by A. J. Arnold
The hell with all this, Buck decided angrily as he worked his bed-blanket up over him. He guessed he’d just be a straightforward cattle thief. That’s what he’d do, all right. He’d just be an honest rustler.
But his sleep was restless, and Buck woke up in a foul mood. He felt he’d better not build a fire, that smoke could be seen a long way off. Cold jerky and the lack of coffee for breakfast didn’t improve his disposition. His mind turned toward planning what to do in his outlaw state. He figured he needed to get good with a gun. Someday he’d meet Newt Yocum again, and he wanted to be sure of himself when that day came.
Buck settled down to practice his draw, although he was afraid to risk the noise of actually shooting at a target. He adjusted the gun belt several times until it felt like it fit just the right spot on his hip. The more he worked over the next couple of days, the faster he got. But if the gun clung to the holster for even a fraction of a second, Buck thought that this tiny space might mean the difference between life and death.
He found a piece of rawhide and tied the bottom of the holster to his leg. Then he cut away some leather at the top of the holster. When the gun still dragged against the inside of its sheath, Buck filed off its front sight. Three days of trial and error, and finally the weapon slid out smoothly. All he needed now to outdraw Yocum was a lot of practice.
With a trace of bitterness, Buck realized he’d gone with nothing hot or sustaining to eat and drink these past three days. He’d lived almost entirely on beef jerky and hate, mixed with fear.
Often he’d interrupted his learning of the gun to go up to the knoll and look carefully in all directions. But now, today, was the fourth day. If somebody was seeking him out, they weren’t very active about it. He decided to build a fire and to move around the soddy and corral.
Refreshed by the heavier meal and his growing sense of safety, Buck returned to practicing his draw. To increase his skill, he’d turn suddenly as his weapon cleared leather. Other times he dived behind a rock or some brush as he pulled the gun out. He went on this way, taking himself a few yards away from the old sod house.
An unexpected noise from behind startled Buck. As he whirled and fired in a newly automatic movement, a cottontail burst from concealment. He saw his lead kick up dust a good foot-and-a-half behind the bounding rabbit.
Not so good, he thought ruefully as he pushed a shock of dark auburn hair out of his eyes. Wasn’t much use hitting where the object was, you had to shoot where he is. Buck guessed that went for a man as well as a jack.
After that he deliberately searched for moving targets. Yet he always watched that the gun noise didn’t bring unwanted visitors. As the days passed, both his speed and aim improved until he could hit a running rabbit once every three times. Trouble was, Buck was all but exhausting the supply of cottontails around the soddy.
He rose to the challenge by saddling the grulla mare and trying from horseback. While his work wasn’t easy, the welcomed meat made the chase worthwhile. Buck was becoming a fast straight shot.
As he worked south and west of what was by now home to him, the number of unbranded cattle he found surprised him. Vague thoughts about his earlier dream of making a ranch here flitted in and out of his head.
Then one day Buck spied a mossy horn, with what looked like a grown-over brand on her hip. He rode as close as he could, but found the old girl so wild he couldn’t even make it out. Suddenly stubborn, Buck forgot about his gun and shook out his leather riata. As he rode at the animal he swung his loop over her horns and brought her to the ground.
Despite the cow’s roll-eyed objections, Buck made a close examination and found a long grown-over brand. It looked to him like two inverted vees. At any rate, it was a brand he’d never seen before. Sighing, he let her go and wondered why he’d bothered at all.
Days went by for Buck. He’d lost count of just how many, but he knew he’d been at the soddy for more than two weeks. Maybe it was even over three. Anyway, he felt sure nobody was looking very hard for him now. His food and ammunition were running low, and he thought on how to come by some more.
Could he go to town after dark, he considered, get what he needed and get back without being recognized?
Buck planned his trip into Dodge City. The night before he meant to go, he lay looking up at limitless stars. Making a mental list of things he needed most, he held a conversation with himself. If he was going to be a rustler, he’d ought to set up something while he was in town. Yeah, but what? Should he try to find a buyer first, or should he round up some cattle to take with him? No, that would take too long. Besides....
He heard a hauntingly familiar voice inside his head.
“I swear to you, swear to God, I’ll be the most honest man ever was born. I promise.”
The words rang clear. He couldn’t mistake their meaning. A promise had been made, and he had to keep it or die in the effort. Buck felt awed and humbled, hanged and resurrected all at once. Damn, damn, damn! Now what would he do?
In the end he put off the trip for two more days while he wrestled with how to keep his word and still stay alive. Whatever plan he tried to formulate, it always included the soddy. Could it be that he was home at last?
A new home, a new name. Buck considered it for about the hundredth time as his fingers moved lightly over the scars on his neck. Again he heard the voice of Jake Strickland at the hanging tree asking his name. And his own answer.
“Peter D. Buckow. Never knew what the D. stands for.”
His hand stumbled over the raised diamonds chained in flesh across his throat, and an idea came. The D. would be for Diamond. That’s what he’d give as his handle, just like he used to do with Buck. And, someday, if he ever got anything to hang onto as his, maybe he could use the whole thing: Diamond Buckow.
Another thought hit him. Much as he hated to do it, he knew he’d have to trade the mouse-brown mare for a different mount. One hell of a lot of people recognized that little grulla.
He looked out into the distance as he pondered, and saw five riders on dark horses against the morning skyline. They were traveling south. In a matter of minutes Diamond had his mare saddled and all his belongings tied on. Keeping off the edge of the horizon himself, he headed north.
Not until he’d been riding a good while did his brain start to work. He was running scared, he told himself with surprise. For what? Those owlhoots weren’t looking for him. Likely, they just thought they had that part of the range to themselves. He had to learn when to run and when to sit tight.
Diamond shook his head and took off his flat-brim for a second to run a hand through his hair. OK, now what should he do? No pressing need to go back to the soddy right off, and he wasn’t liable to run into anybody who knew him, from this direction. But then, this wasn’t the way to Dodge City, either.
Well, hell, he admonished himself. Dodge wasn’t the only place in the world. He’d heard tell of a town northwest of there, but he couldn’t recall the name. Figuring if he could find it, it’d be closer than Dodge, anyhow.
He decided just to keep on north until he came to some kind of road, and it would be sure to take him to this town. There couldn’t be any others in riding distance, he reckoned, or else he’d have heard about them.
Diamond finally found a road that ran more or less east and west. Still not knowing which way the town lay, he turned west and traveled several miles. At length he found a signboard on a short post, peered at it, and swore. He was at the Colorado line. By the time he backtracked and found the town, the sun looked to be balancing on the horizon.
Deciding not to go in, Diamond instead set up camp along the stream. After hobbling the grulla and settling himself, he finally thought to slip in quietly on foot and see what kind of town this was. At first glance it seemed some smaller than Dodge, which he knew was probably better for him. Only a handful of people moved on the dusty street he looked down, most probably being home for supper.
A good time to look the place over, Diamond t
hought. But the notion of food sharply reminded him he hadn’t eaten all day. He quickened his pace, but the eatery he came to was almost full. He paused, considered, then thought better of entering.
Off on a side street he found another that looked nigh on empty. The outside signboard was so weathered and paint-peeled that he could make out but two words: “Beef” near the top, and lower down to one edge, “Beans.”
Diamond found a table in a back corner. Despite the quiet calm of the place, he could hardly sit still or quit fidgeting until his order came. Damn, he hadn’t been in a town or stayed put even these few minutes since the hanging. He wasn’t about to feel comfortable right now. When the food came, he threw it in, untasting, slapped some coins down at the front counter, and bolted.
Out on the street with open country in plain sight, Diamond breathed deeply and felt it easier to swallow. He relaxed and actually enjoyed walking along again, until the reflection of himself in a store window brought him up short. God, he’d never looked like this before. When had his beard gotten so thick? he wondered. It almost covered his face.
Diamond stood up straighter and took a long, critical look at his image. Hell, he’d bet nobody’d know him, after all. Even Jake, or, say, Glenn Saltwell’d have trouble telling who he used to be. His muscle tension eased still more and a crooked smile snaked out amidst his deep red facial hair.
He whistled and sauntered down the line. A big sign hanging above a door proclaimed this town to be Garden City. A little further, another doorway sign read, “Land Office.” A pang shot through Diamond when he saw it, focusing his dream of making a ranch of his own. He stopped and stared at the letters, as if willing them, somehow, to grant his wish.
“Mister,” said a voice dead behind him.
Diamond whirled, his gun leaping into his hand. The only person near enough to have spoken was a boy of about ten years. Diamond’s first impression was of a dark-skinned dwarf lost somewhere in worn-out clothes meant for somebody twice his size.
“Hell, mister,” the boy swore, as Diamond blinked.
“No use pulling that gun. I ain’t about to bring you no trouble. I was just fixing to say, if you’re looking for the agent, it’s no use. He’s gone for the day.”
Diamond put his weapon away. His words sounded slightly shrill in his own ears.
“Sorry, kid. Been awhile since I heard a voice that close, without knowing it was there. Guess I been talking to my horse so much, I forgot what a human sounds like.”
The boy removed his hat to mop his brow. Diamond noted a mop of unruly blue-black hair that looked pure Mex, but when he spoke, what came out was pure Yankee.
“That’s all right. No harm done. I seen other fellows the same way, come in after being alone awhile.”
He betrayed a nervous smile that didn’t fit his straightforward talk, or his apparent willingness to approach a stranger. Diamond figured the kid knew guns, and was smart enough to be worried at surprising him.
Diamond was about to say something to break the tension when a stagecoach passed, throwing up a big cloud of dust. Both turned to watch as the driver pulled up in front of a large building at the far end of town. A flurry of passengers got out.
Diamond froze as he thought, momentarily, he recognized a profile. A small dark woman with a good build.... He frowned and shook himself. Had he ever in all his born days known such a one? Hell, he was seeing ghosts.
He turned to the boy beside him with his own natural grin.
“About the land agent. I suppose he gets his work done afore suppertime, and doesn’t need to come back after dark?”
“Yup.” The kid bobbed his springy black shock of hair.
“Old Rob shuts her up as soon as the saloons cover the last bit of sun sliding down behind. In fact, that used to be where he always was. The saloons, less’n somebody called him over to register a claim. But now the ranchers got him to handling their brand book as well as being land agent, so he’s got to keep the office open.”
Diamond mulled the information over. “So this Rob just drinks in the evenings any more?”
“Yup. Mostly at the Cattlemen’s Rest, just around the corner, here.”
Something about the little character appealed to Diamond. He grinned and stuck out a hand.
“My name’s Diamond.”
The youth had an amazing grip. “Sean O’Malley.”
He waited for a reaction. None came. The round face was all eyes, deep and black.
“Thought I was greaser Mex, didn’t you?”
Careful there, Diamond warned himself. This kid had a chip as big as Texas on his shoulder.
Aloud he said, “Well, as a matter of sure fact, the thought did cross my mind. But I’ve met some hombres from south of the Rio I’d sooner ride the river with than some white men I’ve known.”
Sean shot Diamond a look. “My old man was Black Irish, and my ma’s pure Pawnee.”
Diamond couldn’t miss Sean’s referring to his father in the past tense and his mother in the present. He thought it best to accept what the kid said, at least for now, and not worry too long on his ancestry.
“You live in town?” Diamond asked.
“Yup. Wash dishes for the price of supper and a cot in the back room of the Beef and Beans.”
Diamond grunted at the thought of his hasty meal there.
Sean didn’t notice.
“Do odd jobs around town,” he continued. “If you need something, I’ll do ’most anything for two bits. Less’n it’s risky, then it’ll cost you a sight more.”
Diamond shook his head. What kind of man would give a boy like this a dangerous job?
He asked, “Get many of the high-priced kind?”
“No, not really,” Sean said, only slower this time. “But I could use the money, so I keep hoping.”
Diamond guessed Sean saw and heard a lot that could be useful to a man.
“Know anybody that’s got some good cow ponies for trade?”
“Fellow name of Dobbins runs the hardware store right there.”
Sean pointed toward a building halfway down and across the street from where they stood.
“Lives on the south side of town. He’s got a corral and a barn back of his house. There’s generally some fair cayuses, I know, on account of I clean the stalls sometimes. You looking for anything in particular?”
“Something bigger than the mare I’m riding. Has to have cow sense and good bottom.”
“Oh, sure!” Sean’s big black eyes danced. “Dobbins always has some with staying power. Fact is, now’d be a good time while he’s at home for to eat. He’s always willing to leave the store closed a little extra if he’s got a chance to trade horses.”
“How’ll I find his place?”
“Just go through that alley alongside his store and follow straight along. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” Diamond grinned and turned to go down the street.
“See you around.” He only got a few steps when Sean’s voice stopped him.
“Mr. Diamond.”
“What?” As he turned back, he saw a sly grin on the boy’s face.
“You promise not to say anything to Dobbins, and I’ll give you a tip.”
Diamond couldn’t help but smile back. “I can always use good information.”
“They’s a rough-looking chestnut gelding out there. Ain’t had enough to eat of late. You take him home and put him on good grass, he’ll fill out and be the best hoss you ever threw a leg over.”
Sean wheeled around and was gone. Diamond watched him scurry off down the street, wondering if the kid gave him a good tip out of liking him, or had just set him up for the horse trader to fleece. He sort of hoped it wasn’t the latter, since he might even be able to stand the O’Malley boy’s company...once he really got to know him.
Diamond made a quick trip to his camp. He saddled the grulla mare for the last time and rode back toward Garden City, coming to Dobbins’s place from the open prairie. A man who
looked too young to be entirely bald watched his approach.
“Howdy,” the horse trader said, squinting to get a good once-over at the mount and rider.
“Get down and rest that little mare. She appears like she could use it.”
Diamond darted a sharp glance at the man. He couldn’t tell anything, because Dobbins’s face wore an expressionless mask like any good horse trader’s would.
“What do you mean?” Diamond demanded as he jumped down off the mare. “This here grulla is in tip-top condition.”
The other smiled and offered a hand. “Tom Dobbins,” he said. “And I can see the mount you want to swap is pretty fair. Being in the business, I always size a man up by his horse.”
Diamond returned the handshake. “I go by Diamond. How come you’re so sure I mean to swap?”
“Two things.” Tom Dobbins paused to pat the muzzle of the calm grulla.
“First, every rider comes in here is willing to talk trade, even though most ain’t really going to. Second, Sean just left here, after telling me you was on your way.”
Diamond’s mouth flew open. “Why, that slippery little son-of-a-gun! I wondered which side he was on, and now I know. He’s playing both sides against the middle.”
“Hold on.” The trader’s direct gray eyes were serious.
“That boy is more honest than most growed men. It’s just that he works for me. And then he took a shine to you, so he wanted to be on both sides. I always like to think of a trade as being good for both. ’Course, if a fellow wants to make a contest out of it, I can play it that way, too.”
“No,” Diamond said, holding up a hand. “No contest. I’m sure I’d come off second best with a seasoned operator like you.”
Dobbins chuckled, and the tension was gone. Still, Diamond thought, he’d ought to be careful and make up his own mind.
“Did the kid tell you which one he recommended to me?”
“Yes, he did. When you see that geld you’ll think you were right the first time. But you’d be wrong. That horse is kind of like Sean: had awful poor care, lots of backbreaking work, and not enough to eat. Got him in Dodge just the other day off a trail driver that had his remuda stolen along the trail up from Texas. The man just plumb wore out what few mounts he had left.”
