Last of the Breed

by Les Savage, Jr.

  “Forget it, Jess,” Wolffe said.

  The storekeeper looked at Wolffe in surprise. Then something fluttered through his eyes. “Sorry, Brian. Guess it isn’t the happiest subject.”

  “Hardly,” Brian said. He looked at Wolffe. “All right. Who we going to put up for governor?”

  Wolffe scowled, but Tarrant laughed, pulling a folded sheaf from his coat. “It’s Mayor, Brian. We’re circulating a petition to recall Mayor Prince. Pa Gillette got his Salt River bunch to block it. But with the Gillettes on the run the picture will be different.”

  Jess Miller poured Brian a drink, leaning forward confidingly. “You know how much weight the Sheridan name bears in this country. Your signature on the petition will draw the others like lilies.”

  Brian let whisky slide down his throat, oil and fire in one. “What’s wrong with Mayor Prince?”

  “Who do you think is pushing this franchise through for Arizona Mail and Freight,” Tarrant said. “Prince’s influence goes through the council here and straight into the state capitol. With a railroad in Apache Wells, the Salt River bunch will be able to handle ten times the beef they do now.”

  Nacho rolled a cigarette. “Is so, Brian. Only reason we’ve been able to keep the Salt Rivers from running bigger drives is that Alta is so far away, and our people own most of the water along the route.”

  “Mayor Prince is a Salt River man,” Tarrant said. “You can’t afford to let him get us over a barrel, Brian. Make this a shipping point, the Salt Rivers can handle more beef. The more beef they handle, the bigger they get. Let ‘em get big enough and they’ll squeeze us out. We’ve got to stop them before they begin. We’ve got proof that Prince was bribed by the railroad to push this franchise through, and we’re going to recall him for it.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “Councilman Lewis overhead a division superintendent for Arizona Mail offer Prince a cut of the freight rates between here and Alta—”

  “Isn’t that sort of flimsy evidence?”

  “It’ll stand up in court if we don’t let the Salt Rivers get any stronger,” Tarrant said. “Now you promised me you’d sign the recall petition at the party the other night.”

  Brian took another long drink, squinting ruefully. “After ten o’clock things got sort of hazy.”

  Wolffe’s voice was barely a murmur. “Now don’t tell me you can’t remember that either?”

  Sheridan looked at him for help. “Did I promise, George?”

  “It was your word you were so worried about breaking a few minutes ago,” Wolffe said.

  Brian tried to focus his eyes. Wolffe seemed blurred. Miller poured him another drink. Brian chuckled affectionately at the cherubic little merchant.

  “If I gave my word, I’ll sign,” Brian grinned. “I feel too good to hold up a game. Anybody got a pen?”

  Jigger brought a pen and ink. While Brian signed, Casket began to deal the cards, and they plunged into the game. Brian lost all sense of time. It was the smoke-filled room and the soft laughter of men and the slap of cards and losing a pot or winning it and the cards becoming more and more blurred until he shoved his chair back, shaking his head and staring around the room. Wolffe was sitting at another table, a candle at his elbow, immersed in one of his law books.

  “Anybody got the time?” Sheridan asked.

  Tarrant yawned, looking at his watch. “Two o’clock.”

  Brian chuckled tipsily. “Man’s drunk, he’d better quit. How much you owe me, Charlie?”

  “You owe me,” Casket said. “Eight hundred dollars.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A week after the fight with the Gillettes, Brian gave another of his innumerable parties. By now he had admitted to himself that he was missing Arleen. He had thought he could dismiss her as easily from his life as he had a dozen others. But he had been wrong. He was nagged by a sense of loss that could not be buried in the whirl of parties. His relationship with Arleen had been a unique compound of comfortable understanding and strange excitement—and he had been unable to find its counterpart in any of the dozen girls he had been with this last year. And so, though he didn’t believe she would come, he sent an invitation to Arleen and George anyway.

  At eight o’clock on the appointed evening Juanita tapped on Brian’s door with news that the first guests were arriving. He emerged from his room, resplendent in a boiled shirt, bottle-green scissortail and cream-colored kerseymere pants. He had brought an orchestra by special train to Alta, and to the Double Bit by stage. They were at one end of the huge living-room, already tuning up. Soft-footed Mexican servants were loading the tables with silver trays of canapes and hors d’oeuvres prepared by the chef who had accompanied the orchestra from Santa Fe. The light of the countless candles reflected against the cut glass and silverware on the tables, filling the room with a brilliant glitter.

  Ford Tarrant was at the door with Opal Manners, a daughter of one of the big ranchers on the Rim. As a servant took their wraps, Ford spoke confidentially to Brian.

  “You’ll be glad to know your name on that petition did the trick, Brian.”

  “Petition?”

  “To recall Mayor Prince. We won’t have enough paper to handle all the signatures.”

  Brian smiled. “Tell you the truth, I’d forgotten.”

  Tarrant grinned and shook his head helplessly. Opal took his arm. “It’s against the law to talk politics at Brian’s parties. Let’s take advantage of that orchestra.”

  As more and more couples arrived, the dance floor filled up and the bar became crowded. A last rig pulled up in the outer darkness and in a moment George Wolffe and his sister appeared at the door. Indian-dark, black-haired, black-eyed, Arleen wore a clinging gown of shimmering gold satin that accented every curve. Brian knew how long she must have scrimped and saved to get such a dress on the slender budget her brother allowed. He felt a little breathless, strangely awkward before her. Their greetings were stiff and Brian felt a flush creep up his neck.

  “Did you have to import that orchestra?” Wolffe said. “You must realize what all this is doing to your accounts.”

  “They’re in capable hands,” Brian said.

  “You’ve got to come in and go over the books with me again, Brian. I can’t have you squandering your whole fortune.”

  Brian chuckled at him. “I like you, George, but you should take life more seriously. Why not have a drink at the bar and leave Arleen and me alone?”

  Scowling, George left them. Brian asked Arleen to dance. She nodded and he swung her onto the floor. She would not let him hold her as closely as before. They swung around in a sedate waltz and the awkwardness was there again.

  “I understand Ford’s been squiring you around,” he said.

  “Jealous?”

  “Very.”

  His usual glibness was gone. Her bare shoulders gleamed whitely and the musky perfume of her was all around him. His temples throbbed faintly and there was a dryness at the roof of his mouth. Had he really forgotten how much she excited him? The enigmatic smile was still on her lips, like a wall between them.

  “Let’s try the champagne,” he said. “I feel like something should be shaken loose.”

  She seemed to relax a little, laughing softly.

  They drank and then danced some more. It was a little better. But the barrier was still there. All through dinner it was still there. It filled him with a sense of frustration and after the meal he drank too much. There was an exchange of partners in the dancing but at last he got around to Arleen again. He went through half the dance and then guided her toward a rear door.

  “How about a walk? It’s hot in here.”

  They drifted into the flagstoned patio. At the rear a red-roofed well and a circle of greening willows screened them from the house. They stopped here and he stood close. She turned a shoulder to him, cool, distan
t.

  “What shall we talk about, Brian? Politics?”

  “You know what I want to talk about.”

  “Let’s not embarrass each other, Brian. Isn’t that over?”

  It blocked him. “All right,” he said angrily. “I don’t know a damn thing about politics. What do you know?”

  Her face was hidden from him. “Only what I hear. The talk around town is that you plan to let the Gillettes stay on their land.”

  “I gave my word. I’m going out to see them tomorrow.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  He said, half jokingly, “George can’t convince me, so they throw in the reserves.”

  For a moment her face went taut. Then she said, “Estelle will be very grateful.”

  There was a thin sound to her voice, a feline sound. For a moment he couldn’t believe it. Then he had to smile.

  “This is a new twist. You know I never got anywhere with her.”

  “Maybe this will help.”

  “Arleen—I’m not going out there for that.”

  “Pa Gillette’s the only one strong enough to hold the Salt Rivers together,” Arleen said. “Let him stay and you’re keeping alive the very bunch that wants to pull you down. You’d only be that foolish if a girl was involved.”

  “She isn’t involved. How can I convince you?”

  “By not going out there.”

  “Now you’re being crazy. I’m sick of the whole situation. I can’t go back on my word to Pa Gillette. That’s all there is to it. George and Ford have been on my neck about it for a week. I ‘won’t take it from you, too—”

  He broke off at the expression on her face. Her lips were slack, drooping, tears sparkled in her wide eyes. She was closer to crying than he had ever seen her before. He put his hands on her bare arms.

  “Arleen, I didn’t mean it that way. I—”

  She seemed to sway closer. With an inarticulate sound he took her roughly into his arms and kissed her. It was hard, bruising contact, holding pain and passion together. Yet she did not shrink from it. The length of her soft body molded to him, trembling, and her arms locked about his neck. The world rocked and the pound of his temples ran through his whole body. Her mouth slid off his and she spoke in a gasping, broken little voice.

  “I guess it was silly of me … but a woman can’t think straight when … when … “

  He waited for her to finish. Finally he pulled back, taking her face in his hands. When she’s in love. He wanted her to say it. When she’s in love. But she didn’t have to. Her eyes opened, out of focus, a little glazed. And the answer was there.

  His voice shook. “Arleen. It’s what I wanted to tell you when we first came out here. I’ve missed you. It took our bust-up to make me realize how much you meant. I guess it all came together tonight.”

  Her eyes opened wider. Her lips parted expectantly. His need of her was no longer the nagging, indefinable loneliness he had felt these last months. It was vivid, passionate, more complete a want than he’d ever known for a woman. Before he realized it, he was putting it into words.

  “You said you couldn’t play the game any more. I guess I can’t either. I want you to marry me, Arleen.”

  “Brian … Brian … “

  It left her on a little sigh. She came into his arms again, face buried against the side of his neck this time. He held her tight.

  “We’ll announce it tonight,” he said. “You’ll be a June bride. The biggest wedding this country ever saw—”

  “Brian, wait.”

  Her voice sounded strange, tight. She pulled free and turned away, walking to the well. He understood her hesitation, the doubt that had always been there with her, with all of them.

  He followed and stood behind her. “A man with a wife’s got to settle down, Arleen. It’ll be different. You’ve got my word.”

  “And you won’t go out to the Gillettes’?”

  “Arleen, that hasn’t got anything to do with us.”

  “Hasn’t it?”

  “What kind of a man do you think I am? I just asked you to marry me. Do you think I’d turn around and—”

  “Then you aren’t going out there?”

  Anger made his voice shake. “I am. I gave my word. It has nothing to do with Estelle. I—”

  “Brian—Brian—”

  Her voice stopped him. He realized he had been close to shouting. He felt like a fool. His face was hot and his hands were clenched and he felt like a fool. She turned to him, taking his lapels.

  “Forgive me,” she said. She wasn’t looking at him. “Maybe it isn’t all Estelle, Brian. I can’t help being afraid for you.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Don’t you remember what Pa Gillette told you in town, after the fight?”

  His anger faded, as he recalled Pa Gillette’s threat. “He was mad, Arleen. He couldn’t mean it.”

  She shook her head. “All right. Let’s not talk about it any more.”

  “I’m willing. All I want to talk about is us.”

  Her face tilted up sharply. “Give me a little time, Brian. I’ve got to think. You must realize how abrupt it was, how completely unexpected.”

  “It was just having you near again, realizing at last what I really wanted.” He paused, awkwardly. He felt helpless, with the situation out of his control. He had been so sure this was what she wanted. He said, “Take all the time you need, Arleen. I want both of us to be sure.”

  She seemed about to speak again. Then she turned and started back toward the house and he followed, taking her arm. At the door he was met by Latigo. Dust chalked the heavy-framed man’s jacket and Levis. Sweat lay greasily in the grooves of his face and the lather of a hard-ridden horse was on his boots. He said he wanted to see Brian a moment. Arleen excused herself. Brian looked after her, his mind only half on what Latigo was saying.

  “We’re about finished with calf roundup,” Latigo said. “I wanted you to see the tally books.”

  Brian shook his head impatiently. “Wolffe will take care of it.”

  “I can’t find him. Somebody’s got to go over these with me, Brian. We’re bled white on the young stuff. As things stand we won’t have anything for a trail herd this fall.”

  “Damn it, Latigo. Can’t you see I’m busy? Come back tomorrow.”

  Brian tried to brush by him but Latigo caught his arm. “Look, Brian, I rode all the way in here from the roundup just to—”

  “Take your hands off me!”

  For a moment longer Latigo held him, anger smoldering in his heavy-lidded eyes. Finally he let his hand slide off. The shadows seemed to deepen in the gaunt hollows beneath his blunt cheekbones.

  “Don’t talk that way to me, Brian. You ain’t Tiger.”

  Brian felt his whole body stiffen with rage. Then he realized what a fool he was being and shook his head, passing a hand over his eyes.

  “Sorry, Latigo. Everything seems wrong tonight. I’ve had too much to drink or something. I’ll find Wolffe for you. He’ll settle this.”

  There was no relenting in Latigo’s dust-grimed face. His eyes still smoldered with anger as Brian turned inside. He found Wolffe, told him about the foreman, then went to the punch bowl for another drink. But that didn’t remove his oppression. He had the sense of something wrong, out of joint. Was it Arleen’s hesitation? Or their strange clash over Estelle? Was it logical that she should be so jealous of Estelle? He tried to dismiss it. Who could tell what lay in a woman’s mind? Not enough young stuff for the trail herd. That wasn’t right either, somehow. Was it the rustling again? He wished these things didn’t always come up when he was drunk.

  CHAPTER 8

  A brazen sun beat down against the trackless floor of Skeleton Canyon until the heat waves rising from the parched sand formed a buttery haze in the rock-walled gorge. There was no sound excep
t the fretting crackle of wind through baking creosote bushes. The sweat lay like oil on the shoulders of Brian’s Steeldust stallion and dripped steadily from beneath his hat brim to make clammy tracks in the dust-caked mask of his face.

  The party the night before had lasted into the wee hours and Brian was still half-sick from his hangover. In a vile mood, he had started out to the Gillettes’. Wolffe had told him that they were staying on their property in defiance of the foreclosure. The next move would be for the sheriff to evict them again and post a deputy on the place.

  Brian’s horse balked, whinnying sharply. He pulled it in, staring at its twitching ears. He turned his squinted eyes up to the glittering rimrock of the canyon. Somehow it made him think of what Arleen had, said last night about Pa Gillette’s threat: “There won’t be a road safe for you to ride in all Arizona.”

  He shook his head angrily. He was being stupid. He gigged the horse on, wiping sweat from his face. Heat devils danced before his eyes. A sharp pain ran through his temples. He had been out this way before, but hadn’t remembered it was such a grueling ride.

  Approaching a sharp turn, the horse began to fiddle again. Brian began to pull the reins in. He was filled with an insidious reluctance to round the ‘turn. He looked about him again. Glaring sand in the bottom, a blinding rim of red rock high above. Nothing else.

  He put heels to the nervous horse and forced it into a canter. They wheeled around the turn and the canyon narrowed ahead. He was thinking of Arleen again and of his proposal last night. It had been almost as great a surprise to him as it had been to her. He certainly hadn’t planned it when he had invited her. Yet at the time he had been more certain of his need for her than he’d ever been of anything.

  And now?

  He grimaced. Maybe doubt was always a part of the morning after. Was a man ever sure of anything when it came to a woman? Maybe only when she was in his arms. And maybe that was all that mattered—

  His shadowy thoughts were shattered by the roaring crack of a gun from above. Its echoes rocked the gorge and Brian saw chips kicked out of a rock a foot to his right.