It was a meeting I'll not soon forget, that one was, because when Ollie heard the family was going, he came along and stood with us at the hymn singing and the preaching.
Whether or not Orrin had heard any of the stories going round about Tom I felt it necessary to warn him. If I expected him to brush it off, I was wrong. He was dead serious about it when I explained. "But I can't leave," he added, "everybody would know why I went and if they thought I was afraid, I'd lose as many votes as if I actually fought him."
He was right, of course, so we prepared for the meeting with no happy anticipation of it, although this was to be Orrin's big day, and his biggest speech, and the one that would have him fairly launched in politics. Men were coming up from Santa Fe to hear him, all the crowd around the capital who pulled the political strings.
Everybody knew Orrin was to speak and everybody knew Tom would be there. And nothing any of us could do but wait.
Jonathan Pritts knew he had been left out and he knew it was no accident. He also knew that it was to be Orrin's big day and that Laura's cutting loose had not hurt him one bit.
Also Jonathan knew the trial was due to come off soon, and before the attorney got through cross-examining Wilson and some of the others the whole story of his move into the Territory would be revealed. There was small chance it could be stopped, but if something were to happen to Orrin and me, if there was to be a jail delivery ...
He wouldn't dare.
Or would he?
Chapter XX
The sun was warm in the street that morning, warm even at the early hour when I rode in from the ranch. The town lay quiet and a lazy dog sprawled in the dust opened one eye and flapped his tail in a I-won't-bother-you-if-you-don't-bother-me sort of way, as I approached.
Cap Rountree looked me over carefully from those shrewd old eyes as I rode up.
"You wearing war paint, boy? If you ain't, you better. I got a bad feeling about today."
Getting down from the saddle I stood beside him and watched the hills against the skyline. People were getting up all over town now, or lying there awake and thinking about the events of the day. There was to be the speaking, a band concert, and most folks would bring picnic lunches.
"I hope he stays away."
Cap stuffed his pipe with tobacco. "He'll be here."
"What happened, Cap? Where did it start?"
He leaned a thin shoulder against the awning post. "You could say it was at the burned wagons when Orrin and him had words about that money. No man likes to be put in the wrong.
"Or you could say it was back there at the camp near Baxter Springs, or maybe it was the day they were born. Sometimes men are born who just can't abide one another from the time they meet ... don't make no rhyme nor reason, but it's so."
"They are proud men."
"Tom's gone killer, Tyrel, don't you ever forget that. It infects some men like rabies, and they keep on killing until somebody kills them."
We stood there, not talking for awhile, each of us busy with his own thoughts.
What would Dru be doing about now? Rising at home, and planning her day, bathing, combing her long dark hair, having breakfast.
Turning away I went inside and started looking over the day's roundup of mail.
This morning there was a letter from Tell, my oldest brother. Tell was in Virginia City, Montana, and was planning to come down and see us. Ma would be pleased, mighty pleased. It had been a sorry time since we had seen Tell.
There was a letter from that girl, too. The one we had sent the money we found in that burned wagon ... she was coming west and wanted to meet us. The letter had been forwarded from Santa Fe where it had been for weeks ... by this time she must be out here, or almost here. It gave me an odd feeling to get that letter on this morning, thinking back to the trouble it had caused.
Cap came in from outside and I said, "I'm going to have coffee with Dru. You hold the fort, will you?"
"You do that, boy. You just do that."
Folks were beginning to crowd the streets now, and some were hanging out hunting and flags. Here and there a few rigs stood along the street, all with picnic baskets in the back. There were big, rawboned men in the Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes and women in fresh-washed ginghams and sunbonnets. Little boys ran and played in the streets, and their mothers scolded and called after them while little girls, starched and ribboned, looked on enviously and disdainfully.
It was good to be alive. Everything seemed to move slow today, everything seemed to take its time ... was this the way a man felt on his last day? Was it to be my last day?
When I knocked on the door Dru answered it herself. Beyond the welcome I could see the worry.
"How's about a poor drifter begging a cup of coffee, ma'am? I was just passin' through and the place had a kindly look."
"Come in, Tye. You don't have to knock."
"Big day in town. Biggest crowd I ever saw. Why, I've seen folks from Santa Fe ... as far as Raton or Durango."
The maid brought in the coffee and we sat at the breakfast table looking out the low-silled window over the town and the hillside and we sat talking for awhile and at last I got up and she came with me to the door. She put her hand on my sleeve. "Stay here, Tye ... don't go."
"Got to ... busy day today."
Folks were crowded along the street and there were wagons drawn up where the speaking was to be--with many people taking their places early so they could be close enough to hear. When I got down to the office Orrin was there in his black frock coat and string tie. He grinned at me, but beyond the grin his eyes were serious.
"You get up there and talk," I said, "you're the speaker of this family."
Me, I stayed at the office. Cap was out and around, nosing after news like a smart old coon dog looking up trails in the dust or the berry patches. There was no sign of Tom Sunday, and around the jail everything was quiet. Nor was Jonathan Pritts anywhere in sight. My guards were restless, most of them men with families who wanted to be with them on a big day like this.
Ma and the boys came in about noon, Ma riding in the buckboard with Joe driving.
Ollie had held a place for them where Ma could hear the speaking, and it would be the first time she had ever heard Orrin make a speech. Folks were mighty impressed with speechmaking those days, and a man who could talk right up and make his words sound like something, well, he rated mighty high up there. He was a big man.
That day I was wearing black broadcloth pants down over my boots, a style just then coming in, and I had on a gray shirt with a black string tie and a black, braided Spanish-style jacket and a black hat. My gun was on, and I was carrying a spare tucked into my waistband out of sight under my jacket.
About noon Caribou Brown rode into town with Doubleout Sam. Shea saw them ride in and reported to me at once and I went down to the saloon where they had bellied up to the bar.
"All right, boys. Finish your drink and ride out."
They turned around on me, the both of them, but they knew me pretty well by then. "You're a hard man," Brown said. "Can't a man stay around for the fun?"
"Sorry."
They had their drinks but they didn't like it and when they finished them I was standing right there. "If you boys start right now you can make Vegas," I told them. "You'll have trouble if you think you can stay. I'll throw you both in jail and you'll be there next month at this time."
"On what charge?" Sam didn't like it.
"Loitering, obstructing justice, interfering with an officer, peddling without a license ... I'll think of something."
"Oh, damn you!"Brown said. "Come on, Sam ... let's ride."
They started for the door.
"Boys?"
They turned. "Don't circle around. I've got some deputies who are mighty concerned about the town today. You're known men and if you come back they'll be shooting on sight."
They rode out of town and I was glad to see them go. Both were known trouble makers of the old Settlement crowd and they
had been in several shootings.
The streets began to grow empty as folks drifted toward the speechmaking and the band concert, which was going full blast. Going slow along the walks the streets were so empty the sound of my heels was loud. When I reached the adobe where Fetterson was held, I stopped by. Shea was on guard there.
"Hello, Fett," I said.
He got up and came to the bars. "That right? That they shot into my cell? Into a dummy?"
"What did you expect? You can hang him, Fetterson, and he knows that. He's got to do something ... or run!"
Fetterson rubbed his jaw. The man looked worried. "How does a man get into these things?" he asked suddenly. "Damn it, I played square with him."
"He's wrong, Fett. He cares nothing for you except in so far as you are useful and when your usefulness is ended, so's his interest. You're too good a man to be wasted, Fett ... you're loyal to a man who does not understand loyalty."
"Maybe ... maybe."
He listened to the band, which was playing My Darling Nelly Gray. "Sounds like a good time," he said wistfully.
"I've got to go," I said, "the speaking starts in a few minutes."
He was still standing by the bars when I went out. Shea got up and walked outside with me. "Are you expecting trouble?"
"At any minute."
"All right," he cradled the shotgun in his arms, "I just don't want to miss all the fun."
From the gathering place beyond the buildings I could hear Ollie introducing somebody. Pausing, I listened. It was the speaker from Santa Fe--the one who preceded Orrin--and I could hear his rolling tones, although he was too far away to distinguish more than a word or two, and when it happened, it happened so suddenly that I was taken by surprise.
They came into the street below the jail and they came suddenly and they were on foot. Obviously they had been hidden during the night in the houses of some of the citizens, and there were eight of. Them and they had rifles. Everyone of them was a familiar face, all were from the old Settlement crowd, and they had me dead to rights.
They were near the jail and there was a man inside. There were probably two men inside. Up the street behind me Shea could do little unless I gave him room, but I had to be where I could do the most damage.
Turning at right angles I walked right into the middle of the street and then I faced them. Sixty yards separated us. Looking at those rifles and shotguns I knew I was in trouble and plenty of it, but I knew this was what I had been waiting for.
There were eight of them and they would be confident, but they would also be aware that I was going to get off at least one shot and probably one man would be killed ... nobody would want to be that man.
"What are you boys getting out of this?" I asked them coolly. "Fifty dollars apiece? It's a cinch Jonathan isn't going to pay more than that ... hope you collected in advance."
"We want the keys!" The man talking was named Stott. "Toss them over here!"
"You're talking, Stott ... but are you watching? You boys are going to get it from the jail."
"The keys!"
Stott I was going to kill. He was the leader. I was going to get him and as many more as possible. There was a rustle of movement down the street behind them.
There was movement down there but I didn't dare take my eyes off them. So I started to walk. I started right down the street toward them, hoping to get so close they would endanger each other if they started shooting. Beyond them I could see movement and when I realized who it was I was so startled they might have killed me.
It was Dru.
She wasn't alone. She had six buckskin-clad riders with her and they all had Winchesters and they looked like they wanted to start shooting.
"All right," I said, "the fun's over. Drop your gun belts."
Stott was angry. "What are you trying--" Behind him seven Winchesters were cocked on signal, and he looked sharply around. And after that it was settled ... they were not nearly so anxious for trouble and when they were disarmed, they were jailed along with the others.
Dru walked her horse up to the front of the jail. "Miguel saw them coming," she said, "so we rode down to help."
"Help? You did it all."
We talked there in the street and then I walked beside her horse over to the speaking. When this was over I was going to go after Jonathan Pritts. I was going to arrest him but oddly enough, I did not want him jailed. He was an old man, and defeat now would ruin him enough and he was whipped. When this was over he would be arrested, but if St. Vrain, Romero, and the others agreed, I'd just send him out of town with his daughter and a buckboard ... they deserved each other.
Orrin was introduced. He got up and walked to the front of the platform and he started to speak in that fine Welsh voice of his. He spoke quietly, with none of that oratory they had been hearing. He just talked to them as he would to friends in his own home, yet as he continued his voice grew in power and conviction, and he was speaking as I had never heard him speak.
Standing there in the shade of a building I listened and was proud. This was my brother up there ... this was Orrin. This was the boy I'd grown up with, left the mountains with, herded cattle, and fought Indians beside.
There was a strange power in him now that was born of thought and dream and that fine Welsh magic in his voice and mind. He was talking to them of what the country needed, of what had to be done, but he was using their own language, the language of the mountains, the desert, the cattle drives. And I was proud of him.
Turning away from the crowd, I walked slowly back to the street and between the buildings and when I emerged on the sunlit street, Tom Sunday was standing there.
I stopped where I stood and could not see his eyes but as flecks of light from the shadow beneath his hat brim. He was big, broad, and powerful. He was unshaved and duty, but never in my life had I seen such a figure of raw, physical power in one man.
"Hello, Tom."
"I've come for him, Tyrel. Stay out of the way."
"He's building his future," I said, "you helped him start it, Tom. He's going to be a big man and you helped him."
Maybe he didn't even hear me. He just looked at me straight on like a man staring down a narrow hallway.
"I'm going to kill him," he said, "I should have done it years ago."
We were talking now, like in a conversation, yet something warned me to be careful. What had Cap said? He was a killer and he would go on killing until something or somebody stopped him.
This was the man who had killed the Durango Kid, who had killed Ed Fry and Chico Cruz ... Chico never even got off a shot.
"Get out of the way, Tye," he said, "I've nothing against you, I--"
He was going to kill me. I was going to die ... I was sure of it.
Only he must not come out of it alive. Orrin must have his future. Anyway, I was the mean one ... I always had been.
Once before I had stepped in to help Orrin and I would now.
There was nobody there on the street but the two of us, just Tom Sunday, the man who had been my best friend, and me. He had stood up for me before this and we had drunk from the same rivers, fought Indians together. ...
"Tom," I said, "remember that dusty afternoon on that hillside up there on the Purgatoire when we ..."
Sweat trickled down my spine and tasted salt on my lips. His shirt was open to his belt and I could see the hair on his big chest and the wide buckle of his belt. His hat was pulled low but there was no expression on his face.
This was Tom Sunday, my friend ... only now he was a stranger.
"You can get out of the way, Tye," he said, "I'm going to kill him."
He spoke easily, quietly. I knew I had it to do, but this man had helped teach me to read, he had loaned me books, he had ridden the plains with me.
"You can't do it," I said. Right then, he went for his gun.
There was an instant before he drew when I knew he was going to draw. It was an instant only, a flickering instant that triggered my mind. My han
d dropped and I palmed my gun, but his came up and he was looking across it, his eyes like white fire, and I saw the gun blossom with a rose of flame and felt my own gun buck in my hand, and then I stepped forward and left--one quick step--and fired again.
He stood there looking across his gun at me and then he fired, but his bullet made a clean miss. Thumbing back the hammer I said, "Damn it, Tom. ..." and I shot him in the chest.
He still stood there but his gun muzzle was lowering and he was still looking at me. A strange, puzzled expression came into his eyes and he stepped toward me, dropping his gun. "Tyrel ... Tye, what. ..." He reached out a hand toward me, but when I stepped quickly to take it, he fell.
He went full face to the dust, falling hard, and when he hit the ground he groaned, then he half-turned and dropping to my knees I grabbed his hand and gripped it hard.
"Tye ... Tye, damn it, I ..." He breathed hoarsely, and the front of his shirt was red with blood.
"The books," he whispered, "take the ... books."
He died like that, gripping my hand, and when I looked up the street was full of people, and Orrin was there, and Dru.
And over the heads of some of the nearest, Jonathan Pritts.
Pushing through the crowd I stopped, facing Jonathan. "You get out of town," I told him, "you get out of the state. If you aren't out of town within the hour, or if you ever come back, for any reason at all, I'll kill you."
He just turned and walked away, his back stiff as a ramrod ... but it wasn't even thirty minutes until he and Laura drove from town in a buckboard.
"That was my fight, Tye," Orrin said quietly, "it was my fight."
"No, it was mine. From the beginning it was mine. He knew it would be, I think.
Maybe we both knew it ... and Cap. I think Cap Rountree knew it first of all."
We live on the hill back of Mora, and sometimes in Santa Fe, Dru and me ... we've sixty thousand acres of land in two states and a lot of cattle. Orrin, he's a state senator now, and pointing for greater things.
The Daybreakers (1960) s-6 Page 19
