For the Brand

by Ralph Compton

  Bob Ashlon rode off but Charlie lingered to grin and remark, “That midget with the arrows sure makes us do silly things.”

  “Miss Hendershot is waitin’.”

  Presently Willis was alone except for the cows, the tall timber, and the wind. Shadows dappled him as he waved his coiled rope and hollered, “Get along there!” To the best of his recollection, there was a clearing a quarter of a mile farther.

  Now that he was alone, Willis realized the risk he was taking. There was the grizzly to think of. The spot where Deputy Ivers had been ripped apart wasn’t all that far as the crow flew, and grizzlies roamed a wide range. He had not seen any Indian sign but that did not mean none were around. Then he had the rustlers to consider. It could be the brothers would come back and bring Varner and Mason with them.

  There was plenty to worry about but Willis surprised himself by not being worried. He had something else on his mind: thoughts of a woman who had bared her soul to him—a woman life had treated as cruelly as life had treated him; a woman who in a short span had come to mean a lot.

  Thinking of her made Willis light-headed: of the half of her face that was more beautiful than any face he had ever seen; of her laughter and her touch and the smell of her hair when she sat close to him.

  Laurella Hendershot was probably unaware that she had given him something precious—something no one else could; something he needed more desperately than he ever needed anything other than the use of his leg. She had given him a reason to go on living.

  He was still thinking about her when he came to the clearing. He unsaddled and kindled a small fire. There might be food and coffee in Rafe’s saddlebags but Willis refused to look. Whatever was in them was Rafe’s.

  The horse he had borrowed did not belong to Rafe. It belonged to the Bar T. Each spring all the horses were rounded up and parceled out to the returning hands and to the relative few punchers Abe kept on the payroll during the coldest of the winter months. Every man ended up with a personal string of five animals and looked after them as if they were his very own.

  It had been Willis’ job to tame down the wilder ones. After several months of running loose, some of the horses deemed it their God-given right to go wherever they pleased without a human on their back, and Willis had to show them they were there for a purpose. He had taken great pride in his work, in his ability to tame a horse without crushing its spirit.

  The other hands had looked up to him. Cowboys generally considered bronc busters a breed apart, and wanted nothing to do with risking their own bones and sometimes their lives to show a horse who was boss.

  Willis had been uncommonly good at what he did. Punchers who signed on with the Bar T did so confident the horses in their personal strings had been well broken and would perform as they should when riding herd and on roundup.

  A squawk brought Willis’ head up. A pair of jays flitted from tree to tree and shrieked at him as if mad he had invaded their domain. He never had liked jays much, partly because when he was a boy he saw a jay raid the nest of a songbird and kill the nestlings.

  Soon the jays lost interest and flew elsewhere. Lulled by the warm sun on his face, Willis felt his eyelids grow heavy. Before long, he dozed off. He dreamed chaotic dreams of bears and mountain lions and then one of the stallion responsible for ending his days as a bronc buster. In the dream, when he went to Abe and asked to be allowed to try to break the man killer, Abe refused and had the stallion shot. He was mad, but it spared his leg, and in his dream he lived the life he had always wanted to live, breaking horses until his joints could no longer take the punishment and then working as a cowboy until he was old and gray. That was how it should have been.

  A noise awakened him. Willis sat up, his hands on the Spencer. He thought the jays had returned but the woods were quiet. Too quiet, he thought. His knee protesting, he slowly stood and glanced at the sun. Judging by its position, he had been asleep for a couple hours. He was growing careless.

  The cows were dozing. Rafe’s string horse was nipping grass. Willis decided it had been his imagination; he was bending to sit back down when the horse raised its head and nickered.

  Off in the forest to the south another horse answered.

  Willis was too exposed. He limped to the trees and leaned against a fir. Hooves clomped, the brush crackled, and two riders appeared. “Charlie?” he said, then saw who was with him and limped to meet them, amazement and hope churning his insides. “Laurella? What in God’s name are you doin’ here?”

  “I’m glad to see you, too.” She drew rein, and although Willis could not see her face for the veil, he knew that under it she was smiling.

  “You’re supposed to be on your way back to the ranch house in the buckboard.”

  “The buckboard is on its way back without me.” Laurella swung down and stood so near to him, he saw the veil flutter when she exhaled. “Mr. Ashlon went with it. He was kind enough to lend me the use of his horse.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “Why do you think?” Laurella held out the reins for him to take, then strode past to the fire. “I brought the food we had left. A man shouldn’t go without his supper.”

  Willis glared up at his friend. “What in hell got into you? How could you let her do this?”

  “I’d like to see you stop that gal when she puts her mind to somethin’!” Charlie said. “I talked until I was blue in the face but she wouldn’t listen. She said it wasn’t right for us to leave you out here by your lonesome and she was comin’ whether I liked it or not.”

  “You could have forced her,” Willis said. “There were three of you.”

  “Lay a finger on a female? A Texas female? Are you loco? Or maybe you didn’t know she has a derringer?”

  “A what?” Willis turned. Laurella had hunkered by the fire and was adding a limb she had broken.

  “Somewhere in that getup of hers is a derringer. She pointed it at me when I told her she was goin’ back and that was final.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn.”

  “You can say that again. So since touchin’ her was out of the question and bein’ shot isn’t high on my list of things I most like to do, I agreed to bring her to you.”

  Willis walked over to her. “If you leave right this moment, you can reach the north valley before dark.”

  “When we go, we’ll go together,” Laurella said. “Or were you plannin’ on lettin’ the cows find their own way back?”

  “Abe will be mad enough to spit nails. Elfie will be even madder.” Willis did not care to face her wrath if he could help it.

  “She won’t say a word to you. It was my decision. Just as this one is.” Laurella turned toward Charlie Weaver. “You can head back. Mr. Lander and I will be perfectly fine by ourselves.”

  Willis and Charlie both blurted, “What?”

  “Wyomin’ cowboys sure are hard of hearin’,” Laurella said. “The Tylers are bound to be worried. As soon as Mr. Ashlon and that other cowboy reach the ranch, Abe will organize a search party and head out to find me. Mr. Weaver, you will tell him I am in no danger and there is no hurry.”

  “But—” Charlie said.

  “But what?” Laurella prompted. “It’s indecent for a lady to be alone with a man in the middle of nowhere?”

  “You’re puttin’ words in my mouth, ma’am.”

  “I’m only sayin’ what you were thinkin’. Your concern for my reputation is duly noted. But it is my reputation, Mr. Weaver, to polish or sully as I see fit. So you will kindly head on down and put Mr. Tyler’s mind at ease.”

  Charlie glanced at Willis.

  “Miss Hendershot,” Willis said formally, “my pard has a point. Folks hereabouts are bound to gossip. The parson might hear of it and then we’re in for a lecture on the wickedness of the flesh.” It was one of the parson’s favorite sermons.

  “He can lecture you if you let him but I’m no sinner and I’ll be damned if I’ll have him or anyone else brand
me as one.” Laurella’s veil rose to Charlie. “Are you still here?”

  “What am I to do?” Charlie asked Willis.

  Laurella answered, “I’ve already told you. Ride down and inform Mr. and Mrs. Tyler I’m as well as well can be and they should not rush to rescue me.”

  “We’re safer if Charlie stays,” Willis said.

  “Off you go, Mr. Weaver.”

  “Will, it’s up to you,” Charlie said. “Do I go or do I stay?”

  The veil shifted to Willis. He smiled but he sensed she wasn’t. He also sensed that he was about to make one of the most important decisions of his life. “You go,” he said.

  Muttering, Charlie reined his horse around. He did not look back and he did not wave.

  “I don’t blame him for bein’ mad,” Laurella said when he was out of sight. “But we have to find out, one way or the other.”

  Willis commenced unsaddling Ashlon’s horse. He had only the vaguest notion of what she wanted to find out and did not want to appear dumb by asking. The bundle of food was tied on behind the saddlebags.

  “There’s not a whole lot left, I’m afraid,” Laurella said as she unwrapped it. “But I’m not all that hungry.”

  “Me either,” Willis lied yet again. He unrolled a blanket and spread it out for her to sit on, then positioned the saddles so they were side by side. But she surprised him by sitting with her back against his.

  “You must think me terribly forward.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore,” Willis confessed. He had never been much good at it anyway. The few years he had spent in school as a youngster had taxed him to his limit. He had learned to add and subtract fair enough but the multiplication tables had been impossible for him to memorize, and long division gave him headaches.

  “I’ve spent so much of my life hurtin’ inside,” Laurella said. “If there’s a chance—a real chance—the hurtin’ will end, I owe it to myself not to waste time. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Willis said, and munched on a piece of chicken.

  “Life is too short. Half of mine is over. The years go by so fast, we go from the cradle to the grave in the bat of an eye. Time is precious and I refuse to squander what I have left.”

  Willis munched and wrestled with his feelings. The fire crackled and the horses grazed. He made bold to drape his arm about her shoulders and she shifted to make herself more comfortable and placed her hat beside them.

  “Isn’t this nice? Are you happy I stayed?”

  “I’ve never been happier,” Willis said. Nor more nervous. He smelled her hair and her skin. He went to stroke her neck but lowered his fingers.

  “Do you mind a headstrong woman? I can change if I have to but I would rather not have to.”

  “You’re fine as you are,” Willis said, and felt her tense up. He had to remember to choose his words carefully.

  “No, I’m not, but in some respects, I can be as fine as any woman anywhere. The respects I’m not, it can’t be helped.”

  The sun was on its downward arc. The shadows about them lengthened, and from time to time, Willis added fuel to the fire. Otherwise, they did not move or speak but simply sat with her cheek on his chest and her hand in his.

  Willis’ nervousness faded. Toward evening the air grew chill but the flames warmed him outside and her touch warmed him inside. He was content to sit there forever. In the gray of twilight, she twisted the unspoiled half of her face up to him. Her eyes were misting over.

  “I’ve never been so happy. Thank you, Will.”

  Willis kissed her on the tip of her nose. He could not say what drove him to do it, other than he had never been happier, either. Suddenly she buried her face against his chest and began weeping in great, heaving sobs. Bewildered, he patted her shoulder and her head and said softly, “There, there.”

  Much later, curled up in his arms, Laurella said, “I’m a hussy. Go ahead. Say it. I won’t be mad.”

  “You’re a hussy.”

  “If this is a trick, tell me now. If you plan to run off, tell me now. If you’ll wake up tomorrow and want to kick yourself, tell me now. There will be no hard feelin’s. I promise, on my honor.”

  Willis pecked her on the nose again.

  “Oh, Will.”

  The fire crackled and sputtered. The cows dozed and the horses were dozing and the wild creatures of the day retired to their dens and burrows to sleep the night away, but Willis doubted he would sleep for a week. He had never felt so filled with life and vitality.

  “They will never understand,” Laurella said.

  “It’s our life,” Willis said.

  Chapter 15

  Three days later Laurella announced her decision.

  Elfie arranged a special supper for the occasion, to which Willis was invited at Laurella’s insistence. Armando was there, too, seated on Willis’ right, and it made Willis uncomfortable.

  It was Armando who had been first to show up at the clearing high in the mountains. He had ridden on ahead of Abe Tyler and the rest, pushing himself and his mount tirelessly. He arrived just at the break of dawn, and he was not in a good mood. He vaulted from his horse before it came to a stop and stalked toward Willis with his hand resting on his Colt. Fire blazed in his eyes, and Willis had been set to defend himself when Laurella stepped between them.

  “Armando! Qué tienes?”

  They exchanged a flurry of Spanish. Willis only knew a little of the lingo, but he did not need to be versed in the language to guess why Armando was so mad. Finally Laurella reverted to English.

  “Do you understand now?”

  “Sí, senorita,” Armando said. “But I do not like it.”

  “You judge too quickly. He is a fine hombre, as you will learn for yourself. Until then, show him the same respect you show me.”

  Armando’s smoldering gaze was enough to char Willis to a crisp. “I will try, senorita. For your sake.”

  Since then her protector had barely said ten words to Willis but Willis often caught Armando studying him. Armando had insisted on accompanying them when Laurella inspected the south valley, and although Laurella had wanted to spend more time with Willis alone, she gave in.

  “He is only doin’ what my father told him to do,” she explained, “which is to watch over me and see that I do not come to harm.” She sighed. “Ever since my accident, my parents have been overprotective. I realize they do it because they love me but I am an adult now. I do not need protectin’.”

  “Well, you’ve got a heap of protectors whether you want them or not”—Willis had grinned—“because you can add me to the list.”

  They went everywhere together. Willis was constantly at her side; he could not get enough of her company. They became the talk of the ranch. Punchers would point at them, and smile knowingly.

  Elfie was not as pleased about the relationship as her husband. Abe accepted the news without comment but Elfie went on and on about how unseemly it was for Laurella to have spent the night alone with a man up in the mountains, and what was Laurella thinking, and why did Laurella insist on always being with him, and shouldn’t she be concentrating on buying the ranch and not one of the ranch hands. Elfie might have continued in that vein had Laurella not lit into her.

  “Enough is enough. My personal life is none of your business. Who I spend my time with is none of your business. And for your information, I am concentrating on the ranch. Thanks to Will, I know more about the Bar T than I could ever learn on my own. And I must say I am not happy about how you and your husband tried to trick me.”

  Elfie had blinked and bleated, “Why, my dear, whatever do you mean?”

  “Don’t play innocent. I know all about the rustlers. You should have told me about them the first day I was here. But you kept it a secret. You were afraid I would change my mind about buying your ranch.”

  Elfie had glanced at Willis, and not in a friendly way. “My dear, you had more than enough to occupy you. Besides, my husband and I were confid
ent we would have the problem solved long before you assumed ownership.”

  “A lie by omission is still a lie,” Laurella had said, “and I resent being treated so shabbily. Either start to deal with me in a forthright manner or you can find a new buyer.”

  Willis had been secretly tickled when Elfie backpedaled, saying how sorry she was and how it would never happen again, and could Laurella please, please, oh please forgive her?

  Now, as Elfie tapped her plate with a spoon and stood, Willis smiled sweetly at her just to rub it in.

  “I want to thank all of you for coming tonight, and say how delighted I am to have so many friends on hand.”

  Willis was not the only guest. Reuben Marsh sat near Abe, wearing a new store-bought shirt and a clean bandanna. Reuben, with his slicked-back hair, sat stiff and straight.

  The parson was there, too, although why Elfie invited him was a puzzlement. Reverend Merford had bushy white sideburns and a craggy face that looked down on the rest of the world as if passing judgment.

  Equally puzzling was the presence of Fred Baxter, the general store owner and Cottonwood’s leading citizen.

  “Miss Hendershot has promised to render her decision tonight,” Elfie was saying. “And since that decision is of considerable importance to everyone here, you were all specifically invited.”

  “Cottonwood will welcome you warmly, ma’am,” Fred Baxter said, “should you decide to buy.”

  Reverend Merford was not nearly as agreeable. “We are a Christian community, with Christian values. It would be well for newcomers, and some of those who are not so new, to bear that in mind.” He gave Willis a pointed look.

  Abe rose and tapped his own plate. “Now, now, let’s be civil. Miss Hendershot will tell us after we eat, so dig in, everyone. Gus has outdone himself for the occasion.”

  Little Sparrow did most of the serving. She hovered around Reuben Marsh a lot, or maybe Willis only thought she did. Several times during the course of the meal, Laurella’s arm brushed his, and never by accident. To watch her eat was a wonderment. She would spear a morsel with her fork or scoop it up with her spoon, and with a deft flick of her wrist, the food disappeared under her veil.