm their frazzled nerves, “ I heard some solders talking once and they said whiskey would solve a fever. Do you want me to ride to town and get some?"
    Mell Easton leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee "Not unless Tex here asks for it.  And if he does, I'll go get it.” 
    "Yes sir."
*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   

   Tex woke up feeling like he had not only seen the elephant, but the entire zoo.  He looked around, the room, having no memory of coming to a building.  And then he saw James, who was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed, watching him very intently.
   “Ah good, the fever broke.”  He siad cheerfully.  After hearing the voice, and some thinking, Tex was able to remember that this was the person who had saved him from the scorching Texas sun and almost certain death from his wounds.
   "Were did you take me?" Tex inquired, hardly recognizing the raspy note that was his voice.
   "To my spread." James anwered.
   Tex thought some more.  He couldn't remeber more than the first half hour of the ride over, and one little episode at the porch of some house.  Suddenly he got worried.  He had no clue where he was, or how to get where he wanted to go.
   "You don't happen to have any coffee, do you?" Tex asked.  Coffe always helped him to think.  James ran out and returned a second later with a cup.  With som help, Tex managed to sit up with his back to the wall for support and drink the coffee.  Still, when he was done, his memory was no better, so he decided to let the sibject go for a while, until he was strong enough to do something about it.
    But his body wanted food, and to be out of the bed.  After some mental debating, Tex pulled the covers from off his lap and hung his leg off the side of teh bed.  With the covers off, he noticed that his old clothes had been exchanged for new ones.  He now had on blue Levi's and an orange button-down shirt.
   “Thanks for the getup.” he said.  James nodded, though he had a dissaproving look directed at Tex, obviously skeptical about his intended attempt at walking.
   "Do you have a stick or something?" Tex asked after setting both feet on the wooden floor.  Reluctantly, James took a tree branch he had been carving from the side of the bed and handed it to him.  Tex took it and pulled himself to the standing position.  While his legs were shakey, they held his weight.
   Carefully, he took one step on his good leg, then a smaller one on his wounded leg.
   With that settled, he hobbled out  the door.
   In the kitchen, Mell sat at the table, munching on a doughnut while reading a book.  On hearing the clamping of the walking stick on the wooden floor, he looked up.  It was all Tex could do to keep from laughing when he looked at the face the older Easton made. 
    "What are you doing out of bed?" Mell finally demanded.  Tex came and sat at in a chair directly opposite him, and set his stick on the table-top.
   "I was hungry and wanted to eat.” he said. Mell shrugged.
   “Good sign.” And went back to his book. 
   A moment later, James's mother came in.
   “My goodness, you're a hearty one.”  she said, and gave him a doughnut with jelly on it and another cup of coffee.
   After Tex was done eating, he got up, and hobbled to the door and managed to open it and get through to the porch where he sat in a chair and looked out over the plains.
   James came out and leaned against the wall next to him.
   “I went back and grabbed some of yer' stuff.”  James said.  Tex perked up.
   “Did you get my rifle?”  he asked excitedly.  James went back inside and emerged a minute later holding Tex' Winchester Model of 1866 rifle.
   “You mean this contraption?”
   Tex took to rifle from James hands and opened the action to eject the spent casing that was still there from his fight a few days before.
   “This is the New Model Henry.  Soon everybody will have one.”  he said.  James took another look at it and shrugged.
   “If you say so.”
   “By the by, how long did I sleep?”  Tex inquired.  After a moment's thought, James replied,
   “Three days.”
   Tex gave a low whistle, “I really need to clean my irons, before they rust on me.”  James took the hint and brought some hot water and cloth, along with a long rod used for cleaning the barrel.  He also brought Tex' pistol belt.
   With a deft ease which showed lots of practice, Tex dissasembled the rifle, gave it a thorough cleaning, then did the same to the revolvers.

   The effort of walking, eating and cleaning the guns was hard on Tex, so he had to have some help to get back to his bed, but he did it on his own two feet.  And when he did finally get under the blankets, he fell asleep almost instantly.
   “He's quite the character.”  James said to himself as he shut the door to the spare room and went out.

    A week went by and every day Tex would get out of bed to walk on his leg, and more importantly, eat. He would get up, grab the cane, walk to the table and wait patiently for someone to come talk and have coffee with him.  He would then walk out the door and around the house twice and go back to bed. 
   One day Tex decided to go without the cane.  He walked to the kitchen with no trouble, ate and walked all the way around once, then twice with no trouble. But instead of going to bed, he grabbed his revolvers and went to the stable were he found James graining the horses.
   "What are you doin' up? " James asked with an amused smile. “And with that belt srapped on?”
   "I'm standing in front of you." Tex returned equaly amused. "Mind if I go for a ride?"  He asked James who was petting a horse's nose.   It was a beautiful bay mare.
   "I guess so, if you promise not to get shot." James answered laughing. Tex mounted an unsaddled grulla that was hitched to a pole, while James went to get himself a saddle from the tack room by the big front door.  When he returned, he found Tex stroking the horse's nose, who now had a blanket thrown over it's back.  The horse kept angling it's head farther and farther to get more of the scratching.
   “He like's you.”  James said, as he threw his saddle over his mount's back.  Tex gave the horse a couple pats on the neck and began playing with the mane.
   “I reckon yer' right. Does he have a name?”
   James paused from tightening the girths on his saddle and looked back over his shoulder at the grulla.
   “Pebble.”  He said after a moment.
   “Pebble?”  Tex inquired.
   James gave a hard tug on each of the girths, and satisfied that they wouldn't slip, stepped up in to the saddle.  “We caught him by a rocky creek.”  He said by way of explanation.  “ Pa almost didn't see him from up the creek a piece because he blended in with the ground.”
   “Huh.”  Tex said and jumped on to his mount.  Then they both headed out on the south Texas prairie, not knowing that this day would change their lives forever.




--TK

[seamus49]

damn, i want more!
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