Read Online The Return of Caulfield Blake by G. Clifton Wisler - Free Book Online

with a keg or two of powder. Simpson’s dam appeared to be of rock. Worse, it was close to ten feet thick. A little dynamite might produce a hole or two if planted deep, but that would require a block of time. The three dark-browed gunmen patrolling the dam seemed unlikely to offer any help.
    â€œYou never in your whole life made it simple, did you, old man?” Caulie asked. “It was a dark day when your ma birthed you, Henry Simpson.”
    But Caulfield Blake hadn’t taken on many easy jobs. Hannah never would have written if times hadn’t been desperate. Caulie took a deep breath, exhaled, then nudged his horse into a trot. As he emerged from cover, the guards on the dam shouldered their rifles.
    â€œHold up there!” Caulie yelled. “I come alone—and in peace.”
    â€œPeace?” a heavy voice bellowed out. “What right have you got to peace? Blake, you’re on my land. I’d be within my rights to shoot you dead!”
    Caulie glared as Herny Simpson rode out past his guards and galloped the fifty feet to where Caulfield Blake sat atop his tall black. The two old enemies stared at each other. There wasn’t a hint of forgiving in either man’s eyes.
    â€œI’ve come to speak of the dam, Simpson,” Caulie finally said.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYou want to talk about rights. When Emma Siler deeded you this range, she made it clear who had rights to Carpenter Creek.”
    â€œWhy don’t you hire yourself a lawyer?” Simpson asked, laughing to himself. “You once got my boy hung. Maybe you can get my dam broken down the same way.”
    â€œI didn’t hang anybody,” Caulie said bitterly. “Austin did the killin’, and that was your doin’, Simpson. If anybody’s to be held account. . .”
    â€œEnough!” Simpson screamed with blazing eyes. “The dam stays. I’ll choke that creek till the buzzards pick at all that’s left of you, Blake, and your whole accursed family. I’ll see you cry for your boys the way I have for mine.”
    â€œYou cry?” Caulie asked. “I never saw any tears. You built yourself a reputation on the graves of Matt and Henry, two men who might’ve made fair soldiers if they hadn’t listened to their pa’s tales of leadin’ charges and dyin’ in glory. Then you used Austin to burn out your neighbors, to kill those who got in the way. When the law stilled your hand, you turned the people against me and mine. Well, the shame belongs to me for lettin’ it happen, for stayin’ quiet back then. I’ve had a lot of years to think it over, and I’m through playin’ it your way. If you think you can hurt me or mine, you’re mistaken. Won’t be my blood spilled this time around. No, sir.”
    â€œI wouldn’t be so sure,” Matt Simpson said as he led a half-dozen rifle-toting men down from the dam. “You can’t fight the whole world single-handed, Blake, You were mighty fierce in town with a sheriffs shotgun nearby. Care to try your hand out here?”
    Matt strode forward with a swagger. His arrogant grin and jaunty step reminded Caulfield Blake of other youngsters, poor cowboys who’d spent a year’s trail money on fancy spurs and a tall hat. The Colt revolvers which might have won them respect never cleared their holsters. The dark-eyed veterans calmly, coldly killed each and every one.
    Caulie laughed, then motioned at the surrounding countryside.
    â€œBlakes and Silers settled this country,” he shouted. “When the world was young, my pa was battlin’ Comanches and rattlers out here along the Colorado. You, Simpson, came along when the worst of it was over. You spin your tales and make up your history. Colonel Simpson? What regiment did you ever lead? You passed the whole war in your rockin’ chair, and you didn’t raise an eyebrow when the Yanks won. No, you didn’t even