Partners on the Trail

by Julia Talbot

  Partners on the Trail

  By Julia Talbot

  A sensible cowboy probably ought not be in town on a night like tonight.

  The Oasis Cantina was just a'jumpin'. Skinny John Riley, who did double duty as barber and faro dealer, sat at the piano, tickling the ivories so hard his sleeve garter snapped. A pretty, pock-faced Mexican girl sat on old Ben Freedman's lap, giggling and wiggling so to make Hank blush and look away, but old Ben, he sure looked happy.

  Still, Hank thought there were some things a man ought to make private.

  Smoke swirled around his head from a roomful of lit cheroots, and every few seconds one of the spittoons would ping as another cowboy let loose a stream of juice. The one next to his left foot rocked with the force of a blow right about the same time as Hank lurched forward from a hard slap on the shoulder.

  "Well, if it ain't Silent Hank." Roach Casum grinned down at Hank through tobaccy-stained teeth. "You're actin' right sociable, coming in here tonight."

  He knew it well enough, it being payday on most of the ranches in a day's ride, and the one weekend a month they all got to came to town. Usually he avoided it like a man would a poxy whore. But tonight... Hank tugged his hat lower.

  "Had enough of last month's stake for a whiskey, Roach. Let a man be to drink it."

  "Sure, sure. Look, Hank." Here Roach got that shifty look that'd earned him his name, looking fit to scuttle if you lit a lamp. "Can I... D'you think I could borrow a dollar until next month?"

  "You spent your grub money already?"

  "Lost it tonight. I'm in the hole. You gimme a dollar and I'll pay up and leave, I swear. Go back to the Lazy S and sit until this time next month."

  Lord, lord. Hank grunted instead of answering, pulling a dollar out of his pocket and handing it over, pulling it back and looking Roach straight in the eye. "Your word."

  "You got it, Hank. You're a good Samaritan."

  Sure he was. Roach hurried off, and Hank commenced to doing what he'd been interrupted at so rudely. Watching Jasper Allbright.

  Oh, Hank knew it was a fool's game. Jasper was just a wet-behind-the-ears kid, and popular with the ladies too, by all accounts. And why wouldn't he be? With that hair like his momma's gilded candlestick and eyes like the sky on a cloudless day, Jasper just made every head in the room turn when he walked in. 'Course, that meant Hank could stare and the boy'd not think anything of it.

  So stare he did, sitting back with the toes of his boots cocked up and his hat pushed down, sipping the chaser he'd gotten for the rotgut Maria served. He'd been watching Jasper like that for months, ever since the kid had come in on the grub line, begging a job. Jasper made Hank feel like a spring chicken again, and that was nothing to sneeze at. He just had to be real careful that no one caught on.

  The whiskey got more watery as the night went on, but that suited him to the ground. Last thing Hank needed was to get as happy as the rest of the boys else no one would get back to the ranch from the looks of it. Jasper laughed and flirted with the girls, even the not so pretty ones, making like a real gent. Hank admired that, thought it was right sweet, and smart besides, as the kid got a good many drinks on the house. He'd just keep a looksee out, though, make sure none of the girls were trying to get Jasper drunk and take his pay when he wasn't paying any mind.

  It was only 'cause he watched so close that Hank saw it coming. The door opened on a swirl of wind and five drovers from the Double Bar D blew in. That'd be bad enough, as those boys had a reputation for pure D meanness, but no sooner had one of the sat down at the bar than Jasper turned to talk to the feller who'd skedaddled out of the way, dumping a full glass of beer down that Bar D cowpoke's shirt.

  "Aw! What'in'ell didja have to do that for?"

  Jasper's eyes went wide, comically so, and he started brushing at the man's shirt, just apologizing left and right.

  "Lord, Mister. Sure am sorry about that. I thought you were George Meany, no doubt about it. Here, let me buy you a drink."

  "That was my best shirt, you. And now it's ruint."

  "Oh, it'll wash." Jasper gave the feller his best smile, his chipped tooth showing and his blue eyes a'twinkling. Hank would have forgiven him anything right then. "Don't be a sore head. Let me buy you that drink."

  Standing up, that drover looked down at Jasper, looking mean as a snake that's been stepped on. "I don't want a drink from you. I want your shirt."

  Hank tensed up, ready to go make peace if need be, but Jasper just laughed, unperturbed. "Then what would I wear? Come on, now, I've been right decent about your shirt drinking up my pay."

  For a minute it looked like the feller would take it further, but his friends intervened, clapping him on the back and laughing about Jasper's little joke, telling him they sure did think that made it even. The look in the Bar D man's eyes told Hank that it wasn't over, though. Not by a long shot.

  He was right.

  Nearly an hour later, after Jasper'd made nice with a young lady wearing the reddest corselette Hank had ever seen, and the Bar D drover had drank enough whiskey to drown his horse, Jasper announced his intention to visit the necessary, weaving on out the door wearing the most blissful grin you ever did see. Hank woulda laughed if it wasn't for that snake of a cowboy that slipped out the door right after, quiet as smoke.

  That wouldn't do one bit.

  Hank followed, avoiding the stout saloon girl that tried to latch onto his arm. It was a good thing, too. He got outside just in time to hear Jasper say, "Aw, now. I ain't even got my gun on me, Mister. I left it at the Sheriff's office, just like I was supposed to. Seems silly, you ask me, wanting to fight over this, but if you let me piss we can get to fisticuffs if you like."

  "I don't want fistfightin', you damned fool. I want satisfaction."

  "Well, then you'll have to shoot me."

  Damn. Hank hurried his step, and sure enough he heard the click of a hammer just as he rounded the corner.

  "You shoot him," he said, "and I'll see you hanged."

  "Oh, hey, Hank." Jasper grinned, real casual like, as if he didn't have a pistol pointed at his breadbasket. "Me and the cowboy were just being sociable."

  "Sociable."

  "Sure. Isn't that right, Mister?"

  "You got a gun, cowboy?" The Bar D feller wasn't talking to Jasper. He was looking at Hank's belt.

  "I do. But I don't let anyone else use it. Look, now. You've had a few. You're sore. But you don't want to do this."

  "Yes I do. He stole my girl." Low, deadly, the words rang in the little alley behind the cantina, making Hank's hair stand up. Shit. Girl trouble was the worst kind of motivator. Made a man crazy.

  "I haven't done nothin'! I don't even know you!"

  "Last month. You took Elena Trujillo to the church social. She wouldn't have nothing to do with me after that."

  No, Jasper, Hank thought. Don't do it. But of course, the kid did. "Well, I can't help it she's got good enough taste to send you packing."

  "You son-of-a-bitch."

  "Me? I'm not the one who left her with bruises on her cheek, looking for a man to put you down."

  The roar came with the upswing of the gun barrel, the drover pulling the trigger even as he went down, hitting the ground hard and sending his bullet harmlessly off into thin air. Jasper looked at Hank, wide-eyed and pale-faced.

  "You shot him."

  Hank nodded, calmly holstering his gun. "I did. He was fixin' to kill you." The noise should be bringing a bunch of folks here soon. "You tell the sheriff what happened when he gets here. He knows you ain't got a gun, because he has it. Stall them, though. I need to get to the ranch and clear out."

  "But... But…but Hank, it was... He was gonna kill me. Sheriff won't arrest you for that."
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  "No. But the rest of this one's crew will string me up for sure. You watch that mouth from now on, huh? Have a good life, kid."

  The first crack of light spilled out of the Oasis just as Hank made it to his horse, mounting up and spurring out like the hounds of Hell were on his heels.

  So much for just watching. So much for that indeed.

  ***

  The wind howled like a damned coyote out on the llano estacado. Hank had gone north and east of El Paso, up into the badlands, where water was scarce and towns few and far between. It was probably silly, as he doubted the Bar D boys would have chased him any farther than say, Mesilla, but there it was. He'd seen too many men get hunted after they shot a man in self-defense, or in his case, defense of a friend. Better a windy night that a bullet in the back.

  Soon he'd have to head into the tiny burgh of Seven Rivers for supplies. If he'd had a half a brain he'd've gone the other way, toward Silver City. There was more water there, for sure, but more chance of someone drifting through who knew him, too, and that wouldn't do.

  His horse had done well enough if Hank hobbled him. He'd only woke up one morning and had to track the stubborn mare down, and that had been a blessing in disguise, finding him a real decent water hole to camp out near. A little fire, a slicker fashioned into a lean-to, and he had all a man could need.

  If he wanted more, well that was his own damned fault.

  There'd been an old cowboy once, who'd helped clean out a robber's roost, shooting maybe three of them. He'd maintained as how the faces of the men he'd killed haunted him; he'd see them in the campfire at night, ghostly and staring. The man Hank'd killed didn't linger in his mind. The cuss'd probably gone to Hell like he deserved. What Hank saw in the campfire was Jasper, and the look on the kid's face when he saw what Hank had done.

  Sometimes he dreamed about Jasper at night, too, but that was a sight more pleasant.

  A coyote howled, leaving him thinking maybe he ought to get him a dog in town too, and just about that time something that wasn't the fire popped and cracked, sending him rolling for his gun, sitting over on his bedroll.

  "Well, are you gonna shoot me or not, Hank?"

  He figured he was hallucinating now. Maybe he'd burnt something on the fire he ought not have. "Jasper?"

  "Yeah. I left my horse tied to a mesquite a ways back. Figured I might have a better chance of getting close."

  Right into the circle of light came an apparition, that damned bowlegged kid sauntering into his came as fine as you please, white teeth flashing in a grin. Hank'd never seen such good teeth on a cowpoke. He'd forgotten.

  "What the Hell are you doing here? You trying to bring a posse down on top of me?"

  Jasper sobered. "They're looking for you, all right. You were right. Not the sheriff, but the Bar D boys. Far as they know I'm heading to Abilene to visit my momma. I was real careful, Hank."

  Lord, Lord, it made his chest tight to look at the kid, especially when he took his hat off, the short brush of blonde hair having grown out into a mass of golden-white curls. Oh, Heaven save a man.

  "How'd you find me?"

  "Well, it was pure dumb luck, really. I was heading out and the boss told me you'd go where it was wild. I guess he knew. So I've been all over, but I finally got your trace from an old trader man what saw you east of Mesilla. He heard you mention heading to the llanos. Pretty chatty for old Silent Hank, weren't you?"

  His cheeks heated painfully. "Figured he'd be out all year, not see anyone. Why?"

  "Huh?" Jasper stared at him. "Why what?"

  "Well, I figure I know how you found me. But why'd you come looking?"

  "Oh. I..." Now it was Jasper's turn for pink cheeks. "Aw, you had to leave 'cause of me. And I... I brought supplies!"

  The kid just bounced on his toes, pleased as punch. Hanks sighed. "You can share camp for a few days. I'll pay you for the supplies though, and you can move on."

  "Hank! I thought…"

  "What?"

  "I thought you and me could ride a while together. Be pards."

  "Don't think. Go get your horse, Jasper. Before the coyotes do. I'll heat up something for you."

  Damn, but he hated putting that disappointment in the kid's eyes, but what did he expect? That Hank would just let him toss his whole life away on a dried up old range rider? Pards. Like Hank was a good bet for riding the grub line with. He wasn't, not now that he was a marked man, and he'd be damned before he's let Jasper hitch himself to Silent Hank's wagon and go down like a land-schooner crossing the mighty Mississippi.

  No sir.

  Jasper would just have to go.

  ***

  Three days later, Hank stared at Jasper, watching as the kid made dried apple cobbler over the coals. Cobbler, for Christ's sake. Hadn't anyone made him that since his momma. Where a green kid like Jasper had learned it, he didn't know. Wasn't sure he wanted to.

  "You need to pack on up, Jasper. Hit the trail."

  "Uh huh."

  The best response he'd gotten was that uh huh, at least three times a day since Jasper'd come to stay. It made him like a cow on loco weed. 'Course maybe that came from Jasper's closeness. The kid seemed determined to sit tight as a tick, even rolling his bedroll out bedside Hank's instead of across the fire.

  "How old are you, Jasper?"

  "Not that much younger than you, I'd wager."

  "How old?"

  "Don't rightly know. My Aunt Dee always figured on me being born in '67. Her sister dropped me by in Independence, on her way out to Oregon. I guess my mom took up with some trashy feller, ran off for a couple of years, and had me sometime then."

  "That'd make you twenty or so."

  "You sure are good at them maths, Hank."

  That glinting little grin would have him wringing Jasper's neck sooner or later. That or kissing him. "Well, how's about you do this math, kid. I'm nigh on ten years older than you. Plumb dried up. You want someone to ride the trail with, you should get someone your own age."

  The coffeepot plunked down on the coals so hard it sent ash flying into the air. "Aw, lay off it, would you, Hank? I'm not here 'cause I think I owe you. Or because I've got some misguided thought that you're some kind of penny dreadful hero. I'm here 'cause I missed your face. Now shut up and come eat your stew."

  His eyes about popped out of his head, but Hank went, and sat, and ate his stew, watching Jasper silently all the while. Finally, after fiddling with the skillet and getting a biscuit, Jasper came and sat next to him, close enough to bump hips.

  "You still ain't wearing your gun."

  Jasper shrugged. "I'd just shoot myself in the foot with it. I have it for rattlers and coyotes, Hank. And I can just as easy reach it in my pack."

  "Gonna get you killed one day."

  "So be it. I'm better with a long gun. I guess I'll just have to stay where they can't get to me without me seeing 'em first."

  Frustration boiled up, both at Jasper's closeness and at his damned nonchalant mien. Hank hadn't ruined his own life to save Jasper's to see it frittered away. He bounced to his feet. "I'm gonna go check the horses."

  "But I just…"

  "I thought I heard something. Maybe a snake or a coyote."

  As he walked away he thought he heard Jasper mutter, "Or it may be you're scairt."

  ***

  "We need supplies."

  Hank grunted, whittling a twisted piece of creosote, trying to ignore Jasper. The damned fool didn't want to be ignored, though, prodding him with a boot toe and near making him chop his thumb off.

  "I said…"

  "I heard you."

  "And you need a bath. So do I, come to that, but you stink."

  "Well thank you so much for them kind words." His mood slid from stormy to downright black. Jasper'd been with him three weeks. Three weeks of looking and wanting and downright hurting because he couldn't do nothin' about it.

  Maybe going into Seven Rivers wasn't such a bad idea.

  "We need flour and
coffee and some sugar. Salt, too."

  "You made of money, kid? Because I sure can't afford sugar."

  Japser had the good grace to blush. "I'm sorry, Hank, for that much. I know you were provisioned for one, but I did bring some stuff, and…"

  "I know. Hush now."

  The kid hushed for all of a second. "I bet I could work for a day or two in town, earn us enough money for a good lay in of supplies. There's always someone what needs hauling or chopping."

  Hank shook his head. "You'd stand out like a sore thumb. The ladies would be sure to recall your eyes, if nothing else. I've still got a bit of a stake."