Then another part of the dust-cloud thinned away and Matt Harris was standing there. His hat was gone. His shirt and pants were torn and his skin was peppered with little bloody dots where grains of sand had penetrated. He had obviously been standing there for some time with his gun in his hand, waiting for the air to clear and show him his target.
Matt Harris saw it. He saw Chance standing with his rifle in the sullen orange light. A pang of hatred convulsed him, blinded him, filled his veins and his brain to bursting. He started to pull the trigger and died happy thinking he had done it.
Chance lowered the smoking rifle. The dust was moving off more swiftly now as the wind took it. The front of the warehouse was beginning to show. Chance stepped back inside the shed.
He called out, “Nathan!”
The last of the cloud blew off. The sun shone clear and merciless.
Nathan Burdette came out of the warehouse and threw his gun away. He did not say anything at all, neither then nor when he was being bound wrist to wrist with Joe, nor during the time when he walked beside his brother along the road and down the main street of Rio Bravo, with his men being herded ahead of him and Chance coming behind. He did not seem to see any of the people that had gathered along the way or to hear any of the things that were said. But when he and Joe together came to the steps of the jail Joe looked up suddenly at the open doorway and stopped, pulling back.
“You didn’t get me out of it,” he said to Nathan. His eyes were dazed and wild. He jerked hard against the rope that bound him to Nathan as though if he could only get free of that he could run and keep running and never stop. “You know what they’ll do to me, they’ll hang me. Why didn’t you—?”
Nathan spoke then. He said, “Joe,” and Joe stared at him with his mouth open and no sound coming out. And Nathan said in a tone of cold and terrible rage, “Just this once, Joe, try and be a man.”
Joe’s face crumpled and sagged. His eyes filled with tears. Nathan sighed and closed his fingers around Joe’s hand.
“Come on,” he said, and led Joe up the steps and into the jail.
Chance followed. He stood in the cell corridor and watched while the men were divided and locked into the cells. He felt lightheaded and strange. He had expected to be dead and he was living. He had expected to be crushed under the weight of the Burdettes and instead the Burdettes were broken. He did not quite understand it yet. He had got out of the habit of thinking what he would do tomorrow, and it was going to take him a little time to get used to it again.
He looked at Dude, and Dude had a strange expression on his face too, as though he did not really believe he was standing here, alive and whole. Sheer stubborn meanness had made him grab Joe out there without any idea what would happen afterward, and now here he was and Joe was in a cell again and Nathan was with him and it was all over. Dude was still shaking dust out of his clothes and hair. For some reason this struck Chance as funny and he laughed, and Dude laughed too. Then they tried to say something to each other but there did not seem to be anything to say.
When the last cell door had clanged shut Carlos put up the borrowed rifle and wrung Chance’s hand, and Chance wrung his, and Carlos smiled and said, “Big fandango tonight, the whole town will dance, gracias a Dios!” He went running to find Consuela.
Chance looked after him briefly. Then he put his rifle carefully in the gunrack.
“I’ll clean it later,” he said to Dude. “Can you handle things here for a while? I—”
“Sure,” Dude said. “Sure, go and find her.”
Chance went out, walking fast toward the hotel. Dude stood in the doorway watching. Feathers came out onto the porch of the hotel. Then she ran into the street. She threw her arms around Chance and he picked her up and kissed her while everybody in the street turned to look. They went into the hotel together.
Dude closed the jail door and shot the bolt. He walked over to the desk and picked up the bottle that Chance had left there. It was almost half full. Dude held it up a minute frowning at it. Then he pulled out the cork and drank.
Stumpy came from the back with Colorado. He stopped when he saw Dude with the bottle tilted to his mouth.
“Aw, Dude,” he said.
Dude finished a long pull at the whisky. He stood still for a minute. Then he nodded and put the cork ceremoniously back in the bottle.
“Just wanted to see if I could do that,” he said and tossed the bottle to Stumpy, grinning. He sat down in the chair behind the desk, put his feet up, and began to roll a cigarette.
“Well,” said Stumpy, “it’s about time.” He took the cork out again and waved the bottle. “It’s my turn now, by God. You can start looking out after me.”
“Oh no!” said Dude. “It’s Chance’s turn now. Didn’t you know he has a woman?”
“What?” cried Stumpy. “You mean he’s gone and …”
“Sure has. And she came in on the stage just like Virgie did.”
“Nobody ever tells me nothing.” Stumpy said. He shook his head. “No. No, sir. I can’t go through another one like that, not with Chance. I can’t stand it. It’s too much to expect of a man, just too much.” He lifted the bottle and drank. “By God, I’m gonna get drunk and stay that way for the next ten years!”
Dude laughed. Colorado joined him. They laughed together while the old man drank.
Suddenly the piano in the Rio Bravo Saloon began to play and they all three started and turned toward the sound. But the tune was only “Rye Whisky,” cheerful and clattering.
Rio Bravo Page 19
