Tough to Kill

by Matt Chisholm

  He remembered the day his father had died. He had been no more than fifteen and Carlotta had just begun to walk. The old man had said: “Look out for the little one.” Then he had died. It had been the Comanches who had done that. His mother had been taken off by the fever the year before. He had honored his father’s last wish, though he had never honored the man who made it. He had looked out for Carlotta. He had kept her clean and decent, just as he had kept his two girls the same way after their mother had left him. Now Carlotta had turned out to be a whore. His mind flicked to Alvina and he ground his teeth together so the sound of them was audible. The suspicion came to him that his authority was waning. It brought with it bitterness and a dull rage.

  He stayed still where he was as Carlotta walked her roan mare into the circle of lamplight. He didn’t move when she dismounted gracefully and ground-hitched the tired animal. She came and stood with one foot on the step of the stoop and stared at him levelly. Their eyes met and held.

  “You shouldn’t ought to of come back,” he said. “You’d of done best for yourself to of stayed away.”

  “That would have been easy,” she said. “You’re not the only Markham around here.”

  She mounted the stoop and went to walk past him.

  He reached out and flicked her lightly with the tip of the quirt. She stopped and looked at him.

  “Stay put,” he told her. “You don’t get off so easy as that I got something to say to you.”

  She said: “What you have to say doesn’t concern me. But I have something I want to say to you.”

  “Hold your tongue when I’m talkin’.” He felt his anger running away with him.

  “You hold your tongue,” she snapped. “I’ve been listening to your gab for too long. I’ve heard you laying down the law till I’m sick of it.”

  He stood up and smacked the quirt against his boot top.

  “Don’t sass me,” he growled, “or I’ll whip you like I used to when you was a kid. I’m still boss around here.”

  “Tell me,” she said, “how you dare have the gall to send two of your hired men to spy on me?”

  He raised his voice. The men in the bunkhouse would have been deaf if they couldn’t hear him.

  “They followed you because you been a-whorin’. Is that plain enough for you.”

  She curled her lip at him in a way that sent the blood to pounding in his temples.

  “I should think it’s plain enough for all the men in the bunkhouse to understand. It also shows that you’ve come as low as even you can come. Rock bottom, you’re trash, Markham, and this time you’ve shown it.”

  He swung the quirt and shouted: “No woman talks to me that way.”

  “I’m talking to you that way.”

  He swung the quirt back and in the next second would have slashed at her with it, but he froze to immobility when he saw the gun in her hand.

  “Put down that quirt or I’ll shoot you.”

  Markham could not believe that this was happening to him. That the quiet and withdrawn Carlotta should have suddenly and without warning produced a facet of her character that was so close to his own dumbfounded him.

  “My God,” he whispered, “you’d threaten your own brother?”

  “I’m your sister. You’re threatening me.”

  “Put the fool thing away. You’d never dare use it.”

  “Try me.”

  They measured each other. It did not seem possible that this was the compliant girl that he had raised. But he saw that she was speaking the truth. She would use it.

  He said: “You know what this means? You leave this house. You get outa here and you stay out. I don’t have no sister. You’re no kin of mine. You’ve got use to livin, purty high off the hog. Now you see how you like it out in the cold world makin’ your own way. Go on, get out.”

  She took a step toward the door and he shouted: “You don’t go in there. You don’t take nothin’ away with you. You go just as you are.”

  “You forget I’m holding the gun as I’ve heard you say so often in the past.”

  She walked on into the house.

  He turned and smashed his fist onto the wall of the house. The sudden pain brought him partially to his senses. He picked up the bottle of whiskey and stumbled along the stoop toward the door of his office.

  In her room, Carlotta stood for a moment in the darkness to collect herself. Her heart was pounding in her breast. McAllister had done all this to her. She had met him and suddenly, alarmingly, her attitude to her old life had changed. It had become no longer bearable. But now she was faced with a wide open and dangerous world. She had never had to work anywhere else but in her brother’s home. She had been extraordinarily cut off from the world. Now she was out in the world alone with no more than … She lit the lamp and searched in an old bag of hers where she kept her meager savings. Here she found thirty dollars. All the money she had saved in all the years.

  She swung around in alarm as the door opened. But she saw that it was Alvina. Her niece’s face was flushed and concerned.

  “Charlie,” she said crossing the room quickly to her aunt and catching at her hand, “I heard everything from my window. Are you really going?”

  Carlotta nodded. “I have to.”

  “How will we get by without you?”

  “You’ll manage, honey.”

  “But we may never see you again.”

  “You’ll see me again,” Carlotta said, sounding tar more confident than she felt. “Your father’s going to come down hard off his high horse and things will be different.”

  “I’m scared. It’s been bearable here with you around.”

  Carlotta patted her hand, worried. The selfishness of her actions came home to her. She hated leaving Alvina and Lucy to Markham’s mercy.

  “I’m sorry, Vina, I truly am. But I have to go. I reckon I can’t take any more.”

  “Will you go to Mr. McAllister?”

  “I haven’t gotten around to thinking about that yet.”

  “Did you really go to meet him? Was it wonderful?”

  “What was it like when Mr. McShannon was m your room?” Carlotta asked with a smile.

  “Wonderful.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  Alvina helped her pack. This did not take more than a few minutes. Carlotta had only to throw a couple of dresses and some odd articles of clothing in a valise and she was ready. She felt like crying when she looked at Alvina to tell her goodbye. She saw that there were tears in the girl*s eyes. She put an arm around her.

  “It’s all for the best,” was all she could think of to say. “You’ll see.”

  Alvina kissed her. Carlotta returned the kiss.

  “Tell Lucy goodbye for me, honey,”

  “I will.”

  Carlotta picked up the valise and walked to the door. This had been her room for a long time, it seemed. Yet it had never seemed hers and she had never liked it. Even as she looked at Alvina’s sad face, her thoughts were in the future and she experienced a sudden lifting of her heart.

  “I’ll see you soon, Vina. Bank on it.”

  She turned and went then. There was nobody on the stoop or in the yard. She thought of changing her saddle to a fresh horse because the mare was almost played out, but she decided against it. The mare was her own property and her brother couldn’t prevent Carlotta from taking her. She fastened the valise to the saddle and stepped aboard. When she turned the horse and looked back she saw that Markham stood in the doorway of his room, silhouetted against the light, watching her go. She rode out into the darkness.

  13

  She reached town in the cold of the dawn and rode straight to the hotel where she stayed always when she came to town. She knew she would not be able to stay long, because her money wouldn’t hold out. The night clerk was still on duty in the lobby and he showed his surprise at the sight of her. The Markhams were big people in the country and it wasn’t often that one of their women came riding into town alone at
dawn. He signed her in and gave her her usual room overlooking the street. He carried her valise up for her and said he hoped she’d be comfortable. She thanked him and he left.

  She sat on the bed, feeling cold, unwashed and very much alone.

  But she didn’t feel alone for long. There came a gentle tap on her door and she said: “Come.”

  It opened to reveal a young and shy-looking man, hat in hand and moving uneasily from one foot to another.

  “Jack Owen,” she exclaimed.

  “Miss Carlotta.”

  “What’re you doing in town?”

  He didn’t answer her question, but stood in the doorway humming and haing. She bade him come in and rose to close the door behind him. The action seemed to increase his embarrassment.

  “I seen you ride in,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me comin’ here this way.”

  “Why should I?” That question seemed to disconcert him still further. She said: “Mr. Owen, aren’t you in some danger here?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Reckon I am. But a man can’t count danger when he’s courtin’.”

  She found it hard to suppress a smile.

  “You mean you’re here to see Lucy?”

  He blushed.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Will you be going back into the hills?” He nodded. “You’ll be seeing Mr. McAllister?” He nodded again.

  “Will you give him a message for me?” she asked.

  “Sure will.”

  “Tell him, I’m here in town. I’ve left home.”

  His eyes came wide. “You broke with Markham?” It was her turn to nod. He looked everywhere but at her and started stammering. “Did - er - Miss Lucy … aw, heck, ma’am, what I mean is… did she…?”

  “Did she mention you?” Carlotta said. “Is she as daffy about you as you are about her?”

  He gulped, looked at her for a second and said: “Yeah, that’s what I mean, I reckon.”

  Carlotta went to him and laid a hand on his arm. He blushed even redder and tried to retreat from her.

  “The answer to that/’ Carlotta told him, “is that Lucy is a young girl and you’re a young man. It’s up to you. But for heaven’s sake don’t get yourself shot doing your courtin’.”

  “That’s what fazes me kinda,” he admitted. “I ain’t like McAllister and McShannon. I ain’t so durned partial to gettin’ shot.”

  “How’re you going to manage to see her now?”

  “I reckon I ain’t gotten around to workin’ on that, ma’am. But I’m goin’ to see her I’m certain sure.”

  “Be careful.”

  He managed a small grin.

  “You can bet on that,” he said.

  “When will you reach camp?”

  “Tomorrow some time.”

  “And you’ll tell Mr. McAllister?”

  “Sure will.” He shuffled his feet. “Better be gettin’ along now, ma’am.”

  “Goodbye, Jack.”

  “Bye, ma’am.”

  He sort of ducked his head, stumbled on his high heels and spurs and somehow got out of the door after apparently trying to tear it from its hinges. When he was gone, Carlotta sat on her bed and somehow felt better for seeing him. She knew that he was a good friend to McAllister and it seemed that for a moment, she had contacted the man himself. She hoped that the boy wouldn’t foolishly ride into trouble.

  Meanwhile, Jack stumbled away down the stairs and went out onto the street. His mind was in a whirl. That Carlotta was sure some wonderful woman. She wasn’t a scratch on Lucy, of course, but she sure was a humdinger. In a dream, he fetched his horse from the livery and rode out of town. His heart lifted. He was on his way to see his girl. He didn’t know how he was going about that, but he was certain that he was going to do it. He was no hero, but he was a mighty stubborn man. He was going to see Lucy and then he would ride on into the hills and tell McAllister about Carlotta. Then McAllister would ride into town and take her in the face of countless odds. That sent a shudder through him, because that might mean that he and McShannon might feel impelled to go along too.

  As he rode, he mulled over what he had learned in town. The sheriff had released Foley and the hardcases that McAllister had brought charges against, the Sheriff had said that no evidence was being offered. McAllister had failed to come back into town and prove that he had a case. Jack reckoned the sheriff lacked grit. He didn’t blame the man, because he had to admit that he lacked grit himself.

  He was riding his favorite horse, the red mustang stallion. He had caught it in the hills the year before and already several of his mares were big with foal from it. He reckoned with hope and pride that before long he would be breeding horses that men would call Owen Horses. Then he would make money a-plenty and he’d build Lucy the best house in the country. He’d buy her all the pretties any girl could want. Life was going to be wonderful.

  Then he got to thinking of how he was going to see her right now and life didn’t seem so rosy somehow. Markham was a pretty tough man and his riders all carried guns and knew how to use them. He hated the thought of J. Owen being a target for same.

  He skirted the edge of the main valley and used all the cover he could. He was a good rough country man and he had learned a lot about using terrain to its best advantage from his years of chasing the wild ones. If you could get up close to a wild mustang without being scented or seen you could get up close to any man living. The animal he rode was all mustang, not large and rather short in the leg, but it was all horse and possessed the rare quality of stamina coupled with speed. He reckoned that if he met any of Markham’s riders he could lose them if they weren’t mounted on some of his thoroughbred stock. Even then he guessed that Red would give them a fair showing. And the stallion was as good as a watchdog. Once, coming out of a jumble of rocks and tangled brush he had almost ridden on top of two riders, but the red’s ears warned him that there were men ahead and he halted and spotted them. He let them get well clear before he went on.

  He approached the ranch headquarters from fairly high ground and to the north west so that he would have a good view of the place without being seen. He was excited, more than a little scared and sweating badly. As a dashing lover, he had to admit that he was no great snakes. But about the fair Lucy he was determined. He’d have her or he’d die for it. Maybe if things came out right he and his partners would all be married to Markham women. That made it kind of tidy and he liked the idea.

  When he reckoned that he would get a good clear view of the house through the glass, he dismounted and tied the stud in deep brush. Then he went cautiously forward to an outcropping of rock, produced the glass from his pocket and got it into focus on the house. He knew that he would have to bring into play his hunter’s endless patience.

  It was halfway through the morning and most of the hands had ridden out to work on the range. He saw the blacksmith at work in his shop and a boy breaking a horse in a starveout. Once he thought he saw Markham himself stride across the yard and a flutter of panic went through him even though the man was at a safe distance. Then, a little later, he saw a flutter of a skirt on the rear gallery and thought: “It’s Lucy!” But it wasn’t as he saw straightway from the color of the hair. It was Alvina.

  Noon came.

  He drank a little tepid water and chewed on a strip of jerky. Hunger didn’t worry him. He had been trained in a tough school and occasional hunger didn’t trouble him.

  In the early part of the afternoon, the whole place seemed to go to sleep and he even started to doze himself. Maybe he did nod off, because suddenly he was wide awake and aware of something that fluttered between the house and the creek. At once he clapped the glass to one eye and there right in his view was Lucy, picking her way carefully through the long grass and the brush toward the creek.

  She’s going down to catch the cool air by the water, he thought. And suddenly with a rush of gladness, he pictured himself down there with her, feeding her smooth and clever phrases, fascinatin
g her with his wit by the gently running waters of the creek. But sense did not entirely desert him. He ran an expert eye over the countryside, assessed the cover between his present position and the creek and reckoned with a little luck he could do it.

  He Indianed his way back to his horse just in case there was somebody in the house looking this way, got into the saddle and worked his way carefully back north and circled through broken country, eyes and ears alert, till he came down into the bottom land along the creek. On the soft soil of the bottom, he made his way along the meandering creek the stud’s hoofs making little or no sound. All he could hear was the horse’s gentle snorts and the creek of saddle-leather.

  And then suddenly, there was Lucy in front of him.

  He halted the stud and looked at her for a moment, suddenly scared to death of her and yet finding her good enough to eat. Even in that moment of elation, however, he was scared enough to glance around carefully to check that he could not be seen from the house.

  The stud whickered.

  Lucy who was sitting on a rock, stockings and shoes off and her feet in the cool waters of the creek, looked up, startled. But only for a moment. A broad smile lit her face and she exclaimed: “Jack.”

  She used his Christian name. She had only seen him the once before and here she was using his given name. He almost fell out of the saddle with delight. He got down and tied the stud with trembling hands and then he was stumbling toward her on his cowman’s heels and taking his hat from his head. He tried to think of things to say as he went, but he couldn’t think of a word. He went and stood in front of her, blushing. She hid her feet modestly under her wide skirts.

  “Why, Mr. Owen,” she said, “I didn’t think to see you here.”

  “You called me Jack just now,” he blurted.

  “You surprised me.”

  “I been waitin’ all day up in the rocks. Watchin’ the house through the glass. Watchin’ for you-all.”