by Abe Dancer
Emerging from the scrub, an old, stooped man came walking slowly towards them. He had a straggly beard, and his grey hair fell to his shoulders.
‘Jeesus,’ Hector huffed with astonishment, ‘the Apaches’ have found us, after all.’
‘Come on in, Quedo,’ Ben called out. ‘Hector’s here; you’ll remember him.’
‘Sure I remember him,’ Quedo Lunes replied. ‘He’s maybe one o’ the white men worth rememberin’. An’ I’d know him by way he’s stacked up … even when he’s lyin’ down. That’ll be Mr Jasper rubbin’ sleep from his eyes. He ain’t aged much like the rest of us … must be a clean’ livin’ one,’ Lunes chuckled at his own quip.
Joe got to his feet. He was about to query what the old man meant, but Hector stopped him. ‘The crazy galoot don’t mean anythin’,’ he said. ‘He’s just spent too many years suckin’ on mescal. An’ in this light, you could favour your pa,’ he added with a roguish grin.
Megan rolled from her blanket and pushed herself up, stared enquiringly at the wild-looking old man.
‘It’s all right, Megan,’ Ben said. ‘This is Quedo Lunes. You’ve heard me speak of him.’
‘Nice-lookin’ boy,’ Lunes chuckled, then, paying no more attention to any of them, he turned and walked off, told them to follow.
Megan sniffed and pulled her pants belt in a notch. ‘I really liked the cabin, an’ Ma an’ pig an’ cow an’ horse dirt,’ she muttered. ‘I knew where I stood.’
Two hours later, they followed Lunes through a gap in the thicket and eventually found themselves in another clearing that was surrounded by old pear and high mesquite. Up tight to the brush were three earth lodges around a shallow water pocket. Another Mexican was sitting cross-legged, rolling up tacos of cold beans and beef.
‘It’s us, Gitano. We’re here,’ Lunes called out.
The man looked up, nodded non-committally and spoke rapidly in his own language. ‘No la Ciudad,’ he said, which more or less meant that he only expected to see Ben McGovren and Quedo.
‘We’re all safe, Gitano,’ Lunes appeased. ‘I’ve brought Hector Chaf an’ Ben. You know them. Mr Jasper an’ Ben’s muchachos, here too.’
Gitano gave a hardly noticeable response and went back to preparing the tacos. Joe looked towards Megan, and winked, smiled understandingly. For himself, he did bear a striking resemblance to his father, and he’d be about the same age as when the two Mexicans had last seen him.
After a supper of sow-belly and biscuits, Gitano, Megan, Joe, Hector and Quedo Lunes sat talking with Ben.
‘I ain’t told you just what Quedo was bringin’ you here for,’ he said. ‘But I did tell you I had some stuff that would make Wilshaw Broome squeal. An’ I didn’t mean in any courtroom.’
‘What sort o’ stuff are you talkin’ about, Ben?’ Hec asked.
‘Quedo,’ Ben started. ‘He told me Broome hired Gitano an’ two another Mexes to kill Judd Kettle.’
Hector looked quickly from Ben to Lunes, back to Ben. ‘I thought he fell from his horse an’ broke his neck. Too full o’ cactus juice, you said.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Ben acknowledged. ‘But there was others who didn’t think that.’
‘So what the hell did happen?’
‘Yeah, how’re these fellers implicated?’ Joe wanted to know.
‘Quedo ain’t, an’ Gitano was only ever used to doin’ what Broome told him. It was him an’ two others who were paid to bushwhack Judd. A couple o’ miles west o’ the ranch house, they beat him senseless before puttin’ him back up on his horse, an’ slappin’ it scared towards town. It was a miracle he got that far, I guess. Because he weren’t shot, folk just sort o’ assumed … said he’d been drinkin’. That was the story got put around.’
‘So one of ’em’s here, what happened to the other two?’ Hector asked.
‘Next day, Broome shot ’em both … threw ’em deep in the pear. Who the hell’s goin’ to check, let alone care? No one, except Gitano, but he knew his way around.’
‘Where do you come in?’ Megan asked Lunes, the wild, old Mexican.
‘I was already here,’ he said pithily. ‘How do you say – “wrong place, wrong time”? It’s the story o’ my life,’ he added with a heartfelt grimace.
‘An’ how’d you find ’em?’ Hector asked of Ben.
‘I didn’t. Gitano got away an’ took to this thicket. Not long after, Quedo got tired of actin’ the lunatic in Fort Wingate, an’ decided to shack up here with him. They been livin’ here for years. I’m more or less the only two-legged critter they seen in a long time.’
Joe had been holding something in his mind for a few minutes. ‘You’ve known about Judd for some time, Ben. I know you’re supposed to say nothin’ if you can’t say somethin’ good about folk, but he was my uncle. Why didn’t you tell us, before now?’ he asked.
Ben nodded amenably. ‘Because I wondered about the worth of it all. I thought about givin’ up, an’ movin’ on. I’d lost my land an’ didn’t expect to get it back, got tired all of a sudden. It ain’t much, but it’s sort o’ why, Joe, an’ I’m sorry. But now you’re here, maybe I can suck in another breath. I’ll be good an’ ready to go with whatever you want.’
Joe smiled. ‘Thank you, Ben. An’ we’ll build you a bigger, better cabin, with a load o’ new store boughts,’ he promised enthusiastically.
It was near midnight, and Ben was talking family stuff with Megan. Joe had walked off a ways with Hector.
‘I want you to have the Standin K, Joe, but not on top o’ more graves,’ Hector said quietly. ‘An’ now Ben’s gettin’ to be as feral as them two Mexes. I just hope it ain’t catchin’.’
Joe thought for a moment, shook his head for a suitable response, then came back on another tack. ‘It looks like we got ourselves a well-stocked an’ sited camp here,’ he replied. ‘We’ll smoke ’em … make sure that none o’ them graves are ours. Now, I got to go an’ see Ben.’
‘Hello, young feller,’ Ben said, looking up as Joe approached. ‘You look like you got somethin’ on your mind.’
‘Ben, I got to say this, just so’s there ain’t any misunderstandin’ when it’s too late.’ Joe nodded at Megan. ‘Miss Megan here ain’t ridin’ with us, an’ she ain’t stayin’ in this camp alone neither.’
‘An’ how do you figure to work that?’ Ben asked with a dry smile.
‘I ride out with Hec one day, an’ you the next. An’ whoever’s comin’ tomorrow, must be ready long before first light. Wherever it is we ride, we don’t come anywhere near here, either side o’ full dark. We’ll use night markers. That’s the meat o’ what I got to say, an’ none of it’s negotiable,’ Joe answered decisively.
‘Huh, straight in, eh, kid. Reminds me o’ your gran’pa,’ Ben snapped back.
‘I’ll ride with you first. An’ that ain’t negotiable either,’ Hec added.
‘Sounds like I don’t have much to negotiate with,’ Megan muttered sarcastically.
22
Joe and Hector were riding a low hogback. They were surrounded by open country, mesquite that stretched into the distance.
‘Just in case you have to go home alone, Joe, I suggest you take a look back,’ Hector said, drawing in his mount. ‘You see that of oak of ours?’
‘Yeah, the one looks like there’s some sort o’ hawk sittin’ on a top branch,’ Joe observed.
‘That’s it. Well, that’s five miles. So it’s near ten to the centre of Standin’ K. It’s six miles east to the Rio Bonito, an’ the same distance beyond that’s range land. There’s some real big spreads out there, but they keep most o’ their cattle in with a drift line. They know better than to lose ’em out here. That leaves Mr Wilshaw Broome with his own private bear garden.’
‘Why did my great gran’father ever settle here?’
‘To get the Rio Bonito. Before they knew much about wells an’ win’mills, water was as scarce as women in the open country west o’ here. But put some moisture into it, an’ it’s good,
productive range,’ Hec explained. ‘Now, let’s get a bearin’ on things,’ he said. ‘Lookin’ from here to camp, there’s a group o’ trees right in line with the lone oak. Get yourself a fix on that, an’ now look north. You see a stand o’ timber, and another, beyond that?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got ’em,’ Joe said.
‘Well, If you lose your way, those landmarks will steer you back to camp. Broome’s men will be comin’ from that direction to look for us. What he don’t know is, we’re smokin’ them out. So, young Joe, that’s where we’re headed.’
‘A man surprised is half beaten, eh, Hec?’ Joe suggested.
‘Yeah, let’s hope. I think if I’d known what was in line for us, I wouldn’t have shown you Ben’s letter,’ Hec confessed. ‘Broome will have discovered his gunnies with my earmark taggin’ an’ figure we ain’t ended up as skillet pork. The only thing he’ll be doin’ now, is issuin’ lead.’
‘If you’re givin’ me a chance to climb into a gopher hole, Hec, you ain’t succeedin’. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we have our little gunfight, the better.’
It was far into the day, and they were crossing an open stretch of mesquite. They were close to the timber stand when the first shot cracked out. Hector cursed, kick-heeled his horse and swerved to the cover of the oaks. Joe pushed in alongside him as three more quick shots reverberated across the scrubland.
‘Jeeesus, Hec, it looks like I got my wish,’ Joe shouted. ‘Either that, or them gophers are packin’ pistols,’ he quipped.
‘We sure got someone disturbed,’ Hec grated. ‘That was a signal. Probably for anyone that’s close to come an’ help. Well, if they do, we know from where they’ll be comin’. We’ll tie-in the horses, take ’em on foot an’ use our carbines.’
Joe and Hector securely tethered their mounts deeper into the timber, then edged back to position themselves either side of one of the perimeter oaks.
‘As long as they stay in front of us, we’ve got the drop,’ Hec said, and calmly levered a shell into his carbine. ‘If they do come, we destroy ’em, even if they turn an’ run. Be a goddamn turkey shoot.’
Less than a minute later, they heard a rumble of hoofs just beyond the stretch of open ground.
‘It sounds like they’re comin’ from both sides,’ Joe said. ‘I don’t believe it, Hec, we got us a flank each.’
Hector gave a short salute with his left hand. ‘Yessir,’ he said, ‘but maybe we should start wonderin’ how many there are.’
From across the scrub clearing, a head showed above the shoulder-high mesquite and prickly pear. Joe’s carbine immediately cracked out and Hector grunted, fired two shots into the echo.
‘They’re comin’ through,’ Hec yelled.
By a careful and considered pattern of fire, Hector and Joe levelled a deady fusillade as the riders came at them. Only one rider of four made it into the clearing after breaking from cover. He reined his horse, fired just one shot, as another of Joe’s bullets hit him Iow in the front.
‘Hell, Joe, where’d you learn to shoot like that?’ Hector rasped.
‘Westwater Bend, an’ you taught me,’ Joe replied without a moment’s thought.
‘Hmm, well, I don’t know where Broome bought these gunnies, but I guess they weren’t earnin’ top rate,’ Hector added.
‘Maybe their horses are worth more. We should go get ’em,’ Joe suggested.
‘The one out front ain’t dead yet. He might be savin’ a bullet for one of us,’ Hector said. ‘An’ we still don’t know how many there were.’
‘I’ll wager that was all of ’em.’ With that, Joe walked purposefully across the open scrub.
The stricken man had regained some awareness. He looked around for his horse, asked for water as Joe approached.
‘You know water ain’t good for a feller who’s gut shot,’ Joe said. ‘There ain’t nothin’ we can do for you.’
‘You never gave us a chance, openin’ up like that,’ the man uttered in a despairing croak.
‘Oh yeah, an’ four against two’s your idea o’ fair odds, is it?’ Joe said dismissively.
‘You shoulda thought about dyin’ before you took Broome’s coin,’ Hector added curtly.
‘I’ll get their horses,’ Joe said. ‘Just don’t kill him.’
The four horses were standing nearby. They had attempted a meagre graze almost instantly, oblivious to the noise of the gunfire. ‘Must be used to it, I guess,’ Joe muttered, and led them back to where him and Hector had brought their riders down. They turned a rope around each of the dead men’s shoulders and under the arms, then dragged the three of them into the brush. Finally, Hector drew a folding knife from his pants pocket.
‘I’ll see to the other feller,’ Joe said and turned away. Single-handed, he eased the man to his feet and hauled him up and into the saddle. Then he tied the man’s hands, lashed his ankles tight beneath the belly of his horse.
‘An’ you’ve got your boots on,’ Joe said after giving the fellow a drink from his canteen. ‘Life ain’t so bad.’
‘Yeah, thanks, Copper,’ the confused, bedevilled man spluttered and coughed painfully.
‘No thanks needed,’ Flee said, leading the other horses. ‘In five minutes, you’ll be wishin’ we’d left you to die here.’
The four horses now caught the cloying scent of blood and they crow-hopped, snorted uneasily. Hec slapped them on their rumps, shouted as they tore off through the brush.
‘Even if they make it back to where they come from, it’ll make no difference to what Broome wants,’ Hec said, after a moment’s weighing up of the situation. ‘Besides, there’s Ben to think of. He’ll want his share o’ the reckonin’. Lunes too, maybe.’
Without saying much more, the two men mounted up and started back to the camp.
‘You know what I was sayin’ about makin’ no difference to Broome,’ Hec started, after ten minutes, ‘it’s because his men are paid to die. He just rubs ’em from his tally sheet. An’ I can see your reasonin’ about takin’ him alive, bringin’ all his sins into the open. But we’ll have to confront him with Lunes and Gitano, an’ that won’t be easy.’
It was nearing midnight when they entered their camp. Ben and Megan were standing beside one of the lodges, the tension easing only when they let the barrels of their guns drop.
Gitano emerged from the shadows and took a bowl of warm posole from one of the clay ovens. Ben started pouring coffee, while Megan stared pensively at Joe. Once again, she caught herself comparing him to Felix Broome. Not yet knowing of his fate, she nodded unhappily at Joe, ducked her head as she edged into the darkness of her lodge. Whatever the differences between Joe and Felix, it didn’t alter the fact that it was Felix who’d said he wanted her for his wife.
23
Out at the Standing K, three riderless horses came racing into the ranch-house yard. A few minutes later, a small group of men untied a man from the saddle of a fourth horse. In the spread of yellow light from the bunkhouse lamps, one of them called out to Wilshaw Broome, ‘It’s Max Pepper. Looks like he’s still alive.’
Broome was sitting in the deep shadows of the house veranda. ‘Get him down an’ into the bunkhouse,’ he shouted back.
The gravely wounded man was put on a cot, and one of the ’punchers took a closer look at the man’s belly wound. ‘This sort o’ hurt don’t give you too long,’ he declared pessimistically.
‘Let me talk to him,’ Broome said. ‘Who shot you, Max? Where’d it happen?’ he asked with little consideration for the man’s suffering.
‘One o’ the timber stands,’ the man choked out.
‘Who was it tied you to your mount?’
‘Copper. It was Copper helped me … couldn’t see too clear.’
‘So, who shot you? Where are the others?’ Broome demanded to know.
‘It was the devil himself come out o’ the flames, Mr Broome. I seen him up close.’
‘What do you mean, “the devil”? Who did you see?’
>
But Max Pepper didn’t answer. He rambled on feverishly while the men exchanged worried looks with one another.
‘Goddamnit,’ Broome cursed impatiently. ‘Give him a shot o’ liquor.’
‘Let me,’ Copper Thorpe said, and offered a tin mug to Pepper’s lips. The stricken man gulped instinctively, opened his eyes at the effect.
‘Is that you, Copper?’ he garbled. ‘You saw them devils, didn’t you?’ Pepper closed his eyes, made one attempt to lick his lips, then he died.
‘He said there was more’n one devil,’ Thorpe said tentatively, and shook his head. ‘An’ he thinks I was there with him. Bein’ gut shot ain’t the sharpest way to ride brush country.’
‘He didn’t know who or what he saw. He didn’t even know what he was sayin’,’ Broome snapped. ‘We’ll cut this nonsense now by some o’ you unsaddlin’ the horses, an’ some o’ you takin’ care o’ Pepper.’
When the horses were turned loose and the saddles hung up, Duff Handy was in no hurry to get back to the house.
‘What do you reckon Max meant by seein’ devils?’ a big-jawed ’puncher called Frog Petty asked him. ‘He must’ve seen somethin’.’
‘Yeah, he saw a devil o’ sorts, all right,’ Handy agreed. ‘He just couldn’t bring himself to tag a name to it.’
‘Maybe it was that ol’ Hoope Kettle come back,’ Petty suggested, his wide lips quivering. ‘From what I heard, he ain’t ever far from this place.’
‘Listen, Frog, Broome’s pittin’ you against somethin’ you can’t kill,’ Handy said. Then without waiting for a response he continued quickly, told Petty about the burning of McGovren’s cabin, that Brent Perser had seen Aileen McGovren in town. ‘You best let some o’ the boys know.’
‘Why ain’t you ridin’ with the rest of the gang, Duff? Why ain’t you tryin’ to catch whoever it is we’re after?’
