Saddle Tramps

by Owen G. Irons

  I had a bath.

  For the many of you who have not gone weeks on the trail without being washed, I can’t describe what that means. A rare luxury. Steam rising from the copper tub in peaceful, soothing waves. The bay rum scent from the barber’s shop beyond the door, also quite soothing in its way.

  Friend, I could have died happily soaking in that tub.

  Then I got up out of it, toweled off and had to start worrying about the women again.

  The simple truth was that I still had no idea what to do with the two of them. We were a long way from Denver, broke-down and plain broke. Busted. Whatever change Marly had scrounged to pay for our hotel rooms was now gone. So here we sat again without provisions and three trail-beaten ponies to our names.

  Nevertheless, now bathed, barbered and shaved, I felt nearly ten feet tall as I strode down the plankwalk toward the hotel. The sun was bright, the day clear – my right hand even seemed to be regaining some of its former flexibility.

  At the door to the hotel Marly waited. She looked as pretty as a picture. Somehow she had found a place to get her blue dress washed and pressed. There was a tiny blue ribbon in her dark hair, and – I had to notice – there were a few appealing curves beneath the lace bodice of the dress that I hadn’t observed before. It was all too good to last.

  ‘He’s here,’ Marley said breathlessly.

  ‘Who?’ I glanced around. ‘Andy?’ I didn’t expect him to show up in our tracks, but it wouldn’t have surprised me either.

  ‘No!’ Marley said, gripping both of my wrists until I shifted the injured one away. ‘I mean Bull Mosely. He’ll kill one of us for sure.’ ‘Not me,’ I said, trying to make light of matters. ‘I’ve done nothing to the man.’

  ‘But—’ Marley began hesitantly. ‘He wants Andy Givens, and you’re the closest thing to him that he can find. Mosely will blame you for stealing Eva away from him. He feels the need to vent his fury, and you are the likely target.’

  I didn’t like her logic, but I had to admit that she was right. You are always judged by the company that you keep, are you not? And my old saddle companion was not one I chose to be judged by. Marley was not finished.

  ‘And we don’t know what Mosely might do to Eva once he’s on the prod!’ She asked me, her eyes pleading: ‘Corey, what are we going to do?’

  Run was the first answer that rose to my lips, but we had three exhausted mounts and nowhere to hide on the open plains.

  ‘I guess I’ll have to face him down, Marley. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem,’ I replied wearily.

  ‘But they are, Corey. They are!’

  Yes, they were, I had to agree. But what else was there to do? I returned to the white-hot streets to find Bull Mosely and confront him.

  FIVE

  There was smoke billowing out of the saloon doors, and the rising sun prodded an answering mist from the long-grass plains. I felt like a doomed man walking through a world of smoke and shadows. Me, with my right hand so battered that I hadn’t even tried to use it on a fork yet and my awkward left-handed holster slung loosely on my hip. I understood the look of concern in Marly’s eyes as I had walked away from her, for there was really nothing I could do against the monster Bull Mosely except to try to explain things reasonably.

  Bull Mosely had not as yet seemed to be an overly-reasonable man.

  I trudged the narrow, white-dust street knowing that I could find Bull without much effort. Strangers in a new town seldom wander far from the main thoroughfare where provisions and such could be found. I looked down at myself. My newly barbered confidence had faded. Here I was a beat-up saddle tramp with a wrong-sided gun and a busted-up hand. I couldn’t frighten a schoolboy.

  I wondered, disheartenedly, if Andy Givens’s taunts hadn’t been well-directed. Maybe I could not take care of myself….

  Or anyone else. Fearful, Marly’s eyes had still shown a trust in my ability to take care of her and her sister. It was a trust that was probably misplaced.

  They grabbed me as I crossed in front of the alley mouth.

  There were three, but it felt like six. I went down in a jumble, having no chance to fight them off. Bull Mosely stood hovering over me, blocking out the sun, his bear-paw fists bunched ominously.

  ‘Where is she?’ he demanded.

  ‘Who?’ I asked and he kicked me savagely in the ribs. One of the sodbusters with him laughed.

  ‘I won’t ask you again!’ Bull threatened.

  ‘Then don’t,’ I replied, curling up in a defensive ball. I had a brief moment’s satisfaction from my clever retort before Bull kicked me again. A kick? Well, it was more like a pile-driver impacting against my ribs. I heard something crack; I could not draw a breath properly. I regretted my remark. I regretted Bull Mosely and Tulip, Andy Givens and the general population of the planet.

  I knew he was going to kick me to death. I knew I could not tell him where Eva was hiding from him.

  ‘Do your best,’ I managed to mutter through lips that felt paralyzed, and Bull did it. One more brutally sharp kick that seemed to echo through my brain and somehow numbed the earlier pain. I was too close to blacking out to experience pain any longer. I heard one of the other men tell Bull in a hiss:

  ‘You’ll kill him! This isn’t Tulip, Bull! We’ll have the law down on us if you don’t hold off.’

  Bull Mosely backed away, panting like a great, troubled animal.

  ‘I’ll see you again, saddle tramp. You know I will!’

  I did, too. As I lay shivering, drawn up into a ball for protection, there was no doubt in my mind that given the chance this man would do further damage to my body. I heard sounds of urging, of muttered curses as the three sod-busters briefly huddled together indecisively.

  ‘Bull, we’ve got to go,’ the more cautious of the fanners told Mosely again. ‘This ain’t our town.’

  ‘All right,’ Mosely rumbled. ‘What I’d like to do is cut his ears off, though.’ He started away, then I heard the heavy footsteps return. ‘Here’s one to remember me by,’ Bull said.

  I had been trying to rise and caught in the awkward position that I was, I could not even roll away as he smashed the heel of his boot down against my left hand.

  Enough was enough. I couldn’t curse, cry, fight or run. I simply lay face down in the dusty alley whimpering like an injured pup, contemplating through the pain what sort of life might await a man with two broken hands in this hard country.

  I lay still for an hour, an eternity. Motion, any motion, shot savage pain through my hammering skull. I knew I had at least one broken rib. My left hand and right hand dueled for the honor of hurting the most. There was blood in my mouth. I didn’t remember anyone hitting me, but I suppose one of them must have as they first swarmed over me. The day was cool, the sun as hot as a branding iron on my back. When I felt, rather than saw, the shadow cross my face I could only sob like a child. The man stood over me and I waited for the next blow to fall.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me, Keogh? Old son, you just cannot get along without me.’

  It was Andy Givens. He was crouched down beside me, hat tilted back.

  I swear he was smiling.

  ‘How bad does it hurt, Keogh?’ he asked.

  ‘Pretty bad, Andy. Real bad. Worse than when that old brindle longhorn steer trampled me down.’

  ‘It looked like they were doing a pretty good job of it,’ Andy said. ‘Let’s at least sit you up.’

  He hooked his hands under my arms and tugged, twisting me around so that I was braced against the sun-warmed plank wall of the building beside the alley. There were tears in my eyes, blood leaking from my nose and drying on my chin. My rib was throbbing with pain. Both of my hands were shot. My shirt was torn, my jeans out at the knee. I sat, hands cupped on my lap, looking up out of the bright yellow light of day at the shadowed face of Andy Givens, remembering what he had just said.

  ‘You saw them!’ My voice was hoarse. I had to turn my head
to spit out some blood. ‘You said you saw them beating me, Andy. And you did nothing to stop it?’

  Andy laughed. ‘I didn’t want to start shooting in a strange town.’

  I didn’t have the energy to sustain a true rage. I simply sat there, crumpled and battered, staring up at my old friend. A memory of a friend. He wouldn’t have had to shoot Mosely or one of the others. He could simply have flashed his Colt and they would have backed off quick enough.

  I couldn’t quite read the light in his eyes, shadowed as they were by the brim of his hat. But I knew that I had fallen out of favor, that I had crossed Andy – in his mind – back along the trail. There was a fierce anger in me now. I believe that if I could have found my gun, managed to cock and fire with my broken hands, I would have shot him. To have a friend, a saddle partner stand and watch as I was beat half to death and do nothing … I closed my eyes and shook my head heavily.

  ‘Let’s get you up on your feet,’ Andy said. I felt his hand on my arm again. ‘Then tell me where the women are sheltered up, and I’ll get you over there.’

  I opened my eyes again. ‘No,’ I told him definitely.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Andy asked, with true surprise. ‘Do you want to sit here in the alley and die?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I answered. ‘Maybe I don’t care anymore.’

  ‘You’re delirious, Keogh! Crazy with the hurt.’

  ‘Probably,’ I agreed. ‘You don’t understand, do you. I will not take you to where the girls are staying. You’re not thinking of me. If you were, you would have stopped those sodbusters from beating me half to death. You’re still thinking only of yourself. You’re no different than Bull Mosely. No better at all.’

  I had my arm hooked around my damaged ribcage. The breath wasn’t coming easy. There was sharp, jagged pain inside. I recalled Eva’s words.

  ‘Eva said,’ I panted, ‘that you were all trouble, Andy. I’ve forgiven a lot of it. I’d say to myself, `Well, that’s just Andy being Andy!’ And we were, after all, partners. But Eva got it wrong, Andy. Something has happened to you – I don’t know what it is; I’m not smart enough to figure it out. But it’s not just that you are trouble….

  ‘You’ve gone bad, Andy! There’s no saving grace in you. You are plain bad, worse than Bull Mosely could figure to be. He at least,’ I said with my breathing becoming still more ragged, ‘he believes in that granite skull of his that he is on some righteous mission, that he loves Eva and she’s been stolen away from him. You—’ I paused to cough up some blood from my bad lungs. ‘Andy, you don’t even have that simple-minded excuse. You don’t care for Eva. Only for Andy Givens.’

  Andy was standing up straight, peering toward the head of the alleyway. After a moment’s reflection he whispered harshly, ‘I could just kick you a few more times, Keogh. I could finish you off good and proper, couldn’t I? Who would know?’

  ‘No one,’ I said, spitting blood.

  ‘I want to know where you have those girls stashed,’ Andy demanded, bending over me. Now I could see his eyes. They had an ugly glint in them. Nothing remained of the man I had ridden with and thought I had known. Nothing at all.

  ‘No, Andy. No, I won’t tell you.’

  For just a moment his face grew even tighter and his eyes, pale as they were, grew dark. Just for a moment his hand flickered near the grips of his Colt.

  Then I saw him shrug and heard him laugh.

  ‘To hell with you then!’ he said. Then Andy turned away and started down the alley, his thumbs hooked carelessly into his belt, his walk swaggering.

  And I swear I heard him whistling softly.

  I sat there long enough to draw attention. A large shaggy spotted dog came along, slinked up to me, muttered a questioning growl. Then it licked my face until I waved it away. I had to move. Move before the local law showed up and threw me in jail – had that telegraph wire carried my description into Pueblo? Move before Bull Mosely convinced himself that it was a good idea to come back and kick me a few more times for the fun of it….

  Before Andy Givens could decide that he might as well return and finish me off.

  Before either of them could find Eva Pierce.

  And Marly!

  That was what finally gave me the impetus to drag myself upright. I would regret it all my life if these men got to Eva Pierce, but I could not live with myself if I let anything happen to Marly. Did that mean that I was in…? I shook away the foolish thought, could not continue the unspoken sentence. Truthfully, I was not even able to frame the question. My thoughts were crowded and pain-blunted, bloody and confused.

  One thing at a time, Keogh! I thought with a sternness that did not immediately translate to action. I had to get on my feet. That was first. Then … no, get to your feet first, Keogh. Any other decision can follow later.

  Rise. How was that done? Twist, brace both broken hands against the hot wall, draw knees up … that was wrong. Could not be done. The heavy confusion continued to fog my every thought and plan. The shaggy dog had returned with something dead in its mouth to show me.

  I rose.

  I saw the glint of steel against the alley floor, managed to bend over and scoop up my Colt and shove it awkwardly away in its holster. That accomplished, I leaned against the side of the building, taking a series of short, painful breaths and staggered on drunkenly. Marly would be worried about me.

  ‘Hey, put the bottle away and get out of the sun!’ someone yelled at me as I wove my way toward the hotel. Laughter followed. I paid it no mind. I didn’t know what I looked like, but I knew I wasn’t a pretty sight.

  I was beginning to have moments close to clarity, and I wove away from the hotel, angling toward the stable where we had put our ponies up. Beside the two-story structure was a water barrel. I stumbled toward it and washed my face in what smelled more like brine than water. Probably the barrel had been used to catch run-off from the last rain which might have been weeks ago in this country. Yet I managed to wash most of the blood away, wipe my hair back with damp fingers, and after another minute spent leaning against the plank wall of the stable, staring at my scuffed boots, I managed to draw myself erect and walk to the front of the building.

  I found two men inside the dark, horse-smelling building, one a huge man with a black beard who nevertheless had no menace about him. The other was a scrawny red-headed youth with a rake in his hand who paid no attention at all to me.

  The man with the black beard looked me over, top to toe and grinned affably. ‘Who won the scrap, partner?’

  ‘Definitely not me,’ I said, trying to force a smile with my bruised mouth. ‘I’ve got some business I want to discuss with you.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m always ready to talk business. Come on into this little cubbyhole I call my office, and tell me what you have in mind.’

  I explained: ‘Yesterday we stabled up three ponies here. We lack the funds to keep them grained for as long as they need. And the two ladies have expressed a desire to proceed to Denver by stagecoach.’ I leaned forward across the tiny scarred desk where a few record books lay scattered. ‘I’d like to sell you those horses, if you’re agreeable.’

  The bearded man leaned back and scratched as his hidden chin. ‘Those ponies have been ridden a long way.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Gaunted out pretty much.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He folded his thick arms and closed his eyes thoughtfully before suddenly bellowing:

  ‘Virgil!’

  In a moment the stable-hand appeared. ‘The kid,’ the black-bearded man explained, ‘is only half-bright, but he knows more about horses than you or I ever will. He nearly lives among them. Virgil,’ he said, ‘are you familiar with the three horses this man brought in yesterday? Him and two women?’ Briefly he described our mounts as the vacant-eyed Virgil listened.

  ‘Yes, Clive,’ Virgil said. ‘I recollect.’

  ‘How would you rate them?’ the black-bearded man asked.

  ‘Game but not
lame. No heat in the hocks … can I get back to my chores now, Clive?’

  The stable owner smiled indulgently and waved his hired hand away. Leaning nearer to me he said, ‘I can’t give you top-dollar, friend. Times are tough in this town. But I believe that I can let you have enough to pay for passage to Denver on the coach and take care of the ladies’ needs for awhile.’

  ‘That’s all I’m asking,’ I said.

  I suppose I’m a poor horse-trader on top of everything else, but we were in dire need of cash money just then. My thinking was that our nags were pretty beat-down and the women were almost as bushed. Me, I couldn’t hook a saddle over my roan if I had to. I wasn’t sure I could even handle the reins right now, the state my hands were in.

  Besides, instead of riding into the higher mountains with me – a crippled saddle tramp as their only guide, Eva and Marly would at least have the added protection of a stage driver and the man riding shotgun-guard along with any other passengers who might be on the coach. I should be able to get them to Denver … so long as nothing else went horribly wrong.

  ‘Are you meaning to throw those saddles in on the deal, seeing that you’ll have no use for them?’ the stable owner asked as he reached into a lower drawer for his cashbox, on top of which, I noticed, was a heavy revolver. ‘Clive’ was not trying to cheat me, but he was in the business of making a living.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said with a sigh. A man hates to give up his saddle, but it really was of no use to me just then.

  ‘One of them’s a side-saddle,’ Clive said, with a shake of his head, ‘it’s not often we get a call for one.’ I had begun to tremble. I was unsteady on my feet and my ribs and hands were throbbing with pain. I wasn’t up to dickering with the man.

  ‘The whole bunch – horses and tack. Give me what you think is fair,’ I said.

  I thought of the times all of us line-riders had been short-changed on our wages here and there. Clive was no thief, but he was cutting himself a good deal, I knew. I just never had any luck when it came to money. It was always desperate times, it seemed, when a man took what he could get. And so I did now.