Tennessee Renegade

by Hank J. Kirby

  Renny, despite himself, seemed impressed. ‘None of the ranch hands have ever used that, far as I know.’

  ‘There’s likely a couple know the trick. Just haven’t had a chance to put it into practice. Now we go up before sundown to the waterhole, and stay hid in the brush, let the lead stallion check it out and call the others in. Let ’em drink their fill. Water sloshing in their bellies slows ’em just a mite. Then we hit ’em from two sides, yelling and yahooing, waving hats or ponchos, and we push ’em down to this end of the waterhole where they’ve got no choice but to follow the trail we’ve made and lined with cut brush. You can use strips of burlap or gunnysacking, but this way’s just as good.’

  It was simple enough, something Buck had done many times. It went off fine, except the kid got carried away and pulled his Colt and started shooting holes in the sky. The crash of the gun was like slapping a red hot coal under the tails of the mustangs. They took off like they wouldn’t stop this side of California. Some in their panic crashed through the brush walls lining the trail. Others laid back their ears and rolled their eyes and charged after the leader way out in front, following the twisting trail.

  The corral was less than half full when the stampede was finally over. Sweating, eyes bright, Renny rode across to Buck who was securing the gate frame to the post with strips of rawhide.

  ‘Man! That was something! I don’t feel like stopping, can we get another bunch? Seems to be room in the corral.’

  Enderby’s eyes were like drills. ‘There is, because you started shooting. Told you to use your hat or a poncho or the blanket. Gunfire scared the hell outta ’em and they panicked, broke through the brush wall.’

  Renny scowled. ‘You saying it’s my fault we lost some?’

  ‘At least half. Yeah, it was your fault. You want to make some excuse so you don’t have to take the blame?’

  The kid was ready to blaze back but something in Buck’s stern face stopped him and he fought with himself for a few moments, then sighed. ‘All right! I just thought it would … get them into the corrals quicker.’

  ‘Listen to what I say, kid, then do it. Ask your questions afterwards. If I goof, I’ll admit it.’

  Renny squirmed in the saddle, began to reload his six-gun, keeping his head down so he wouldn’t have to look Buck in the face. ‘All right, I goofed. Make you happy?’

  ‘Why would it make me happy? It means another lesson you haven’t learned. We’ll leave those broncs, no use trying to break ’em in. You’re sure not ready for that.’

  Renny snapped his head up. ‘We got time for some shooting, then?’

  Enderby hesitated, glanced up at the sun, which was well heeled-over towards the top of the mountain. ‘OK, we can get in an hour.’

  Renny smiled widely, making him look very young, lit up with the excitement of youth.

  But they didn’t get any shooting in that day, leastways, not in the remote draw.

  Riding across the slope after cutting some grass for the captured mustangs and throwing it into the corral, Buck paused, twisted in the saddle, sniffing. ‘I smell smoke.’

  By the time Renny had made several large sniffing sounds and started to agree, Enderby was riding fast downslope, rowelling his horse. A little startled, Renny followed.

  The sun was just tipping the top of the mountain when they arrived at the lineshack, but both of them knew what they were going to find long before then. The shelter for storing winter hay was ablaze, the corral rails had been torn down and the remuda was gone. There was also a small fire burning against the side wall of the line camp cabin.

  ‘Get that put out!’ yelled Buck to Renny as he unsheathed his rifle and spurred his mount around the cabin, he had caught a movement in the timber above.

  ‘Where you going?’ Renny called but Buck just yelled at him to put out the cabin fire, and disappeared into the shadowed trees.

  He glimpsed the rider weaving through the thinning timber and when the man passed timberline, Buck stood in the stirrups and cut loose with two fast shots from his Winchester. Bark flew from one tree and the other bullet kicked dirt into a brief fountain a couple of feet from the man’s horse.

  He hipped in the saddle, startled, flung his own rifle up and blazed a couple of shots at his pursuer.

  Buck recognized him as Lane Magill, sheathed his rifle and concentrated on catching up with the man. Magill rode for the crest, out in the open now, in the sparse timber and brush. Enderby closed, his horse panting, though more used to mountain work than the fugitive’s.

  Lane Magill’s horse stumbled and although it righted quickly enough, he lost a lot of ground. The man started to panic, emptied his rifle and then dragged out his six-gun, blazing at Buck Enderby. The man from Tennessee dismounted, taking his rifle with him, dropped to one knee and triggered one shot as Magill lashed and rowelled his stumbling mount on to the crest. The horse shuddered, stopped in its tracks, and then toppled sideways and began to slide down the slope. Magill tried frantically to kick free but the horse had slid several yards before he managed it. He rolled, scrabbling for his dropped six-gun on hands and knees.

  Buck fired and the bullet kicked gravel into Magill’s face. He shouted, reared up, clawing at his eyes. He froze when he clearly heard the clash of the lever on Buck’s rifle again. He spun, hands raised shoulder high.

  ‘Don’t! Don’t shoot!’

  He stood awkwardly, gravel scarred, clothes torn. Buck could smell the man from down the slope.

  ‘You look like hell, Magill. What’re you trying to do?’

  Lane Magill ran a tongue over his lips. ‘I … I been drinkin’ … I ran outta dough, started thinkin’ how you took my job. Wanted to get you in Dutch with the Senator—’

  ‘So you decided to burn us out, me and the kid.’

  Lane showed a little spirit then curled his lip. ‘He’s a pain in the butt! I couldn’t get close to the big ranch, so figured it’d be just as good to run off the remuda here, burn the winter feed supply and the cabin.’

  ‘You’re the pain in the butt, Magill. Stay put.’

  Enderby started up the slope and Magill turned, glanced at his six-gun lying in the gravel, only a yard or two away. He licked his lips. Buck stumbled on the loose gravel and as he righted himself, Magill started a half-hearted thrust for his Colt, but changed his mind when he saw how fast Buck steadied.

  Then, downslope, a rifle crashed three times and dust spurted from Magill’s shirtfront. The bullets thrust him back violently. He half twisted, face a mask of agony as his legs gave way and he sprawled, sliding face down towards Enderby.

  Buck twisted as he went down to one knee and swore softly. Renny Pardoe was coming up from timberline, a smoking rifle in his hand and a wide grin on his face. Buck looked past him and saw the flames and black smoke below. ‘The cabin’s still burning!’

  Renny glanced casually over his shoulder. ‘I emptied a canteen of water on it. Then I heard the shooting and figured you’d need a hand. And you did, didn’t you?’

  ‘He wasn’t going for his gun! He started to but changed his mind.’

  ‘Yeah? Looked like he was stooping for it to me. Anyway, he’s no loss. Never did like the son of a bitch.’

  He was standing, panting a little, in front of Buck now, pleased with himself. Until Buck hit him and knocked him down. ‘What’s that for?’ he gasped, rubbing his jaw as he sat up dazedly.

  Buck rode past him, racing downslope towards the fire.

  CHAPTER 8

  RETURN

  Kim Preece frowned as she looked at Enderby, now standing by the window and looking out into the ranchyard.

  ‘Well? You can’t end it there! What happened? Did you save the line camp?’

  Without turning, Buck said quietly, shaking his head, ‘Too late, if the kid had done what I told him the cabin might’ve been OK but—’

  ‘If he’d done what you told him, Lane Magill might still be alive, too.’

  He turned to look at her, arms folded. ‘M
aybe, Renny was right, you know, he was no loss. But, of course, that wasn’t the point. He’d shot a man down in cold blood, and was proud of it—’

  His voice hardened even as he spoke, remembering his anger at Renny Pardoe that day.

  Renny rode back down to the smoking ruins of the line camp, looked around and shrugged.

  ‘Looks like the old man’s gonna have to build a new one.’

  ‘That all it means to you?’

  ‘Well, hell, it’s no skin off my nose, Buck. Why are you mad at me for shooting Lane Magill? I thought I saved your neck.’

  ‘You didn’t.’ Buck’s voice was curt, like a falling axe blade.

  ‘Well, I did like you told me, snugged that rifle butt well into my shoulder, got that blade sight dead between the V of the rear and—’

  ‘Let it ride, kid, shooting an unarmed man is nothing to be proud of. And if you can’t see that, it’s not much use me trying to teach you any different.’

  ‘Judas! I’m damned if I understand you!’

  ‘No. We’d better ride down and tell your father what’s happened.’

  That sobered the kid, wiped the happy look off his face. He was even more unhappy when Buck stayed silent and let him tell the Senator about Magill and the line camp fire.

  Pardoe senior swore softly. ‘I heard Magill had been cutting-up rough in town, should’ve had someone kick his butt out of there.’ He flicked his gaze to Enderby. ‘You’re pretty quiet.’

  ‘Renny’s job to tell you these things.’

  ‘Hmmmm. Guess you must’ve taught him something, if he managed to shoot Lane Magill. He was a pretty tough customer.’

  Buck said nothing and the Senator frowned. ‘Well, you’ve still got your job to do and another two months left to work off your parole. There’re two other line camps you can work out of—’

  ‘No. We’ll go back to the one Magill burned out. We can rebuild it, Renny and me.’

  ‘Wait a minute!’ snapped Renny, eyes blazing. ‘If you think I’m gonna start cutting timber and digging post holes to rebuild that damn camp—’

  The Senator flicked his gaze to Buck and then back to the kid. ‘If that’s what Buck wants to do, you’ll do it.’

  Renny did plenty of complaining but Senator Pardoe was adamant and he and Buck moved back to the hills the next day, with a buckboard loaded with tools and some spare lumber.

  That same afternoon they got to work clearing up the charred timbers and rubbish left from the fire. A small party of cowboys rode by on their way up to the corral in the hills where Buck and Renny had left the trapped mustangs for breaking-in. They grinned and whooped and threw a few taunts at Renny: seeing him actually slaving away at manual work was a new experience for them.

  Renny, of course, didn’t like it one damn bit.

  Not that it mattered. He did what Enderby told him although they had plenty of arguments. But Buck didn’t have to slap him around, although with some of the lip he had thrown at him Renny was lucky he was getting round without a large gap in his smile.

  After a few days, the kid suddenly started doing things off his own bat. He anticipated tools and materials that were required and went to fetch them instead of having to be coerced or ordered. Buck noticed him taking more care with measurements and lining up planks and frames, even hammering in nails. When he started Renny almost ‘choked’ the hammer, his hand only a couple of inches from the head. Over and over Buck had told him that the further along the handle he gripped, the more power and control he had over the swings. Instead of wasting handfuls of bent nails, Renny suddenly began punching them straight into the timber with hard, economical strokes. He even sharpened his chisels after supper by firelight.

  After the frame of the cabin was up he admitted to Buck that he was ‘kind of enjoying this’. Buck reckoned he might break his own arm, but he felt like giving himself a pat on the back … Progress like that was unexpected. But mighty welcome.…

  The line camp when finished looked better than the original and Renny set about making a table. Buck, to keep the mood going, made a set of rustic chairs.

  ‘Good to see something for your efforts, ain’t it?’ he allowed, one evening when Renny was finishing off the table edge with a hand plane. He planned to carve the legs, too.

  ‘Yeah, yeah! It is.’ And the response sounded as genuine as any Buck had ever heard.

  Renny still wasn’t keen on ranchwork. Making and carving things appealed to his artistic instinct and he had a small collection of charcoal sketches he had done over the time they had been working at the camp. Buck recognized himself cutting the shingles and swinging the door on leather hinges, shaping long nails at the anvil.

  ‘You got talent, Renny. You should talk to the Senator about developing it.’

  ‘Ah, he wouldn’t let me do anything about it.’

  ‘Why don’t you do a sketch of him? It’ll be easy to do from memory, give it to him when we go back to the main ranch. Impress him.’

  Renny’s face brightened but only briefly, he shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t work.’

  But Buck noticed him sketching something he kept hidden in his spare time.

  The kid improved his shooting and handling of guns, even seemed to like the maintenance required to keep them in tiptop condition. He had even gone back to the ranch and brought back a Colt .44 Frontier model pistol for Buck in place of the old Dragoon. He was surprised when Enderby modified the tie down holster, reversed it on the bullet belt and fixed it around his waist so that the butt faced forward.

  They had many a friendly discussion about the pros and cons of this as opposed to the regular tie-down holster. Other times, Buck tried to impress on the kid that it wasn’t hard to follow a personal code of behaviour.

  ‘All it means is you don’t go round prodding every ranny you meet to see if you can beat him to the draw. It’s mighty dangerous, specially if he’s faster than you. But you need to set yourself some standards, draw the line, if you like, one that you won’t let anyone step across.’

  ‘What’s your line, Buck?’

  Enderby shrugged. ‘Nothing I ever think about, it was ingrained in me right from when I was born, I guess. I won’t be insulted; won’t stand by for anyone trying to cheat me, and if anyone calls me a liar he’s already halfway to hell … apart from that, I respect women, and men who deserve my respect, and I like to think that most folk respect me, and my code. You’ve got to work at it, Renny. But it’s worth it.’

  ‘How about being … fast on the draw?’

  ‘I already told you about that. No one but a fool keeps wanting to try and prove how fast he is with a gun. He’ll be dead before long and if he isn’t, folk’ll learn to hate the sound of his name, and I don’t reckon that’s any way to live, either, folk cussing your name because the’re afraid of you.’

  Buck thought that the kid seemed to consider all this and they got along a lot better.

  Whether he liked it or not, Buck taught him how to handle ranch chores, showed him animal tracks and what they meant, often according to the type of country where they were found. He showed him stalking and silent hunting and the kid surprised him how easily and skilfully he picked it up.

  The thing was, Renny liked the outdoors best, whether it was living under the sky or just for painting and sketching. He had finished his charcoal sketch of the Senator, had gone into a lot of detail, and captured the senior Pardoe’s features and expression perfectly.

  Then came the day when they rode back to the ranch and Senator Pardoe told Buck Enderby the parole was at an end and he had arranged things that Buck didn’t have to serve out the remainder of his time in the Rangers. It was up to Enderby whether he took advantage of the concession or not.

  ‘If I have a choice I’ll ride on out. I’ve been away too long.’

  The Senator looked at him shrewdly. ‘Someone waiting?’

  Buck nodded briefly and Pardoe looked at him thoughtfully.

  ‘I’m working on a few … radical �
� changes to our laws, especially the land laws. Seems I might’ve trod a little heavily on some toes. There have been a few veiled, well, ‘threats’ is probably too strong a word but you know what I mean.’ Enderby said nothing. ‘I could use a bodyguard and personal troubleshooter … interested?’

  ‘’Fraid not, Senator. Sorry.’

  Pardoe sighed and didn’t pursue it. He paid Buck a thousand dollars for his work with Renny. The Senator seemed pleased, but warily so. He nodded pleasantly enough when he saw the sketch Renny had made of him, looking somewhat surprised.

  ‘You did this?’ When Renny nodded, Pardoe said, ‘Never knew you had it in you, of course, your mother always wanted to paint, she said, but she had other duties that prevented her from doing anything about it.’

  ‘Helping you with your career,’ Renny said and it was hard for him to hide his bitterness.

  The Senator narrowed his eyes, rolling up the sketch now into a tight cylinder. ‘Something like that,’ he said curtly, tossed the sketch casually on to a chair and then proffered a hand to Buck Enderby. ‘If ever you’re back this way, Buck.’

  Renny walked down to the corrals and watched Buck saddle up. ‘Will you be coming back this way?’

  ‘Sometime maybe. Got a woman waiting for me in Tularosa Valley, Renny, it’ll all depend.’

  ‘Well … I’d like to think I’ve got a woman waiting for me, too, but—’ There was a dreamy look in the kid’s eyes that puzzled Buck. ‘Anyway, wish you luck.’ They shook hands and Buck swung into the saddle. As he turned to ride out of the big ranch yard, he said, ‘Maybe we could have a shootout one day, you and me, friendly, I mean. At targets. Just to see who’s fastest—’

  Buck Enderby looked down at him soberly. ‘I don’t think so, kid.’

  And Renny knew he had said the wrong thing: now he had to try and figure out why it was the wrong thing.

  ‘And that’s still not the end of it,’ Kim Preece said after a long pause, going to stand at the window beside Enderby. She slipped a hand through his arm, waited for him to turn and looked up into his face. ‘You came home broke and with that bullet wound—’