Return of the Outlaw

by C. M. Curtis

  “Maybe so, but that won’t stop Emil now; he’ll be ready to eat the devil with his horns on.”

  “You’re probably right, but Jim wants you and me to try and talk some sense into him. He wants to meet with Emil, tomorrow. Alvah, Jim won’t ride on the Double T because of this. They lost four men, and that’s enough. But if they attack us again we’ll fight ‘em to the last man.”

  “Who shot Al? Jim or Shorty?” asked Beeman hopefully; thinking since Shorty was dead it would be better if it had been he who fired the shot that killed Emil Tannatt’s son.

  “I did,” said Jeff.

  “You did? How did you get involved in this?”

  “I was out riding, and I saw five Double T hands riding hell-bent for the Circle M. I suspected, trouble so I followed.”

  “When he got there,” offered Hank, “Shorty was dead, Jim was out of bullets, and there were still three Double T men shooting at him. It was a lucky thing Webb came along when he did.”

  The sheriff looked at Jeff long and hard. Finally, he said, “Saddle my horse, Hank, while I get dressed.” He lifted himself from the chair and turned toward the bedroom.

  “Need me to ride with you?” asked Jeff.

  Beeman turned back around abruptly. “I need you to stay as far away from Emil Tannatt as you can. You may even want to consider leaving town.”

  Jeff was suddenly angry. “What I’ll do, Sheriff, is go about my business. I killed a man in an open fight. And he would’ve shot me if I hadn’t shot him first. Anybody who doesn’t like that and comes to me looking for trouble is going to find it.”

  Beeman, saying nothing, turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  Jeff and Hank walked outside. Jeff untied Billy Dell’s horse from the buckboard and swung into the saddle. “Good luck,” he said, and rode away.

  Chapter 14

  On their arrival at the Double T headquarters, Hank and Beeman rode up to the front of the house but did not dismount. Beeman had considered bringing the bodies of the dead Double T men out himself, but decided it would be a bad idea.

  Emil Tannatt stepped through the door with a rifle in his hand.

  “Hello Emil,” said Beeman.

  “Sheriff,” said Tannatt with a curt nod.

  Tannatt turned his hard gaze on Hank for a moment but said nothing. He turned back to Beeman, waiting.

  “Sid get back alright?” asked Beeman.

  Tannatt nodded, and his expression told Beeman he knew about the gunfight.

  “Emil, we came here to talk; to avoid more killing, if we can.”

  “Time for talkin’s past,” said Tannatt, his face darkening.

  “Well, that’s the problem; nobody has even done any talking yet. It’s all been shooting and killing.”

  “There’ll be more of it, Alvah, and you’ve got my word on that. A man can only take so much. Marcellin rode on my range, he hung two of my men, and he shot my boy and three others down in cold blood.”

  Hank could stand no more. “Is that what Sid told you? Because if he did he’s a liar, and I’ll tell him so to his face.”

  “I’ll bring him and you can do just that,” barked Tannatt in a voice that trembled with anger.

  “Hold on Emil,” said Beeman forcefully. He shot a quick scowl at Hank and said, “Hank, I told you to let me do the talking, and I meant it.” Turning back to Tannatt he said, “There’s another version of this story, Emil, and before you go and get a lot of people killed, I think you need to hear it. Jim Marcellin sent me and Hank out here to arrange a meeting. He wants to talk to you.

  “He can talk in hell,” Tannatt hurled the words.

  “Emil, I could arrest you right now. I have good cause.”

  The increasing heat in Emil Tannatt’s voice warned Beeman he was pushing too hard. “You’d never get off this ranch alive; neither of you!” Tannatt was practically shouting now. “My son’s dead, and I’m honor bound to avenge him. You don’t do that by talking. If I don’t kill Marcellin and his whole murdering shebang then I’ll be damned in hell.”

  Beeman looked down and rubbed a worn spot on his saddle horn with a rough finger, his brow furrowed in concentration and worry. He finally said, “Emil, I’ve known you a good many years and I know you to be a man of your word. I’d jump into the pit of hell with you holding the rope if you gave me your word you wouldn’t let go.”

  Tannatt’s expression softened a little.

  Beeman continued, “I’ve also known Jim Marcellin a long time. He’s an honest man too. You’ve lived around these parts long enough to know his reputation. He says his boys didn’t hang your two men, and he says Al and the boys rode into his yard and started shooting first. I wasn’t there but I think maybe that’s the way it happened. I mean no offense by this, and I’m sorry Al’s dead, but he was a wild one, Emil.

  “I was wild, too,” barked Tannatt, “and you probably were too. It don’t make a man bad.”

  “You talked about honor,” said Beeman, steering the conversation in a safer direction. “If you ride on the Circle M, men will die for your honor, and what if Marcellin’s telling the truth? If he is, Al already got five men killed, including himself, for no good reason. And if the Circle M didn’t hang your two hands, then somebody else did. Whoever it was will be laughing at you. All I’m saying is, before you start a war you ought to make sure of what you’re doing. You lose nothing by talking first.”

  Tannatt’s face was an inscrutable, leathery mask as he stood silently regarding Beeman.

  Beeman continued, “Bury your dead tomorrow, Emil; they’re in town at Ziegler’s. Let the Circle M do the same. I’m asking you to give me your word you’ll meet with Marcellin day after tomorrow and hear what he has to say.

  “Sid said Al was wounded and unarmed when he was shot down,” said Tannatt. The flush of emotion was rising again to his face and his voice quivered from it. “Maybe my son wanted to talk too, before they put that bullet in him. Like I said, Jim Marcellin can do his talking in hell—him and the man who shot my boy.”

  The flinty finality with which these last words were spoken told Beeman further talk would be useless. He shook his head in disgust, and he and Hank turned their horses back toward town.

  After leaving Beeman’s house, Jeff rode to the livery stable to make arrangements for his borrowed horse to be kept there, and to explain to Ben Houk about the rented horse that had been left at the Circle M. He didn’t feel like answering any more questions about the gun fight, but there was no way to avoid it; Ben had to be told about the horse. At first Ben was concerned about Marcellin, but Jeff reassured him the rancher would recover.

  “Who got killed?” Ben asked.

  “Shorty Grange and four of the Double T boys.”

  Ben shook his head. “Too bad. Shorty was a good man; he sure knew horses. You know any of the Double T boys that got it?”

  “Seen them around town is all, except for Al Tannatt. I knew him better than I liked.”

  Ben sucked in his breath. “Al Tannatt got it?” He shook his head. “There’ll be all hell to pay for that. Who shot him?”

  “I did.”

  Ben closed his eyes and shook his head again, emitting a low whistle. “Lordy boy there’ll be hell to pay. I didn’t like Al Tannatt—nobody did—can’t even say I’m sorry he’s dead, but there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Jeff was quickly tiring of this conversation. He wanted to get back to his place, to be alone and to rest.

  “What do you figure on doing?” asked Ben.

  “You mean am I planning on leaving town?” Jeff asked testily.

  “There’s lots of towns as good as this one. Lots of ‘em better than this one. You’ve nothing here, no kin, no real home to speak of, nobody really even knows who you are. You can move on easy enough.”

  “Is that what you would do?”

  “Yep.”

  “How about when you were my age, Ben?”

  “When I was your age I was stupid,
like you. Probably would’ve stayed and got myself killed.”

  “Why?”

  “Pride, I guess. Wouldn’t have wanted to feel like a coward.”

  “Then you understand why I’m not leaving.”

  Ben smiled an odd smile and looked past Jeff into a dark corner of the stable for a moment. He dragged his gaze back to Jeff’s face and shook his head sadly. “A man ought to get wisdom when he’s young, not when he’s too old for it to matter. We spend a lifetime learning, then we get old, and most of our livin’ is done and it don’t seem like there’s any use for what we’ve learned. It’s like skinnin’ a frog: takes a lot of time and work, but when it’s done what’ve you got? There’s no use for a frog hide.”

  “I hope there’s more than that for a man to hope for,” said Jeff.

  “You’re young. Time passes and hope dies out.”

  “Does it die or do we kill it?”

  Houk only shrugged.

  Jeff said, Maybe it doesn’t happen that way for everyone.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe every man who lives to be old would tell you something different, but I’ve been around a long time and I know what I see. I’ll bed down your horse.”

  As he walked away, leading the horse, Ben added, “If I were you I wouldn’t sleep in the shack. You’re welcome to the hayloft, but keep it a secret.”

  Jeff thought about it for a moment. “Might take you up on that,” he said. But an inborn stubbornness made him change his mind. “No, I guess not. Anyone comes looking for me; tell them I’ll be at my place.”

  From the livery stable, Jeff walked to the restaurant where Nancy was cleaning off the tables recently vacated by the last of the supper crowd. He sat down, and she came over. He and Nancy had been seeing each other frequently for several months. He had borrowed Jake Sharp’s buggy a few times and they had gone for rides out of town, and he had recently taken her to a dance. But there was a reserve in him that stopped him from making her any promises and he had never kissed her. And every time she spoke the name by which she knew him, he was reminded of the fact that he had not been truthful with her, and his sense of guilt grew. And that guilt kept a wall between them.

  “Missed you today,” she said. “What’d you do, give up eating?”

  Jeff managed a weak smile. “You know me better than that.”

  “Hear about the gun fight out at the Marcellin’s?” she asked.

  Jeff didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew it was unavoidable. “I was there.”

  “You were there? What happened?”

  “Al Tannatt and four of the Double T boys rode in shooting. They killed Shorty Grange and shot a few chunks out of Jim Marcellin’s hide.”

  “The whole town’s been over looking at the bodies,” said Nancy. “I don’t know why people find it so fascinating. I think it’s disgusting.”

  Jeff said nothing. He had the same sick feeling inside that he had always felt during the war, after a battle.

  “Some people think there’s going to be a range war,” said Nancy. “What do you think?”

  Jeff sat down at a table. “I don’t know.”

  “Who killed Al?” she asked. “Shorty or Jim Marcellin?”

  “Neither one.”

  “Neither one? Then who did?”

  “I did, Nancy; I killed Al Tannatt, and no offense, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

  There was no further need for discussion; the shocked look on Nancy’s face conveyed her feelings more than adequately. She sat down in the chair opposite Jeff.

  “Nancy,” he said, “I’ll be coming in for breakfast early tomorrow. I need to eat fast and leave, and I need you to pack a lunch for me.”

  She nodded and all warmth left her voice. “Will I ever see you again, Bob?”

  He gave her a long, surprised look as he came to the realization of how little she knew him. He felt disappointed, almost betrayed. He looked away and murmured, “Not till supper time.”

  “Supper time?”

  “I should be back by then.”

  “You mean you’re just leaving for the day?”

  He felt a strong need to leave the room, to be out of her presence, “I have somewhere to go tomorrow,” he said, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice. “I’ll be back for supper.”

  There was disbelief on her face and that disbelief killed any feelings he had had for her, and left him feeling completely empty and friendless. He stood up. “I’ll be here early; don’t forget my lunch.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good night.”

  The following morning the Circle M paid its last respects to Shorty in the small cemetery located on the hill behind the bunk house.

  Catherine was not present at the short funeral, having sent word through Dolores that she was ill, and wished to remain undisturbed in her room that day.

  Jim Marcellin, pale, weak, and using a crutch, sat in a chair by the side of the grave, and delivered a short but touching eulogy. Afterwards he was assisted back to his room by Hank and Cracker, whereupon he fell asleep almost immediately, and slept soundly for several hours.

  An hour later, Reef, who had been assigned temporarily to replace Shorty, made the discovery that the buggy and one of the horses were missing. Someone had apparently sneaked away from the ranch during the brief interval of Shorty’s funeral when the guards who were watching all the trails leading to the ranch house, had been called in so they could pay their respects to their dead comrade. Reef crossed the yard and walked around to the back of the house.

  Dolores was sweeping the back porch, scattering chickens and dust. Felipe was carrying an armload of firewood from the wood shed. The only person left unaccounted for was Catherine, and Reef had a pretty good idea where she was going. His first thought was to inform Hank of the situation, but he decided against it, electing rather to handle it himself. The guards were back on duty, but Reef, being known, waved, and rode on past and was soon following Catherine’s trail.

  Catherine, knowing she would be followed, had hoped her absence would remain undiscovered long enough for her to arrive at the Tannatt’s place before anyone overtook her. But she was still on Circle M land when Reef caught up with her. Riding alongside her buggy, he politely asked her to rein in. When she ignored him, he asked, “Ma’am, what are you doing out here?”

  “This is none of your affair, Reef,” she responded curtly. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I came to take you back, ma’am. We could turn back now and maybe be home before anybody knows you’re gone. That way you won’t get into any trouble.”

  “Trouble?” she scoffed. “Why should I get into trouble? Jim is your boss, not mine.”

  Reef found himself on unsure footing. He knew she shouldn’t be out here, and he knew the boss would be unhappy about it, but he recognized that what she was saying was true. Jim didn’t boss Catherine. Nobody did.

  “Go home, Reef, you have no business out here.”

  It was clear to Reef that further attempts to reason with her would be fruitless, but he knew he had to do something.

  “Rein in, Mrs. Marcellin, please.”

  Catherine gave him a look of extreme impatience and reluctantly complied, but when Reef dismounted and began walking toward the buggy, she started forward again at a brisk trot and left him standing there. Reef jumped back into the saddle and soon overtook her, and for a while he rode along beside her, completely at a loss as to what his next course of action should be. At one point he moved in close to the buggy and leaned down, tentatively reaching for the bridle reins, but Catherine rapped him smartly on the back of the hand with her buggy whip, and bestowed upon him her most menacing look, whereupon he immediately forsook this new idea.

  Catherine’s intransigence put Reef in a quandary. He knew he needed to stop her and take her back to the Circle M but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t let her ride on alone, yet he himself had ridden out without orders, and would have to answer to both Hank and Jim on his
return. In the end, he resigned himself to the latter, and decided to continue on with Catherine.

  As if sensing his decision, Catherine looked at him and said, “Reef I want you to turn your horse around and go back to the ranch.”

  “Can’t do that, ma’am.”

  “And why not? You shouldn’t have followed me in the first place.”

  “I’m just following orders, Mrs. Marcellin.”

  Catherine looked at him skeptically. “Jim would not have sent you after me alone.”

  “No, it wasn’t exactly like that, ma’am. But we all have orders to be on the lookout for rustlers, and to stop them if we can.”

  “So?”

  “That horse you’re driving is Circle M stock, and you’re taking him off the Circle M without the owner’s permission. In a way, that makes you a rustler.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes. She looked at Reef for a moment with an expression he tried vainly to interpret, then turned away and gazed thoughtfully at the trail ahead. If she had thought in any way she was placing Reef in danger, she would have turned around and gone back, but she was certain Emil Tannatt would not allow his men to fire on her or anyone who was with her.

  When they arrived at the Double T headquarters, Tannatt was standing on the porch, having known of their approach for twenty minutes.

  Catherine greeted him and he responded with a nod and said, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Marcellin?” The coldness in his voice was unmistakable.

  “I’ve come to pay a visit.”

  “Why?”

  “I should think the reason would be obvious.” She turned to Reef and said, “Give me your gun Reef.”

  Reef hesitated momentarily, shooting a cautious glance at Tannatt, but he handed his gun to Catherine.

  “Now, Mr. Tannatt,” she said, as she laid the gun on the floorboard of the buggy, “as you can see, we are unarmed and we’ve come for a visit as neighbors sometimes do.”

  Tannatt appeared ill at ease, and suddenly seemed uncomfortable with the rifle he was holding. He put it down and leaned it against the wall. “I don’t wish to be unneighborly,” he said, “but you shouldn’t have come here; it doesn’t seem right to me.”