He started to turn to Thad, then checked himself. No. It would be better to play dumb, as though he hadn’t seen through it. But another thought occurred to him. Whose word would Thad believe—his, or Jase Thornhill’s? Or was there something else behind this, something he hadn’t figured out?
One of Thornhill’s riders had spotted the animal they were after. The whole herd was on its feet now, moving restlessly as the two men cut in and out. Billy saw a loop fly out and a one-horned cow dodged from under it and cut quickly back into the herd. Old Thad muttered something under his breath.
Billy watched as the other rider threw and missed. The herd was milling now, excited, raising a haze of dust in the pale moonlight. Billy moved up beside Old Thad. In a voice loud enough for Jase Thornhill to hear he said, “It looks like those men were hired because they could use something besides ropes!” Then he turned to Jase. “If you want to take a look at that one-horned cow, why don’t you send a cowhand after her?”
“Suppose you try it,” Jase sneered.
“I might at that,” Billy replied. “It it’s left to those hooligans of yours they’ll have this herd in a stampede.”
Billy eased the dun forward, shaking out a loop as he went. He circled with the milling herd, ignoring the two Lazy S riders who were trying to force their way into the center of the herd, where the one-horned cow was milling with the rest. With an ease that rankled the onlooking Lazy S men, Billy’s dun moved through the herd and cut the cow to the outside. She broke and started back, but the dun was there before her, stepping to head her off almost before she knew herself where she wanted to go. She broke again and ran for the brush. Billy gave the dun his head and eased forward in the stirrups, then he flicked his wrist down and out. The dun set his feet just as the loop came up over the cow’s flashing rear hoofs, and Billy was on the ground and following the rope down before the cow knew what had hit her.
Old Thad rode up and dismounted without a word, but Billy caught the look of amusement in the old man’s eyes as he walked past the two Lazy S men who were silently coiling their ropes. But the smile left Thad’s face when he saw where Jase was pointing. Billy sat patiently on the cow’s head, rolling a cornshuck cigarette without looking up. He didn’t have to look—he’d already seen it. And it was just as he had guessed, a Lazy S brand, recently gone over with a running iron to make it read Circle 8. The fresh burn stood out from the old scar like a pine tree on a mesa.
“Satisfied?” Jase asked roughly.
Old Thad nodded.
Billy stood up and slacked the line. The cow stumbled to her feet and ran to join the now-quiet herd. Billy struck a match to the cigarette and waited. Finally Thad spoke.
“I guess you’re goin’ to say Billy Condo did this?”
This was what Billy was waiting for. From now on it was a question of his word against Jase Thornhill’s, and he wondered whom Thad would believe.
Jase nodded. “Ace Ackerman and Bud Hardin here,” he indicated his two riders, “came onto Condo over in that box canyon between your place and mine. He had his running iron out and had a fire built and this one-horned critter throwed on the ground. They watched him turn her loose and then they rode up and had a look at the brand. Pretty soon Condo came back with a couple of mavericks and branded them. Then they watched him run all three in with your herd. That’s my proof.”
Old Thad looked at Billy and it was hard to tell whether it was the old man’s chew or his tongue that made the bulge in his cheek.
“What have you got to say, Condo?” Old Thad asked flatly.
Billy gave a final tug at the saddle string that held his coiled rope, then he turned to Jase Thornhill. “I say you’re a goddam liar, Jase—either that or a goddam fool for believin’ what these two jugheads told you about me.”
Thornhill took a step forward. “No man’s gonna talk to me like that and get away with it.”
Billy shook his head. “I can’t just figure you out, Thornhill. Awhile ago I said that if this turned out to be a trick of yours I’d gunwhip you. But now—now I feel kind of sorry for you. Any man who’d hate another man for no more reason that you hate me ought to be pitied. I still haven’t figured out whether you thought up this lie to try to get me run out of the country and away from your sister, or whether Ackerman and Hardin thought it up and made you believe it for reasons of their own. Either way, I ought to be plenty sore, and maybe am. But like I told you before, there’ll be enough trouble for all of us, trying to get this country back to normal, without digging up personal grudges. Now, if I was you, I’d forget about this whole thing. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, and I think you could do the same.”
Old Thad spoke up. “That’s more’n fair, Thornhill. You’ve prodded this man about as far as you can go and each time he’s showed he’s man enough to play square and be willin’ to forget it. Now I think…”
“I think Condo’s powder is damp!”
It was Ace Ackerman who spoke up. A silence fell over the eight men, a silence broken only by the restless shuffling of the cattle as they bedded down again. In that silence Billy’s conscience spoke clearly. He’d given Jase Thornhill and his men every break he could, he figured. He hadn’t wanted trouble. Partly because he felt it wouldn’t accomplish anything, and partly because of Mary Thornhill. Any trouble he got into now would be another black mark against him, something for the other ranchers—and Mary—to remember. But now was a time to call a halt.
Billy sighed audibly. “I wish you hadn’t said that, Ackerman,” he said, unbuckling his gunbelt and letting it drop to the ground. “And before I’m through with you you’ll wish you hadn’t said it too!”
The move surprised Ackerman. Obviously the man had counted on Billy backing down or going for his gun. But Billy had sensed what Ackerman was after. Maybe he could have beat the man to the draw, and maybe he couldn’t. He really didn’t care just now. His main concern was to settle this without gunfire. If he drew on Ackerman it might be just the thing that would touch the match to the powderkeg. No telling what might happen then; with Thornhill and Thad Harper already on uneasy terms it might start a range war that others would find it hard to stay out of. Already he sensed that there were some folks who resented Thad’s hiring him and would jump at the chance to show it. So, there had to be another way—a quieter way—to stop this before it got any further.
There was nothing for Ackerman to do but follow Billy’s lead. If it hadn’t been for the Circle 8 riders standing around, Billy was certain Ackerman would have shot him without a qualm. Instead, the man looked once at Jase Thornhill, then slowly began to unbuckle his gunbelt. “All right, Condo,” he shrugged, “you’ve partly proved what I said by bein’ afraid to draw. Now I aim to prove it the rest of the way.”
Ackerman was a big man and heavy-set. Billy figured that that would slow him down, but he was wrong. Ackerman moved in with surprising ease and speed and Billy was caught off guard. He felt the huge fist drive against his mouth, saw the flash of blinding light and heard the ringing in his ears. Billy reeled backward, trying to keep from falling, and threw a heavy punch at Ackerman’s leering face. He felt the shock along his entire arm as his fist found the mark. But Ackerman only shook his head and laughed softly as he swung again, and Billy felt his wind leave him in a painful gasp as the big man’s fist dug deep into his belly.
Billy sagged to his knees as his tortured lungs rasped for air that would not come. The earth reeled around him in a moonlit haze through which faces peered dimly at him. He was conscious of putting out his hands to keep from falling, and at the same time trying to struggle to his feet. The paralysis broke suddenly and he felt the air rushing painfully into his lungs just as he became dimly aware of Ackerman’s fist coming down with an ugly chopping motion. He tried to roll his head, felt the blow tear the flesh away below his right eye.
Muttering curses that flecked his lips with blood at each b
reath, Billy reached up, grabbed Ackerman’s belt. Head buried against the man’s thigh for support, face down to avoid the mangling fists, Billy tried to pull himself up. In close like that, Ackerman could only land short, choppy blows on his neck and shoulders. Grinding his teeth against the pain, Billy clung to the belt. The big man backed away, trying to pound him loose with measured, thudding blows. Billy’s knees dug furrows in the dirt as he was dragged.
The circled riders winced as each heavy swing of Ackerman’s fists, like rhythmic pistons, drew pained gasps from Condo. The big man’s breathing grew labored, the rise and fall of the fists slower. He stopped, caught a breath, gazing down at the bloody, torn man clinging to his belt.
“Damn…you…Condo!” he gasped. “Get up…and…fight!”
There was silence in the circle, save for the labored breathing of the two in the center. Condo hung stubbornly to the belt. The thought came to Thad Harper that maybe Billy couldn’t let go. That he had passed out with his hands locked around the belt. Thad spoke up.
“I reckon it’s over, Ackerman. No need to kill a man.”
Ackerman’s face was an evil thing. Disheveled hair hung down over his beefy face. Sweat blackened the dirt in the lines of his jowls. He grinned from sheer enjoyment of the punishment he was giving.
“Kill ’em?” he leered. “I’ll break the bastard’s back!”
The hairy balled fist was held high over his head. Like a woodman measures a tree for the axe, he picked a spot near the small of Billy’s back over the kidneys. With a grunt and a twist he moved the fist down in a sledgehammer arc. Thad Harper started forward to stop the blow.
But it never landed. Getting his feet under him and pulling down on the belt with his last ounce of strength, Billy came up, throwing his head back as he came. He felt the dull ache in his skull where it caught Ackerman’s jaw, felt the falling fist graze his back. Then he shoved.
There was a murmur of surprise from the circled riders as Ackerman staggered back, wonderment wide in his eyes. Condo followed him up with a slow shuffle, like a man moving in deep mud. Without breaking the awkward rhythm he hit Ackerman in the belly, saw the man’s head come forward. Still swinging like he was made of taffy, he hit him in the teeth.
They were awkward blows, but behind each was the strength of desperation. He had surprised Ackerman when the man was winded, had gained a little advantage. But he couldn’t afford to let Ackerman hit again. Each move of his arms out and back tore at his guts, but he swung again.
Ackerman was off balance. His wind was gone. His weight, an asset minutes before, was a liability now. Without his wind he couldn’t move fast. Not even fast enough to back away from the beaten Condo. He could only stand, hoping to land one more blow. He bowed his head, and spread his legs like the bull he looked. He spat blood and waited.
Through Billy’s one good eye Ackerman looked twice as big. Billy smirked foolishly, giddy from the pain that wracked him. Twice as much to hit, too, he thought. Even as he swung again he pondered what the hell he’d thought was funny about it. Then he saw Ackerman twisting to dodge the blow, saw the man’s fist come round.
Billy threw his arms as if his fists were rocks swung in the toe of a sock. Clumsy—but damned effective. Damned effective, he thought as he watched Ackerman sink to the ground, blood spewing from his mouth and nose.
“You can…call me a…lot of names…Ackerman. But…damn your lousy…hide…don’t ever say…my powder’s…damp!”
He remembered seeing Old Thad running toward him just as the blackness closed down.
CHAPTER FOUR
What happened after the fight was not too clear to Billy. He had a vague recollection of finding himself on his back, looking up at the moon, while the faces of several riders moved indistinctly above him. Loud voices crept into his consciousness. He recognized Jase Thornhill’s, bitter and denouncing, and the stubborn, angry tones of Old Thad replying.
Then somebody was helping him on his horse and he felt the pain throughout his body when he moved. His head was an aching wound that threatened to split wide open with each jogging movement of the horse. The ride seemed to go on forever, and it wasn’t until the lights of the Circle 8 penetrated his foggy vision that he realized dimly that they had bypassed the camp. Somewhere the other riders had cut back to the camp, and he found himself riding along with Old Thad beside him.
When Thad had helped him down from the saddle there had been Martha, Thad’s good wife, leading them up the path to the house, after having first held the lamp up to examine Billy’s face. He was aware of the sweet smell and the unaccustomed whiteness of sheets as he was put to bed. And he recalled, dimly, a sense of embarrassment when Martha helped Thad undress him and bathe his wounds. The sting of the liniment stood out most sharply, but that was soon gone and he felt the lassitude creeping back over him. The last he remembered was Martha clucking to herself about men fighting among each other as she went out the door. Then he fell asleep.
* * * *
For a while after he awoke he couldn’t place where he was. The sun was low and threw a reddish light into the room, but he couldn’t tell whether it was just coming up or going down. He lay there, staring at the sharp shadows and trying to remember what had happened.
He turned to look out the window. As if the movement had been a signal, his whole body cried out in a protest of pain. It was then he became conscious of the dull throbbing in his face and head, and noticed that he was looking through only one eye. Gingerly he touched his face and found it swollen and puffy. Gradually he began to remember what had happened. He wondered if Ackerman felt as bad.
The door squeaked open a crack and Billy caught sight of a thatch of grey hair with a walrus mustache beneath. “I see you’re awake.”
Billy tried to grin but quit when he found it hurt. “What time is it?”
“Sundown.”
“You mean—I slept all night and all day?”
Thad nodded, peering close at Billy’s face. “You took a helluva beatin’. A wonder you lived!”
Billy managed the grin this time. He fingered the white sheets. “Damn near worth it to get treated like this.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’d been shot at and hit!”
Billy threw back the top sheet and poked tentatively at the bruised splotches on his ribs. “Damn! A helluva beatin’ is right!”
Old Thad snorted. “At least you rode away from it. They had to drape Ackerman acrost his saddle.”
Billy looked up at him, saw the twinkle in the old man’s eye. “You wouldn’t bull me?”
“That’s no bull. He was as cold as last year’s brandin’ fire.”
Billy looked thoughtful for a minute. Then he said, “I owe you something for sticking by me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You took my word against Thornhill’s about the brand on that cow.”
The old man swore softly. “I saw through that right away. If them two, Ackerman and Hardin, had caught you runnin’ an iron on Lazy S stock they wouldn’t have bothered runnin’ to tell anybody. They like to shoot too well to pass up a chance like that.”
Billy swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. The soreness made him wince. He put his hand to his head and waited for the dizziness to pass.
“Where you think you’re goin’?” Old Thad wanted to know.
Billy looked up at him through his one good eye. “You ain’t paying me to lay in bed.”
While Billy struggled into his clothes with many a grunt and a groan, Old Thad sat watching, chewing reflectively on a sulphur match. Finally he asked, “Condo—you got any ideas why that Lazy S bunch is so down on you?”
Billy stopped tugging at his boot and stared at the floor, thinking. Slowly he shook his head. “Not unless it’s just because I drew pay in the Union Cavalry.” Then he added, after a pause, �
��Of course, there’s Jase’s sister.”
Old Thad grunted. “Neither of them reasons makes much sense, do you think?”
Billy thought about it as he buttoned his shirt cuffs. “With a man like Jase Thornhill,” he said, shaking his head, “it’s kind of hard to tell. There could be a lot of reasons.” He walked over and picked his hat from a chair. For a minute he stood looking at it, then he began to brush the dust from it. “But I can see how you feel about it.”
Old Thad looked up, surprised. “What do you mean by that?”
“Just that I’m not helping you any by working here. A man’s got enough trouble in Texas these days without hiring it. I’d hoped Jase would forget it after a while—about me and the Union Cavalry, I mean. And as for Mary—I’ve stayed away for reasons of my own.”
Old Thad stood up, and there was a glint of fire in his eye. “Now lookit here, Condo. I’m a man that’s says what he’s thinkin’—you ought to know that by now. If I’d been athinkin’ you might cause trouble between me and Jase I’d have said it.” His tone softened when he went on, “Matter of fact, me and Jase never did get on too well, so that wouldn’t make any difference. It’s just that I hate to see a good man get pushed around, that’s all.”
Billy didn’t say anything. He sensed that Old Thad was embarrassed by the explanation he’d had to make. Billy felt a little that way himself, and he was glad when he heard Mrs. Harper’s footsteps outside the door.
“Land’s sakes, Thad Harper!” she exclaimed when she saw Billy was on his feet. “Is there so much work to be done that you have to turn a man out of bed when he’s half dead?”
“Now, Martha!” Old Thad placated her. “He got up of his own accord and I didn’t try to stop him. I guess he knows how he feels.”
The 7th Western Novel Page 46
