Dead Man st Snake's Creek

by Rob Hill

  Joe stared at his son as he would at any stranger who unexpectedly turned up, reluctant to trust him without proof of his good intentions.

  From inside the house, came the sound of men arguing. Hartford couldn’t make out what they were saying but one of them sounded older, angrier. The force of his voice showed that he was used to being in command. The younger man’s voice was whiney, a spoiled kid wanting his own way. Even from out here you could hear the stamp of boot heels on the bare floorboards as one of them paced up and down.

  On the far side of the yard, Hartford recognized the old family buggy, battered but still serviceable, although its leather seats were split in places and some of the wooden spokes were repaired with wire binding. In front of the house, a groomed black mare was tied to the porch rail. It carried a saddle with a polished bone horn and expensively tooled leather skirts and obviously belonged to one of the men inside. The older man, Hartford decided. At the sound of his master’s raised voice, the horse pulled against his tether as if he was afraid.

  ‘Pa,’ Hartford said again. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Joe lowered the shotgun and sat down heavily in the rocker, keeping the shotgun across his knees. The effort of standing had been too much. The old man’s chest heaved, every breath a struggle.

  ‘Come home for the wedding, Pa,’ Hartford said gently. ‘And to see you.’

  His father watched him. If he wanted to say anything, the tightness in his chest made it impossible. He rested his head against the back of the chair, half closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his breathing.

  Hartford dismounted and tethered his appaloosa beside the stallion. This close, he could see that the house wasn’t in the good state of repair he had first thought. Boards in the porch had rotted and needed replacing; there was termite dust around the foot of the steps and the hitching rail was loose. Inside, the argument was heating up. Hartford could hear some of the words now.

  ‘I told you and told you,’ bellowed the older man. ‘I forbid it.’

  ‘Sir, please.’ The younger man tried to placate him. It was Boone’s voice.

  Then there was a woman’s voice, high and shrill. She protested about something and kept repeating her age. At the same time there was a crash of furniture, more stamping up and down. At first Hartford thought a chair had been upended.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Hartford drew up a chair beside his pa.

  ‘You got a nerve coming back here.’ Pa Hartford’s chest buckled as if he was being punched.

  ‘Pa . . .’ Hartford couldn’t bring himself to contradict the old man. He noticed the black shadows under his eyes, his hollow cheeks and the way his mouth sank slightly at one side.

  Inside the house, the argument raged. The woman was in tears now, long wailing sobs of misery. The older man’s voice roared like thunder. The younger man, Boone, had given up pleading and shouted back.

  ‘I should shoot you for what you’ve done.’ Joe Hartford’s breath tore at his lungs. ‘That’s what anyone else would do. That’s what I would do if we wasn’t kin.’

  ‘This about the war?’ Hartford kept his question gentle and even. He lowered his eyes and stared at the boards in the porch floor. There was a place where the termites had already made a start.

  ‘Men from round here died because of what you did.’ Joe gripped the arm of the chair until his knuckles were white.

  ‘You don’t know what I did.’ There was no rise and fall in Hartford’s voice, nothing to cause agreement or disagreement.

  ‘Everyone knows what the Pinkertons did. Sided with the Yankees right off. Spied on us. Men died because of it.’

  ‘War’s over, Pa.’ Hartford refused to catch his eye. ‘There’s lots of families like ours. People on different sides. They’ve put their differences aside now.’

  ‘Don’t you preach to me.’ Joe’s hand scrabbled for the shotgun on his lap but the effort of fighting for breath meant he didn’t have the strength to grasp it. ‘You should have stayed on the farm with me and your brother. Not run off like you did.’

  ‘Nobody ran off, Pa.’ Hartford looked him in the eye. ‘You know that.’

  ‘The Yankees locked me in jail.’ Joe glared at him. His chest heaved. His words snagged in his throat like fishhooks. ‘Time I got back here, your Ma was gone.’

  Hartford stared at the floor again. He wondered how long the porch floor had left before the termites got all the way through.

  ‘You got termites, Pa,’ Hartford said. ‘Got to do something.’

  ‘There ain’t no termites.’ Joe rounded on him, his face and neck mottled red and white as if he was being strangled. ‘Place is as sound as a bell.’

  The old man’s chest lurched. His anger exhausted him. His grip on the chair relaxed and his arm fell on to his lap, knocking the shotgun on to the porch floor with a clatter. At once, the door burst open and a young woman stood there. The noise of the gun falling had alarmed her. Sounds of the argument between the two men continued inside.

  ‘Johnny?’ The woman’s face lit up.

  Annie had the same chiselled cheekbones as Hartford and if life had given her more of a chance, would have been considered beautiful. But her intelligent blue eyes and fine features were set against ragged hair, roughly tied back, and a cheap, quickly sewn cotton house dress, made as if it was not worth spending time on. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and she looked fatigued and older than her years.

  She bobbed down and picked up her father’s shotgun and propped it carefully against the wall beside a second gun, which Hartford took to be Boone’s. Without thinking, she smoothed her pa’s hair and straightened the collar of his shirt. He waved her away crossly, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘What are you doing back here?’ There were sparks of pleasure in her eyes.

  ‘The wedding,’ Hartford said.

  ‘Ah.’ Annie bent down and kissed her brother lightly on the cheek.

  Hartford took her hand and stared up at her. Inside, the argument seemed to be rumbling to a close. There was an impasse. The curt statements from each of the men, no less angry sounding, were quieter now. The woman’s crying had become a continuous sob.

  Annie smiled down at Hartford, pleased to let him hold on to her hand.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Hartford nodded towards the door.

  ‘Oh, just some nonsense.’ She smiled again. ‘Me and Pa are just fine, ain’t we, Pa?’ She pulled away from Hartford and let her hand trail lovingly over her father’s shoulders, oblivious to the fact that it irritated him.

  There was movement inside the house, the sound of furniture being pushed back. The woman stopped crying.

  ‘Pa’s getting better,’ Annie announced and gave her father’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘Pleased to see Johnny, ain’t you, Pa?’

  The old man glared stubbornly ahead as if he hadn’t heard. There were blotches of red and white in his face and his breath came in gasps.

  Annie was doing what she had always done, Hartford thought, making the best of everything, even when there wasn’t anything to make the best of. From as far back as he could remember, she had always been the mortar in the family wall. When Boone was at his angriest, she was the one who persuaded him to talk to Pa. When Ma was worn out with chores, Annie would take over. When Hartford left for Chicago, she made him promise he would write home to Ma. Now she was trying to persuade Pa he was well when he wasn’t. The odds being against her had never stopped Annie from trying to do what she thought was for the best. Hartford looked at her tired face and threadbare house dress. He should have thought to bring a present for her and felt a pang of guilt that he had not.

  Shouting erupted from inside the house again; the woman screamed. The door was flung open and Boone burst out on to the porch towing a woman behind him.

  ‘Come back here right now.’ The older man’s anger exploded after them. ‘I’m ordering you.’

  Boone had the same features as Hartford and Annie
, but his eyes were hard and there was an arrogant turn to his mouth. He looked handsome in a new work shirt and hat. He had a silver buckle in the shape of longhorns on his belt and his boots were polished. A new looking Colt .45 was on his hip. He looked delighted with himself, like a kid who had just got away with something. The minute he set foot on the porch, he whooped as if he had just won a prize at a rodeo and the prize was the girl he dragged after him.

  A shadow darkened his face the minute he set eyes on Hartford.

  ‘What the hell are you doing back here?’

  There was another shout from inside. Boone laughed and without waiting for Hartford to answer, snatched up his shotgun, which was propped by the door, and dragged the girl down the porch steps across the yard in the direction of the barn.

  ‘He’s come back for your wedding, Boone,’ Annie called.

  The girl yanked her hand free of Boone’s grip and seemed to see Hartford for the first time.

  ‘Our wedding?’

  ‘Come on now, Mary May.’ Boone made an angry attempt to grab her hand, but she pulled away and stood looking up at the porch.

  ‘This is our brother Johnny,’ Annie smiled proudly. ‘Come back from Chicago.’

  ‘Chicago?’ Mary May sounded impressed.

  Mary May was fresh-faced and pretty, with a touch of rouge on her cheeks and a fine cotton blouse with delicate lacework down the front tucked into her long black skirt.

  She seemed genuinely curious to meet someone new because, at twenty-one years old, it seemed to her that she had lived the same dull ranch life forever. She was bored with constant reprimands because she had failed to live up to her father’s expectations. Novelty attracted her because it meant excitement.

  ‘Come on, Mary May.’ Boone was insistent.

  She let him grab her hand this time and pull her in the direction of the barn.

  ‘Where are you headed?’ Disappointed, Annie called after them.

  A man emerged from the doorway of the house. He wore an expensive black jacket with ribbon edging on the lapels, a thin bow tie and black britches. There was a gold signet ring on a finger of his left hand. He was heavily built and the greying side whiskers which joined in a loop under his nose made it look as if his face was fixed in a permanent scowl. His cheeks were burning. As he glared after Boone and his daughter, his anger was palpable. No one ever got the better of him.

  ‘Damnit,’ Dunmore cursed under his breath. ‘Just don’t know what’s got into her.’

  ‘I could make you some coffee, Mr Dunmore,’ Annie offered, always the peacemaker.

  At that moment, Boone burst out of the stable at the gallop. Mary May was mounted up behind him, clinging to his waist with one hand while the other held the shotgun. As they passed the porch and headed out of the yard, Boone gave a cowboy yell and Mary May laughed with the thrill of it all, her hair flying in the wind.

  As the sound of their hoof beats faded, Dunmore’s hands clenched into fists. A granite scowl was carved on his face.

  ‘That good-for-nothing boy of yours. . . .’ Dunmore rounded on Joe Hartford.

  Joe was leaning back in his chair, his mouth open, breath catching in his throat.

  ‘He deserves the hiding of his life. Looks like I’m going to be the one to give it to him.’

  ‘Mr Dunmore . . .’ Annie made another attempt.

  Dunmore ignored her, clattered down the porch steps and heaved himself up in to the saddle of his black mare.

  ‘Mr Dunmore.’ Hartford stood up. ‘I’d like a word.’

  ‘I’ve got enough problems without all this.’ Dunmore refused to listen. ‘The ranch is a hornet’s nest. Had to fire three of the hands and now the rest of them are demanding a raise. Someone’s cutting the herd, I’m losing money and now my daughter is making a fool of herself.’

  ‘Mr Dunmore, wait,’ Hartford tried again.

  ‘Do you think I’ve got time to stay talking here?’ Dunmore wheeled his horse. ‘Ranch doesn’t run itself. If my daughter comes back here, tell her to head home right away.’

  ‘Mr Dunmore,’ Annie called after him. ‘They’re getting married at the weekend. Please stay and talk.’

  Dunmore jabbed his heels into the sides of the mare and it leapt forward. He did not look back.

  During the early afternoon, while their pa dozed in his chair, Hartford and Annie exchanged news. Annie was thrilled not only to have her brother back home but to have his undivided attention. True to her optimistic nature, she painted a rosy picture of life on the farm. It was a good thing that they no longer had cattle and sheep because she wouldn’t be able to cope with them, she said, but she could manage the chickens, the goat and the vegetable garden just fine.

  Annie also insisted that it was a good thing that Boone had taken a job in Dallas. While it meant that he was away from home for weeks on end, his wage allowed him to contribute to the household sometimes. She aimed to go to Dallas herself one day, she said. Her face lit up as she retold Boone’s stories about all the grand houses that were being built there, some of them three storeys high. They were even planning to build an iron bridge over the Trinity River and maybe Boone would get a job working on it.

  With Boone away, Annie had become friends with Mary May. She came over almost every day. It was obvious that Mary May didn’t get on too well with her pa, but Annie was sure it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed. The wedding was a different matter, though. Dunmore had outright forbidden it, so Mary May and Boone had gone ahead and made plans anyway. They had a travelling preacher coming and Boone was going to throw a party at the saloon in town because they couldn’t hold a reception out at the Lazy D.

  ‘Boone’s still got his wild side. But it’s only his way, his sense of humour.’ Annie smiled to herself, deaf to the excuses she was making. ‘You know what he’s like. It’s always fun first with Boone.’

  It was a relief for Annie to have Hartford to talk to. Over plates of bean soup and sourdough, stories flooded out of her – everything from gossip she had picked up at the store, how expensive things had gotten recently, the tricks she used to keep body and soul together when Boone forgot to contribute to the household finances and what Mary May had told her about life at the Lazy D. She spoke in a whisper about Pa’s good days and bad days, how the only thing that seemed to give him any sort of pleasure was being taken out in the old buggy and how the lung disease he picked up during his incarceration in the prison camp had worsened year on year since the war ended.

  Annie pressed her brother for details of what Chicago was like and his adventures working for the Pinkertons. In return, he thrilled her with descriptions of fine town houses, wide streets, shops, streetcars and city fashions. Then he told stories of gangs of robbers, horseback chases and shoot-outs in railway yards. Wide-eyed, Annie drank in every word.

  Pa Hartford slept for two hours straight and woke up angry. He stonewalled Annie’s insistence that he should eat and demanded she took him out for a ride. The old man barely glanced at Hartford, let alone spoke to him. His breathing was torture; it seemed like his ribs were going to crack under the strain. Annie’s helpless look made it clear that Hartford’s presence wasn’t helping. He left his sister trying to persuade Joe that he had to eat, assured her he would see her soon, climbed on to his appaloosa and headed back to town.

  The afternoon was past its best by the time Hartford left his horse at Greely’s livery and strolled back down to the saloon. The heat had begun to lift and a warm wind from the south bowled tumbleweeds through the dirt and made the air smell of prairie sage. Sheriff Milton hurried out of his office and called out to Hartford.

  ‘Pearl said you were out at the farm.’ He dispensed with any kind of greeting. ‘Mary May Dunmore out there?’

  ‘She was . . .’ Hartford started to explain.

  ‘I got bad news,’ the sheriff said. ‘Her pa’s been shot dead up at Snake’s Creek.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Poor girl.’ Sheriff Milton leaned
against the side of his horse and held on to the horn of his saddle. ‘Delivering bad news is the worst of this job.’

  He was a heavily built man, strong for his years. A steel watch chain was looped across his vest and the tin star pinned to his shirt was dull and edged with rust. His heavy grey moustache was yellowed with nicotine. Under the shadow of his hat, his sharp eyes missed nothing. The lines on his face showed he was used to smiling, but right now his face was stone.

  ‘Been at the farm all morning?’

  ‘Rode out from town about ten,’ Hartford said.

  ‘Notice anything untoward?’

  ‘Untoward?’ Hartford knew the sheriff was sizing him up, Joe’s boy who had gone off to Chicago.

  ‘That fellow I threw in jail, he’s gone,’ Sheriff Milton said. ‘Couple of friends of his waltzed into my office, helped themselves to the keys and busted him out.’

  Hartford sensed steely determination in the sheriff. He would never show it, but this was a personal slight. The fellow I threw in jail, busted into my office. He remembered Milton from when he had been growing up. The whole town relied on him. He faced down rowdy trail hands in the saloon, confiscated their side arms and locked them up for the night. He even had the knack of persuading them it was for their own good so they went without a fuss. Equally, the townsfolk knew that if they had a grievance, a word in Sheriff Milton’s ear would get it sorted. His office became a kind of local courtroom where the sheriff’s word was law and both parties would leave understanding the reasonableness of whatever decision he arrived at.

  ‘I’ll help you look for him,’ Hartford said. ‘Any idea where he’s headed?’

  ‘You sure you didn’t notice anything?’ Milton wasn’t prepared to let anyone off the hook at this stage. ‘What about your pa? He’ll have been sitting on that porch all morning. See anyone come by? Annie notice anyone?’

  Hartford told the sheriff what had happened at the farm, about the argument, how angry Dunmore was, Boone and Mary May riding off.

  ‘Heard Boone took a job in Dallas,’ Sheriff Milton said casually. ‘Hard work but good money.’