Paper Sheriff

by Short, Luke;

A look of exasperation emphasised the arrogance in Buddy’s face. “What d’you mean, we can’t wait? We got to wait, don’t we? We don’t walk up to Reese and say, ‘You looking for us?’”

  “We can’t wait,” Orville repeated. “In half an hour or so this R-Cross rider will be heading back to catch up with his herd on the National. Or, even worse, he could start snooping.”

  “What you trying to tell me, Uncle Orv?”

  Orville looked up at him, his pale eyes bright with anger. “I don’t rightly know myself,” he said flatly. “We ain’t got the time to call everybody together. We got maybe a half hour like I said to figure what we do about this R-Cross rider.”

  “But what can we do?” Buddy asked, the exasperation still in his voice.

  “You figure it out,” Orville said harshly. “I just got out of a court-room. I don’t aim to get in it again and have a witness say, ‘Yes, that’s the man, that’s his voice, that’s his looks’.”

  “But you ain’t sure he saw us or could identify us,” Buddy protested.

  “You want to take a chance he didn’t?” Orville asked softly.

  “But ain’t he already told Reese all he knows?”

  “If he hadn’t been a witness to something, he wouldn’t be here, would he?”

  Buddy had no answer to that and he watched his uncle carefully. If Uncle Orville said they couldn’t let this witness go, that meant just one thing and he didn’t like to think about it. Finally, Buddy said one word, a question. “Here?”

  “No, not here.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll see.” They heard footsteps on the plankwalk at the far corner of the Best Bet, and Orville slowly turned his head. A tall man in rough range clothes was approaching them. He passed them, heading for the R-Cross branded bay. Now, Orville pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the break in the tie-rail and moved into the street just as Reston stepped into his saddle.

  “Been waiting for you,” Orville said pleasantly. “Saw your R-Cross brand.”

  Reston lowered his hands, crossed them on the saddle horn and looked down at this lanky, pale-eyed stranger. His glance shifted to Buddy and seeing the family resemblance, he assumed this was a son. Neither of them looked truculent, but they did look curious.

  “It’s a Texas brand,” Reston said.

  Orville nodded. “Seen it before.”

  Reston regarded him carefully. “Now that ain’t likely, but where did you see it?”

  “I got a place over east, borderin’ the brakes. Me and my boy got a cow outfit over there. Yesterday—no, day before it was—I seen some R-Cross branded steers mixed with mine. It ain’t a local brand and I couldn’t figure it out. Then I seen your brand just now and figured I’d wait and tell you.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you,” Reston said. “How many steers of mine did you see?”

  “I seen three,” Orville said. He looked over his shoulder at Buddy. “How many’d you count, Buddy, after I left you?”

  “Only two more.”

  “How do I find your place?” Reston asked.

  “Well, it ain’t easy,” Orville said. He thought a moment, “Tell you what. Me and Buddy got a few fool errands to do, then I got to pick up a horse other side of town. Why don’t we meet you at the bridge in half an hour and we’ll show you where we seen ’em.”

  “If it ain’t out of your way, I’d appreciate that,” Reston said. “Half an hour at the bridge.”

  Orville nodded and turned. “Well, Buddy, come along and we’ll get our buyin’ done.”

  Reston sat motionless a moment, watching the two men tramp down the boardwalk. This was certainly a friendly act, he thought, especially to a stranger. If the older man had identified his horse’s brand, he needed only to keep his mouth shut to gain five double-wintered steers. What was it that the Sheriff had said? These were average people here, better than average maybe. Well, he’d have to agree with that, Reston thought.

  True to his word Reston was waiting at the bridge over Lime Creek when Orville and Buddy arrived a half hour later. The three set out east toward the distant brakes.

  Orville, whose small outfit lay to the south, had set the appointment at the bridge because he didn’t want to be seen in company with Reston. Staying clear of the stage road and the few wagon roads leading to ranches, they rode steadily for four hours. In that time, by careful circumlocution, Orville learned that Reston, during the half hour wait after their meeting, had not been curious enough about them to ask anyone their names. Now that he was sure that Reston hadn’t discussed them with anyone in town, Orville finally introduced himself and Buddy. Presently, Reston was talking about the stampede. Orville listened with sympathetic interest as Reston told of his conviction that some of his cattle had been stolen and that they were either in Sutton County or had been driven through it. Orville asked him then with only the mildest curiosity if he had any notion of who composed the gang that had caused the stampede. Reston didn’t answer immediately, wondering what he should say. If these Hoads, friendly as they were, took back the word that cattle thieves had got clean away with his cattle, it would encourage further raids in the future. Why, then, not pretend that he did have some information which he was in the process of tracking down.

  Accordingly, he said in answer to Orville’s question, “Why, yes. One of my men got thrown in the stampede and stomped some. He can take care of himself but he was too crippled up to head up the trail right away. He heard names and saw a man by lightning flash that he’d recognise if he saw him again.” He paused. Then to underline his point, he added, “Soon’s he can ride, I’m going to bring him over to talk with your Sheriff Branham.”

  “He got water over there where you left him?”

  “Oh yes, he’s on the Little Muddy.”

  Orville looked obliquely at Buddy who was already looking at him. Any lingering doubts as to the wisdom of what he was going to do died in Orville then.

  They saw occasional clusters of cattle as they approached the brakes, great clay and rock dunes that held the poorest graze on the floors of its canyon.

  Orville raised his arm and pointed. “There’s an old mine road that short cuts to my place back in the breaks. We’ll take that.”

  They headed into the narrow canyon, Orville in the lead. Around a couple of bends of canyon bottom the walls fell back. Ahead of them on the canyon floor lay an abandoned log cabin, its roof fallen in. Up the side of the canyon was a great dune of tailings which almost hid the sagging head frame of a mine shaft. When they were even with the cabin, Orville reined in and Reston came up on his right. Orville had shifted his reins to his left hand and now, holding the reins, he lifted his arm across his body in a pointing gesture. “To look at it, you’d never think a half million dollars come out of that hole, would you?”

  Reston turned his head to look up at the mine. He heard too late the whisper of a gun barrel on leather. Reston’s hand was driving for his own gun, his head half turned, when Orville shot. At a distance of five feet he could scarcely miss and he didn’t. The thud of the slug caught Reston in his side just below the shoulder, and the force of it drove him out of the saddle on to the neck of Buddy’s horse. Reston’s horse, terrified by the close explosion, began plunging and bucking as Reston himself fell heavily to the ground, dead before he hit it.

  Suddenly then, Reston’s horse, free of its burden, started to run up the canyon. Cursing, Orville raised his gun and emptied it at the rangy bay. Buddy belatedly joined in the fusillade and then, apparently untouched, the horse galloped out of sight around a bend.

  Buddy spurred his own mount in pursuit and Orville called sharply, “Come back! Buddy, come back!”

  Buddy checked his horse, turned it and came back to rein in by his uncle. Orville didn’t even look at Reston as he asked dryly, “You aim to make me tow him up that hill alone?”

  “We got to get that damn horse, Uncle Orville.”

  “Let him run hisself out. There ain’t no place he ca
n go.”

  Orville stepped out of the saddle, moved up to Reston and toed him over on his back. Reston’s eyes were open but sightless and already the blood flowing out of the wound was attracting flies.

  Orville stepped over, picked up Reston’s hat and carefully placed it on Reston’s right boot which was pointing skyward.

  “You take his feet,” Orville said.

  Together, wordlessly, with Orville at the head and Buddy at the feet, they carried Reston’s body up the sloping talus of tailings. At the summit they could look down a short slope which ended in a square mine shaft whose timber cribbing was already rotting. Carefully, heels digging in, they moved the body close to the shaft, then dumped it on the shaft edge. Reston’s body rolled over, hesitated on the brink and then the top timber gave way. Reston’s body followed it into the black, lightless hole. They heard the body thudding against the cribbing a half dozen times, then there was silence for a moment, then a dim, almost inaudible thud came to them.

  Now Orville looked at Buddy, whose face was pale and held a residue of a fear that was almost panic. Abruptly then, Buddy turned and began to vomit and Orville watched him with silent contempt. Almost indifferently he began to climb up to the top of the tailings, heedless of Buddy’s retchings. At the top Orville halted and was presently joined by Buddy.

  “Pity you had to do that,” Orville said. “Because you ain’t going to eat for some little while.”

  “How you figure that?” Buddy asked miserably.

  “First we get his horse, then we head for the Little Muddy to get his friend. That’ll be tomorrow sometime.”

  Reese’s hated paperwork which Reston had interrupted yesterday and which was resumed today was an estimate of expenses incurred in tracking down Shep, the surprise witness in Orville Hoad’s trial. It consisted of meals, the cost of which he hadn’t kept track of, putting up his horse at several feed stables, uncounted drinks he had bought the witness, the cost of Shep’s journey to testify and Shep’s board and room that Shep couldn’t remember. It all amounted to a larger sum than Reese had anticipated, but he could find no flaw in his addition. It occurred to him then that Jen, who had worked with him in finding Shep, had known his every move and could judge whether the bill which would be submitted to the commissioners was not only reasonable but accurate.

  On the off chance that Jen might be in her father’s office, he rose, headed down the corridor and climbed the stairs. Again he found the door to the district attorney’s office open and when he walked into the room, he found Jen standing on a chair to reach the top row of an eight foot rack of pigeon holes which served as an auxiliary file.

  When she turned to see who had come in she lost her balance, caught herself a little late, then jumped lightly to the floor.

  “Your curiosity will get you a broken neck some day,” Reese said.

  “Well, nobody ever comes in here, and when they do, it’s an occasion,” Jen said. She wore a yellow, half-sleeved summer dress of calico which, combined with her black hair and eyes, called up the colors of a daisy. Reese was tempted to call her that and then, thinking it a poor joke, refrained.

  “I need you to keep me honest,” Reese said, moving toward her and extending the paper listing his expenses. “This is for tracking down Shep.”

  Jen accepted the paper and moved over to her desk and sat down. While she was reading the items, Reese moved to the straight-backed chair alongside the desk and slacked into it. He regarded Jen openly and lovingly and when she unaccountably looked up she surprised the naked look of longing in his eyes. It was as if, Reese thought, she was answering to a cry that had never been uttered before she returned her glance to the paper. Presently she said, “You’re too honest, Reese. You must have called on a dozen ranches before you found Shep.”

  “I’m paid for that.”

  “Not when you’re out of Sutton County.”

  Reese shook his head. “The hell with that. The only reason I made that list is because the commissioners will dog me until I do.”

  Jen smiled and tossed the paper on her desk. “All right. What you’ve listed are honest expenses. I’ll swear to it if I have to.”

  Reese reached for the paper, folded it and stuck it in his shirt pocket as Jen asked idly, “What’s new on the first floor?”

  “Well, a man thinks we might have a rustling ring in Sutton County.” He told her then of Reston’s visit yesterday and of his opinion that his stolen cattle had been driven into the county.

  When he finished, Jen said, “Unlikely, I should judge. Nobody new has moved into the county and if the natives were going to steal cattle, why haven’t they stolen them before?”

  “That’s about what I told him,” Reese said. Now he rose and they looked at each other almost hungrily.

  “Still batching it?” Jen asked.

  “No, Callie came home last night.”

  “Where did she spend her week?” Jen asked.

  “With her aunt Amy Bashear.”

  “Heavens, I’d rather spend a week in jail.”

  “But you aren’t a Hoad,” Reese said wryly. When Jen said nothing, Reese said, “What was it you wanted in the top pigeon hole?”

  “Fourth from the left.”

  Reese moved over to the rack and had to stretch the long length of him to reach the paper. He returned to the desk, gave it to Jen and said, “Why don’t you lower that damn thing?”

  “Dad put it up and he could reach everything.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “The same.” She grimaced slightly. “Everything’s the same, isn’t it?”

  Reese nodded, turned and walked out.

  He found himself making work for the rest of the day. His two weeks’ freedom from Callie—his week and hers—had been surprisingly pleasant ones, reminiscent of the time before he was married. He had a faint feeling of shame when he recognized that he not only hadn’t missed her but was glad that he didn’t have to be with her. The sight of her when Ty brought her home last evening had brought back that feeling of quiet desperation so familiar to him. They had exchanged only moments of talk, mostly about Amy Bashear and the doings of her children and their children. The talk had bored him and Callie knew it and soon had gone to her room. Reese had read for a while in the kitchen, then gone to his room. He supposed this would be the pattern for all of his days.

  Arriving at the Slash Seven now, he unsaddled, turned the horse out to pasture and stopped by the bunkhouse on his way. Ames Tolliver and Ryder were sitting on the bunkhouse steps and Reese halted and got the report from Ames of the day’s work. The last rain, Ames reported, had been a godsend. They would not have to move to summer range for another ten days.

  They chatted a moment and Reese turned and headed for the house. Then he halted abruptly and said to Ames, “Tell the boys to keep an eye out for any R-Cross branded beef, will you, Ames?”

  “R-Cross? Whose brand is that?” Ames’ thick-lensed spectacles emphasized the bewilderment in his eyes.

  “A Texas brand. A trail herd was stampeded on the National last week. The owner thinks some of them might have drifted as far as here.”

  Ames nodded and Reese moved toward the house. There was no sense in telling Ames of Reston’s suspicion of rustling, since the story would soon blow into a rumor that could not be stopped.

  At the house he entered through the kitchen door and hung his hat on the nail inside. Everything was the same, he thought. Callie, in her drab dress, was at the stove, and when she turned to greet him, he saw the apathy in her eyes. He noticed now something that he had been too indifferent to notice last night. Callie’s sallow complexion held a faint sunburn. He supposed that she and the Bashear girls had done some riding this past week. He went through the nightly ritual of washing and making a drink for Callie and himself. He put both drinks on the kitchen table and sat down. Presently, Callie moved over to her drink, took a sip and then asked indifferently, “What’s happened in town, Reese? Amy’s girls never go in, and
you wouldn’t even tell me if the town had burned down.”

  Her tartness of speech hadn’t diminished since their quarrel, and Reese supposed that he had been thoroughly discussed by the Bashears, and that Callie had been the recipient of quite a bit of female sympathy. Well, what had happened in town while she had been away?

  He said, “Tom Burbank’s mare foaled an albino colt, ugly as sin. And a trail boss came in yesterday and thought we might have rustlers in Sutton County. He got stampeded on the National. Jim Daley got a sprung back from being pitched off that bay of his.” He paused. “I guess that does it.”

  When he looked up, Callie had her back to him at the stove, her glass in her hand.

  “Rustlers in Sutton County,” she repeated. “Do you believe that?”

  “No. If I were you, I wouldn’t repeat it. That’s the way crazy rumors start and it wouldn’t look good coming from the wife of the Sheriff.”

  Without turning Callie said in a voice that held a quaver of what Reese thought was anger, “Who would I tell it to? I never see anyone.”

  “Your family for one.”

  Now Callie turned and Reese saw that the color had fled from her face. “Then you shouldn’t have told me,” she said angrily.

  “You asked what had happened and I told you. Now keep it quiet.” There was an edge of anger in his own voice but he didn’t realize it was there until after he’d spoken.

  “Yes, master,” Callie said sardonically.

  Reese thought wryly then that it had taken them less than ten minutes to get back to the edgy, suspicious and defensive relationship of two weeks ago. And why hadn’t she said anything about the Hoad Land & Cattle Company? He sipped at his drink and suddenly found that he didn’t want it. What in God’s name was the use of their living together when each day they destroyed a little more of each other? But what galled him and shamed him was the realization that he was as much to blame as Callie.

  The next morning Callie waited until Reese left for work and then swiftly she changed from her dull dress into a divided skirt, one of Reese’s old shirts and riding boots. At the corral Sam obligingly got her horse from the horse pasture and saddled up for her. Afterwards she headed south for her father’s spread. It was a sunny morning holding little wind. Every stock tank and every depression still held water from last week’s torrential rain. The sleepless night, however, had dulled her sensibilities and she was blind to the sleek cows and their fat calves she saw, even to the newly replenished graze.