by Ben Bridges
I turned back to her. She looked worn out. I told her to go and get some rest, but she shook her head emphatically. ‘No. I can’t. They...they might come back.’
‘The Association men?’
‘Yes.’
I stowed my gear up against a tree, the older Franklin children watching my every move, the baby crawling around as if in a world of his own, fascinated by the feel of dirt, needled leaves and cones against his soft palms. ‘If they come again,’ I told the woman, ‘I’ll be here.’
‘And what can you do?’ she asked with a snort, and almost immediately apologized. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean... I mean, you’ve been so kind and all—you’ve already done enough.’
I watched the horse graze. ‘Try and rest,’ I counseled again. ‘You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re dead on your feet.’ And because I thought it might make her feel easier, I hauled my Yellow Boy from its scabbard and took it with me back to the edge of the trees.
Seeing sense in my argument, she called after me, ‘All right. But you’ll wake me when the doctor gets here, won’t you?’
‘I’ll wake you.’
The afternoon wore on. What with one thing and another, it had been a long, long day. I took off my jacket and rolled up my shirtsleeves and sat in the shade and waited for the doctor to arrive. The stench of destruction still lingered on the late summer air. Eventually the doctor came out in a shaky-looking runabout and took a long, disapproving look at what the Association men had done to Franklin’s spread before I ushered him deeper into the trees and he went to work on the wounded man.
Much later, after the doctor had confirmed that Franklin would live but wouldn’t be in much of a state to move around for a few weeks, Mrs. Franklin fixed up some food and we all forced ourselves to eat while the doctor made his way back to town.
Afternoon faded to early evening. Mrs. Franklin kept watching the country to the northwest. I noticed that the Winchester was never far from her reach.
I doubted that the Association men would come out here again, but I couldn’t blame her for being over-cautious. Eventually she put her children down for the night, then came over and sat down beside me, and we just allowed night to fall around us, each of us too tired for talk.
Soon I heard the woman’s regular, heavy breathing coming to me through the darkness, and smiling gently, I turned my head towards her. She appeared peaceful in sleep, and I saw in her then the woman she used to be, before this hard life had knocked some of the stuffing out of her.
I yawned. The night was filled with soothing animal and insect sounds. I thought about Jane, and picturing her face in my mind made me hurt deep inside.
Sometime later, I slept too.
The soft jingle of harness coming from somewhere far away woke me suddenly some indeterminate time later. I rolled up into a crouch, the Yellow Boy in my hands, and held my breath, listening. The night was black and speckled with stars: it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the low light. But then I saw them, coming in at their own casual pace from the southeast, picking a path down from the timbered ridges over that way, then coming across the moon-white prairie, where the hulks of Franklin’s slaughtered cattle still lay rotting.
For a moment I thought my eyes might be deceiving me, for I did not see a band of riders, as I had been expecting, but only one—one rider, and a light wagon bouncing and creaking over the uneven terrain.
I heard Mrs. Franklin stir. She must have seen me standing with my rifle at the ready, for she gasped. Within moments she was at my shoulder, also armed, breathing with difficulty, coming close to shedding angry tears that the nightriders should come back again.
Then she also noticed that there was only one rider and a wagon, and I felt her deflate a little and give a short, crazy laugh. ‘It’s all right,’ she said tearfully. ‘It’s all right—they’re friends.’
‘Friends?’
She did not elaborate, but then, she did not need to. There was only one kind of friend I could imagine who would come calling in the middle of the night, and I whispered the name in a tone close to awe.
‘Dunbar?’
Franklin’s wife nodded. ‘Dunbar.’ And she turned away, hurried to the fire and poked it to life, then set a coffee pot on to boil.
As flickering amber light spread through the camp, I watched them ride in, the Yellow Boy still canted across my chest. The woman came first, astride a big, copper-colored horse with a white blaze on his forehead...and yet she was like no woman I had met thus far.
She walked the horse in, drew back, swung down and looped her reins around some brush, then turned to evaluate me in a direct and almost insulting way. She was dressed like a man, in a long gray coat cut from oiled sailcloth, a collarless white shirt, vest and bloused trousers tucked into knee-high Justin boots. Around her hips she wore two crossed weapons belts: I can still remember the way the firelight danced and splashed across the silver buckles.
Her face was long and her complexion was clear. She was neither attractive nor unattractive. Her eyes were big and violet, her nose firm and straight, her cheekbones high and giving her a somewhat regal cast, and her mouth was wide and generous of lip. She wore a yellow bandana at her throat, and thick blue-black hair tumbled down from under her suede Plainsman hat.
She said roughly, Tut that long gun up, Colter. We’re all on the same side here.’
The buggy rolled in behind her just then, driven by a bareheaded man with a round face and powder-gray hair spilling finely down over his forehead. I turned my attention to him. He was nearing forty, with big, moist blue eyes, an untrimmed gray moustache and bristles, and a slack mouth. He was buttoned to the throat in a worn moleskin jacket, and as the wagon drew nearer, I saw that he was missing his right leg just above the knee.
Jessica Dunbar said, ‘Give Ethan a hand to climb down, will you?’ Then she pushed past me and went to join Mrs. Franklin.
They hugged, and the newcomer said, ‘I heard about what they did here, Mary. Came as soon as I could. Judas, they didn’t leave much behind ‘em, did they? How’s Ernie?’
I set my rifle down and went to help the man, her husband. Linderman has already told me that the fire at his store and the subsequent amputation of his leg had left him a broken man. As I reached up and helped him down off the wagon, then supported him long enough for him to drag his crutches out from beneath the spring seat, I saw for myself just how badly it had ruined him. He seemed hardly to be aware of my presence and just kept humming and muttering aimlessly and repetitively until he had the crutches braced in his armpits. His eyes were vague and too wide. Saliva shone across his chin. And every so often he would twitch or start at some real or imagined night-sound.
We joined the women by the fire. Jessica Dunbar crouched there like a man, nursing a steaming mug in both gloved hands. She looked up when we arrived, and gestured that I should help her man to sit beside her. She was, as near as I could estimate, about thirty, and there was about her a dangerous and frightening unpredictability, but I don’t suppose she had always been like that. She had not become what she now was without provocation.
Franklin’s wife—I had the name now, Mary—held a mug of coffee out to me and I took it gratefully, but I did not move to join them all around the fire. Jessica, meanwhile, was patting the woman’s other arm. ‘Well, don’t fret, Mary,’ she said. ‘Folks’ll soon be out to help get you up an’ running again. They’ll not get rid of us as easy as all that. And don’t worry yourself that they’ll get away with it, either. They won’t. They’ll pay, I promise you. Why, the way I hear it, your guest here had already made a start on that score, eh, Colter?’
Mary frowned at me across the flames, but when I made no reply she prompted, ‘What do you mean, Jess?’
Jessica looked mildly surprised. Without taking her eyes off me she said, ‘Didn’t he tell you? Why, Mr. Colter here performed a real service for us this afternoon. He plugged one of Jameson’s bullies, man by the name of Lawson.’
; Mary gasped softly.
‘I killed him because he was trying to kill me,’ I explained quietly.
Jessica waved that aside. ‘Well, we’re obliged to you, whatever your reasons, for Lawson was a hard and vicious man who caused us no end of trouble, and he’s no loss to anyone save his employers. But I’ll tell you this much. He’s only the first. Those Association gunmen have gone too far this time. It’s war now, Colter. I’m going to make them all pay. And you can join us, if you’ve a mind.’
My reply was immediate. ‘I haven’t.’
She looked at me over the rim of her mug and her violet eyes weighed me shrewdly. Setting the mug down slowly, she remarked sarcastically, ‘Don’t tell me I sour your stomach with such talk, Mr. Colter?’
I moved my shoulders. ‘You must do whatever you think fit,’ I replied noncommittally.
‘But you don’t approve, is that it?’
‘Is my approval that important to you?’
She pursed her full lips. ‘Well, mayhaps“approval” is too strong a word. But I’m curious. The Association brought you out here to hunt me down, and they offered you good money to do so. And yet you said no. Then there’s this business here today, what I’ve heard you did for poor Ernie. In my book, all that makes you a wise and charitable man, a man to watch. And maybe a man to listen to.’
She picked up her mug again and gestured to Mary for a refill. ‘Now, I’ll be honest with you,’ she said, ‘I can raise a small army if I need to, make no mistake about it.’
‘I believe you. You must have had help to have done the things you’ve done so far.’
She waved her hand again to brush that aside. ‘My point is this. I can raise an army, and they’re loyal men all—but they’re soldiers. There’s not an officer among them. So far, I’ve been the general. All the decisions have been mine. But if you have another opinion, I’d value hearing it.’
‘You won’t like it,’ I replied.
‘Let me be the judge of that.’
I fell quiet for a moment as I organized my words. The two women watched me expectantly, and Ethan Dunbar hummed and muttered and occasionally jumped at the pop of a log or the soft stirring of a sleeping child.
At last I said, ‘It gave me no satisfaction to kill Lawson earlier today. I did it because he gave me no choice, and that has always been the way of it for me. But you, Mrs. Dunbar...you do have a choice.
‘I’ve heard all about your reasons for waging this...campaign of yours, and I understand and sympathize with you—up to a point. But whether you like it or not, this isn’t the way to settle your differences with the Association. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to sit around a table with them and talk.’
Jessica made an irritable pshaw in her throat. ‘It’d come mighty hard to me, talking to the men who did what they did to Ethan here.’
‘I know that. But at least you have the choice. You can fight, or you can talk. You can start a war, certainly. But can you finish one?’
She was silent.
Persuasively I went on, ‘You know you can’t. The Association has everything you lack: money, organization, men—real fighting men, that is, not your rag-tag of well-intentioned farmers and ranchers— even the law. And they know that. That’s why they want a war.’
She looked sharply at me. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘From Linderman, yesterday.’ I came nearer to the fire, crouched opposite her. ‘All right, Mrs. Dunbar. You asked for my opinion. Here it is. You’re right. You are the general here. And you’ve got all the responsibilities that go along with the rank. So think long and hard before you drag the rest of your people into a fight, because if you don’t, it’ll end in tears, I promise you.
‘But if you do the wise thing, and try to settle this peacefully, you’ll confound all of Linderman’s plans to drive you out by force.’
She didn’t look at me. She wouldn’t. Instead she stared into the fire, a tough, capable fighting woman, her expression strangely blank, as if all the hope and optimism had long since been wrung from it.
‘You think I want to fight?’ she asked a moment later. ‘I don’t. I didn’t ask for the life I lead now.’
‘Then do something to change it.’
‘That’s asking a lot.’
‘There’s a lot at stake.’
She thought about it, but then shook her head. ‘No. No, I can’t. I can see what you’re saying, but...it’s just not that simple. I’d look at Linderman and all his cronies, and all I’d see is Ethan here, what he’s become. I’d want to kill them, Colter. I’d want to. And I probably would.’
Impulsively I said, ‘Then let me represent you.’
‘What?’
‘Let me try to make peace for all of you.’
She made another pshaw. ‘That’s crazy talk.’
But sensing that I had found a way to settle this without further bloodshed, I was fired up now. ‘Look, the seven ranchers who make up the Association are coming to town for one of their quarterly meetings next week. That’s something else I picked up from Linderman. Supposing we could work out some sort of plan that would give everyone what they wanted? Would you at least let me try to put it to them?’
Fatalistically the woman said, ‘They’d never listen. They’re not interested.’
Mary Franklin said tentatively, ‘But if there’s a chance...’
‘There isn’t. I know those land-hungry buzzards. You’d be wasting your time, Colter.’
‘So what happens now?’ I asked, disappointed. ‘You raise your army and go to war, and Fairfax County drowns in blood?’
She still wouldn’t look at me. ‘We fight them,’ she replied through clenched teeth. ‘We fight them every inch of the way, and on their own terms. Because that’s the only language they care to understand.’
I set my cup down. ‘Then the death of every man who follows you will be on your head.’
Her eyes flared at me. ‘You think I need to be reminded of that?’
A sudden wheezy susurration filled the air. I didn’t know what it was at first, only that it chilled my blood and made the hairs on my neck shift. In the next moment I noticed Ethan Dunbar raising his head, ponderously looking around, and I realized that it was him: that he was moving his mouth frantically, and trying to speak.
At last, lifting one hand, he pointed weakly to me and murmured something huskily to his wife. She leaned closer to him and said, ‘What’s that, Ethan? Take your time, now...’
Dribbling, slack-mouthed, his eyes now on me, Ethan said, ‘Let him...let him t-try it...h-his...way...’
Jessica said, ‘But—’
Ethan nodded emphatically. ‘L-Let..; him...’
Then he fell quiet again, save for his repetitive hummings and mutterings.
Feeling my optimism rising, I said, ‘Well?’
Reluctantly Jessica looked over at me, her face taut and strained, and not a little angry. ‘Work out your plan,’ she hissed, ‘and I’ll put it to the others. If they like it, go talk to the Association. But I’ll tell you this right up front—it, won’t do you any good, Colter. There’s war coming to this county. And there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop it.’
Chapter Six
Over the next few days, Franklin’s neighbors came out to help put his place back to rights.
Tragg brought two big, sturdy draft-horses and heavy chains, and somehow we cleared away all the charred timbers and dead cattle so that a few of the other men, who were skilled in such things, could set to work erecting a new house and barn from the surrounding timber.
From my place on the sidelines, I watched them with growing respect, for they worked tirelessly and with stubborn determination—but I noticed also that they never stayed long. Well, they had work of their own to do, I supposed...but I suspected that they were chary of staying away from home too long lest Ward Jameson pay their properties a visit, as well.
Still, as the days unfolded, so the spread began to look less like a b
attlefield and more like its old self, and for my part, I found enjoyment in the hard, manual labor, for it freed my mind of all other considerations and allowed me to concentrate more on finding a compromise I could present to both the Association and the so-called ‘squatters’.
I am bound to say, of course, that it wasn’t easy. At my request, one of the men managed to obtain a map of the county, which I pored over for hours. By then, Franklin was mending slowly and I sought his help in marking out the positions of each new ranch or farm, so as to give me a better grasp of the overall picture there.
But night after night sleep eluded me, for the solution to their problems in Fairfax County was not obvious. Still, in a strange way I welcomed the challenge, because while my mind was occupied with that, I was not thinking about Jane Dawes...though she was never far from my thoughts.
Occasionally word reached us of a clash between a farmer and some of the Association’s bully-boys, or a storekeeper with Association sympathies who was no longer prepared to do business with the newcomers, and when I heard news like that, I wondered if a peaceful solution really was possible. But what was the alternative? It did not even bear consideration.
Of Jessica Dunbar in that week of construction and study and occasional discussion, there was no further sign, though I sensed more than once that she was never far away. And sure enough, one quiet sunset five days later, she and her crippled husband came riding out of the mothy summer’s twilight to see how my plans had advanced.
Mary Franklin, her two older children and I came out onto the porch to watch their arrival. The woman was riding her big, copper-colored horse, and her vacant, muttering husband was holding himself together on the spring seat of his wagon. They came to a halt in the new yard and Jessica looked around at the half-finished house and barn, the freshly-planed wood ghostly white in the dying light, the raw smell of it still lingering on the slowly-cooling air. For a moment no-one said a word. Then Jessica nodded slowly and grunted, ‘It’s coming along, Mary. Coming along.’
Mary was pleased with the compliment, however perfunctory it had been. ‘You’ll stay for coffee, Jess?’ she enquired. ‘I’m sure Ernie would appreciate a visit. I’ll wake him up and—’
