Thomas Milton Dawes, don't get watermelon all over that uniform! You hear?" Emily Dawes smiled as she called to her twelve-year-old son. The thin, sandy haired youth looked up from his slice of melon and blew a seed at the dainty, gray-eyed, mulatto girl who was likewise occupied, enjoying the ripe melon, brought cool from the river and just cut.

"Stop it, T.M., I saw you!" The ten-year-old girl looked at the boy with a mischievous grin on her pretty face.

"T.M., Honey, take them white gloves off! I just washed and ironed 'em this morning! I swear, Rene if you get juice all over that clean dress, I'll cut me a switch!" Crease called from the breezeway that connected the kitchen to the sprawling adobe main house.

"I'll tend to them, Crease, go ahead and see to the lunch, it's about time to go down to the grove; it'll be hot soon," drawled Emily, cool and poised in the shade of the tiled portico.

"You children throw those melon rinds in the barrel, and come here, I have a secret to tell you!"

The boy and girl did as the beautiful, blonde woman asked. They raced to her, barely stopping in time to avoid crashing into her.

"Whoa! My goodness it's Pickett's Charge!" She held up her hands in defense. She smiled as her vivid blue eyes inspected the children for watermelon juice.

"What's the secret, Mother?" T.M. asked.

"Yeah, what's the secret?" Rene said, giggling and holding her sticky hands well away from her dress.

"Rene, you're a charmer! Those eyes! You're going to deal the beaux some misery, I'll wager!" She carefully poured water out of a crystal pitcher onto her linen napkin; she washed the little girl's face and hands, and then repeated the operation with the slender boy after he removed the juice soaked gloves.

"Thomas, you're growing so tall. Why you're as tall as I am--In my shoes! You'll be in college before we know it." She placed the stained white gloves on the table and lay the damp napkin over them.

"That's our secret! You shan't get a scolding if I can rinse them out before Crease finds them." She laughed at the pained expressions on the young faces.

"Momma, that's no secret," T.M. said, not in the least worried about his Nanny's scolding.

"Well, how about this, go put on your play clothes before we go to the grove and after lunch you and Rene can take off your shoes and stockings and go wading, wouldn't that be fun?"

"Yes! Go wading, maybe we can find some tadpoles, T.M.!" Rene clapped her hands.

"Mother, I wanted to show Joe my uniform, when will they be through in Pa's study?"

"Darling, I imagine your brother has seen enough gray uniforms to last him a while, but you can wait a few more minutes to change, perhaps they'll finish soon." She was sure that T.M.'s half-brother could care less what he was wearing.

Emily watched the children play. T.M. pushed Rene in the swing that his father had made in the giant old oak; its sprawling shade covered a good portion of the side yard. As he pushed her higher, she squealed and kicked her feet, revealing legs already feminine and only partly covered by pantaloons. Since T.M. had returned from the Texas Academy for Young Gentlemen last month, the two had been inseparable. Emily dreaded the confrontation, but perhaps next summer they should not spend so much time together. There would be no mixed births on the JbarD—Not as long as she was its Mistress. It was bad enough that Crease looked white and Rene had gray eyes! A lone rider caught her attention. He was riding at a brisk trot up the long road from the ranch's main gate.

The horseman, seeing the playing children and Emily, suddenly veered off the smoothly graded road and rudely trotted his mount across the neatly cut grass of the yard. He rode through a round bed of Marigolds and Zinnias and came straight up to the portico where Emily now stood, very angry. The man stopped his horse a few feet from Emily and studied the children who approached shyly, looking at the strange guest.

"May I help you, Sir?" Emily finally asked, struggling to keep a civil tone. The man stared at her. His gaze ran from the hem of her long, white skirt to the combs holding the heaviness of her blonde hair.

She flushed at his impertinence. "Sir! Is there someone here you wished to see?" She allowed a little sharpness into her tone.

The man wore a dark suit and was heavily armed. He carried two large pistols and there was a rifle in the scabbard under his saddle stirrup. He had a saber scar on his cheek and his mustache drooped to his chin. He pulled his coat open so she could see the badge.

"I'm here to serve a warrant on Joseph Dawes; is he around?" he said, a scowl on his face. There was tobacco juice in the corners of his mouth.

"Mr. Dawes is in a meeting. I'm Mrs. Dawes, you may give it to me," she said stiffly.

"My instructions are to give it to him personally, and that's what I intend to do." He sneered at the end.

"I'm surprised you're working on a holiday. My husband is in a meeting now and later he will attend a picnic with his guests. You may have a long wait."

"I didn't think you people celebrated the Fourth of July," the lawman said, with a smirk.

"Officer, the war has been over seven years and Texas has been back in the Union for over two, I don't think that it's strange that people here celebrate the Fourth of July. Please give me the papers and leave."

The man looked at the children who were watching with big eyes. "Is that little gal there, part Nigger?" The man slouching in the saddle turned jeering eyes to Emily. He suddenly straightened in the saddle and looked over her head with fear in his eyes.

"That word is not used on this property, Sir. You may apologize to the child." From behind Emily came the icy drawl of a West Point Graduate, whose diction had been polished by an English Tutor.

Emily turned and looked at her husband. He stood bareheaded with an Army Colt dangling loosely in his hand. Joseph Dawes was in excellent health for his sixty-three years. Silver hair trimmed and groomed faultlessly, his light gray summer suit did not have a wrinkle and his boots gleamed with fresh polish.

"I ain't apologizing to no damn body, I'm here to serve a warrant on a tax lien, and that's what I'm gonna do!" The man eyed the pistol.

"If you are not decent enough to accommodate a child, Sir, you must leave my property. You may drop the paper on the ground, perhaps someone will pick it up." Joseph replied disdainfully. He now stood three feet from the mounted man.

"You don't know who your messing with, Dawes. I rode with Sheridan in the Valley. I know how to take care of stiff-necked Virginians. You can ask anybody who Skinner Logan is; they'll tell you quick." He was still eyeing the pistol in the Rancher's hand.

"Mr. Logan, you are trash. Leave my property or I shall shoot you dead!" Joseph raised the pistol and cocked it, as he leveled it at the rider's chest.

Logan glared as he threw the warrant on the ground and wheeled his mount cruelly, spurring it viciously.

"Don't ride through the flowerbeds, either!" called Emily, as the rider spurred toward the road.

The group on the lawn watched as the Travis Police Officer rode through the flowerbeds on his way to the wide driveway. A tall lanky, red-haired man and two Mexican Vaqueros walked around the front of the sprawling ranch house and approached the Rancher. They were armed.

"Miz Emily, Boss." The redhead removed his hat as he spoke.

"Good morning, Tinker, a bit of unpleasantness--that fellow could use a good hiding!" His gaze angrily followed the horseman's progress to the front gate.

"Want me an some of the boys, to go teach him ah little sumthin'?" Tinker Smith asked, deadly earnest. Tinker was the acting foreman in the absence of Webb Corey, who had over thirty of the JbarD vaqueros and fifty-five-hundred head of beef headed north on the Chisholm Trail. The trail passed nearby, on it's way from San Antonio to Abilene in Kansas.

"Well, Sir, if you do, give him a few licks for my flowerbeds; he certainly made a mess of them!" said Emily, laughing and shaking her head.

"Although the man is in dire need of some attention, we'd better not. It would be an excuse for them to burn us out. Many thanks for your offer--it is certainly appreciated." Joseph smiled at the lanky strawboss. They spoke quietly for a moment or two and the three cowpunchers departed.

"Well, are you young ones ready for a picnic?" Joseph turned back to Emily and the children.

"Yes, Sir!" they chorused, laughing now that the tension had subsided.

"Rene! You look exceptionally fetching this morning, if you get any prettier, we shall have to lock you in the smokehouse to keep the beaux away!" Joseph teased the blushing, gray-eyed girl, as he gently tousled her dark, curly hair.

In deference to the heat, Emily sat in her chemise and pantaloons putting finishing touches on neatly combed and pinned hair. Radiating good health, she was in extremely good shape after giving birth to a child and reaching twenty-eight years of age. Her figure was still slender; she almost never wore a corset on the ranch. She watched Crease warily in the large ornate mirror.

"Cade was actually cursing Joseph?" she asked, a little skeptical.

"He say's you're blowing all the money on clothes and such, and he wants his'n now!"

"Well, there hasn't been money for clothes in a long time, as you well know. If Mr. Corey doesn't get a good price for the cattle in Abilene, I am afraid we're in for a rough winter. Cade will have a long wait for cash, if that's what he's after." She shrugged and smiled at Crease in the mirror.

"I got a bad feeling. Me and Minnie's putting up all the vittles we can—The smokehouse is full and so is the cellar. I sure hope Webb Corey's gonna be all right," Crease replied, as she captured a loose strand of Emily's blonde hair and secured it with a pin.

"Crease, I hate tales, but please keep a ear out for the older boys. If they plan to deceive Joseph, I want to know about it instantly. Will you please?" She had a worried look on her usually pleasant face.

In the ranch house's cavernous living room, Joseph and his four older sons relaxed in comfortable leather covered chairs and smiled in amusement, as T.M. completed some complex facing drills, then smartly saluted his thirty-five year old half-brother. Joe snapped to rigid attention and returned the salute in his best VMI form.

"Joe, were you really AP Hill's, Chief of Staff?" T.M. asked, as he removed the tall cadet's cap with the thin black leather nose strap.

"No, Sir, I was not." Joe smiled at T.M.'s serious face. "I commanded a brigade at the Wilderness and later on, was assigned to the General's Staff while recovering from some minor hurts that I received there." He explained gravely to his young half-brother.

"Pa said you wrote that you buried him, after the Yankee's shot him?" T.M.'s voice raised in question, obviously fishing for a story.

Caddeus Dawes, the youngest of the older sons, suddenly rose with a look of disgust on his face and strode from the room. Joseph's eyes followed his son's rude departure, with a look of concern.

To break the tension, Joe answered T.M.'s question. "Well, I helped. Captain Hill, the General's nephew and I, accompanied Miss Dolly, the General's wife, and their children to the house of a friend where we met more family members of the General. We wanted to bury the General in the Place of Hero's at Hollywood Cemetery, but the Yankee's decided to burn Richmond, so that was not possible. We were trying to transport the General and his family in a rickety old wagon, pulled by a half-dead horse. I had to shoot a man to get his team and wagon. Miss Dolly wanted to take the body to Culpepper, but it was too warm for the remains to keep, so we finally buried him in a private burial ground near Richmond. Not a very pretty story for you, but it's true. If you want to hear about horse stealing ask Josh to tell you a tale or two!" Joe passed the story telling to his brother Joshua.

Josh, his handsome face ravaged by Pox scars and years of imprisonment, took a nip from the flask he was holding and smiled. The smile revealed that most of his teeth were missing, a result of malnutrition, and the rest rotted. His suit hung on fleshless bones, although he boasted of gaining twenty pounds since his release from the Federal prison in January.

"Well, we were good at it, what do you say to that, brother?" He turned to his younger brother James. James, who preferred to be called Jim, smiled at T.M., but said nothing, choosing to let Josh do the story telling.

"How did you steal 'em, Josh?" T.M. asked of his obviously ill brother.

"Well Colonel Mosby had a special way of procurement, when it came to horses and weapons and such things." He took another sip from the flask, held his handkerchief to his mouth and coughed violently. T.M. waited until he had recovered.

"What way was that, Sir?" T.M. asked, put off by his brother's emaciated appearance. But a story about the man southerners called the Grey Ghost was worth it.

"Near the end we were out of everything. The Colonel would have the quartermaster issue each man going on a raid just enough powder and shot for five pistol loads. Then he would say that we were each to bring back five horses and saddles, five pairs of boots and five sets of weapons and ammunition. He didn't say for us to bring back any food, cause he knew we'd down that on the spot, we were all hungry. Pretty simple way, don't you think? Did they teach you that down at that Academy in Austin?" He laughed and was caught up in another fit of coughing.

"But, Sir, how did that get you any horses?" T.M said, bewildered.

The three remaining brothers all laughed at this remark. Even Joseph smiled in a sad way.

"T.M., most of the Yankee Calvary was town boys or farm boys that had never ridden anything but a plow horse. They just didn't understand horses and how they act. We would charge them and Billy Yank would sit there and let us come hell-bent for leather. They were thinking that this was the brave, manly thing to do and that it would impress us. A horse is some smarter than a damn Yankee. No matter what the rider wanted, his mount would turn and run with us. That's what horses like to do anyway, run in a herd. We'd just ride up behind 'em, put our piece against their back and blow them out of the saddle. Colonel's rule--you had to touch the rider with your gun barrel before you fired. You do not waste a shot that way, you see? We'd gather up our horses and take the men's boots and weapons or anything else that might help and return to our camp. You had better have a horse for every round that you fired. That was Colonel Mosby's method of procurement. You won't find that in any text books, is my guess." He took another sip and coughed into his handkerchief.

T.M. looked at his older brothers in astonishment. He looked at his father to see if they were teasing him. His handsome father looked at him with a sad, forlorn expression and nodded silently. It was true.

"Gentlemen, it's time to go the grove; the food is on its way. Joseph shall we all walk or perhaps you men would like to saddle your horses?" The men rose to their feet quickly as Emily entered the room smiling brightly at the group. The subtle fragrance of lilacs accompanied her. She wore highly shined boots and a short walking skirt, with a parasol handle hooked over her arm; it was clear that she chose to walk.

The group walked in pairs the quarter of a mile to the Cottonwood Grove by the river. First, were Joseph and Emily, holding hands and chatting like a courting couple. Then came Charles and Lucretia Thomas, Crease had been an eight-year-old when the Dawes family moved to Texas in 1852. She was thirty years younger than her husband Charles, the JbarD's butler and houseman. He ruled the household with an iron hand and kept meticulous records. He had accompanied Joseph to West Point when they were both in their teens and had attended to his clothing and personal affairs ever since.

The four older brothers also walked in pairs, seemingly enjoying the bright, beautiful day and smoking cigars as they talked. T.M. and Rene ran from group to group shouting and laughing. Mid-way they were tired and walked with Charles and Crease. Rene held her dignified father's hand and Crease walked with her arm around T.M.'s shoulders. He would have liked to put his arm around her waist, but his older half brothers were following behind.

Regina Dawes Bryant, Joseph's older sister, had ridden down to the grove in the wagon with the serving crew and the food. She had been widowed a year before Joseph had sold out and departed for Texas in 1852. Joseph had assumed that his sophisticated sister would prefer an elegant townhouse in Richmond or Raleigh. He had been taken aback when she pled eloquently to be allowed to go along on the dangerous journey. Twenty years in west central Texas had not marked her or slowed her down in any measurable way. She helped Minnie, the cook and her teenage sons Mookie and Jethro spread tablecloths and unload the heavily laden wagon.

The grove had several permanent picnic tables and benches, as well as a barbecue pit and spit. Today, there would be no barbecue, they had brought baskets of fried chicken instead. A large, sugar cured ham had been sliced paper thin, as had a succulent, medium rare, roast of beef. There were large serving dishes of potato salad, baked beans and Cole slaw. Hot salsa and jars of pickled jalapeno peppers accompanied relishes and pickles. Dinner rolls were in plenty, as well as flour tortillas. Cool, sweetened tea and lemonade in large jars were wrapped in damp cloths. Several watermelons waited the knife in a shady, shallow pool trapped by a sandbar in the river. Stacks of plates, napkins, silverware and glasses were all ready in the cool shade of the cottonwoods that sighed in the gentle breezes that played along the river bottom. As the pairs arrived at the cool shade of the grove, they drank from hastily filled glasses.

"My goodness, Aunt Gina, you're going to overdo, don't you think? Perhaps you should rest and have something cool to drink." Emily gently scolded her sister-in-law, who was forty years, her senior.

"I tole her, Miss Emily, she's workin' like a field hand, it's too hot! She oughta rest a little," Minnie said, tattling.

"I'm fine. So you all may stop fussing. Lucretia you and Minnie have outdone yourselves on this lunch. Everything looks so good!" Aunt Gina smiled at Crease and changed the subject.

"Are we going wading, T.M.?" Rene asked.

"Naw, let's eat first, okay?" he answered, absently.

"Did Joe like your uniform?" She brushed a leaf off his sleeve.

"Yeah, I guess, he didn't say much about it."

"What's wrong with you, Thomas, was he mean to you?" she asked, gray eyes narrowed.

"No, Rene, but they're just not like I thought they'd be." He side-armed a walnut hull across the narrow steam.

"What do you mean?"

"Joe was talking about shooting a man for his team of horses and Josh bragged about shooting men in the back like it was nothing--pass the biscuits if you please, you know?"

"Momma said that war was awful and that we was lucky to be so far away from it."

"That's why that Law was here this morning, they're mad at Pa cause my brothers fought for the south. When I get older, no one is going to talk to my mother that way, or you neither, no one."

"He's just a nasty little man, T.M., he didn't know no better, that's all," she said.

"You children come and eat!" Crease called, using her right-now voice.

"Well T.M. you certainly have a pretty partner for the picnic!" Josh said teasing, a little tipsy.

"Thank you, Mr. Dawes," Rene said, studying his ravaged face solemnly.

"T.M., do you ride much, with school and all?" Joe asked.

"Yes, Sir. Pa gave me an Appaloosa gelding, a colt, he's working out pretty well."

"Will you take him back to school in the fall?" Jim said.

"Yes, Sir. Tinker said we could take the Chisholm Trail down. It'll be next year before the railroad up to Dallas is finished," the boy replied.

"Well, that will be quite a ride for a lad your age, I'll bet you're looking forward to it," Josh said.

Joseph, eating his food with relish, was listening carefully to the exchange, he had a pleased look on his face, it appeared that the widely separated elements of his family were getting along just fine. He had been on tenterhooks since his four older sons had arrived yesterday. Last night was the first time that all five of his sons had slept under the same roof. He turned his attention to Emily, who was relating some of the remarks the Policeman from Travis had made, to Aunt Gina and Crease.

"Not celebrate the Fourth of July, indeed! I could have told him that we had people at the battle of Alamance, which was the first American blood spilled in the Revolutionary War, years before the Declaration of Independence was signed. I almost did, but thought better of it, and Joseph was suddenly there," Emily said, then shrugged and smiled.

"Yes, to tell a man like that something, is to cast pearls before swine. As a matter of fact, I lost a Grandfather and an Uncle from mother's side of the family at that battle. The Red Coats hung them for Regulators I believe. It was long before I was born," the portly Regina said.

"I appreciate the family history lesson, Pa, and hearing about how the sprout there is going to ride to Austin in the fall. But, what are you going to do about us?" the youngest of Joseph's older sons, Caddeus said, as he suddenly lurched to his feet. His heaping plate of food untouched, he reeled from the liquor he had consumed from the flask he held in his remaining hand.

"Cade, would you like some coffee? Perhaps rest a bit?" his father asked graciously.

"I don't want any damned coffee, Father! All I want to know is when do we get our share? I don't intend to herd cows, I want my share in cash and I want it now!" He was staggering drunk. Flinging the flask, he tried to stand upright and steadied himself with his left hand. His empty right sleeve was folded and pinned conspicuously.

"Please, Cade, don't speak harshly to your father, he means well," Emily spoke gently to the one-armed youth, as if to a child.

"Don't mealy mouth me, I found out all about you when I was in Carolina—you getting to come to Texas to marry father, saved your family a lot of embarrassment, didn't it now?"

"Cade! Let us walk to the house, you're not feeling well," soothed Josh, trying to mend the rift.

"Get your damned hands off me, you scarecrow! I'm trying to open your eyes here! She's taken all our money, spending it on fancy clothes and schools for that sprout. The onliest reason she married Pa was because she'd ruint her reputation in Hillsboro; nobody would marry her back there!" He was pale with anger; spittle was white on his mouth.

"Cade Dawes, that is not the truth! I don't know what you've been told, but I was fourteen years old when I came here—Hardly old enough for a reputation, as you say!" Emily laughed at the drunken youth.

"Don't call me a liar! You slut! I shall shoot you where you sit!" Cade pulled a pistol from under his coat, leveled it and cocked it.

T.M. leapt from his seat and stood in front of his drunken, reeling brother. "You'll not shoot my mother!"

Josh and Joe grabbed for Cade.

Rene grasped T.M. by the sleeve and pulled as hard as her tiny body would let her. It saved T.M.'s life. The pistol discharged with a loud boom that echoed up and down the river bottom.

T.M. felt searing heat on top of his right shoulder. He remained standing, enveloped in a cloud of smoke from the pistol and a terrible, tearing pain in his shoulder.

"You shot my baby!" screamed Crease, as she lunged for T.M.

T.M. turned to tell her it was all right, not to worry, his uniform only had a small tear; then he saw his mother. She still sat on the bench, but now lay back, her head resting on the picnic table, her bosom rising and falling rapidly. He could not see her face, just the long, smooth whiteness of her throat, and the beautiful, sculpted curve of her chin. He took a step closer, then another. A small fountain of blood was bubbling from a darkened hole just underneath her left eye. Blackness swirled around T.M. and the last thing he heard was Crease screaming.

"You drunkard! You've killed Emily! Somebody shoot him!"

Joe did not do exactly as Crease instructed. Instead he slapped Cade across the face, hard!

"Cade, you idiot! They will hang you in an instant! What do you propose to do now?" he said angrily.

"I didn't shoot her! The gun just went off! I swear to God!" Cade cried, his eyes wide in fear.

"Joe, you must listen to me! Your lives depend on it! Get your brothers to the corral and saddle your horses." Aunt Gina held Joe by the arm and spoke in a low urgent voice. "Do not pack your belongings, just mount and ride. Ride south to the Rio Grande, if you can get to Mexico you will be safe. When this turmoil dies down you may contact your father and try and sort things out. But, right now you must make haste, when the hands in the bunkhouse learn what's happened they will hang you all! Hurry Joe! Please!"

The four brothers stared at her, mouths agape.

"But, Aunt Gina, why should we all run? Cade shot her," Jim said.

"James, the cowboys are partial to her, they fight over who is going to saddle her mount on the mornings she rides! They call her the Donna; they get her confused with the Holy Mother! There is grave danger, you must all go and now!" she said. Regina watched as all four started an ungainly trot toward the house.

Joe and Jim were trying to support and help a gasping Josh. Cade trotted along behind, empty sleeve flapping, still denying responsibility for the shootings.

"It just went off, it was not on purpose. Just tell Pa it was an accident Joe, he will listen to you, he always does!" he said, to his brother's angry back.

At the corral they hastily saddled horses. Some of the Vaqueros glanced over from the porch of the bunkhouse. Three were playing cards in the cool breeze and two more dozed in cane-bottomed chairs that leaned against the adobe wall. It was a welcome day off from the ranch's busy summer routine. The fact that family members were saddling their own horses was not remarkable. After a quick glance to ascertain whom it was, the men continued what they were doing.

"Joe, finish mine. I have to get something in the house. I'll be right back!" Cade darted through the fence rails of the corral and ran toward the ranch house.

"Dammit, Cade! We will leave your horse by the gate, this is all your fault anyway!" Joe said, as he jerked Cade's cinch tight and mounted his own thoroughbred.

The three brothers sat their horses impatiently waiting for Cade; they heard the jingle of harness.

"Cade, they are coming up from the grove. You'd best get a move on!" Josh said.

"Just ah minute, I'm coming!" Cade called, from the open front door. He burst out onto the porch, stuffing greenbacks into his coat pocket as he ran.

"Jesus! We can now add robbery to murder!" Joe said, to the others.

Cade mounted and the four spurred down the drive as the team and wagon came around the side of the house. It carried the body of Emily; T.M. barely conscious, lay beside her holding her hand. As he sought comfort, he was not yet aware that his mother was dead.