Bitter Trail and Barbed Wire

by Elmer Kelton

  For Archer Spann, it was a losing battle almost from the start. He had burned up much of his anger, much of his hatred, in the blazing raid on the Wheeler place yesterday, and there was little left for him to draw on. There had been little sleep for him last night, because he had felt the showdown coming, and he had known somehow that he was going to lose. He had lost the captain already, and the R Cross cowboys.

  So Archer Spann fought, but dragging him down was the bitter knowledge that no matter what happened here, he had already lost.

  At last Spann went down to stay, but Doug Monahan was not through with him. He dragged the man to his feet and struck him a smashing blow to the ribs. When Spann crashed to the ground, Doug grasped his collar and pulled him up again. This time he drove his fist into Spann’s jaw. Spann rolled over against the bunkhouse and lay there in a crumpled heap.

  Heaving, Doug took a step toward him and bent down to pull him up a third time. But Dundee gripped Doug’s arm.

  “That’s enough, man! The next one might kill him, and you don’t want that on your hands. You’ve made him pay.”

  Doug leaned with one hand against the bunkhouse for support. He fought for breath. Sweat rolled down his face, mixed with blood and dirt. His mouth was dry, and his tongue seemed swollen. His lips were puffed, bruised and broken. His hat was gone somewhere. He rubbed his sleeve over his forehead and his face and stood up straight, looking at the solemn faces of the men around him, his own fencing crew and the R Cross alike.

  He saw Captain Rinehart standing at the edge of the group. The captain was looking down blankly upon his battered foreman, Archer Spann.

  Doug tried once to speak but found his tongue too dry. The second time, he managed it. “Take a look at him now, Captain.” His voice was weak, but it crackled with the last embers of his anger. “That’s not just Spann lying there, it’s you, too. After this, there won’t anybody be afraid of you again. You’re whipped.”

  There was no emotion in the captain’s face. It was as if he already had been whipped, as if he no longer cared.

  Doug Monahan heard the dull thud of hoofs. He turned stiffly and saw Sheriff Luke McKelvie riding up. The sheriff stepped to the ground, walked over to Spann, then glanced up worriedly at Doug.

  “He’s not dead, is he?”

  Doug shook his head. “He’s not dead. But he’s finished.” McKelvie breathed a long sigh of relief. “For a minute I was afraid…” He looked up at the R Cross men. “You better take him inside. He needs some attention, looks like.”

  Not one of them moved toward Spann. McKelvie nodded then, seeing how it was. Spann stirred a little, and McKelvie knelt beside him. “Archer, can you hear me?”

  Spann nodded weakly.

  McKelvie said, “I got a warrant here for you. But I’d rather have you out of the country than in my jail. Soon as you’re able to get up, you saddle your horse and go. Don’t stop anywhere in this county, and you’d be better off if you kept right on riding to New Mexico. I ever catch you here again, I’ll lock you up. You hear me?”

  Spann nodded again.

  McKelvie turned away from him and toward the captain. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve got to put you under arrest.”

  The captain blinked. “What did you say, Luke?”

  “I said I’ve got to put you under arrest. I’ve got the warrant here in my pocket.”

  The captain suddenly looked tired. His gaunt old face was drawn and haggard, and his eyes had lost their luster. Tonelessly he said, “I thought you were never going to fight me, Luke.”

  McKelvie answered solemnly, “It don’t look like there’s much fight left, does it, Captain?”

  The captain slowly shook his head. “No, Luke, it surely doesn’t.”

  Luke McKelvie placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, Captain. I tried to tell you, but…” He bit his lip. “Take all the time you want to tell Sarah. I’m not in any hurry.”

  The captain spoke almost in a whisper. “Sarah’s not here. She’s gone.” He was a broken, spiritless old man. “I’ve got nothing to go to the house for. Have somebody saddle my horse, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  * * *

  THE WHEELER PLACE was a sad sight to come home to. The outbuildings lay in ashes, charred timbers standing like the ribs of a skeleton. The haystacks that represented a year of work for Noah Wheeler were only piles of black dust, lifting and spreading and falling with each gust of dry wind. Here and there dead cattle lay with stiffened legs in the air. Fine Durhams they had been, Noah Wheeler’s pride.

  Doug Monahan looked upon these things and felt a sharp pain touch him, for this place had become home to him. But the anger and the hatred were gone now. They had worked out of him in the fight with Archer Spann. He was purged of them, and now there was only the cold sense of regret, the knowledge that it had all been without cause, without reason.

  He was surprised at all the people he saw there. Two or three buggies and buckboards and a couple of wagons stood in front of the house. Several saddled horses stood hitched wherever their riders had found something to tie them to.

  He realized these were neighbors and townspeople. Some wandered around, looking tight-lipped at the destruction. Several were piling up wreckage, clearing the littered ground. Two men with sleeves rolled up were making temporary repairs to a damaged corral so it would hold livestock. A couple were dragging dead cattle off to get them away from the house. Doug noticed that the two dead horses were gone.

  He found the house half full of people, bustling about. Women were peeling charred paper from the wall. Two men were scraping black from the floor. The kitchen was crowded with food the visitors had brought. Women stood stolidly in Mrs. Wheeler’s way and cooked while she protested vainly that she was perfectly able to do it for herself.

  Banker Albert Brown sat in a corner with Noah Wheeler, figuring up what it was going to cost to rebuild everything. “Don’t you worry about the financing, Noah. Folks aren’t going to forget that you took the whipping for all of them.”

  Noah was only half listening, his mind miles away. At sight of Doug Monahan he stood up quickly. “Doug, did you see or hear anything of Vern?”

  Reluctantly Doug shook his head. “I’m sorry, Noah.”

  He peeked in Trudy’s room but found her asleep. Quietly he closed the door.

  He looked at all the people, and he felt an uplift of spirit. It was real neighbor help, the kind he had known in South Texas. When a man faltered, his neighbors helped pull him to his feet. When one man faced trouble, his neighbors sided in and faced it with him.

  Doug could see something more in this: a declaration of independence from the rule of the R Cross. In this show of respect and support for Noah Wheeler, they demonstrated that from here on out they would do as they pleased.

  After a while Noah walked out of the house. Big Albert Brown came over and placed his hand on Doug’s shoulder. “Would you like to listen to a proposition?”

  Doug said, “If it’s a good one.”

  “I’ll let you decide that.” The banker peered intently at Doug. “I like you, Monahan. I have, right from the first. Fact of the matter, I even went so far as to do some checking on you. Wrote a letter to the bank back where you came from. They said you’re a good cowman.”

  “It’s all my family has ever done.”

  “They said you’d be ranching yet except for drought and low prices both hitting you at the same time. That’s a combination nobody can beat.”

  Doug shook his head. “I know I couldn’t.”

  “Well, Gordon Finch left the country. Left his ranch and cattle and everything in our hands. Now, I may not be very smart, but I do know one thing, I need to stick to banking. I’m no cowman. I’ve been wanting to find somebody who could take over that Finch outfit and get us our money back out of it. Then it would be his, and he could do anything with it that he was big enough to.”

  Doug’s breath left him. “You’re offering it to
me?”

  “You come by the bank and look over the books. See what you’ll be up against. Then, if you want it, it’s yours.”

  Trudy waked up. Doug found her sitting up in bed. Her eyes widened in dismay at sight of his battered face. “Doug, you’re hurt.”

  He shook his head. “No, I feel fine, Trudy. After all this, I feel fine.”

  “What happened over there, Doug?”

  Solemnly he said, “I’ll tell you sometime. Not now. But I can promise you this, it’s over. The R Cross won’t fight you again.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “I’m glad. I only wish now we knew what happened to Vern. He could be dead somewhere, for all we know. We don’t even know where to start looking.”

  Doug touched his hand to her cheek and wiped away a tear that started there. “Maybe something will turn up, Trudy.”

  It did. Chris Hadley, the saloonkeeper, rode up to the Wheeler place and dismounted. Walking inside, he signaled Noah Wheeler and Doug with a quick jerk of his balding head. “May I see you, right now? It’s important.”

  The three of them walked away from the house, out toward the grim pile of ashes that had been Noah Wheeler’s barn. Hadley said, “Noah, it’s your son. He’s hurt, and my daughter’s gone to him. I think you’ll want to go, too.”

  Wheeler caught Chris Hadley’s hand. “Is he … how bad is he hurt?”

  “He’ll live. Badly wounded, though. That wild, redheaded Preech boy came to my house after midnight. He’d taken Vern to an old deserted shack a couple of miles from town. He was afraid to fetch the doctor, so he came to get Paula.

  “I’m a pretty good gunshot man. In my trade, I’ve treated quite a few. We got your boy fixed up all right. I left Paula and Preech with him and came on out here.”

  He paused, frowning. “The boy’s badly disturbed, Noah. He doesn’t know whether he ought to run or give up. I think you’d better go to him.”

  Noah Wheeler was already on his way to catch a horse. He stopped and turned. “Doug, I know you’re tired, but I’d like to have you go with me.”

  Doug wondered how he could make another long ride without sleep, but he said, “Sure, Noah.”

  As they rode, Chris Hadley told them, “I tried every way I knew to break it up. I told Paula I’d rather be dead than see her go through the kind of life her mother had. I even threatened to send her off to school. But watching her out there, helping take care of that boy, I could tell I was barking into the wind. You can’t live your kids’ lives for them. They’re in love with each other, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not going to fight it anymore.”

  * * *

  ROOSTER PREECH SAT on the front step of the shack, whittling on an old weathered piece of pine. He stood up, dropped his hand to his gun and kept it there until he recognized the men.

  “He’s inside yonder,” Rooster said nervously.

  The shack was an old one some small rancher had built and hadn’t managed to stay in. The country had whipped him, as it whipped many of those who tried to fight it instead of taking it for what it was and learning to live with it. Now the shack was leaning, its windows broken out. But it stood, and it broke the cold wind.

  Noah Wheeler pushed open the front door, which dragged heavily on the buckling pine floor. His son lay on a blanket-covered cot in the corner. Paula Hadley sat on the cot beside him, holding his hand.

  An old wood heater was glowing. Doug thought it was a wonder that its rusting chimney hadn’t set the shack afire.

  Noah Wheeler stood just inside the door a long moment, looking across the little room. He took three long strides then and knelt by Vern. He placed his big hand on the youngster’s arm, and his shoulders began to heave.

  About that time something got in Doug’s eyes—out of that leaky flue, he thought—and he walked outside for fresh air and a long smoke. But he could hear Vern Wheeler’s voice.

  “Dad,” Vern was saying. “Paula and I have talked it out. There’s just one thing we can figure. I’m going to Sheriff McKelvie and give myself up. I don’t want to run. If I start it now, I’ll be running the rest of my life, and Paula with me. Whatever it is I have to do, I want to do it now and get it over with, so we can have a chance.”

  Doug glanced in the door. He could see the pretty girl still sitting there, keeping Vern’s hand clasped tightly in her own, her soft brown eyes never leaving the young man’s face.

  Noah Wheeler was nodding gravely. “I’m glad, Son. It’s the right thing. Sure, I know it’s going to be hard. Time seems mighty precious when you’re young, and you hate to give any of it up. But it’s the right thing.”

  Rooster Preech was whittling faster, his freckled face twisting with the run of his thoughts. When Noah Wheeler came out, Rooster looked up at him and Doug.

  “You fellers fixin’ to go pretty soon?”

  Noah nodded. “I expect. It’s not too far to town, and I think Vern can make the ride.”

  Rooster was having a hard time gathering up the words. Nervously he gouged holes in the gray pine siding with the sharp point of his knife. “I know it’s the right thing for Vern, but with me it’s different. I was wonderin’ if you fellers would mind too much me jest saddlin’ up and ridin’ off. I might get me a few hours’ start on the sheriff. That’d be all I need.”

  Doug thought he could understand. He judged this Rooster Preech to be the kind who would always be in trouble. Likely they’d give him a tougher sentence than Vern Wheeler would get. No matter whether he rode away now or not, he would probably soon be in somebody’s jail, somewhere.

  Noah Wheeler said, “You’re free to do what you want to, Rooster. I just want you to know we appreciate what you did for Vern.”

  Rooster shrugged. “No more than he would’ve done for me, and mebbe not near as much. I better step in and say good-bye to him, then. I don’t expect I’ll ever be back around here ag’in.”

  And in a few minutes Rooster Preech was gone with a jingle of spurs, a smiling flash of teeth and the wave of a greasy hat above his tangled red hair.

  18

  Captain Andrew Rinehart sat in the tiny six-by-six cell, staring miserably at the rock wall just as he had stared ever since he had been brought in here. Seated in a cell next to the one occupied by the two cattle rustlers he himself had sent in, he hadn’t spoken a word and had hardly moved.

  Sheriff Luke McKelvie watched him covertly from his chair at the roll-top desk. What he saw in the captain’s desolate face was what he had seen in the eyes of a wild horse that had been caught and thrown and tied, a captive thing waiting with broken heart for death to bring once again the freedom it had lost.

  McKelvie stood up and paced restlessly across the floor, pausing to look out the door. He turned away from it, and couldn’t remember a thing he had seen out there.

  “Captain,” he said, and his voice almost pleaded, “isn’t there something I can bring you—coffee maybe, or something to eat?”

  The captain slowly shook his head, not even looking up. “Nothing, Luke, thank you.” McKelvie could hardly hear the voice.

  McKelvie said, “If it’s cold in there, Captain, you can come out here by the stove.”

  The captain gave no sign that he had heard. McKelvie turned away, a tightness in his throat.

  “Captain,” he said, “I’d give anything in the world if—”

  He broke off. Blinking rapidly, he looked down at the star pinned to his vest. He studied it awhile. Then, abruptly, he unpinned it and hurled it to the floor.

  The captain looked up at him then, and his voice was firm. “Put it back on, Luke.”

  Luke McKelvie shook his head. “Captain, I’ve done some hard jobs in my time, but this…”

  “Put it on, Luke. There’s not another man in the county can wear it half as well as you.”

  McKelvie stared unbelievingly. “How can you say that, after what I’ve done to you?”

  Rinehart shook his head. His voice was soft again. “I did this to mysel
f, Luke.”

  “Archer Spann was the one who brought it on.”

  “I didn’t have to listen to him, Luke—but I listened. I knew almost from the first that I was wrong about Noah Wheeler. But I’d been mad there for a little while, and I’d told Archer yes. Then I had too much pride to back down. Pride’s a treacherous thing. It can be the making of a man, or the breaking of him.

  “I guess the main trouble was that I’d lost confidence in myself. You don’t know how hard it is to find yourself an old man and lose confidence. You find people aren’t listening to you anymore. You can’t do the things you used to do, you can’t ride like in the old days, you can’t even see good. Things you do turn out wrong, and you get to wondering if you ever can do anything right again.

  “That’s the way it was with me, Luke. Then Archer Spann came along. He was a real hand, never made a mistake. I’d look at him and I’d see myself the way I used to be. I got to leaning on him, letting him make up my mind for me. I guess you could say I was letting him be the captain.”

  McKelvie said, “Archer Spann never saw the day he was fit to wipe the dust off your boots.”

  “I shut my eyes to the bad things till it was too late. You tried to tell me, and so did Sarah. But I wouldn’t listen because when you spoke against Archer Spann, it was like you were speaking against me.”

  The captain went silent for a time then. Presently he said, “Luke, there is a favor I’d ask of you.”

  “Anything you want.”

  “I wish you’d find out if Sarah is still in town. I wish you’d tell her I’d like to see her.”

  “I’ll go after her, Captain.”

  A woman’s voice spoke from the doorway. “Never mind, Luke. I’m here.”

  Sarah Rinehart walked slowly toward the cell. Luke McKelvie hurried to help her, but she waved him away. She was a tired old woman, but she had the Rinehart pride. “I’m all right.” The sheriff stepped to the cell and swung the door open. It never had been locked. Sarah walked inside, and McKelvie dragged a couple of chairs up close to the stove.