He was nearly unconscious when the mare walked up to the Wheeler house, and he would have let her walk right on by had it not been for Tommy Wheeler. Tommy was out in front of the house splitting wood, and he looked up as Colfax approached. He smiled a big, friendly smile.
“Hi,” he said. “Hey. You all right?”
When Colfax didn’t answer, Tommy ran to grab the reins of the gray mare and stop her. Colfax reeled in the saddle.
“You’re hurt,” said Tommy.
He reached up to try to pull Colfax down from the saddle, just as the door to the cabin opened and Mrs. Wheeler stepped out.
“Tommy,” she said, “who is it?”
“It’s that man that came to see us,” said Tommy. “He’s hurt.”
Tommy’s sister-in-law ran out to help, and soon the two of them had Colfax out of the saddle and into the house. The other two Wheelers were not around. As Colfax felt himself being lowered onto a bed, he struggled to bring himself more fully to consciousness.
“My horse,” he said.
“Don’t you worry about your horse, mister,” said Tommy. “I’ll take care of it for you.”
“No,” said Colfax. “Listen. That’s not my horse. Get rid of it. I got it—up the mountain.”
“Youngblood and them,” said Mrs. Wheeler. “Is that where you got hurt?”
“Two of them,” said Colfax. “One shot me. I got them both.”
“When they come back by here, they’ll see that horse,” said Mrs. Wheeler.
“There’s another trail,” said Colfax. “North.”
“I know it,” said Tommy.
“Take that gray over there. My horse is there. A black. Take the black to Lanagan’s. Tell him—”
Colfax’s world suddenly vanished into a swirling blackness, and he knew no more.
“What’s he mean?” asked Tommy.
“He left a black horse on the other trail. He must have walked over to Youngblood’s. He killed two of them up there and got shot. He wants you to take this gray horse over to get his horse. Then ride his horse down to Tiff Lanagan’s ranch and tell Mr. Lanagan where he’s at. I think that’s what he wants. Do you understand all that, Tommy?”
Tommy looked puzzled and scratched his head. Then a smile broke out over his young face.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can do that. That horse out there ain’t really his. His horse is over there on the north trail.”
“That’s right.”
“I ride this horse over to get his horse.”
“Yes.”
Tommy looked puzzled again.
“What do I do with this horse?” he said.
“Oh, I don’t know, Tommy. Turn it loose over there. Okay?”
“Okay. Then I ride down to Lanagan’s and tell Mr. Lanagan that this man is here. Right?”
“That’s right. Now go. We don’t want none of that Youngblood bunch to come riding by here and see that horse.”
“Dora?”
Dora Wheeler was putting some water on the stove to heat. Her patience was wearing thin.
“What?” she said.
“What do I do next? After that?”
“After that just come on back home. Now go.”
Tommy ran to the door and opened it. Then he turned back to face Dora.
“I’ll do it,” he said, and he ran out, leaving the door open behind him. Dora Wheeler rushed to the door to shut it, then rushed back to her other business.
“God,” she said. “I hope he don’t die here.”
The blackness that had engulfed the world of Oliver Colfax soon turned to red, a deep, blood red, and Colfax was swimming in it. He wasn’t swimming, really, not the way a man swims through water, purposefully, deliberately. It was more like he was caught in an eddy and was being whirled through the thick red, and as the pool spun him round and dragged him ever deeper, he began to catch fleeting glimpses of others—other people caught in the same swirl. There was Adrian Channing. No. It wasn’t Channing at all. It was Titus Andronicus himself, his mouth wide open in a hideous scream, but no noise came forth. Then Titus was gone, as quickly as he had appeared, and there was Aaron, his mouth, too, gaping wide, but Aaron wasn’t screaming. He was laughing. He was laughing at first, but then he changed, and he was no longer Aaron. He was Dallas Potter, the black actor, and his laughter turned to a cry, but still there was no sound, and still Colfax turned, or the world, the red world, turned round him.
He saw the bloody and pitiful Lavinia, and he saw again the blood splatter as he shot first J. C. Butler, then Denny Doyle, and throughout all this, there was the constant, painful, rhythmic throbbing, which came from his left side but which resounded in his head and pounded, too, deep in his groin. And then the faces vanished, the red deepened and turned again to black, the swirling slowed and finally stopped, and Colfax slipped slowly and mercifully into an all-encompassing oblivion.
Chapter Ten
Tommy Wheeler rode hard. He felt a sense of urgency, first because the man for whom he was riding had been shot, second because Dora’s voice had been urgent, and finally because he felt somehow that his brothers would disapprove of what he was doing. They had often told him to stay away from the Lanagan spread. This time Dora had told him to go, so it should be all right. Still, he wanted to get it over with. He had ridden cross-country from the trail which passed by his house to the other one farther north, and he had found the black mare without any trouble at all. He was proud of himself. And he had turned loose the gray that belonged, he guessed, to someone up at Youngblood’s place. He was glad to be rid of that horse. His brothers had also told him to stay away from Youngblood and his friends. Tommy didn’t quite know why he was to stay clear of all those people. He just had a sense that the Youngblood bunch were bad men and that Lanagan for some reason or other didn’t like the Wheelers.
He had turned loose the gray and mounted the big, black horse. It was just waiting there, saddled and ready to go, and it had a rifle on its side. Tommy had whipped up the big mare and started it going as fast as he dared down the trail. It was a powerful horse, fast. It scared him at first, but then he got control of it, got used to its gait. Tommy was good with horses, so his initial fright hadn’t lasted long. It had, in fact, turned quickly to a kind of exhilaration. At the bottom of the grade, where the foothills abruptly turned to flat prairie, Tommy pulled back on the reins to slow the mare so she wouldn’t stumble. She moved out onto the flat, and he spurred her again to pick up her stride. There was nothing now between him and Lanagan. He had to hurry up and get there and get this over with.
“Come on, you old horse,” he shouted. “Come on.”
He was amazed at the speed and power of the black mare and at the quickness with which he found himself on Lanagan range. Then up ahead he saw two cowboys. They were riding along at a leisurely pace, coming toward him. Then they appeared to notice him. They moved aside, for he was headed right toward them. He felt a sudden sense of panic. They must be Lanagan cowboys. They shouted something at him, but he couldn’t understand the words for the wind in his ears. He was getting close to them. One of the cowboys snaked out a loop. They moved as if they were coming to get him.
“Come on, horse,” he shouted, and he spurred the mare’s flanks and lashed at her sides with the long, loose ends of the reins. Just as he passed the cowboys by, he saw out of the corner of his eye the one with the loop swing his arm. He saw the flash of the loop. He passed the cowboys, and then he felt the coarse loop fall over his shoulders, felt it tighten and cut into him an instant before it jerked him backward out of the saddle. He flew through the air, and an involuntary scream escaped his lungs. Then he landed with a powerful thud, and he bounced once, high, it seemed, into the air. He landed again and lay still, gasping and choking for air, for everything in his lungs had been knocked out by the impact.
“Go get that black,” said the cowboy with the rope.
The other puncher took off after the mare, who, when she realized that something
had happened to her load, had begun to slow down in confusion. Tommy tried to get up, but he still hadn’t caught his breath, and besides, the cowboy kept the rope taut by backing up his cow pony. When Tommy finally managed to struggle to his feet, still gasping, the drover gave a jerk and pulled him over again. This time he landed hard on his face. The other cowboy rode back leading the black mare.
“It’s Mr. Lanagan’s horse, all right,” he said.
“Yeah,” said the roper, “and this here’s one of them damn rustlers.”
He suddenly let his rope go slack, but he rode up close to Tommy until his horse’s hooves were nearly trampling him. The other cowboy took that as his cue and rode up close on Tommy’s other side.
“What’s your name, boy?” said the roper.
Tommy had just begun to get his breath, and when he answered, he hollered out much more loudly than he had meant to.
“I’m Tommy,” he said.
The second drover nudged his mount nearer, and Tommy tried to roll away from the hooves, but the other horse was stamping on the other side. He tried to pull in his shoulders to make himself smaller.
“Tommy what?” said the roper.
“It’s Wheeler, ain’t it?” said the second drover. “You’re one of them Wheelers lives up on the mountain, ain’t you?”
“I’m Tommy Wheeler. Yes. Let me go.”
The roper backed his horse away a few feet and dismounted, then moved in on Tommy quickly, pulling him roughly to his feet. He held him by the shirtfront.
“What the hell are you doing down here, Tommy Wheeler?” he said.
“I came to see Mr. Lanagan,” said Tommy.
“I’ll just bet you did,” said the roper, giving Tommy a shove. Tommy staggered backward, and the other cowboy caught him and spun him around.
“Where’d you get that horse?” he said.
“The man had it.”
“He ain’t making no sense, Chalk,” said the cowboy.
The roper, the one called Chalk, spun Tommy back around and drove a fist into his stomach. Tommy bent over, his so recently regained breath driven out again. Slobber was drooling from his lower lip, and he was fighting again for his breath. Even in his fear and panic and pain, a thought raced through Tommy’s mind. Lark and Spud are going to be mad at me for this.
“Let’s teach this one what happens to rustlers around here,” said Chalk.
The rope had finally come loose and dropped down around Tommy’s waist, and about that same instant, Tommy’s confusion and fear gave way to anger. His hands were free, and he swung a right from way down low as he straightened himself up. His fist caught Chalk underneath the chin, causing him to stagger back a few steps, but the other cowboy reacted quickly. He drove his right into Tommy’s right side. Tommy yelled out in pain and frustration and anger as he whirled, his left making for the cowboy’s head, but the cowboy blocked it with his right and punched Tommy in the chest with his left. It staggered Tommy, but only slightly. Tommy swung a right which missed its mark, but his right arm circled the man’s head, and Tommy pulled him down into a wrestler’s headlock.
Chalk’s head had cleared a bit, and he looked up to see what was happening.
“Get the son of a bitch, Carl,” he said.
Carl was flailing his arms, and Tommy suddenly threw his right hip out to the side and executed a flying mare on Carl, sending him through the air to land hard at Chalk’s feet. Chalk saw that Tommy was still standing in the loop that had fallen from around him, and he moved quickly to grab up the end of the rope and jerk it, sending Tommy over backward. Then he ran over to kick at Tommy’s ribs and head. Tommy covered his head with his arms. Carl scrambled to his feet and joined in the same activity as his partner. The kicks aimed at Tommy’s head weren’t doing much damage, but the ones to the ribs were having much more effect. Chalk stopped kicking and stepped back.
“That’s enough,” he said.
Carl gave one more swift kick to Tommy’s ribs before he stopped.
“Tie his hands behind him,” said Chalk, “and let’s take him down to the boss. Likely we’ll have us a hanging.”
They pulled Tommy’s hands behind him and tied them with the same rope that Chalk had used to rope him out of the saddle. Then they pulled him to his feet and shoved him up onto the black mare.
Boyd Gruver was just coming out of Lanagan’s house when Chalk and Carl came riding up, Tommy on the black mare between them.
“Hey, Boyd,” said Chalk, “look what we got here.”
Gruver walked up closer to the riders to get a better look. Tommy was sagging in the saddle. Caked blood and dirt covered his head and his clothes were bloodstained.
“That’s Tommy Wheeler, ain’t it?” said Gruver.
“Yeah,” said Carl. “Look what he’s riding. We caught him going across our range lickety-split.”
“What’d you do to him?” said Gruver.
“Aw, hell,” said Chalk, “we just kicked him around a little. He wouldn’t tell us where he got the horse.”
“But we knowed that he’d stole it,” said Carl.
“I told them,” said Tommy, but his voice was weak and Gruver heard only a whine.
“What? What did you say?”
“I told them,” said Tommy, his voice a little stronger than before. “I come to see Mr. Lanagan.”
Gruver looked at Carl, then at Chalk.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yeah,” said Chalk, “I think he did say something about wanting to see the boss.”
“Then why the hell didn’t you bring him on down here?”
Chalk was holding the end of the rope which bound Tommy’s hands behind his back. He looked at Tommy, then back at Gruver, and he tossed the rope down toward Gruver’s feet.
“Well, shit,” he said. “Here he is.”
Carl laughed out loud. Then Chalk pulled his mount around and started off, and Carl followed. Gruver called out to their backs.
“Hey,” he said. “Go on back to the bunkhouse and pack your gear. Then you can ride back over here and draw your wages. You’re both through.”
Chalk stopped his horse and turned back to face Gruver, his face registering genuine amazement.
“For pounding a little on a goddamned rustler?” he said.
“You heard me,” said Gruver. He was helping Tommy down out of the saddle, and he could see that Tommy was crying. “Come on, boy,” he said. “It’ll be all right. We’ll get you cleaned up here in a minute.”
“I have to see Mr. Lanagan,” said Tommy.
“Okay. First let me get these damn ropes off of you. Okay? Then we’ll go in the house. Mr. Lanagan’s in the house.”
Tiff Lanagan sprang to his feet as he saw Gruver come into the house propping up the battered Tommy Wheeler.
“Good God,” he said. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Tommy Wheeler,” said Gruver. “Chalk and Carl caught him on our range riding your black mare.”
“He told me to ride it,” said Tommy. “I didn’t steal it. He told me to.”
“Who told you, Tommy?” said Gruver.
“That man. The one who came to see us. He ate dinner with us. I don’t know his name. I can’t remember. He’s hurt.”
Lanagan caught Tommy by an arm and led him to a chair.
“So are you,” he said. “Just sit down here.” He turned and called out over his shoulder, “Agnes. Agnes, come in here.”
“I didn’t do nothing wrong,” said Tommy.
“All right,” said Lanagan. “All right. Just take it easy.”
Agnes Lanagan stepped into the room.
“Agnes,” said Lanagan, “we need to clean this boy up and see how bad he might be hurt.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
“Mr. Lanagan, I came to see you,” said Tommy. “They told me to.”
“Who told you to, son?”
“Dora and the man.”
“What man are you talking about? The man who rod
e the black horse?”
“Yeah. Him. He got shot, and he came to my house. Dora’s helping him.”
“Colfax?” said Boyd Gruver. “Are you talking about Colfax?”
“Yeah,” said Tommy. “Colfax. That’s his name. I remember now. I think. Colfax.”
Agnes Lanagan came back into the room with a basin of warm water and a rag.
“Now get out of my way,” she said.
Lanagan and Gruver each stepped to one side of the big chair, and Agnes started to work on the dirty and battered face.
“Oh, you poor boy,” she said.
Tommy winced as she wiped at the caked blood on his temple.
“I’m all growed,” he said. “Everyone calls me boy anyhow, though.”
“You say Colfax is at your house and he’s been shot?” said Lanagan.
“Yeah. Got shot. He told me to get his black horse and bring it here and see you.”
Tommy had begun to talk, and it seemed nothing would stop him. He babbled on even while Agnes Lanagan continued daubing at his scrapes and bruises.
“He wants you to come out to see him. He told me to bring you. Colfax. Dora told me, too. They said to hurry. I think he killed two of them. Yeah. Two.”
“Who?” said Lanagan. “Who did he kill?”
“Two of them guys with Youngblood. Two of them. I don’t know their names.”
“Hush now,” said Agnes. “Mr. Lanagan will take care of it. You just rest easy and let me finish here.”
“Lark will be mad at me. So will Spud.”
“Your brothers?” said Agnes. “Why will they be mad at you?”
“They told me to stay away from here. They said—”
“What, Tommy?” said Agnes. “What did they say? It’s all right. You can tell me.”
Tommy looked at Agnes, then at Lanagan and Gruver. Agnes wiped at his face some more.
“They said that he don’t like us,” said Tommy, and his eyes were on Tiff Lanagan.
Quitting Time Page 8
