by Elmer Kelton
The shooting started. The crisp crackle of guns rolled in from the distance. Spann shouted, “Everybody in the saddle!”
The tension went out of him with a long sigh. Shorty Willis wouldn’t get a chance to finish that story now. With luck, maybe he never would.
Spann put his horse up over the top of the hill, so he could see the farmhouse and the barn and the yard, the fields and the grazing cattle. The gunfire was coming clearer and sharper now. More guns had entered into it. His riders gathering around him, Spann watched two men spur away from the barn down below and lope out along the fenceline. He watched and saw no more activity at the house.
The captain said, “Archer, just a minute…”
He was going to call it off, Spann realized. “Let’s go!” he shouted, and spurred down the hill.
* * *
TRUDY WHEELER STOOD on the front porch, squinting her blue eyes and wishing she could see what was going on down there where the shooting was. Her father and one of the Blessingame boys had been at the barn repairing a wagon when the shooting started. Although still stiff and sore from the beating, Noah Wheeler had thrown a saddle on a horse and loped down to make a hand. That left no one here but Trudy and her mother.
Some new noise made her spin around. She saw the horsemen loping down the long slope toward the house. Instantly she comprehended the R Cross strategy.
“Mother,” she cried, “they’re raiding us!”
Mrs. Wheeler ran to the front door and looked out. For one short moment she stood with hands pressed against her paling cheeks. Then she shouted, “The shotgun. We’ve still got the shotgun in the house.” She whirled and ran back for it. She brought it out, and with it a handful of shells.
Trudy took the gun from her hands. “Here. I always was the best shot.”
Chickens flew away squawking, and ducks waddled hurriedly across the tankdam and out into the water as the riders reached the haystacks. They milled around, some of the men getting down. In a moment thin smoke began to curl. Red flames burst out of the stacks, and smoke suddenly swelled thick and gray.
Her heart drumming with excitement, her face heating with anger, Trudy had to fight against the temptation to run out and try to stop them. She knew it would be useless. She could not save the haystacks. She could not save the barn, if they decided to set it afire. All she could do was stay here and try to keep them away from the house.
Sure enough, the next move was the barn. Trudy spotted Archer Spann, and she leveled the shotgun at him. The heavy recoil jarred her shoulder. The range was too great for strong effect, but through the angry wreath of powder smoke she saw Spann’s horse kick up. The well-spent pellets had stung him.
Spann rode his horse right through the open barn door, and a couple of men followed him. Hay was stacked inside the barn too. In a moment smoke was rolling out the door and squeezing between the red planks in the siding. From the barn, Spann pulled over to the nearby chicken house. Not even that was he going to spare.
A couple of Monahan’s horses ran crazily about in a pen next to the barn, panicked by the fire and the choking smoke. One of the R Cross cowboys mercifully opened the gate and let them out. Spann raised his six-shooter and leveled it as they came by. He fired twice, and both horses went down, threshing.
Trudy felt rage swell helplessly within her, forcing hot tears to her eyes. She saw the R Cross cowboy who had opened the gate staring in disbelief. Then the cowboy shouted something at Spann and shook his fist. Spann paid him no heed. The R Cross foreman turned back to other pens where some of Noah Wheeler’s good Durham cattle had been eating hay. He stopped at the fence and fired over it.
Trudy cried, “Oh, no, he’s killing the cattle!”
Horror-stricken, she realized that she had seen her father’s favorite, old Roany, walk into that pen with her half-Longhorn calf not twenty minutes ago.
Most of the R Cross cowboys had stopped and were watching Spann in shocked fascination. Turned loose to destroy at will, he was suddenly a man burning in fury, loosing all the pent-up hatred he had nursed for a world which had once treated him harshly, releasing that pressure of bitterness in an unreasoning spasm of destruction.
Old Roany made a break through the gate, her long-legged calf well in the lead. Spann was delayed a moment, reloading. Then he jerked his horse around and came spurring.
Trudy gripped the shotgun and jumped off the porch. She ran to meet Spann, screaming at him as she ran. He was paying little heed. She saw him level the six-shooter at the cow, and she pulled off a quick shot at him. She realized instantly that she had missed.
The thunder of the big gun brought Spann up short. Black with fury, he reined his horse at Trudy. She stood in the middle of the yard, struggling to get another shell into the shotgun. He leveled the pistol at her, but some remnant of reason made him lift it again. He spurred harder. In her haste Trudy got the shell jammed halfway in the chamber. She looked up, her eyes widening in alarm as she saw that Spann was going to run her down.
She tried to step aside, and the horse tried to miss her. But Spann held the animal with an iron hand and spurred him savagely. The horse’s shoulder struck Trudy a blow that sent her spinning. Then the panicked horse was over her, trying desperately to miss her with his hoofs. But one foot struck Trudy in the small of the back. The breath gusted out of her. A blinding pain knifed through her. Another hoof struck her before Spann’s horse got away.
She lay helpless, fighting for breath. A sickening darkness reached for her, trying to pull her down. She was conscious of Archer Spann stepping off beside her. She groped for the shotgun, got it in her hands.
Spann slapped her and grabbed the shotgun, smashing it on the ground. She tried to push to her knees, and he slapped her once more.
“Touch her again and I’ll kill you, Spann!”
Spann jerked his head up in surprise. Shorty Willis stood in front of him, a gun in his hand and death in his eyes. Spann took a step forward, then stopped abruptly. He saw that Shorty meant it.
Cursing him, Spann whirled and remounted his horse. He took a few seconds to look around him. The haystacks were alive with fire. Smoke billowed from the blazing barn, flames licking up through the shingled roof. He swung his hand in an arc and shouted at the other R Cross men.
“Come on. There’s more to be done!”
To his astonishment they all stared at him as if he were some wild animal. He shouted again, and they made no move. He looked around sharply and saw Shorty Willis kneeling beside the Wheeler girl.
Realization struck like a mule kicking him in the belly. They had rebelled. It had not been without warning. He could remember the hesitancy, the reluctance many of the men had shown. He could remember how some like Shorty Willis had tried to argue with him.
He cursed them, and they sat on their horses and stared at him. He jerked around and spurred toward the Wheeler house. From down the fenceline he could see dust rising. Monahan was coming with his crew. This had to be finished in a hurry.
Mrs. Wheeler was running across the yard toward her daughter. Spann jumped off his horse and ran into the house. Just inside the kitchen he spotted a kerosene lamp. He smashed it against the wall, splashing kerosene over the wallpaper and spilling it down onto the floor. He hurried into the next room, found another lamp and hurled it down. He struck a match, dropping it. As the flames crackled and spread, he retreated into the kitchen and tossed another match.
Outside the house again, Spann saw the dust moving closer. They would never make it in time now, he thought with a thrill of triumph. Try what they would, there would be nothing left here but ashes. Smoke drifted all around the place, panicking the horses, choking the men. Spann swung onto his head fighting mount. He saw the roan Durham cow and her leggy calf, the ones he had tried to shoot when that crazy woman opened up on him with the shotgun. He loped after them, fired once and saw the cow go down. The calf was running like a jackrabbit. Spann started to follow, then decided to let it go.
; He looked back. To his amazement, many of the R Cross men remained in the Wheeler yard. Some of them were running afoot toward the house.
He blinked hard, not believing what he saw. They were going to put the fire out.
He sat there numbly watching, realizing that the rebellion had been complete. Victory had been in his grasp, and suddenly his own men were snatching it out of his hands.
Soberness slowly came to him then. His heart still hammered from excitement. His mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of it. He watched most of the R Cross men start drifting back toward the hill where the captain had waited and watched the whole thing.
Spann turned and moved that way too. As he approached the men, he felt them watching. He looked, and he saw no loyalty in their eyes—only fear or contempt and, in some of them, hatred.
He glanced at the captain. For a fleeting moment he saw bitter disillusionment and heartbreak in that gaunt old face. Then the captain turned away from him, his shoulders slumped. The captain touched spurs gently to his big horse and moved down the other side of the hill.
In that moment, Archer Spann knew he was done.
* * *
TRUDY WAS NOT the only one needing a doctor. One of the fencing crew had been wounded in the skirmish with Bodie’s decoy force. One of Bodie’s men had taken a bullet in the leg and had been left there by the others. So Stub Bailey headed for town.
When the smoke had been cleared from the house, Monahan gently picked up Trudy and carried her in. He winced at the sharp odor of charred wood. He placed her on her bed and stood beside her, holding her hand, not knowing what else to do.
Shorty Willis of the R Cross had stayed with the girl. “I think she’s got some broken ribs,” he said quietly. “Spann ran his horse over her.”
Mrs. Wheeler pointed to the door. “You men get on out of here. This is a woman’s job.”
Doug moved out of the room, Willis with him. He stood with hands shoved deep into his pockets. He stared blankly at the blackened wall. R Cross men had beaten out the flames before they could spread far or eat deeply. New wallpaper would hide the black. As to the floor, fresh paint and some kind of rug would cover the damage.
Noah Wheeler found old Roany lying on her side, kicking in agony, a bullet in her stomach.
He reached out to Dundee, and Dundee silently handed him a pistol. Wheeler raised it, held it a moment, then let it down, shaking his head. “Here, Dundee. You do it.” He handed the pistol back.
Dundee waited until Wheeler had walked away. Noah Wheeler flinched at the shot.
In the house, Doug clenched his fists and blinked at the burning in his eyes. To Noah Wheeler he said, “I should’ve known it would come to this. I ought never to’ve started that fence.”
Noah Wheeler rubbed his hand across his smoke-blackened face. “I told you before, Doug, it’s not your fault. I wanted the fence. It’s my fault this happened.” His face was grave. “But it’s not going to whip us. We’ll build it back better than it ever was.”
Shorty Willis said, “It’s Spann’s fault. It would’ve happened sooner or later, fence or no fence. Spann kept pushin’ the captain. I think he believed the captain would leave the R Cross to him someday. He always did want to drive you farmers out, and he had his eye on some of the little cow outfits, too. The fence was just a startin’ place. Gave him an excuse he hadn’t had before. Then, when your son got caught with them R Cross cattle…”
Noah Wheeler’s head jerked. “Vern? What cattle?”
Willis frowned. “You didn’t know?” He stared at Noah Wheeler, satisfying himself that the old man really didn’t know. Then he told it.
Noah was pale and shaken. “How bad was he wounded?”
Willis shook his head. “I wasn’t there. All I know is, they said it knocked him outa the saddle.”
Noah Wheeler stood up shakily and walked out of the house, head down. Willis looked after him worriedly. “Monahan, is there anything we can do for him?”
Doug said grimly, “Not unless you know where we can find that boy.”
The doctor came just before dark. He stayed a long time in the room with Trudy. When he came out he said, “She’ll be all right, but it’ll take a while. She’s got some cracked ribs and some very bad bruises. I don’t think she’ll stir out of that bed for a good many days.”
Shorty Willis sighed in relief. “She’s a brave little woman.”
Doug Monahan walked into her room. Mrs. Wheeler smiled at him and left, closing the door behind her. Doug stood by Trudy’s bed. Trudy raised her hand, and Doug took it.
“Doctor says you’ll be all right, Trudy.”
Pale, she nodded. Doug said, “I’ve been waiting outside there the whole time. I couldn’t make myself leave the house.”
Trudy smiled weakly. “I knew you were there, Doug, and I liked it. I want you to keep on staying there. I want to know that you’re somewhere close around.”
“I’ll be around, Trudy, I promise you that. Only one thing. I’ll be gone awhile tomorrow. But I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
He saw the worry cloud up in her eyes. “The R Cross?”
He nodded, and she said, “I wish you wouldn’t. It was foolish, me running out after Spann that way. I don’t want you to do something just as foolish because of me.”
Doug didn’t want to argue with her. He said simply, “I’ll get back soon as I can.” Impulsively he leaned over and kissed her. He started to straighten, but she reached up and caught him and pulled him down to her again. He felt the wetness of her tears against her cheek.
“Go then, if you have to,” she whispered. “Only be careful, and come back to me.”
17
Doug hadn’t intended to take anyone with him, but the whole fencing crew was up in the darkness long before dawn. The fire in the barn had destroyed all their bedding and personal belongings, so they had slept on the floor in the house, the wood heater aglow to keep them warm.
“It’s my fight,” Doug had said with stubbornness.
“It’s ours,” Dundee replied solemnly. “No use arguin’, we’re goin’ too.”
Doug had given in reluctantly. “All right, you can go along to make sure it stays fair. But otherwise, keep out of it.”
As he rode in the raw chill, his mind dwelt on Trudy. Again and again he pictured Spann forcing his horse to run over her. A throbbing anger built in him.
He had never been to the R Cross before, but he headed instinctively for the long L-shaped bunkhouse. Seeing no movement, he reined up and shouted. “Spann, come out here!” Steam rose from his lips in the frosty air as the words came.
He could hear movement in the building, a clinking of tin, a scuffle of boots.
“Spann, come on out here or I’ll go in there and drag you out!”
An R Cross cowboy came out the door, a crooked grin on his face. He gave Monahan a careful appraisal, then said, “He’ll be out directly.”
Up at the big house on the slope, Captain Rinehart walked out onto his high front porch. Seeing the riders in front of the bunkhouse, he moved slowly down the steps and limped stiffly toward the stamping, nose-rolling horses. Other cowboys came out of the bunkhouse and stood in front of it, watching the door. Then came Archer Spann, moving slowly, his feet dragging a little. His clothes were rumpled. His face was haggard and unshaven, his eyes red from loss of sleep. Doug Monahan sensed that something had happened here yesterday after the raid, and that Spann had had a hard time of it.
He looked into Spann’s sullen eyes, and his own rising anger came to the boiling point. He stepped out of the saddle and handed the reins to Dundee.
Spann demanded, “What do you want, Monahan?” His voice was hoarse.
“I’ve come to settle with you for what happened at Wheeler’s. And I’m going to settle for Paco Sanchez, too.”
“I shot the Mexican in self-defense, you know that.”
“A court might have to accept that, but I don’t. You just wanted to kill somebody. P
aco gave you an excuse, and you did it.”
Archer Spann’s eyes glowed, but he said nothing.
Doug gritted, “It’s not just a poor old Mexican with a pothook in his hand, or an old man on a wagon, or a girl standing out in the middle of an open yard. It’s me, and I got a gun on my hip. I’m going to kill you with it, Spann.”
The men along the bunkhouse wall began spreading out, giving room. The riders moved from behind Doug. Archer Spann stood watching Doug Monahan, his square jaw twitching.
Doug’s voice cut like the popper on a bullwhip. “I’ll give you a chance, Spann, a chance you never gave Paco Sanchez. You got a gun on. I’ll give you first grab. Go on, reach!”
Spann just stood there.
Doug moved a step toward him. “Reach, Spann. Damn you, reach!”
Spann’s hand shook, but he made no move toward the gun.
“You’re a coward, Spann. You’re tough when you got somebody helpless, but now look at you, standing there shaking like a cur dog. Damn you, reach for that gun!”
Spann’s hand inched downward, then jerked away as Doug’s own hand darted. Doug stopped his gun halfway out of the holster. Spann would never draw. Doug swallowed the bitter gall of disappointment. In his rage he burned to cut Spann down. But he could see the fear curdling in Spann’s reddened eyes. He knew he could not shoot the man in cold blood.
Doug closed the gap. He reached down and grabbed the gun out of Spann’s holster. He hurled it away, then slapped Spann’s face with the back of his hand as hard as he could swing.
“If you won’t shoot it out with me, then I’ll beat it out of your hide!”
His right fist came up and sent Spann flying back against the bunkhouse wall. For a moment Spann cowered there. Then his own bitterness and hatred welled up. He waded into Monahan, fists swinging.
They grappled there in the rising dust like two fury-driven stallions, swinging, driving, choking, rolling over and over in the dust and getting back to their feet and driving against one another again. Doug Monahan could taste the salty bite of blood on his lips, and his left eye was afire from an ugly cut above it. His knees were weakening. Each blow of his fists struck a bolt of pain through his bruised and bleeding knuckles. But none of it mattered now. Nothing mattered except this roaring anger that drove him.
