Buchanan 15

by Jonas Ward

  Bascomb rode into the yard on a heaving hired hack. He called, “Buchanan! Wilder and them shot up the town.”

  Buchanan turned wearily and asked in his weak voice, “Anybody hurt?”

  “Two, three. Doc and his wife are takin’ care of them. They sent me out here.”

  Buchanan said, “You weren’t ready.”

  “It ain’t easy.” Bascomb flushed. “I ain’t no fighter. Sheridan people ain’t ready for this kinda doin’. Figured if they got those gunslingers mad enough, they’d burn the town down.”

  “Not the way to figure.” He choked, began again. “On the roofs. If you don’t fight ’em, they’ll come again. And again. Those are bad men, Bascomb.”

  “If we talked to Jake Robertson?”

  “I’ve done that.”

  “Nothin’?”

  “Less.” He didn’t want to tell what had happened. He only wished to be alone, to rest his throat, to try the miraculous Crow herb cure, to think things out. He had killed another man and he did not ever want to kill.

  He asked, “They need me in town?”

  “Well ... Doc thought maybe ... I dunno.”

  Buchanan said, “I’ll be there.”

  Bascomb brightened. “I’ll tell ’em.” He turned the nag around with some difficulty and was gone.

  Coco said, “You got no right goin’ anywhere.”

  “Let me get some food. Johnnybear, wipe down Nightshade; he can go again.” It hurt a lot to talk, but talk he must.

  “I’m goin’ with you,” said Coco.

  “Appreciate it.” Buchanan went into the house. He did not remember a day in which so much had occurred. He was worn out with it. For a time he wished he had never seen the little black lamb. Then he was with the Caseys, and he realized that he did not wish any such thing.

  Fritz Wilder said, “You let Buchanan come here, kill Semple and cripple your blacksmith?” He laughed. “Can’t I leave you alone for a minute?”

  Jake said, “They jumped him. I warned ’em. I told ’em not to try Buchanan.”

  “Scared. He has you all frightened to death.”

  “Not by damn! Careful. You move careful around that feller. Knowed him for years. Careful.” Jake was quite drunk.

  Wilder said, “Truly, you must know you’re wrong. A man like Buchanan can only be taken by force. Coupled with brains. Surprise is the element. You know you have to get him.”

  “Gettin’ him ain’t goin’ to be that easy. Nohow.” Jake drank.

  Wilder said, “He’s even got the sheepherders fighting. They fired on us today. One came close to hitting me. We could have charged them, but it would have been dangerous. Sooner or later we must get them.”

  “Damn sheep.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Buchanan set the Indians on you. He’s friendly with them; everyone knows that.”

  “Goddam Injuns.”

  “If we got rid of Buchanan it would put a stop to everything.”

  “Damn Buchanan shoulda stayed in New Mexico.”

  Claire came onto the veranda. “Papa, don’t listen to him.”

  “You stay outa this, gal.”

  “It was bad enough with McGee and Semple. Now they’re dead and Cobber may lose a leg and you want to keep up this war. I say it stops!”

  “It ain’t for you to say!”

  “Are you going to listen to this ... this killer ... or to your daughter?” Her lips trembled.

  “I say you git to your room and stay there,” shouted Jake.

  Her strong chin asserted itself. She said, “Don’t you try that, Papa.”

  Fritz Wilder said, “Maybe Miss Claire is worried about the half-breed she’s been seeing.”

  “The what? You mean that Wolf feller?” Jake rose from the chair, staggered, regained his balance.

  Claire said, “What are you going to do, Papa? Shoot me with that shotgun of yours?”

  “Handsome young man,” said Wilder.

  Jake choked, managed to wheeze, “Now, go to your room. And you damn well stay there till I tell you that you can come out. A damn breed! My daughter.”

  Wilder smiled sweetly. “It’s probably nothing serious. Still, she’s been seen with him.”

  “Git!” Jake was close to apoplexy. “To your room!”

  Claire looked at him, then at Wilder. “So. That’s it. It is this ... this beast. All right, Papa. All right.”

  She bent her head and went into the house. She went up the stairs and into her room. She heard her father yelling at Mrs. Bacon to keep watch on her. She heard Wilder saying again and again that they must attack, that they must get the jump on Buchanan and the Caseys if necessary. The gunslinger was partly insane, she thought, and the liquor had warped her father beyond recognition.

  She changed into her divided skirt and a woolen shirt. She donned her boots. She took a small-caliber Smith & Wesson from a drawer.

  Outside her door she heard Mrs. Bacon wheezing. She called, “Come in, please.”

  Mrs. Bacon entered. Claire drew back the gun and hit her behind the ear. Mrs. Bacon hit the floor.

  Claire walked down the back stairs without haste. She went to the stable. Dave Dare was currying a horse. She said sweetly, “Saddle up the pinto, please? I’m going for a ride.” She did not want the black mare her papa had given her.

  “Anything for you, Claire.” He obeyed.

  She said, “Don’t tell Papa I’ve gone. He’s in a snit.”

  “Whatever you say, Claire.”

  She mounted the horse without aid and rode out the back way. There were tears in her eyes and her heart was like lead. She headed straight for the Casey place.

  Her mind raced as the pony galloped across the plain. She was amazed at her temerity; then she was not. Her first thought had been of Peter Wolf. They would kill him. Why should she care? He had not even understood her near declaration. His mind was far from her.

  Then she thought of her parents. Her mother had been a gentle creature. Her papa had always been kind and loving when she was young, but he was often away, too busy extending his holdings to pay much attention to the home fires. When her mother sent her away to school, he had become almost a stranger.

  And when her mother died, he had taken to the bottle. Perhaps it was because he had loved her so. In view of the entrance of Mrs. Bacon so few months later, she doubted that. He was a tough man, as he declared. He thought in terms of possessions, of power that went with wealth. He was not much different from others she had met—but he was her father.

  It was not that she was against wealth, comfort, belongings. And it was not entirely her love—infatuation?—for Peter Wolf. Some inner force was driving her, some sense of right and wrong.

  She came to the Casey place with her mind clear. There were things to be said and done. She swung down from the pony and marched to the door of the house.

  Susan Casey answered. She stared at Claire. “What do you want here?”

  “I don’t want anything except to talk,” said Claire. Her hair was flowing, unbrushed. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. “I came to warn you.”

  “We’ve had plenty of warnings,” said Susan. However, she stepped aside so that Claire might enter.

  “Buchanan will listen to me,” Claire said. She saw the quick reaction of the girl. “He knows what can happen. Fritz Wilder is, I believe, crazy. He’s talking Papa into attacking you to get to Buchanan.”

  “Coming here, you mean?”

  “I tried to talk to Papa. He’s ...” She bit her lip. “He drinks too much. He won’t listen. Wilder has him mesmerized or something.”

  Susan said, “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

  “Not for myself.”

  “You come here and warn us? You?” Susan was incredulous. “Is this a trick?”

  “What kind of trick? Am I asking you to do anything? Am I trying to lead you into a trap? I’d like to talk with Buchanan, please.”

  They had edged their way into the house. Susan said,
“He’s in town. Your ... your father’s men shot people last night.”

  “I know. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. Can’t you see?”

  Susan said slowly, “I ... I reckon I do see. You said it before. You want peace. I thought you were fakin’. On account of ...” She broke off.

  “On account of Peter Wolf. I see.”

  Susan squirmed. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Peter doesn’t want me.”

  Susan stared. “You ... spoke to him?”

  Claire took quick steps, her spurs jingling. She said, “What a nice room. So warm. You must be happy here.”

  “Why ... sure.”

  “Your mother and father, they’re sweet people.”

  “They’re the best.” Susan twisted her hands. “Your ma is dead. Your father drinks and ... I see. I see.” She reached out to stop Claire’s pacing, taking her by the arm. “Come on into the kitchen. We’ll have coffee. Buchanan will be back soon. I hope.”

  Claire said, “I’m afraid soon might not be quick enough. Wilder was talking hard to Papa. Bad talk, mean. They want Buchanan so much they’d kill anyone got in their way.”

  Susan said, “Coco is with Buchanan. Peter is watching. The others are in the barn. There are always guns around since it started. There’s nothing more we can do right now.” She slipped her arm about Claire. “Come.”

  Claire’s hand went to her mouth. Up until this show of kindness and sympathy she had been under control. Now her lip trembled. She braced herself.

  In the kitchen Mrs. Bower was feeding Johnnybear. She frowned, then smiled when the two girls came to the table. Johnnybear’s brown eyes were wide as, surveying the scene, he backed to the door.

  Susan said in her direct manner, “Johnnybear, Mrs. Bower, Miss Robertson came here to warn us. There might be a fight. I’ll go and tell father and mother about it.”

  She went out the rear door. Johnnybear stared at Claire. He bowed, swallowed and followed Susan. Mrs. Bower sat opposite Claire at the table.

  “Your pa must’ve gone crazy. We don’t mean any harm.”

  “My father is ... is not himself.” Claire choked on the words.

  “The Caseys are the nicest folks in the world.” Her violet eyes probed at Claire. “You want peace. You said so; I believe you.”

  “I thought if I came here ... Now I don’t know.”

  Mrs. Bower moved to a cabinet and took down a silver flask. She poured generously into Claire’s coffee. “Brandy. You’re pale as a ghost, girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Bower was an oddly good-looking woman, she realized. She moved with grace. Her violet eyes had darkened.

  “I wasn’t always housekeeper to sheep people,” the housekeeper was saying. “My husband and I had a spread once. In Texas.”

  “Texas? You know about cattle?”

  “I knew your father,” she said bluntly. “Oh, he didn’t know us. When Charlie was killed and I lost the place, your father bought it. Took it, you might say.”

  “He stole it?”

  “No. Just had the cash. You were in school too long, girl. You got good notions but you don’t know how it is. You don’t know how Buchanan is.”

  “I ... I know he’s a very brave man.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll bet you thought if you came here and Peter Wolf saw that and Buchanan was here and all—you could stop the fight.”

  “I ... didn’t think that far.” She knew her color had been restored. Her cheeks were warm.

  “Took me a while to get straight, y’know.” Mrs. Bower drank coffee, keeping her eyes on Claire. “I got to know people. Men. Lots of men. Buchanans are scarce. Wilders are scarce too. Mostly, men are in between. A boy like Peter Wolf, he’s rare. Not much chance for him exceptin’ with innocents like the Caseys. The Caseys don’t know prejudice.”

  Claire was silent. This woman was wiser than she ever could be. She could feel it.

  Mrs. Bower went on. “I knew Liz Bacon a bit, too. When your father picked her up she was runnin’ a house in El Paso.”

  “A ... a house?”

  “Oh, it was a high-class house. But she drank too much.”

  “Yes. She drinks with Papa.”

  “I’d bet on it. And agrees with every dumb thing he says or does. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And now Fritz Wilder is callin’ the turn,” Mrs. Bower said.

  “Yes. He’s a madman.”

  “Maybe. Meantime, he wants Buchanan. And why does he want Buchanan? Because he’s a gunslinger, and if he kills Buchanan his name’ll go up and down the country. If he does it fair and square people will kowtow to him. Whether they like it or not, they’ll have a certain respect for him. It’s the way of the country.”

  “But that’s terrible.”

  “That’s the way it is. School didn’t teach you that. So now you can’t come here and change things. Maybe your papa would want to call it off because you were here, but as soon as you left it would be on again. Nothin’ can stop it when a man like Wilder comes after a man like Buchanan.”

  “Papa only wanted to save the graze from the sheep. He’s wrong about that. I thought it could be straightened out by talking, compromising. I tried.”

  “We know that. Even the Caseys don’t realize how it can build and build. Buchanan picks up a little black sheep and all hell breaks loose. Well, it was crackin’ before that. You bein’ here won’t change a thing.”

  “What should I do?” Claire asked. The woman’s confidence, her straightforwardness, was commanding.

  Mrs. Bower took the makings from her apron pocket and rolled a cigarette. She struck a match, inhaled, blew smoke. “Girl, I ain’t one for buttin’ in. But if I was you I’d take off right now. You either go to Cross Bar and try to talk some sense into your papa ... or you go to town and pray a lot.”

  “I can’t go home.”

  “Buchanan’s in town tryin’ to make brave men outa cowards. You might run across him on the way.”

  “I ... don’t know.”

  “Peter Wolf can’t help you now.”

  Again she felt herself blushing.

  Mrs. Bower said, “I been around and I got eyes. Girl, he’s in love with Susan.”

  Claire gasped, then quickly recovered. “I thought as much. Mrs. Bower, you’re a wonder.” She got to her feet. “I’ll be heading for town.”

  “I’ll make your manners to the Caseys.” She smiled. “I reckon you’ll be around at the showdown. One way or the other. Like I said, I know folks pretty good. You remind me of myself before I growed up.”

  “Thank you.” She knew she was being paid a backhanded compliment. She was able to return the smile. She ran through the house. She could hear the voices of the Caseys in the backyard. She hesitated. Then she got into the saddle and rode for town.

  Her mind cleared as she traveled the ten miles. Mrs. Bower had stunned her with the insight she had displayed. Claire had suspected that Peter Wolf was in love with Susan. She had not wanted to admit it fully, but all the signs had been there for her to see. She would cope with that later, she thought. Now was the time to use her intelligence.

  She came into Sheridan before sundown. There were people in the streets, more than she had ever seen. She saw Dr. Abrams coming out of Bascomb’s and pulled up.

  He said, “Ah, Miss Robertson. I’m afraid you won’t find a welcome here at this time.”

  “I know.” She tied up and came close to him. “Doctor, I must see Buchanan at once. They’ll be coming after him.”

  “They?”

  “The gunmen my father hired.” She stood straight and looked him in the eye. “I’m against them. I’m here to warn Buchanan. Believe me, please.”

  Dr. Abrams frowned. “Why, I do believe you, child. I remember Buchanan telling us about you. Come, you must stay with us.”

  “I have to see Buchanan.”

  “My dear,” he said sadly, “Buchanan tried to bolster the men of this town for an hour. I
doubt that he succeeded. Then he and Coco Bean rode out to warn the herders, your father’s herders.”

  “I missed him.” Her spirits fell again. She said dully, “If you’ll be so kind, I’d be glad to have shelter. I guess I need it.”

  People stared at her as she led the pinto down the street to the Abrams house. No one spoke, out of regard for the doctor, but she could feel the animosity in the air. One way or another war had come to the country, and her father had brought it. She must, she realized, do a lot of growing up in the next hours and days.

  Nine

  Coco said, “You sure told ’em what the Lord told John. But did they listen?”

  “With their ears they listened,” said Buchanan. They were riding side by side to check the position of the sheep herds.

  “That’s just about it,” Coco nodded. “Must say I can see how they feel. They ain’t used to gunplay. They’re citizens.”

  “They had a lesson from Wilder. You’d think they’d learn.”

  “People just don’t learn that easy,” said Coco.

  “Looks like the herders got together,” said Buchanan.

  They had come within view of the sheep. The dogs were busy running around the perimeter. The Mexican herders were looking out. Gowdy and Indian Joe came toward Buchanan and Coco on horseback. Following them were the fighting dogs and one-eyed Sandy.

  Gowdy said, “Lookin’ for you to show. Indian Joe did a little scoutin’. They’re formin’ up at Cross Bar.”

  Indian Joe nodded. “Like a blue-shirt troop.”

  “You’re real sure?” Buchanan’s alarm was patent. “They start out yet?”

  “They’re about to.”

  “No doubt about it,” said Gowdy, “They’re comin’ for you and for the Caseys. Mebbe they ain’t sayin’ they’re after the Caseys, but it’ll come to that.”

  Buchanan said, “We’ll ride ahead. Come in as fast as you can.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  It was darkening. The ground flew beneath Nightshade’s feet. Coco followed several lengths behind. Buchanan felt stark alone with his thoughts.

  He had grown fond of the gentle Caseys and their feisty daughter. Coco had been right about the town; the timid folks had listened to him, agreed with him—but they would never take action. He felt the heavy load on his shoulders as he seldom had before.