by H. V. Elkin
When he got back to the ranch, he told Ellen, “Maybe it is, like you say, a one-man horse. But maybe it could be a one-woman horse, too.”
She was excited. “Mine?”
“You’re somebody I could leave Mesteño with and still ride out of here with a clear conscience.” Cutler dismounted and put Mesteño back in the corral.
Harmon appeared on the other side of the corral. “Well, he looks a hell of a lot better today,” he said. “Guess all ol’ Mesteño needed was some exercise. Much obliged, Cutler. You figure your job’s done now?”
Cutler closed the gate from the inside and went across to Harmon. “No, it’s not finished yet. Let me lay it out for you, Harmon. There’s only one way this horse ain’t gonna wind up dead.”
“How’s that?”
“He’s got to have an owner he likes, and that ain’t Chase. I don’t think I can explain it so you’ll understand, but this is what it amounts to. You got to give up any idea of makin’ a profit on Mesteño and let somebody have him for good.”
“But not Chase.”
“Mesteño’s never gonna accept that man, and you know that, don’t you?”
Harmon shook his head. “Maybe I do.” He sighed. He tried to think of some way of still making money on the horse and the only answer he could come up with was dog meat. “Who you figure Mesteño will accept?”
“There’s just two I know of around here. One’s Dave Baker, but he probably wouldn’t want the mustang with the medicine hat. That might start things all over again.”
“Who’s the other, then?”
“Your daughter. There’s just a chance Mesteño will accept Ellen.”
Harmon thought for a while, then he called across the corral to Ellen. “You want a horse?” he called.
“You bet,” she said. “If he’ll have me.”
“Think you’re man enough?”
“Oh, go pound salt!”
Harmon hid his grin in the arms he had folded on the fence. “Well, Cutler,” he said. “I’m not as happy about it as I might be. But you’re the professional here, and I guess there’s no sense in payin’ you a high price and not listenin’ to what you say, is there?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Well, I guess Ellen gettin’ him’s the next best thing. At least it keeps a good horse in the family. Okay. Let’s get it done.”
“She’ll have to work for it,” Cutler said.
“She ain’t afraid of work, I’ll say that for her.”
“This might be harder than anything she’s ever done before, though. She’s gonna have to do something she might not like.”
“Like what?”
“Well, she’s gonna have to put on these stinkin’ clothes of mine.”
Harmon laughed. “See what you mean.”
Ellen watched them from across the corral, wondering what they were thinking was so funny.
Chase did not wonder. He had been listening from behind a nearby shed. He stroked the butt of a rifle as he added it all up, and with each thought his hand rubbed harder on the rifle until his anger made it look like he was trying to press his hand through the wood. Ellen wanted nothing to do with him. That was okay before when she did not give a second look to any man. But that had changed when Cutler came, and that made Chase second best. Things being as they were, Chase had little hope of ever owning Ellen or the ranch that went with her. And he had accepted orders from Harmon all this time because Ellen and the ranch were worth it. There did not seem to be much point in it all now.
Maybe he could have come to terms with that much, but there was more. There was being defeated by Cutler more than once, and he knew it had gotten around and the men were talking about it. Joking about it. Having been rejected by Mesteño was the last straw.
And now if the horse that Chase could not ride could be ridden by a woman . . .
Ellen knew she looked ridiculous in Cutler’s clothes, but that was not important. The smell of them was her introduction to Mesteño, so she was grateful for their odor.
Cutler had taken a bath and had fresh clothes on. He took Ellen’s hand and led her to Mesteño. At first the horse was confused, but Cutler put his hands over the horse’s eyes and the animal became calm.
“Now talk to him like I am,” Cutler said quietly.
“What do I say?”
“Anything, just so long as it’s gentle. Just say what I say if you want to. The words don’t matter if the feeling’s right.
“I’m takin’ my right hand away from his right eye. As I do that, you slide yours over in its place. That’s good.”
“That’s good,” she repeated.
“Easy, Mesteño. Easy, boy.”
“Easy, Mesteño,” she repeated, her hand over the mustang’s eye. “Easy, boy.”
“Now I’m gonna breathe in one nostril, and you breathe in the other at the same time.”
“At the same time,” she said.
From the side of the house, Chase watched them, rubbing his rifle butt. In a while, he saw Cutler back away, leaving Ellen alone in the corral with Mesteño. He could hear Ellen talking to the horse, talking in a tone of voice he would have liked her to use with him once. Once, but now it was too late.
He had waited too long. Cutler was too far away from the horse. Chase could say he shot at the horse when he thought it was going to trample Ellen, and Cutler was in the way, so he had to shoot a second time to kill the murderous stallion. The first shot that killed Cutler had been an accident. But now Ellen could claim that Cutler was nowhere near the horse. He would have to kill Ellen, too. Well, maybe it served her right.
What was right? First the horse. First put a bullet through the head of that devil Chase had wanted to kill for the longest time. Then Cutler. Then Ellen. Let Ellen live the longest for old times’ sake.
Chase raised the rifle and aimed it at the horse. But Ellen was in the way. That was no good. Ellen was for last. So he held his aim and waited. “Move,” he mouthed but did not speak the words. “Move, Ellen. Move. I’m trying to be good to you. Gonna give you a few extra minutes, but not unless you move. You don’t move and you give me no choice. You don’t move and you’ll have to be first.”
The dog was on guard outside the corral, where he had been stationed ever since Chase’s last encounter with Cutler. Maybe Chase could kill the dog and that would make Ellen move. Or the horse, Cutler’s horse that was near the outside of the corral. If he killed the horse and the dog first, maybe he could hurt Cutler bad before he killed him. Maybe if he killed Harmon, that would hurt Ellen the same way. No, it was getting to be too complicated. He had to shoot fast now before any of the hands came by. He might have to kill too many if that happened. He might not be able to explain it then. Somebody would wonder about it for sure.
Ellen moved around to the side of Mesteño and Chase had a clear shot at last.
“Drop it, Chase!” Cutler’s voice behind him. Chase lowered the rifle, puzzled.
Not possible. Cutler was ... no, he wasn’t. He had backed completely from view while Chase was aiming and figuring things out. Then it must be Cutler behind him after all.
“I said drop it!”
But if he dropped the rifle, he would not be able to use it as he meant to. That was a ridiculous order to drop the rifle. Cutler must be crazy. Well, Chase had no choice. Cutler was going to have to be first after all. Sure, why not? Cutler would not have to suffer, and that was too bad, but Ellen would before Chase killed her. Too bad Cutler was so stupid as to come up behind Chase that way. Otherwise, he might have lived a little longer. Let’s see. Cutler probably had a gun on Chase. Chase was going to have to be clever. And fast.
He held the rifle out to his side as though he were about to drop it. That ought to put Cutler off guard for a moment. Then he fell to his right, toward the rifle, hanging onto the rifle, and rolling when he hit the ground, shooting as he rolled, three times in rapid succession up where Cutler should be. But his shots only ripped chips out of the side
of the house because Cutler was not where he was supposed to be. He realized too late that Cutler had fallen to the ground at the same time Chase had, and Cutler had his six-gun pointed at Chase, and Chase realized this only in time to see the fire shooting from Cutler’s gun barrel. He felt his head rip apart, and then he felt nothing. He did not exist anymore.
Ellen heard the shots, left the corral and came running around the side of the house. She saw Cutler standing over Chase’s body. Cutler bent down and turned the body over, and Ellen felt sick when she saw the bleeding red mark in Chase’s forehead.
Some of the hands came running up, too. And Harmon. No one had anything to say before Harmon found his voice. “This what you meant, Cutler?” he asked angrily. ‘This the only way you figured my foreman could be controlled?”
“That’s right,” Cutler said. “He’d gone loco.”
“Well, now you’ve done it, ain’t you? You went and murdered Tom.”
“That’s right!” Cutler shouted, and he strode over and grabbed Harmon by his shirt. Harmon was stiff with surprise and did not try to get away.
“That’s right!” Cutler yelled into Harmon’s face. “If you can count, count the empty shells. Chase’s got three and I got one. Then maybe you’ll figure he shot three times at me after I murdered him. Maybe you’re just as loco as he got to be.”
Ellen put her hand on Cutler’s shoulder and ran her hand down his arm, almost like she was stroking Mesteño’s neck, and she spoke softly. “John?”
Cutler spun around, his eyes still blazing, still holding onto Harmon.
“Easy, John,” she said quietly.
Cutler released Harmon. “Something about killin’ a man that puts me in an ornery mood, even if it’s a man like Chase.” He shook his head. “And that’s the kind it usually is.”
Harmon turned on the hands standing around. “Anybody see what happened here?”
None of them had, but one man said, “No sir, but like Cutler says, we can count the empty shells.”
“Well, you men get back to work. No thin’ you can do here right now. I’ll come talk to you later.”
After the men had left, Harmon could see that Cutler had calmed down. “Didn’t mean to accuse you of anything,” Harmon said. “It was just the shock of it.”
“You know, Harmon, you might’ve had a bigger shock. It could be Ellen lyin’ dead out there in the corral because that’s where he was pointin’ his rifle. Thought it was at me when I saw the sun glintin’ off the barrel, so I backed away from Ellen. But when I got around the house, he was still aimin’ at the corral.”
Harmon sighed. “I guess I should’ve seen it comin’ on him sooner. Maybe he’d still be alive.”
“Well,” Cutler said, “I ain’t sayin’ it’s the case here, but everywhere else I’ve been, when there’s something wrong with one of the men, there’s usually something wrong with the boss, too. Problems that last and get worse usually start at the top. Problems like Chase don’t last long when the boss knows what’s what.”
Harmon said, “I appreciate your not sayin’ that in front of the men.”
“Hell,” Cutler said, “if I did that it’d only make it harder for you to get things straightened out around here.”
“Thanks,” Harmon said. “Thanks, Cutler.” It was clear that the man was grateful. He looked back at Chase’s body and his shoulders fell as he accepted the responsibility for it. “The last person who died on this ranch was my wife.” He knelt down and held his head in his hands.
Ellen went up to him. “Pa?”
He looked up at her, and his eyes were wet. “I’m sorry, Ellen, for everything.”
“Pa?” She held her arms out.
He stood and embraced his daughter. “Thanks, Cutler,” he said again.
Cutler did not know what to say except, “The name’s John.”
Chapter Eight
Cutler rode his wagon north, back toward Thermopolis or Tensleep, back anywhere there might be news of the grizzly. Apache followed the wagon. Big Red sat on the seat beside Cutler. And the mules pulled at a steady pace through the bright noonday sun.
He had ridden away from so many jobs in so many places by now, Cutler had developed certain expectations. Normally, he would feel the grimness setting in about now. He would have refocused on his main objective in life, killing the grizzly, and there was no happiness in that. But this time the grimness was late. Maybe it was the hangover. Or maybe the warmth of last night still lingered inside him. He cradled the jug on the crook of his arm and drank. Hair of the dog. He smiled to himself.
They had all been there at the Harmon ranch house last night. Ellen, Ben, the ranch hands, the men who had ridden on the mustang roundup. And Dave Baker. Even Dave.
“You know something?” Baker asked Harmon.
“Lot more today than last month,” Harmon said.
“Then maybe you realize, Ben, this is the first time I’ve been in your house by invitation.”
“That’s because you’re so uppity I didn’t think you’d come if you was invited.”
Baker laughed. “You don’t mean that, but you’re probably right anyway.”
“Hey, John!” Harmon called. “If that money ain’t weighin’ you down too much, come on over here and have a drink with us.”
“It’s good stuff,” Cutler said.
“Damned right,” Harmon said. “And we got plenty of it, so don’t be shy. Fact, I want you to take a jug with you tomorrow.”
Cutler grinned. “Guess I could afford one now.”
Harmon clapped Baker on the shoulder. “You been givin’ him uppity lessons, ain’t you?” He turned back to Cutler. “Who said anything about payin’, you ornery cuss? No, I want you to have a jug. You ought to get some kind of bonus, seems like. You did a hell of a lot more around here than catch a mustang.”
“Watch out carryin’ all that money,” Baker said. “I hear the Wild Bunch is north of here now.”
“Hell,” Harmon said, “if John can get Mesteño for us, then teach Ellen to ride him, I guess Butch Cassidy or Sundance won’t be no trouble. Wild Bunch’s just like another herd of mustangs, runnin’ around and givin’ folks reasons to want to catch ’em.”
Ellen was standing in the open doorway, dividing her attention between the corral and the party. When she looked around, she still had that new look on her face, that same brightness that had been there when she returned from her first solo run on the mustang. Cutler knew how she felt. And she knew he knew. As the days progressed between the start of the training and that moment when Cutler knew the mustang was finally hers, they spoke to each other less and less. Words became less necessary.
It was something like what he had with Iris Shannon.
Iris. Maybe that’s who he should be thinking about now as the wagon moved closer to her. She would look at him once, know Cutler had been with another woman and never say a word about it. Iris was special. So was Ellen. And in many ways the two women were alike.
Cutler heard a horse running behind him. He stopped the wagon, instinctively rested his hand on his six-gun and turned in his seat. The rider was still at some distance, but there was no mistaking either the rider or the horse. Ellen and Mesteño. Cutler smiled, took another swig of whiskey and waited.
It was a magnificent sight, the way she rode the horse, the way the horse ran with her in the saddle. Together, they were both free. The fences on the Harmon ranch could not contain their spirits. Ellen had become somewhat distant in those last couple of days before Cutler left. In a way, that pleased Cutler. It meant she had gotten caught up in something new, a private feeling that she shared with the horse and could not describe if she tried. It meant, too, that Cutler himself had no hold on her.
Ellen rode alongside the wagon and pulled up.
“Howdy,” Cutler said.
She grinned at him. “I came to say goodbye. It didn’t seem right, somehow, back there with everybody else standin’ around. I mean, with you and me, it’s not ju
st another handshake.”
Cutler nodded. “Glad you came.”
“I wanted you to know how important you’ve been to me. Because of you, and then because of the horse you gave me, I’ve never been so happy in my whole life. It just keeps gettin’ better. And I don’t even feel sad you’re ridin’ off. I thought I would, but I don’t.”
“That’s good.”
“You figure we’ll ever see each other again?”
“Can’t depend on it, not ever,” Cutler said. “But you never know either way.”
She leaned over and hugged Mesteño around the neck. And she did not look at Cutler when she said, “Guess anything you can explain isn’t worth as much as the things you can’t. But it’s kind of like I used to put a lot of energy into bein’ as good as any man ...”
“You don’t have to prove that no more.”
“No, I don’t. But when that wasn’t important anymore, I noticed there was something else in me I’d been keeping the damper on. I don’t know exactly what it is. But it’s the reason I stopped comin’ out to your wagon at night. I felt a little foolish chasin’ you like that. And I had to get on Mesteño and chase after you to tell you. I don’t know.” She looked up at him, perplexed. “Do you get it?”
“Maybe I do,” he said. “Get off your horse.”
“I got to get back.”
He turned to the dog. “Red, stay.” Then he got off the wagon and looked up at her. “Won’t do nothin’ to stop you if you want to ride back. But I’d like it if you got off your horse.”
She looked at him quizzically a moment, then shrugged and dismounted, tying Mesteño’s reins on the wagon. “Okay,” she said. “I’m off my horse. Now what?”
“Now run.”
“Do what?”
“Run.”
“What for?”
“So I can catch you, or try to.”
She laughed. “You got flat-heel boots!”
“Nothin’ wrong with me havin’ some little advantage, is there?”
“John . . .”
“Go on! Run! What are you afraid of?”
