by Caleb Rand
‘None taken, it’s the truth,’ Rose responded. ‘If there’s any justice in the world, he’ll be makin’ someone suffer.’
‘I’d like a word, Doc,’ Chad said.
The two men walked on to the veranda, sat down on the steps. Beyond them the range was lying peaceful in the early-evening light. Joe Bridge was sitting out by the yard fence: he waved spiritedly.
Chad lifted his hand in acknowledgement, turned to Quinn. ‘His sisters’ll know how to tell him. Now Doc, I want you to tell me somethin’. Who’s backin’ Porton? We want to hit him now, before he’s time to get his guns sorted … before anyone else dies.’
The doc ran a hand across his face. He closed his eyes for a moment against the Bridge family’s trauma, his own tiredness. ‘On and off the payroll there’s no real way of telling. Folk in need go where the advantage is. He holds mortgages … some sort of debt, on most of the storekeepers.’
‘Just tell me those that’ll support him, those that’ll pick up a gun. Tell me where I can find ’em.’
Chad listened. When Frost walked his horse towards them he gave a long, hard stare at the doc. ‘Thanks for that,’ he said with a trace of accusation. Then his eyes met Frost’s. ‘We’ll be leavin’ now.’
The two men were sitting their horses on a rocky bluff. They looked back down on the ranch. They could see the bunkhouse where a solitary lamp now burned, the low-slung barn and the corral with a few horses, cow ponies and Rose’s buckskin mare.
First dark stretched out from the eastern horizon, slowly closed down the shadows of juniper and willow alongside the creek. Chad dismounted to stretch his muscles. He watched as old Jawbone walked to the barn, to reappear a few minutes later. He was carrying a large fold of burlap, and Chad guessed his intention. He carried the sacking over to the ranch house where Hork Basen was climbing aboard a low-sided, feed-wagon.
It was fifteen minutes later before Doc Quinn and Basen brought out the loosely wrapped body of Ashley Bridge.
Perdi and Rose emerged from the ranch house. Rose stared hard at the wagon, and Perdi clenched her fists, lightly touched her sister’s arm. Perdi nodded to Basen as Joe climbed on to the driving-seat. As the wagon started away Perdi and Rose walked after it, with the doctor and Jawbone just behind them.
Chad watched the wagon as it swung slowly around the barn. It would make its way to a low bluff which watched over most of the Big Windy land.
As Chad remounted the bay Frost looked pensive. ‘What you thinkin?’ he asked. ‘Thinkin’ I was glad to be up here, an’ alive. An’ you?’
Frost was suddenly sensitive to a more compelling mood. ‘My wife was in Hooper gettin’ supplies,’ he said. ‘Ashley Bridge leased us a cabin … four dollars every full moon.’ Frost smiled at the thought, gripped the horn of his saddle. ‘It was Porton’s men out from Welsh Peter’s. They started brawlin’ … firin’ off their goddam pistols in the street. They were swill-gutted … all of ’em. The horse got frightened, Pearl was thrown from the wagon … got caught in the traces.’ Frost swung his horse’s head away. ‘That’s all. I moved back to the ranch.’
Chad nudged the bay forward. ‘No reason for me to know the truth about what’s happenin’ out here,’ he said.
‘But now you do,’ Frost replied. ‘Let’s go.’
An hour later Perdi was standing close to the corral. She was thinking about her father’s old misplaced saw of ‘wrong righting itself in time’. ‘Fine sentiment, but we ain’t got the time, Pa,’ she murmured.
From the house Rose could see her sister. But she too was thinking about their father, and hoping for an end to the valley’s fighting.
Joe was kicking his heels in the bunkhouse. For him the feelings were of anger and ineffectiveness.
Hork Basen was up in the grain-gate, determined to guard the Bridge family. Jack Meel was in the country, still using his eyes and ears.
As Chad and Marlow Frost approached Hooper, Frost said: ‘We’ll ford the creek behind Galt Sherman’s store. It’s less likely we’ll be seen an’ we can leave the horses tied into the trees.’
‘Yeah,’ Chad agreed. ‘I’ll look in on those surveyors. Ask ’em a few questions.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
Frost considered Chad’s intention. ‘Why don’t you tell ’em what’s goin’ on. Maybe they’ll have a rethink.’
‘Ha. An’ maybe Welsh Peter will stop tradin’ his rot-gut whiskey.’
After walking their horses across the creek they neared Galt Sherman’s store. They quietly dismounted and Chad watched his bay lower its head into a water-tub, puff softly at the pleasure.
It was well after nightfall; the town’s alleys and run-throughs were in total darkness. Frost checked his shotgun, Chad his big Colt. They moved silent and cautious, unsure if the store was being watched or under guard.
The men crossed the yard at the rear of the store. They were moving close, shoulders almost touching as Chad suddenly held out his left hand, pointed the Colt with his right. The sound came from someone opening up the back door. A match was struck and they saw the well-worn, craggy features of Dexter Pruitt.
‘We knew you’d come,’ he said in a low voice, ‘just worried about when. Porton’s dogs are in town. Can’t tell what they’re up to though … not yet.’
‘Could be we underrated him. Maybe he’s a jump ahead,’ suggested Frost.
When the three men were inside the store Pruitt relit an oil-lamp. Chad looked around. ‘Got any more help?’ he asked.
‘We got Duck Fewes with us. He’s the size of any two men, an’ a good un,’ Pruitt replied. ‘The ordinary town-folk are runnin’ scared. If Porton takes over the town, appoints his own law and order – an’ he could do it legal – all you’ll have is Galt, Duck and me. The state’ll lift its wing. That’s how the gravel gets washed here.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Frost said gloomily. ‘An’ how good people get to die.’
‘Didn’t know Bridge that much,’ Pruitt added. ‘We heard how they gunned him down. No question about it bein’ Porton’s men.’
‘Has he visited them surveyors?’ Frost asked.
‘He was with ’em this afternoon.’
‘Where is he now?’ Chad asked.
‘I don’t know. Maybe Galt does. He’s at the other end o’ town … got Duck with him.’
‘I need to talk to those land men,’ Chad said. ‘Marlow stays here in case Galt comes back.’
14
THE HAND
Chad and Dexter Pruitt sidled through the alleys until they neared the side entrance of Waddy’s Halt. Chad waited while Pruitt made his way to the lobby to enquire about the surveyors. He was told they had rooms on the second floor.
‘We’ll go up unannounced, ol’-timer,’ Chad said.
They left the hotel and went up the rear stairway. Pruitt was careful of the rap of his crutch against the steps.
Outside the door Chad paused. ‘Let me do the talkin’. Remember, wary but well-mannered,’ he said, quietly, winking at Pruitt.
He knocked, and in response to a muffled ‘come in’, opened the door and entered. Pruitt closed the door behind them.
The surveyors looked up. They were seated at a table beneath the window, studying a hand-drawn map of the north end of San Luis Valley.
Chad apologized for the interruption. ‘I was hopin’ for a word with you gentlemen,’ he said. ‘It’s very important.’
One of the men nodded. ‘What can we do for you?’
‘Brig Porton’s been up here this afternoon talkin’ to you?’
Both men looked at Chad. The other man said. ‘Let’s assume you’re tellin’. What’s your interest, Mr…?’
‘Chad Miller. I’m workin’ for the Bridges out at Big Windy.’ Chad took off his hat, scratched his head innocently. ‘That ain’t so much for money, you understand. They’re more like kin to me.’
‘I see. Something more than payment’s a compelling alliance, Mr Miller.
But I’m not certain what …’ The surveyor stopped, looked searchingly at Chad. ‘Big Windy. That’s the ranch along Saguache Creek?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Chad. ‘Stretches east an’ west for five, maybe six miles?’
‘Hmm, good land. An’ there’s a connection between that an’ Mr Porton … us … you bein’ here?’ the man enquired.
‘Oh yeah, reckon there must be. You see, with Big Windy bein’ mostly grassland, it ain’t that that Brig Porton’s after … he’s enough of his own. An’ you don’t go butcherin’ good longhorns if you’re buildin’ a herd.’ Chad’s jaw tightened. ‘But you’ll know all this, so just tell us who you’re workin’ for. Who’s responsible for puttin’ bullets into a—’
The man got to his feet, held up the flat of his hand at Chad. ‘Hold up, Mr Miller. My name’s Roberts, this is Mr Clive. ‘Who an’ what we’re here for’s confidential. An’ you’ll know that.’
‘Goddam it!’ exclaimed Pruitt. ‘If you don’t tell him I won’t be responsible for what happens next.’ Pruitt was shaking with indignation. ‘I’m only your coach-driver, but if I’d known you were workin’ for Porton, I’d o’ hit every gopher hole ’twixt here an’ Alamosa.’
Clive smiled. ‘I’m sure you would,’ he said, not unkindly. Then he said; ‘Look, there’s no secret about our assignment. We’re here on behalf of the Border River Land Commissioners … make o’ that what you will.’ His eyes flicked quickly to Chad before he continued. ‘I think you’re right about Mr Porton not bein’ interested in the grazin’ land. We’re here to explore the possibilities of timber an’ logging.’
‘That’s the north end o’ the valley, is it?’
‘Yes. We wanted to prepare a map, but it’s provin’ difficult.’
‘Why’s that?’ Chad asked.
‘The best timber actually covers the northern end of Big Windy land. That’s the nearest it comes to Saguache proper, let alone Salida. So it’s not owned by Mr Porton, as we were led to believe. Now I’m suddenly thinking: that’s the problem here. Am I right? Is that what’s goin’ on here?’
Chad recalled Marlow Frost’s speculation of boat trade along the Arkansas. ‘Yeah, we sort o’ know’d part of it,’ he said. ‘None so blind, eh? You’ve discussed this with Porton?’
‘Of course. He told us he was negotiatin’ with Ashley Bridge. He expected to settle the matter within a few days.’
‘Negotiatin’, my butt,’ Pruitt grated, banging the end of his crutch on the floor. ‘How the hell’s he—’
But before he went any further Chad chipped in. ‘What did you agree with him?’
Roberts shrugged his shoulders, spread his hands. ‘That’s somethin’ else we can’t answer. Not specifically.’
Chad pushed his hat back on his head. ‘Well, here’s somethin’ that is specific,’ he remarked slowly. ‘You go an’ tell Porton you’ve made a mistake. There’ll be no survey, not just yet. Think o’ somethin’ to stall him with.’
‘Stall him? What for?’ Roberts asked.
‘We’ve sent for the law in Alamosa.’
Roberts and Clive looked sharply at each other. ‘Well that’s not our problem,’ Roberts said. ‘But I must admit, this isn’t lookin’ like the most straightforward or safest of investments.’
‘Ain’t a sound business move, not for your commissioners,’ Chad said. ‘An’ a brace o’ real smart surveyors will get to fly back home all of a piece.’
Roberts acknowledged the warning. ‘Then we’ll want the coach real early … before first light tomorrow,’ he said, looking at Pruitt.
‘I’ll find you a new driver, then,’ Pruitt cackled.
Roberts folded the map in front of him. ‘If you stay, what’s in it for you two?’ he asked. ‘There don’t seem to be too much.’
Chad nodded at Pruitt, raised a hand at Roberts as he turned to leave. ‘I’ve already told you, I’m stayin’ for what’s left o’ the Bridge family. To me, that’s a lot. We ain’t exactly a brigade, but we’re goin’ to fight like one. That’s more bad news you can take to Mr Porton.’
When they reached the bottom of the steps Pruitt said: ‘Waste o’ time talkin’ to them. They’ll follow Porton’s money.’
‘They might, Dexter. It’s a risk we’ll have to live with for now.’
Pruitt twisted his crutch into the ground. ‘Why’d you stop me tellin’ ’em about Ashley Bridge?’
‘Caution, Dexter … caution. If they knew that, they could decide to go with Porton … turn his death to their advantage.
As they neared the end of town Pruitt paused. ‘Maybe I’ll just go an’ arrange for that new driver. It’s paid work, so shouldn’t take too long,’ he said.
At the store Marlow Frost was waiting. ‘I was right about Porton,’ he said as Chad came through the door. ‘He’s worked ahead of us. He’s set up a fake committee, appointed a goddam sherriff an’ a couple o’ deputies.’
Chad rolled his eyes. ‘Let me guess,’ he said, ‘they’re all from High Smoke.’
‘Not all. Most though.’
Then we’ll break ’em,’ Chad responded quickly. ‘Where’s Galt an’ your ready blacksmith?’
‘They’re here. Where’s Dexter?’
‘Arrangin’ for someone to take the surveyors for a ride in the mornin’.’
‘Not him, then?’
Chad laughed. ‘No. All of a sudden he’s got a wild trigger-finger.’
Duck Fewes stepped forward and nodded at Frost, introduced himself to Chad.
Galt was looking anxious. ‘So we’re goin’ to fight the whole town then … the five of us,’ he said.
‘Yep, that’s our hand, Galt. But it ain’t the whole town … just Porton’s cowboys. It won’t be no goddam potlatch though … for us or the Flatheads. You can walk away if you’ve a mind to … we’ll understand.’
‘Thanks for the offer, Chad, but I got to do somethin’ with my life, even if it’s dyin’.’
‘Goes for me too.’ Duck Fewes spoke up. ‘Life won’t be worth livin’ if Porton don’t get stopped.’
‘Them’s noble thoughts,’ Chad said, thinking of those already shot dead or wounded. He started to build himself a smoke. ‘With Dexter, it looks like we’ve all drawn to an inside straight. When he comes back we’ll decide how we’re goin’ to play.’
Half an hour later Frost said: ‘We’ll have to go look for him,’ when Pruitt hadn’t returned.
Chad agreed. ‘You an’ Duck take the far side of the street. Me an’ Galt’ll take the near. We’ll meet at the livery stable … that’s where he would’ve gone.’
As they moved into the main street the four men saw High Smoke riders. Half a dozen or more, riding up the street. Even in the darkness it was obvious that they were well-armed and determined. They were headed north; there was no mistaking their destination.
‘Hell,’ whispered Chad as they halted in the deep shadow. ‘They’re makin’ for Big Windy. We’ll have to change our plans … leave Dexter.’
‘No. We can ride the ridge trail. It’ll be dangerous, but it’s faster,’ Marlow hissed back.
They hurried through a back alley, parallel to the main street, crossed when they were opposite the livery stable. Duck was first through, almost tearing one of the double doors from its hinges.
Looking pale and fearful, the livery man was backed up to a holding-pen. His legs buckled as he recognized Chad approaching in the low light. But it was Duck who got to him first, his ’smith’s muscles heaving the livery man a foot from the ground.
‘Where’s Dexter Pruitt?’ he snarled into the man’s panicky face.
‘Back …’ the livery man wheezed, moved his head stiffly back towards the harness-room, before Duck dropped him.
Pruitt was lying on the ground, his crutch alongside his outstretched arm. The lantern glow lit his face which was running with blood.
Galt Sherman kneeled, saw the blood had run from a gash on Pruitt’s forehead. As he made to prop him Pruitt’s eyes opened and
he blinked.
‘He hit me. The swine hit me,’ he mumbled.
Duck leaned to get a hand under Pruitt’s arm and hauled him to his feet. The oldster had suffered, but after a few moments he started to recover and move around a bit.
‘You’re gettin’ too slow for this sort o’ work. Goin’ to have to consider your pasture,’ Galt said. Then he put a kindly arm around his old friend’s shoulder and Duck picked up the crutch.
Chad was troubled. ‘We’ve got to get to Big Windy,’ he said. ‘How bad are you, Dexter?’
‘Bad. But the thought o’ missin’ out now hurts more than any slappin’ from a Smoker. I’m in.’
Chad looked at the men who’d agreed to fight. He suggested that Dexter and Duck ride in Galt’s store wagon. They’d be safe enough following the creek. The High Smoke riders would ride down from the timber-line. They’d meet up a few miles west of Big Windy, where Saguache Creek cut a narrow file through the ridge.
Chad and Marlow avoided the main street. They backtracked as far as they could through dark alleys, until they reached their horses by the creek. There was very little noise from that part of the town. Chad guessed that Porton’s newly installed sheriff, his deputies and their cronies were revelling in Waddy’s Halt. He wondered about Porton himself. Would the one-time Brigadier-General ride to the front door of Big Windy, or would he remain on the ridge to command his raid.
As they splashed through the creek Frost said: ‘There can’t be much of a rearguard at High Smoke.’
‘Nope,’ agreed Chad. ‘An’ if you’re thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’ forget it. Let’s think about what happens when we get to Big Windy.’
‘That’s just it. I know what’s goin’ to happen there.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’ll see,’ Marlow said, setting his chestnut gelding towards the ridge trail.
