by Ralph Cotton
“Then don’t,” she said. She stared at him.
“What I mean is I hate to charge you anything, with Lee dying and all,” Summers said.
“I want you to, Will,” Layla said bluntly. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Jesus . . . ,” Summers whispered, looking down at his crossed wrists. After a moment he shook his bowed head and swung down from his saddle. “No, Layla. I just didn’t want to take advantage.”
“Get yourself in here,” she said, gesturing toward the door.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Summers.
Atop a high ridge overlooking the Persons’ cabin, Arlo Hughes, Dow Bendigo and his half-breed brother, Tom Cat Tracker Bendigo, sat atop their horses and watched the man and woman from the shelter of trees and rock.
“Fine-looking animals,” Arlo Hughes said in a hushed tone.
The other two men offered no reply.
In the fading evening light the three watched Will Summers take his rifle from its boot and untie his saddlebags from behind his saddle. He threw the saddlebags over his shoulder, carried his Winchester repeater and followed Layla Brooks into the cabin.
At a height of two hundred feet, both man and woman looked small. So did the short stretch of turned earth in the front yard. Along the hitch rail the horses and the mule stood at rest, some of them shaking off trail dust.
“I expect your pa will want to hear about this right away,” Hughes said to Dow Bendigo. He started to turn his horse back to the narrow trail. The half-breed sat staring at the pair, knowing his brother, Dow, wasn’t finished with the matter.
Dow Bendigo stepped his horse over in front of Arlo Hughes, stopping him.
“Wait a minute,” Dow said without taking his eyes off the cabin below them. “What’s your hurry anyway? Me and Tom are still looking. Right, Cat Tracker?”
The half-breed made no reply.
Hughes stared at Dow Bendigo, seeing his mouth hung slightly agape as he stared at the cabin.
“Like I just told you,” Hughes replied with clear deliberation. “Your pa will want to hear about this, first thing.”
“My pa can wait,” said Dow. “What do you think those two are doing in there right now?” His voice sounded rushed and shallow.
Hughes stared at him. “What do you think they’re doing in there? Because if you can’t figure it out—”
“That’s not what I mean,” said Bendigo, cutting him off. “I mean right this very minute . . . they just walked inside the door. Where do you figure their hands are right now?”
“Damn, Dow,” Hughes said in disgust. “Let’s get going before you need some time to yourself.”
“I don’t need no time to myself, Arlo,” said Dow Bendigo. He turned to him red faced, wearing an angry scowl. “It’ll be dark before long. We could ride down there and peep in some through a window, couldn’t we?”
“We could, but we’re not going to,” Hughes said firmly.
“Why not?” said Dow. “It would give us more to tell Pa about when we get there.”
“You’ve got plenty of explaining to do as it is,” said Hughes. “You lost more money playing poker than some men make in a season. It was cattle money at that—”
“Forget how much money I lost,” said Dow, cutting him off. “Besides, you was supposed to keep me in line, remember?” He gave a scornful grin. “Anyway,” he said sheepishly, nodding down toward the cabin, “I’d like to see these two going at it . . . you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Hughes. “I’m riding on up to the cliffs. You two can do what suits you.” He gave the half-breed a glance. “I’ll let your pa know that you’re both watching the woman get her belly rubbed. He’ll be overjoyed to hear that.” He looked at Dow and added, “On top of all the money you lost gambling.” He heeled his horse away toward the thin path.
“Damn it, wait up, Arlo,” said Dow, jerking his horse’s reins and pulling it around beside the older gunman. “I just thought it would be fun, is all.”
“Fun?” said Hughes, the two riding along. “Did you see who that was with her?”
“No, who?” said Dow.
“It’s that horse trader from south of here, Will Summers,” said Hughes. “Ever heard of him?”
“I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never ran into him,” said Dow.
“You don’t want to run into him either, if you can keep from it,” said Hughes. “Leastwise, not peeping through a window at him, especially while he’s occupied with a woman like Layla Brooks.”
“Do I look scared of him?” said the young gunman. Hughes turned and looked him up and down appraisingly.
“No,” he said. “Do I?”
“You sound like it,” said Dow.
Hughes stopped his horse and sat staring at the younger gunman.
“Let’s get something straight here and now, Dow,” he said. “I’m not afraid of Will Summers, nor should you be. But he is a man to be left alone. He is not a man to trifle with.”
“So you say,” Dow Bendigo returned. “All I know is he’s a horse trader. I haven’t seen a horse trader yet that I would cross the street for.”
Hughes turned forward in his saddle and stepped his horse around Dow’s horse, blocking his path.
“You don’t know about Summers, do you, Dow?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I suppose not,” said Dow Bendigo. He spit and ran a hand over his mouth. “But I’m betting you’re going to tell me.”
Hughes shook his head. He was used to young Dow Bendigo’s haughty attitude. He was used to Tom’s stonelike silence. It was his job to try to keep the pair out of trouble, as if anyone could perform such a feat.
“You ever hear of the Peltry Gang, Dow?” he asked.
“Yep,” said Dow Bendigo. “The Peltry Gang is a bunch I’ve heard lots about. My pa knew them. Goose and Moses Peltry are a couple of bad sonsabitches, is what I’ve heard.”
“Not are, Dow,” said Hughes. “They were. Will Summers is one of the men who killed them and their whole gang.”
“No kidding?” Dow turned attentive. The half-breed watched the two with disinterest.
“No kidding,” said Hughes. “He stuck their heads on a stick and rode them around as a warning to the remaining members.”
“He did all that?” said Dow.
“He did,” said Hughes. “You can ask Lucian Clay when we get up to the cliffs. He rode with the Peltrys. He still harbors some ill feelings toward Summers and the others over it.”
“Who are the others?” Dow asked.
“Along with Summers, there was a schoolteacher from Rileyville named Sherman Dahl, and a lawman from there named Abner Webb,” said Hughes.
“Abner Webb . . . ,” Dow said studiously.
“There were others,” said Hughes, “but that’s all the names that come to mind offhand—”
“Hold it,” said Dow, cutting him short as recognition came to him. “You’re talking about what the folks around Rileyville call Webb’s Posse?”
“That I am,” said Hughes. “Is it starting to come to either of you now?”
The half-breed only looked away and spit.
“Damn right it is,” said Dow. “So this horse trader rode with Abner Webb and the Teacher.”
“Some say he’s the one who led the posse,” said Hughes.
Dow grinned and said, “Well, he’s not leading a posse now. He’s lying between Layla Brooks’ knees.”
“You’re not paying any attention to what I’m telling you about leaving this man alone, are you?” said Hughes.
“I’d like to,” Dow Bendigo said with a grin. “But all I can think of now is how easy it would be for the three of us to slip in and steal that string of horses out from under his nose while he’s tacking Layla to the mattress.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Hughes. He shook his head and let out a breath.
“Look at it this way,” Dow chuckled. “We take the horses home with us, it’ll make up for the cattle money
I lost. The old man will forget all about the money.”
“You’re playing with fire, messing with your pa the way you do,” Hughes warned. “Warton Bendigo is another man not to take lightly.”
“You worry too damn much about too many things,” said Dow. He jerked his horse around toward his half brother. “What about you, Tom?” he said. “Are you game for taking them horses—maybe getting a little poke at Layla Brooks to boot?”
Tom Bendigo didn’t answer. He knew it made no difference what he said. His half brother, Dow, had made up his mind. There would be no stopping him.
