Sunday's Colt & Other Stories

by Randy D. Smith

  The first days in camp were like most, I guess, as the boys waited on straggler outfits, dug out a latrine, repaired the catch fence, and lined out the country. Ty Lee and his hounds were driving in a passable herd before the Arrow and Cross outfits even rode in. Once they did, the whole bunch saddled up at dawn and didn’t show in camp again until sundown or later for the next five days. Most of the time those boys only had a few of Candle’s dodgers to cheat their bellies at noon and get by until beans and back fat that evening. When they were through scouring the mesa, they had nearly seven hundred head milling in the Box and only had to shoot two bulls, a mossback cow, and one dog for taking after them. It looked to be a right good year for everyone.

  But unbeknownst to most was the fact that Blu Packett and Arny Hernandez were packing a grudge for each other. It all started over a disputed watering hole that lay near the line between the Slash Nine and the Arrow. Packett had taken it upon himself to run off some of the Arrow cows and let his herd water free. Arny considered that pond to be his and although he didn’t mind a man watering his herd on a pass by, he took some offense that his own cattle were denied water for several days while Blu rested Slash Nine cattle up and they free grazed on Hernandez grass. Harsh words were spoken and the threat of gunplay sworn before the various interests parted company. Since Blu was a foreman on wages, Hernandez took his cause up with Sam Bridges, the owner. Bridges, in turn, dressed Blu down in front of his riders and told him that he wouldn’t tolerate such doings again. Blu didn’t quit the outfit, which was the honorable thing, but kept on with the Nine because some say he was sweet on Bridges’s daughter and fancied himself the future owner of the whole shebang. He never forgave Hernandez for going over his head regarding the matter and held a grudge for being dressed down because of a Mexican. Blu was out of line on the matter but sometimes a man can’t see the forest for the trees or is blinded by the flirty ways of a comely gal of property. Most say he never was in the running as far as she was concerned. He was cool around Hernandez and his mind-set was mirrored by the Mexican. Generally the pair of them just steered clear of each other and went about their business with none of the other outfits the wiser.

  When it came to splitting up the herd, Red River Sam Bonnet was elected the brand judge and the ownership of calves was either decided by him or negotiated by the head man from each outfit. This normally isn’t too difficult a task, as any calf sucking the teat naturally went with his mamma and it was early enough in the season that most calves were small. Any brands not associated with one of the outfits were turned over to those closest to that brand so the cattle could be drifted back on home range, but that never amounted to more than a dozen or so cattle. It was also generally the practice to brand and work the calves on the spot while the cattle were handy, so several irons were kept hot and all calves worked and separated at one time. It was a busy time and the men kept hard at it.

  The one redeeming grace was that Candle Corn was rustling up some shining fine grub and the eating was plum larapin. For sorry ass outfits like the Cross, those boys had never eaten so good, so they were in no hurry to break camp and go back to the belly cheater of that spread. It quickly became evident to all that those boys were stalling just to get another day or two of three squares before lighting out. But with the apple pie and corn bread as sweet as shortcake that Candle was dishing out, nobody could get too upset at Four-Bit and his riders for taking advantage when they could, especially since the Cross had a reputation of being a hardtack and raw bean outfit.

  They were getting close to the end when Four-Bit talked some of the boys into a little low stakes poker to pass the evening. Gathered round the blanket were Blu Packett, Ty Lee Driscoll, and a couple of Slash Nine wranglers. Everyone knows that it takes six to work out a solid poker game, so Four-Bit was looking for another man when Arny Hernandez happened by. After some persuasion, Arny joined in the game, “for a hand or two, but no more,” he said.

  Now, lo and behold, they played four hands of poker and Arny won three. Arny could see that Blu wasn’t taking it too well so he begged out of a fifth. That didn’t sit well with Blu either. There were some words but the others agreed that Arny had said from the get-go that he was in for only a few hands and he could rightly walk away without a grudge being held. Blu backed down but it was just one more bit of salt rubbed in a festering wound.

  The next morning the outfit gathered round the tailgate for biscuits, back fat, and coffee. Arny was walking away with his vittles when Blu sort of nudged up against him and sent his grub a-flying into the dirt. Arny didn’t say a word but turned back to the line for another helping.

  “I guess Hernandez gets double shares this morning,” Blu blustered. “But that’s what I guess should be expected from a pepper.”

  Now, everyone there knew what was afoot and the place got as quiet as a graveyard. No one knew for certain how Arny would take the comment. Blu was hankering for a fight and it was up to Arny as to whether he’d oblige him or not. Blu had thirty pounds on him and Arny didn’t carry a gun. Still, when a man is getting dogged his pride will tend to even the odds. Arny may have got whipped but a bully like Blu would usually never have the gumption to try a second time. At least that’s the way most figure it.

  Candle Corn took the lead. It was his fire and his right. “There’s plenty,” he said as he shoved a slice on a biscuit and held his paw out for Arny’s cup.

  That should have settled the matter but Blu was on the prod. He shook his head and leaned up against the wagon wheel as Candle filled the cup and returned it to Arny. “I shoulda guessed the likes of you’d stick together,” he snarled. “Peppers and niggers. Hell, he can have mine to boot.” He threw the biscuit on the tailgate and pitched his dregs into the fire as he stomped to his pony.

  Ty Lee and Red River were closest to Candle. They could see the fire build in Candle’s eyes and knew that his temper was a-rising.

  “I wouldn’t pay too much mind,” Red River grinned. “Sometimes, early in the morning, a gent has to get the meanness out of his system. Old Blu never did let looking the fool interfere with his glory.”

  “Amen,” Ty Lee nodded.

  Candle gave it some thought, nodded, and went back to dealing out the biscuits. But he didn’t smile and he didn’t look up as the others got their feed. Old Blu was trying to pick a fight with Arny and almost got more than he bargained for his trouble. Old Candle was every bit as big as Blu and a hell of a lot meaner when it came to scrapping. Blu may have lived but he’d a-damn sure been missing body parts afore the fracas was over.

  “How about another hand of poker tonight?” Red River asked as he and Ty Lee mounted their ponies.

  “I don’t think I’ll join ya, pard,” Ty Lee shrugged. “The fun’s gone plum out of it.”

  “You can say that again. Old Blu is hell bent for trouble, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah, well, we got shovels in the wagon and there’s plenty of clay to bury him in,” Ty Lee said has he turned his pony for the herd. “Old Arny don’t look like much but I’m betting he’s leather tough and snake mean when he gets riled. The quiet ones are always that way, don’t you know.”

  “Kind of reminds me of another gent I know,” Red River said with a grin. Then quieter to himself, “I think you just wrote your own epitaph, partner.”

  Well, that day and night passed pretty quiet. Blu was sullen and Arny kept his distance. The only worry came when Blu held out his plate for a serving of evening stew. Candle Corn stared at him and let the plate rest empty for a while.

  “I wouldn’t take it kindly if this grub ended up in the dirt. A fellow can get mighty hungry around here if he don’t know how to manage his chow,” Candle said.

  Blu shook his head and looked to the ground. He was properly given notice and it sure weren’t worth fighting over after a long day in the saddle. Besides, the stew smelled damn good.

  Candle gave him a nod and plopped a ladle full on his plate. As far as he was concerned the af
fair was ended.

  It was the last night before breaking camp but no yarns were spun and no poker game developed. Everyone sort of kept to himself and most turned in early.

  About mid-morning they finished up sorting the dregs of the herd. Since none of them were branded and most were sorry, it was the custom to divide them up one critter to each outfit in turn. They came to a scrawny little lineback with a twisted neck and one horn hung low. Without saying anything Arny rode up and started the varmint toward his herd. Red River let it pass, it being Arny’s turn and all.

  Blu put his pony forward and called out. “That’s a Slash Nine steer.”

  “How so?” Red River asked. “He ain’t wearing no brand.”

  “I know that steer.” Blu said. “He’s Slash Nine.”

  Red River didn’t see it. “Well, pick out another to take his place. Hell, it ain’t carrying a brand and it ain’t like he’s some prize.”

  Blu shook his head. “No, it’s Slash Nine and I mean to have him.”

  Arny held up and swung his pony around. It’s funny how a man can let things pass then all of a sudden have his fill. Arny had had his. He waved a no and motioned to the remaining catch. “Choose another. It is my turn and the steer is mine.”

  “No, by God, I won’t have it, Hernandez. That’s a Slash Nine steer you’re taking. You’ve had everything your way this trip but it’s coming to an end now and proper.”

  By this time Ty Lee had rode up. “What does it matter? That damned crow bait probably won’t live to make it back to home range.”

  “Stay out of this, Driscoll,” Blu slurred. “This here’s between me and the pepper.”

  Even old Four-Bit was disgusted. He leaned over his horn and motioned to the catch. “Hell, I’ll settle it. Let him have the steer. You can have our share of the next one up. Two for one. How’s that?”

  “No, it’s that steer I want and that steer I’ll take.” Blu was shaking with anger by then.

  It got real quiet there in the dust, the sweat, and the flies. Everyone watched Arny to see how he’d do. It was his play.

  Arny looked down at his saddle and shook his head. The muscles tightened along his jaw. “No. No more. The steer goes with me.”

  Blu looped his reins around his horn, stepped to the ground and slid his holster forward. “And I say no. Now what the hell are you going to do about it, Mex?”

  “Have you completely lost your senses?” Red River snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Arny stepped down from his horse and pulled his blade from his belt. He wasn’t wearing a gun. He let the tip of that blade balance on the long finger of his right hand, the handle balanced against his wrist. “I will tell you what is wrong with him, amigo. He has a sickness burning inside of him like many gringos I have known. It is not the steer. It is everything, isn’t it? You want it all.”

  “Somebody give this bastard a gun!” Blu yelled. “We’ll settle this right now and for good.”

  Arny shook his head and stepped toward him. Barely nine feet separated them. “I do not need a gun. Not for the likes of you. If you want the steer, take it, if you can.”

  “This is murder,” Red River said. “I won’t have no part in it.”

  It was then that Candle Corn walked up. He had been watching from the cook fire and came for a closer look. He studied the way that Arny held his blade and smiled. “Go on. If Blu wants a fight, let him have it.”

  Blu grinned and tensed for the draw. “That’s right. And, when I’m through, you’re next.”

  Blu hesitated. There was a madness in his eyes and his teeth gleamed like ivory in the center of his grin. “Make your play. Cause if you don’t I’m gonna kill you where you stand.”

  Arny nodded, then quicker than a rattler he flicked his wrist underhanded and put that six-inch blade in the center of Blu’s chest. Old Blu hadn’t even had time to go for the draw. He just looked at the knife hilt deep in his heart and then down at his empty hand, sort of like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He rocked back and spread a cloud of dust and cow shit with his landing. Most figure he was dead before he hit the dirt.

  Candle Corn calmly walked up to Blu and checked his vitals. “Deader than a skillet,” he said coolly. “You were right about one thing, hoss. Old Blu never did let looking like a fool interfere with his glory.”

  “I guess he needs burying,” Red River said as he looked over his shoulder toward the remainder of the Slash Nine crew. “And, I suppose someone ought to break the news to his outfit.”

  “There might be trouble,” Arny said as he made a shadow over the body.

  “Anybody here see anything but self-defense?” Red River asked.

  “I don’t know what else you’d tag it,” Four-Bit said. “He’d a-killed Hernandez for sure.”

  Candle slipped the blade from Blu’s chest and wiped the blood on his apron. “You might need this,” he said as he offered it to Arny. “It might be that the crew will want to take him back to the Slash Nine. Blu may have had some kin, I’m thinking.”

  Arny motioned to one of his men. “Turn the steer loose. I want no part of him.”

  “Don’t send him our way,” Four-Bit said. “I’m thinking that there scrawny lineback is cursed for sure.”

  Ty Lee shook out his line, put a loop round the steer’s horns, dallied up, and made for the branding fire.

  “You ain’t figuring on putting our brand on him?” Red River asked as he followed along.

  “Nope,” Ty Lee said. “I figure this steer is cursed and no outfit’d want anything to do with him. I’m a-gonna fix him so that never happens. Lay a loop on him so we can stretch him out.”

  Well, they strung him down and stretched him out right in front of the branding fire. Ty Lee gave his line to Four-Bit, stepped down from his pony and drew up the slash iron. Quick as you please, he burned MURDER across the side of that poor critter and then let him free.

  Ty Lee gathered his lasso and mounted. “I figure that’ll do it. Fair warning to anyone. It’s their hide if they want him but they need the warning just the same.”

  By that time all the riders had gathered round the fire. Every man agreed that it was the proper thing to do. They buried old Blu under a mesquite and nailed his hat above the grave for a marker. They say that hat hung on that tree for several years before it rotted away. They still call that tree the blue mesquite and it’s a popular gathering place for the outfits to this day. I guess old Blu was good for something after all.”

  The wide-eyed youngster whistled long and low. “Now that is a yarn if I ever heard one. Heck, I know where that tree is. I guess everybody hereabouts does. So, what happened to Arny? Did the law give him trouble?”

  The cowpuncher shook his mop. “Nope. Back in them days there wasn’t much said about such doings. Blu was dead and the matter ended there. As for Arny, he got hold of some bad water a few months later and died of the drizzlin’ trots. It wasn’t long before the whole affair would have been forgotten except for that old steer showing up from time to time. I wonder how long it will be afore that old steer cashes in his chips.”

  The youngster pitched his dregs and stared into the fire. “Could be he never will.”

  “Could be,” the puncher said.

  The Dark Man

  Merciless spring winds had driven the fire through the open prairie grassland with frightening efficiency. A broad band of black, smoldering earth five miles wide and fifteen miles long left nothing unscarred in its path. As the riders made their way toward Robert Irvine’s homestead, they recognized the burned corpses of coyote, rabbit, deer, and even cattle still smoldering where they fell.

  “My God, Mister Print. How could anyone have survived this?” Uncle Sam Jones asked.

  Print Olive shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid it will cost Irvine his life. I’ve heard that his burns are terrible.” He cast a determined look toward his son, Thad. “Look here now, we won’t say that to the woman. Let’s be mindful of
her feelings when we talk to her.”

  “You do the talking, Dad. I wouldn’t know what to say to her.”

  Olive nodded and urged his sorrel forward.

  Nadine Irvine saw the riders coming at a distance. A black swirling ash cloud wisped along behind their ponies and drifted in the gentle wind. She stepped to the door of her soddy and brushed an errant lock of hair from her eyes to see them better and to try to present some sort of suitable appearance. She did not recognize any of the riders—a tall bearded black man in his fifties and two compact, dark-featured white men. She was anxious and gently urged her three children behind her skirts as she held her ground at the doorway.

  “Hello to the house,” the older white man said. “We have come to help your family.”

  She managed a smile as she studied his features. He was a round-faced man, dark complexion, black deep-set eyes, and a wide mouth under a heavy moustache. “I don’t believe I recognize you, sir.”

  He held up his horse and folded his hands across the saddle horn. “I. P. Olive, ma’am. I run a herd up on the Sawlog.”

  She tensed. She knew his reputation. “What can I do for you?”

  “We heard of your troubles. I’ve come to offer my help. How fares your husband?”

  “He is in Dodge. The doctor tells me that his burns are serious. We are praying for him.”

  “He saved the cattle?”

  She managed a weak smile. “Yes, he managed to drive them to out of the path of the fire. But when he tried to get back to us, his horse fell and the fire overwhelmed him. He left the cattle to the west to manage on their own. I haven’t had time to see to them.”

  He nodded. “You are fortunate that the wind drove the fire so quickly past your soddy so there wasn’t time for the roof to catch fire.”

  “Yes, but the children and I were very frightened. It was awful.”

  Olive looked down at the earth as if in thought. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure it was.” He hesitated. “I have a proposition for you. This is my son, Thad. If you are willing, he will return today with some wranglers and he will drive your cattle to my herd on the Sawlog. We will pasture them there and return them to you in the fall.”