by Abe Dancer
‘I’m not too happy about bein’ here myself, Hec. But, from what I seen an’ heard, I reckon she can handle herself well enough.’
Ben caught up with Megan, waited until she looked at him before he spoke. ‘Looks like it’s down to you an’ me, Megan,’ he said with a friendly smile.
‘You an’ me, what?’ Megan asked.
‘Me to quarter a pair o’ hung calves, you to make supper. O’ course you could change your mind an’ ride back to Lemmon.’
Two hours later, Megan loaded an enormous platter of biscuits and fried beef onto the scrubbed pine table.
‘Looks like Mrs McGovren might have had a point,’ Joe asided to Hector as they sat down.
‘You weren’t thinkin’ o’ feedin’ the Broome boys when they get here, were you, Megan?’ Hector jibed.
‘No. I’m just expectin’ us all to be here for breakfast,’ she answered back with a smile.
‘I been thinkin’, an’ I might have somethin’ to say on that score,’ Ben advised them.
Hector and Joe exchanged puzzled glances, then began the serious task of forking their meal.
Hector looked around him as they ate. Kitchen scullery and living quarters was an all-in room, and there were two others adjoining at the back. Outside, between two small stock corrals, there was a food store, a low open-sided barn and a shed.
‘How sure are we that they’re bringin’ the fight out here?’ Joe asked, after a sip of his strong, hot coffee.
‘Well, where else?’ Ben responded. ‘We sort o’ narrowed down their opportunities.’
‘How do you reckon they’ll get to us, Ben?’ Joe asked.
‘The way we’re primed in here, they’ll have to burn us out, Apache fashion.’
‘An’ why tonight?’
‘Because the iron’s hot. It’s one o’ the things that Wilshaw Broome knows about,’ Hector contributed. ‘Ben’s right, an’ they won’t give us time organizin’ a defence, either.’
At the best of times, the McGovrens hadn’t much in the way of leisure pursuits or conversation, and most nights were spent in tired sleep. But now, Ben’s thoughts about their resistance took a different turn. ‘I got me an idea,’ he said. ‘It could be a way to come out o’ this battle, alive an’ kickin’. At full dark we douse lamps an’ keep real quiet.’
‘Yeah, so just tell us the way it’s goin’ to be, Ben,’ Hec said, and smiled encouragingly.
‘This old shack ain’t worth makin’ a fight for, even it was mine. But it ain’t, an’ won’t ever be, the way things stand now,’ Ben started. ‘You think I don’t know that Ma was right? Huh, the goddamn place is fallin’ apart.’
Megan poured more coffee, while Ben shaped his thoughts and his strategy. ‘If we stand ’em off tonight, they’ll come back, an’ keep comin’ back,’ he told them. ‘So, if Broome does reckon to fire the cabin, we’ll turn the tables on him. We’ll stay ahead.’
‘If you mean what I think you mean, the answer’s no,’ Joe protested. ‘You’re not makin’ sacrifices like that in my fight,’
‘I already told you, son, as far as me an’ mine are concerned, it’s my fight,’ Ben chided. ‘An’ it was before yours.’ With that, Ben explained his plan, summarily started its preparation.
The second of the two hung calves was cut into quarters, and the hide was cut into five parts. Into the five pieces of rawhide, the head, together with the big cuts of meat, were wrapped. A few smaller bones and some fabric scraps from Aileen McGovren’s makeover chest were added for good measure.
‘Them firebugs won’t be stayin’,’ Ben muttered. ‘Half a look at these beauties, an’ they’ll be runnin’ scared for the rest o’ their lives.’
The gruesome bundles were dragged into the house, and three of them were heaped where Ben, Joe and Hector would likely be defending from. The other two were placed at the back of the cabin where the women would most likely be taking shelter.
Each of the five would-be defenders took a blanket and left-over beef and biscuit and set off to find concealed vantage points. For a moment Ben looked back into the darkness of the cabin. He thumbed the matches deep in his pants pocket, nodded at what he considered to be an effective preparation. ‘You didn’t think we’d eat our way through two o’ my weaners, did you?’ he smiled grimly at Hector.
A long and nervy hour later, four men emerged silently from the thicket trail. They moved cautiously towards the house, stopped to listen, then crept closer. Watchful for any sight or sound, their full attention was fixed ahead. They had almost reached the open door, when one of them felt the barrel of Megan McGovren’s scattergun stabbing them low and painful in the back. The three others turned to be confronted by the guns of Joe Kettle, Hector and Ben.
‘If one o’ you was Wilshaw Broome, I’d shoot everyone, here an’ now,’ Ben rasped at them. ‘So take advantage o’ the situation, an’ drop your weapons … all o’ you.’
The four men surrendered to the threat and within a few minutes were securely bound and gagged. Their horses were located and they were forced to mount them. Their wrists were looped tightly to the saddle horn and their feet were tied beneath the horses’ bellies. The horses were then led back down the trail a hundred yards, and Megan and Joe were left to guard them. Hector and Ben went back to the house.
‘I get to do the honours on what I thought was my place,’ Ben said impassively and flicked matches into the dark, musty interior of the house. Hector fired off his carbine into the surrounding scrub, then pumped a few more rounds into the log cladding. From a distance, and for the gain of anyone listening, it would characterize a fair gunfight.
18
Shortly after nightfall, Carter Krate and Duff Handy reached the rising ground a mile west of the McGovren house. For an hour, they’d sat their horses, waiting.
‘Damn strange,’ Krate growled. ‘They said to meet here.’
‘You hear that?’ Handy asked ten minutes later, as the muffled sounds of shooting drifted on the night air.
‘Yeah, must be right near the MeGovren place.’
The two men waited a while longer, until they saw tongues of spitting flame and thick smoke piercing the inky blue sky ahead of them.
‘Goddamn spoilers have gone an’ fired the place, without lettin’ us know,’ Krate yelled anxiously. ‘We’re supposed to be lookin’ out for the girl. If she gets hurt, Felix will skin us.’
Handy sniffed the air as he rode. ‘That ain’t the smell o’ mesquite,’ he rasped. ‘What the hell is it?’
The riders tore a way through the pear thickets for the McGovren homestead. The old cabin had been built by Ben’s father, was made of green pine that had been hauled from the Sangre de Cristo timberline. But many years under the pear country’s blistering sun had dried the timber to matchwood.
The smell of burning drifted in as Krate and Handy turned upwind. The roof of the low structure was gone, and charred beams angled into the sky. A stone chimney rose from the pile of still flaming embers where the timbers of one corner had completely burned away. Krate cursed savagely, and nudged his horse forward. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard, held it ready across the horn of his saddle.
He stopped beside one of the small corrals, put a hand out to grip the top rail. He could just make out the pummelled ground where the McGovrens’ few stock horses had milled to get out. For a full minute he listened, but there was no sound other than the crackle of searing wood, then he waved Handy closer to the blackened, smoking ruins.
There was enough light for them to discern the cabin’s homespun contents, large and small objects appeared to be strewn around the cabin, with curious indistinguishable black mangled heaps.
‘What the hell happened here? Where is everybody?’ Krate said, in a hushed, awed tone.
‘Yeah, who was with them others you were talkin’ about?’ Handy asked.
‘One of ’em was called Red Mayhill. I don’t know any more. I think there was four of ’em,’ Krate answered, his voice still slow
and strained, ‘Felix is goin’ to raise Cain over this. What the hell happened?’ he repeated.
‘They burned the place down, ’cause they weren’t up to splittin’ the reward. They were cuttin’ us out,’ Handy replied. ‘If this feller Mayhill is still around, he’s the one goin’ to get skinned when he meets up with young Broome.’
‘I wouldn’t want to spend much time hopin’ you’re right,’ Krate said.
Like prowling jackals, the two ’punchers stole about the shadows, listening and waiting. Eventually, a grey dawn lifted the night’s lid, and daylight revealed the blankets of white ash that covered the house and what was left of its contents. Krate and Handy went closer to the pungent, smouldering, ruin.
‘This is where the main door was,’ Handy said, distractedly, looking around at the charred debris. ‘What in hell’s name is this?’ he asked, poking a blackened remnant with the tip of his rifle barrel.
Krate took a close look, thought for a moment then stared horror-struck at his partner. ‘It’s burned meat. Leave it, for God’s sake.’
‘Jeesus, Carter, you don’t think…?’ Handy started in disgust, looked at the dark mangled heaps around him. ‘Do you think it’s them? Was that the awful stench?’
‘Let’s get away from here, an’ keep your mouth shut,’ Krate directed. ‘I’m goin’ to be across the border before anyone finds out what happened here.’
But then, both men were stopped in their tracks when Felix Broome’s voice rasped out at them. ‘You ain’t goin’ anywhere, an’ where’s the girl … where’s Megan?’ he yelled. The man’s face was haggard, and his eyes were red raw as he staggered forward.
‘We don’t know. We don’t even know what happened,’ Krate returned. ‘You ain’t ever goin’ to know who was here.’
‘I told you to watch out for her. That’s what I was goin’ to pay you for,’ Felix raged, as he levelled his rifle at Krate. He was viciously levering a shell into the chamber, when two coordinated shots rang out. One bullet caught him high in the chest, another took Krate in the neck. Neither man uttered a sound as they crashed to the filthy, ash-strewn dirt. Krate rolled onto his back and made an attempt to raise his hands, then they both died staring bewilderedly at each other.
Terrified, Handy was already on the run. He was gasping, sobbing with fear as he fled from the menacing devastation. His head whirled with thoughts of what had happened and what could happen next. Frightened to near hysteria, he made it to his horse and flung himself up into the saddle. He kicked madly, sought immediate obscurity in the wildness of the pear.
Ben McGovren’s procession were well along the trail that led to Lemmon. It was led by Ben himself who was leading Red Mayhill’s horse. Behind him came the other prisoners with their bridles tied to the tail of the horse in front. Next came Joe leading a pack horse, then Megan with Hector bringing up the rear.
It was just about when Handy was poking his rifle at the charred remains of a chunk of quartered calf that the riders came to a halt. The land around them was brightening with the first light, and Ben pointed through the prickly pear to indicate a big, lone oak up ahead of them. Hector nodded that he understood, but Joe asked where they were.
‘The Rio Bonito’s ahead, then the Standin’ K. We’re below the trail that runs to Lemmon, not more’n a mile from the ranch house. We’ll set camp shortly.’
The riders wound on through the thickets, and just as the sun was picking up they drew rein. It was where the prickly pear broke down, and they decided not to ride into the clearings. The prisoners were dismounted and secured to a taller mesquite. All the horses were unsaddled and a cold camp was set. No one was much in the frame of mind for what remained of the beef and biscuits, so Hector, Joe and Megan shared Ben’s crock of Pass whiskey. Each had their own thoughts, but when it sank in that her small number of clothes had been burned, Megan had become silent and morose. All she had in the world now was her duck pants, wool shirt, boots, and a battered Stetson.
‘I was thinkin’ what you said about one o’ these turkeys bein’ Wilshaw Broome,’ Hec said. ‘We could have had us our own a little neck-tie party.’
‘Still can,’ Ben agreed, but turned to Joe. ‘What do you want do?’ he asked. ‘Here’s the chance to claim your part o’ the fight.’
‘Yeah, only trouble bein’ I’m a tad lost,’ Joe responded. ‘Not knowin’ this rough country, I wouldn’t be claimin’ anythin’ for long.’
‘No issues with that, Joe,’ Hec said. ‘Me an’ Ben’ll take care o’ the trails an’ hidin’ places. You just got to say what you want done next. An’ remember, it was Broome’s orders that sent this family o’ rats to burn us all alive.’
‘I ain’t likely to forget that,’ Joe replied. ‘But I already decided that we don’t kill him. Not by shootin’ or hangin’ or any other way you think up.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it wouldn’t help us or our cause. You know I want the courts to handle this.’
‘Bit late for that,’ Hector mused. ‘I don’t see much of a way other than rubbin’ him out.’
‘That’s the old way, Hec. An’ if we do, we’ll never get it straight,’ Joe reasoned. ‘Think about it. Broome’s riders won’t be scared off as long as he’s payin’ big money for our hides. But if we continue to play on their nerves, they’ll weaken. When they find men who’ve paid the final price, his bounty money won’t seem so easy won. They’ll get worried an’ start quittin’. That’ll be the time to take him.’
‘The kid might be right, Hec,’ Ben said, a touch grudgingly. ‘That schoolin’s got him talkin’ like a lawyer or a preacher, but it makes sense. We’ve got to get Broome where the wool’s short. I know one or two things that’ll make him squeal, if we face him with ’em. But not right now.’
‘All right,’ Hector conceded. ‘Just seems we come a long way for cheek turnin’. I knew I shoulda killed him twenty years ago,’ he added with obvious spleen.
19
Gripped by the devils of fear, Duff Handy spurred his horse cruelly towards the home pasture of the Standing K ranch. He guessed that Red Mayhill and the others would have told about Ben McGovren’s death along with his family and friends, but Handy had a gruesome chapter to add to the story.
It was mid morning when he crossed the home pasture and pulled his exhausted horse up in the yard of the ranch house. Wilshaw Broome was sitting at the top of the broad steps. He’d been waiting impatiently for news, as if his heavy jaws were bit hard into the land.
‘Whose ghost you seen?’ he snarled before Handy had a chance to speak.
‘That ain’t funny, boss,’ Handy slurred. ‘Is Mayhill back yet? Him an’ the others?’ he asked as he slipped unsteadily from his horse.
‘No, no one’s back yet. Why?’
‘They burned down the McGovren place,’ Handy blurted out, paying no heed to Krate’s warning. ‘There could o’ been five or six of ’em in there.’
Broome shook his head slow and thoughtful. ‘Whatever you saw, I doubt it’s what happened,’ he said with a strange, quiet certainty. ‘Did you see ’em burn the house, set a flame to it?’
‘No, not as such, but—’
‘Tell me what you did see?’ Broome rapped back at him, stepped forward and held out a dipper.
Handy gulped the water. ‘I was tellin’ you, boss,’ he started. ‘Krate an’ me got to the risin’ ground after dark, but nobody else did.’
Broome waited for Handy to drink more water, then he listened unbelievingly for five minutes while the man continued the grisly tale.
‘There’s somethin’ wrong with this story,’ Broome growled. ‘Where is Krate?’
‘I’m gettin’ there, boss, but I’m losin’ the difference between what did and what didn’t happen. God help me, I ain’t told you everythin’ yet.’
‘Then get on with it.’
Handy nodded unsurely ‘Felix told Krate yesterday mornin’ we was to look out for Megan when the house was burnt. But while we was there l
ookin’ at everythin’ just smokin’, he comes up. He was real messed up, boss. I don’t know what had happened.’
‘Felix was there … at the cabin?’ Broome rasped.
‘Yessir. I guess he was lookin’ for Megan.’ Handy drained the dipper. ‘When he saw what had happened, he cursed Krate. He was set to shoot him, an’ would have.’
‘What do you mean would have? What happened?’
‘They got shot, both of ’em, didn’t stand a chance. Someone was layin’ for us.’
‘Are you sayin’ they’re dead? My Felix, too?’
‘Yessir.’
Wilshaw Broome’s heavy jaw continued to grind and his eyes turned glassy hard. ‘Get that horse taken care of,’ he rasped, seeing the poor condition of Handy’s mount. ‘An’ get one saddled for me. Are their horses still out there?’
‘Yessir, somewhere.’
‘We got to get ’em back. We don’t want no one else to find ’em.’
Handy nodded his understanding. ‘I think that was one o’ Krate’s concerns, boss,’ he said, before turning away.
It was late afternoon when Handy and Broome returned to the ranch with the bodies.
‘If anybody asks questions, we found ’em both in the brush. That’s where they got shot dead,’ Broome said as they crossed the yard.
A few of the ranch hands had come in when they got there, but Red Mayhill and his companions weren’t among them. The two bodies were laid out and Broome asked for two graves to be dug. They would be out at the burying orchard, a quarter-mile west of the house. There were many sleeping there, most of them having met violent deaths. In fact, all except old Hoope Kettle and three of the womenfolk.
Wilshaw Broome would ride out there on his own, later. He was currently thinking that there were many local people, him included, who thought that up to now lives were expendable, deaths were a by-product of hard and dangerous lives. But now his own son had been shot dead, things were suddenly significant and personal.
