The 7th Western Novel

by Francis W. Hilton

  “What do you reckon we ought to do with him?” Thad asked himself out loud.

  Joe Metcalf said dryly, “Weren’t for the smell, I’d say leave the bastard there to rot.”

  “Jase’ll be wondering what happened to him,” Billy said slowly.

  Old Thad looked down again at the body and his jaw set in a firm line. “Well—I killed him, so I’ll deliver him. Joe, get one of the boys to harness a team to the buckboard.”

  Metcalf nodded to one of the riders crowded around and the man turned away for the horse corral. Billy moved beside Old Thad.

  “It was me he was after,” he said firmly. “I’ll take him to Jase.”

  The old-man looked at him. “All right—by God, we’ll both go!” He started to turn away and then stopped. “First, let’s eat supper. I’m hungry.”

  Billy was standing beside the buckboard when Thad came back from his meal in the house. The old man glanced briefly at the still form under the blanket. “Let’s go,” he said, sliding the big .45-70 under the seat.

  “That’s a good gun you’ve got there,” Billy said.

  “Shoots good. Little heavy for a saddle gun, though.”

  Billy was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “I’m obliged to you again, Thad. Hadn’t been for you and that gun this’d be my funeral.”

  “That’s the way it goes,” Thad said.

  Both fell silent after a bit, each busy with his own thoughts. Billy was thinking ahead to what might happen when they came to Thornhill’s place. He knew, without asking, why Old Thad hadn’t brought any riders along. It would look like he was expecting trouble. This way—well…

  It was a long ride. Eight miles. The way Billy felt, all sore and tired out, it seemed nearer eighty. Once or twice he thought of speaking something that was on his mind, but he decided it would keep for a while. Better to get this business over with first before he told Thad he’d made up his mind to quit the Circle 8.

  They topped a rise overlooking the little valley and Thad pulled the team to a halt. Down the slope about a mile away the creek unwound across the valley. On the bend, in a grove of cottonwoods, the buildings of the Lazy S were spread out in the moonlight. They could see the dark shapes of horses standing asleep in the corral. Otherwise there was no sign of life. The windows were black squares staring bleakly out of the weathered walls.

  “Don’t seem to be expecting anybody,” Thad said quietly.

  Billy didn’t say anything. He was staring at the darkened corner window just off the big porch. It used to be Mary’s room, six years ago. He wondered if it still was. He tried to imagine what she might look like, lying there asleep with the moonlight streaming across her face.

  “Let’s go on down,” he said suddenly to Thad.

  The buckboard rattled down the slope. Billy looked back once at Bud Hardin’s body. It was swaying gently in the straw with the motion of the buckboard. Billy turned away again.

  When they clattered across the rocks in the shallow creek Billy saw a light go on somewhere inside the house. He looked across the yard toward the bunkhouse and saw the door open an inch or two. He looked back just as a man came onto the porch of the house and stood in the shadows. Jase Thornhill, he judged.

  Thad pulled up at the gate and they both sat there for a minute. The man on the porch called out.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Thad Harper, Thornhill.”

  Jase came down the steps and stood on the gravel walk, his rifle held so that it wasn’t pointed at them, and yet it was.

  “What the hell brings you out at this time of night, Harper?”

  “I’ve come to ask you if you know where Bud Hardin is,” Thad said slyly.

  It seemed to Billy that the expression on Jase’s face changed a little. But he was fifteen feet away and in the moonlight it was hard to tell.

  “Down in the bunkhouse, far as I know,” Jase answered. “If you come here looking for him why didn’t you go down…”

  “Take a look in back here,” Thad interrupted, nodding behind the seat.

  Jase looked from one to the other quickly, then squeaked open the gate and stood looking into the bed of the buck-board.

  “Who—who’s that?” he almost whispered.

  Billy reached down and pulled aside a corner of the blanket to uncover the face. He saw Jase’s grip on the rifle tighten.

  “Who killed him?” Thornhill croaked hoarsely, fire sparking his eyes as he glared up at the two men.

  “I did,” Old Thad snapped. “He come gunning…“

  Jase whipped the rifle around. As he did Billy grabbed the barrel, lashing out with his foot at the same time. His boot toe smashed against the fingers Jase had curled around the stock just as Jase pulled the trigger. The shot roared away in the general direction of the moon.

  “Whoa!” Thad yelled at the team. “Steady there, you gun-shy sons of… Goddammit, Thornhill!”

  Billy had hung onto the rifle as the team jerked away and he had wrenched it from Jase’s grasp.

  “Jase,” Billy said, his voice trembling with anger, “the last few times we’ve met one of us has lost his temper. There’ll come a day, if this keeps up, when we’ll both lose it at the same time. When that happens…”

  Billy saw the figure in white fluttering down the path. He clamped his jaws shut and waited as Mary came up.

  “Jase—what… Then she recognized Billy. “Oh—so it’s you!”

  Old Thad’s mustache bristled. “No—it ain’t him, Miss Mary. It’s that pigheaded brother of yours. One of his hired gun hands come over to my place tonight and tried to bushwhack Condo here. I shot him. We brought the body back where it belonged and your brother got trigger happy.”

  Mary turned to her brother. “Jase—is that true?”

  Jason Thornhill swore under his breath. “I didn’t send Hardin gunning for anybody, he must’ve…”

  “Nobody said you did,” Billy cut in calmly.

  Their eyes met for a second, and Billy sensed the change of expression in Thornhill’s face once again.

  “What are you driving at, Condo?”

  Billy handed the rifle to Thad and swung down from the buckboard, wincing slightly at the pain. He heard Mary gasp as his face was turned for a second to the moonlight. “W-what happened to you, Billy?”

  Billy’s heart quickened at the sound of concern in her voice. But Jase had caught it, too.

  “Mary, this is no place for a woman. Get on back to the house.”

  Billy saw the reluctance in her eyes as she turned away and walked slowly up the path. Then his jaw set and he turned to Jason.

  “I’m laying my cards on the table, Jase,” he said coolly. “I’m not saying you sent Hardin over there tonight. And I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you didn’t plant that worked-over brand on your own cow. Then I’ll lean over backwards and say maybe you didn’t prod Ackerman into starting that fight with me the other night in the hope I’d try to draw. But I will say this—I know you hate my guts. You hate me because I fought for the Union—and you hate me because you’re afraid I’ve got my sights set on Mary.”

  “Stay away from her, Condo. Hear me? Why, damn your…”

  “Save it, Jase. I still haven’t finished. I rode over here with Thad tonight so’s he’d hear me tell you that I’m quitting the Circle 8.”

  Old Thad uttered a cry of protest, but Billy silenced him with a raised hand. “Wait a minute, Thad. I’m not through yet. Don’t go getting any ideas, Jase, that I’m afraid of you or anybody else. That’s not why I’m quitting. I’m quitting because somebody seems to be gunning for me and I’d hate to see any of Thad’s riders get killed on my account. But I’ll be around, Jase—and I’m giving you fair warning. You’ve had your chance to make friends with me, and that chance is still yours to take. But there’s bound to be a showdown so
metime, Jase. I’m leaving the choice up to you.”

  Jase Thornhill opened his mouth to speak but Billy cut him off. “Now tell those men down in the bunkhouse they can put down their guns and open the door all the way and come up here and get this corpse off our hands.”

  Jase followed Billy’s look. The bunkhouse door opened all the way and Ackerman came limping out, followed by several others. Billy stood back and rolled a cigarette while three of the men unloaded the gruesome cargo. He noticed that Ackerman didn’t offer to help, but stood to one side and glared at Billy. He pretended not to notice, but he couldn’t help stealing a look at Ackerman’s battered face. He had to turn away to hide the smile it brought. The way Ackerman looked made his own wounds hurt a little less.

  When the unloading was done, Billy climbed back up beside Thad and leaned down to pick up the big .45-70. He flipped open the breech, examined the load pointedly. Then he handed Jase’s rifle back to him.

  “All right,” he told Thad, “let’s go.”

  The buckboard rattled away among the cottonwoods toward the creek. Billy looked back out of the corner of his good eye, but the men they’d left stood motionless, watching. Billy guessed that the hole they’d seen in Hardin’s chest had made them think twice about bucking the big rifle in his hand.

  Across the creek, he turned to look back again. For an instant he thought he saw a figure in white standing in the window of the corner room. But it was too far away to be sure. Then he lost sight as they topped the rise and started down the other side.

  “Did you mean what you said back there?” Old Thad shouted above the clatter of the rig.

  “You mean about quitting?”

  The old man nodded, watching Billy’s face.

  Billy looked straight ahead. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I did. This business isn’t goin’ to die down by itself. And until it’s settled, one way or the other, I’ll bring you nothing but trouble. That’s not right, Thad. Not right for you or the men who work for you.”

  Thad started to open his mouth, but Billy cut him off.

  “Now, I know just what you’re goin’ to say. I know how you feel, and I appreciate it. Just the same…”

  Thad shook his head. “That’s not what I was about to say—but it’s right, anyway. I hired you to work for me. If Jase Thornhill wants to stir up trouble over that—well, it’s long overdue between me and him anyway. But what I had in mind was… Well, it’s like this. I’m fixin’ to drive a herd to New Orleans. I know it ain’t much of a market since the war, but then neither is anyplace else. At least it’s better’n lettin’ these cows run loose till they die of old age. It’s a good long drive back there. I’ll need every hand I can get. Why don’t you stick on through the drive, anyway? Then, after that, you can go or stay—whatever suits you best. As long as we’re on the trail to New Orleans we’ll be away from Jase Thornhill. So there won’t be no trouble that way.” He turned to look at Billy. “What do you say, son?”

  The old man had been good to him, Billy thought. And what he said made some sense. Besides, he could see how every rider would be needed on a trail drive.

  “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll ride along.”

  Billy was glad to see the buildings of the Circle 8 come into view. He felt that he could sleep on a bed of nails with a nest of cactus for a pillow. He waited long enough to help Thad unharness and water the team; then he eased himself into the bunkhouse and lay down with his clothes on, even to his boots. Despite the aching weariness of his body he fell asleep immediately.

  * * * *

  It was the following morning when the crew was at breakfast in the cook shack that Thad came in to tell the others what he’d told Billy the night before.

  “…you’ll draw your same wages, plus an extra fifteen dollars for every hand when we sell the stock in New Orleans. Joe Metcalf knows the way and he’s agreed to be trail boss.”

  The next few days were full of busy activity in preparation for the drive to New Orleans. The chuck wagon was wheeled out of the barn and the rat nests cleaned out of the cubbyholes. The all-purpose rig was fitted with a new canvas top to protect the bedding it would carry. Wheels were pulled, axles greased, and harness repaired, and the blacksmith shop resounded to the clang of hammers on iron tires.

  But beneath the outward signs of eager enthusiasm ran an undercurrent of uncertainty. Every one of Thad’s riders knew that the old man was taking a gamble. Since the war between the states, the market for Texas cattle had shrunk to almost nothing. The Gulf ports and Mississippi River markets were in need of cattle—but there was no money. There were tales they’d all heard of more than one outfit that had made a long drive, only to wind up taking payment in worthless specie or trading for goods they might hope to sell back in Texas. More than likely they ended up giving the cattle away rather than drive them back. Thad Harper had mentioned dollars—and the joke passed among the riders that the catch was that Thad had meant Confederate dollars.

  Old Thad sensed the uneasiness and called the men together. When they had all settled in the bunk house after supper one night he told them of the deal he’d made.

  “A feller I used to know in Dallas sent word that he knew where he could get a contract to sell beef if I could deliver. I wouldn’t say anything ordinarily, but to put you boys’ minds at rest I thought you’d like to know—the pay is to be in United States currency.”

  He paused to let the murmur of approval die down, then went on. “The beef is to go to the Quartermaster of the United States Army at New Orleans.”

  There was silence in the room. Billy felt his face grow warm, and imagined he felt the eyes of the others turn on him briefly.

  Then one of the riders spoke up. “What the hell—the war’s over! Beef markets are scarce these days—unless anybody wants to try to drive this herd up to Missouri!”

  Everybody laughed at that. It was well known that the residents of Missouri had turned back, with armed force, more than one “disease-ridden, tick-laden” herd of longhorns.

  “I guess that settles it then,” Thad said with obvious relief. “I figure we can be ready to roll day after tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Billy condo reined the stocking-legged bay to a halt in front of where Joe Metcalf sat smoking in the shade of a juniper and climbed down.

  “You seem to move a lot easier today,” Metcalf grinned. “How you feelin’?”

  “Better,” Billy said, sitting beside him and taking off his hat. “Most of the soreness is gone now.”

  “I see you got both eyes open again.”

  Billy laughed. “Yeah. Seems kinda funny, looking through two eyes instead of one. I’d got kinda used to it.”

  Billy was squinting in the bright sunlight and looking out across the flat. A horseman had just come out of the timber along the creek.

  “That looks like Thad Harper,” he said.

  Joe looked up. “Wonder what he wants?” he said puzzled. “He’s supposed to be with Shorty and that bunch north of the river.”

  “Maybe they got everything rounded up and are waiting for us to bring up this herd.”

  They both stood up and looked down the draw where four riders were hazing a couple of hundred head up toward the flat.

  Thad Harper was headed for the herd when he caught sight of the two men beneath the juniper. He swung his horse into a gentle lope and turned toward them. Billy and Joe Metcalf mounted and rode out to meet him.

  “We’re about all set here,” Joe told the old man as they met up. “Don’t tell me you and Shorty have…”

  The friendly jibe he was about to make faded when he saw the look in Thad’s face. Billy saw it too and looked uneasily at Joe. Together they waited for the old man to speak.

  Billy noticed that Thad’s usually ramrod-straight back drooped about the shoulders and there were lines of weariness in the lea
thered old face. When the old man spoke there was a tinge of despair in his voice.

  “Tell ’em to turn ’em loose, Joe,” he said bitterly.

  “Turn…those cows…loose?”

  Old Thad nodded. “I had a letter today. The deal fell through. We won’t be drivin’ to New Orleans.” Then he added with a sigh, “Or anyplace else. Boys, I’m telling you—there ain’t a market left for Texas cattle anywhere.” He looked at Billy, and for the first time Billy saw a look of displeasure in the old man’s eyes. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “we’ve got the United States of America to thank for that.”

  Then he turned his horse and began to ride slowly back the way he’d come.

  Billy sat looking after him, a feeling of despair lying heavy in his own heart.

  “Come on, kid,” Joe said gently. “He didn’t mean nothin’ by that.”

  It was an hour later that Billy rode into the ranch with Joe Metcalf and the four other riders. Shorty Long and the men who’d gone to gather the herd north of the river were already back, lounging around the corral in various attitudes of dejection. The situation was plain to them. With the New Orleans deal collapsed, there was little likelihood that Old Thad would be able to market his cattle. That would mean that some of the riders would be paid off and only a skeleton force kept on to run the ranch.

  Billy dismounted and turned the stocking-legged bay loose in the corral with the other Circle 8 string horses. Then he shook out his rope and caught and saddled his dun. He was in the bunkhouse gathering his gear into a war sack when Thad came in.

  For a minute neither of them spoke. Old Thad just stood chewing on a sulphur match and watching Billy roll up his blankets. Finally the old man shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

  “Son…” he began, then hesitated. “What I said out there a while ago… There wasn’t nothing personal in it.”

  Billy dumped his war sack on the floor, pulled the drawstring tight. He looked up, a sad smile on his face. “I know it, Thad. Nobody can help what’s happened to the cattle market.”

  Old Thad stared gloomily out of the door at the riders standing idly around. “I’ve got to let some of the boys go,” he said wearily. “Can’t afford to keep on a full crew when cattle ain’t selling.” He looked hopefully at Billy and went on. “Kind of thought I’d keep a few of the best hands—those that might have reason to stay in this part of the Panhandle.”