by John Benteen
Ramsey covered her hand with his. “I made a promise, I’ll keep it. Maybe Concho’s right. Maybe if we don’t go ahead and do it, Hank Stewart will haunt us for the rest of our lives.”
Concho’s face wore a broad, triumphant smile. Ramsey had taken Nora, and Concho would never get her back; but he was making sure that Ramsey paid the highest price possible for her; he would let Ramsey off from nothing.
Nora rubbed her face with her hand. “All right,” she said finally, in a voice of weariness. “But if it’s got to be done, I’ll have my part in it, too. I’ll go with you.” Then she raised her head and looked at Concho. “And after that,” she said in a voice full of ice, “you let me alone. You understand? You let me alone!”
Concho stepped back as if she had hit him. His expression did not change, but his color went as ashen as when he had been shot. “Sho, Miz Stewart,” he said tersely. Then he turned on his heel. “I sleep in the barn tonight,” he flung back and went out.
“Oh, Sam,” Nora said in a grief-stricken voice, and Ramsey held her.
~*~
After the desert, North Wells seemed impossibly big and teeming. So many people, saddled horses, wagons, buckboards, parked automobiles ... As the three of them rode in silence down the oiled main street and Ramsey was recognized, doorways and sidewalks filled with the curious.
Shan Williams was among them. As the trio reined in before the Sheriff’s office, he was on the sidewalk, seersucker suit fresh, panama hat tilted back. He looked at them with the eyes of a hawk. “Hello, Sam. I never thought you’d come back.”
“I did, though,” Ramsey said, swinging down.
“Glad. Did you get your horses?”
“No,” Ramsey said. “But the man who stole them is dead.”
Williams looked from him to Nora and Concho, still mounted. “Come in and tell me about it,” he said.
“I’ve got a lot of things to tell you about,” Ramsey said. He gestured. “Shan, this is Mrs. Hank Stewart and Concho Piatt.”
Williams swept off his hat and went around to help Nora down. “Glad to meet you, Mrs. Stewart,” he said. “Y’all come inside ... ”
A half hour later, Shan Williams turned away from the telephone on his office wall and said, “Denning’s on his way in. He’s driving, so it shouldn’t take over a half hour.”
“Whut about the others?” Concho asked harshly.
Williams ignored him. He looked at Nora and Ramsey, who sat in chairs on the other side of his desk. Concho was on a bench across the little room. “I still can’t believe it, though,” Williams said. “That Tom Denning, Jim, Ralph, the others ... To do somethin’ like that and make no report of it to me when it was my badges they were wearin’ ... ”
Ramsey said, “If you’d hanged an innocent man and left a woman to die in the desert, would you report it?”
“Maybe he wasn’t innocent,” Williams said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Stewart, but—”
“If they’d thought he was a rustler,” Ramsey cut in, “don’t you think they’da told you about it? The Mescans shot them up. They hadn’t caught the cow-thieves. They had to take their mad out on somebody. Like Concho said, what about the others?”
“I’ll deal with them in due time,” Williams said. “But Denning organized this thing and led it—he’s the one with the responsibility. We’ll face him with it first.”
“And then what happens?” Ramsey asked.
“That depends on Mrs. Stewart. If she signs a warrant for murder—”
“I’ll sign it,” Nora said in a dead voice.
“Then I’ll arrest him—all of them ... ” Williams looked grim. “But, Sam, you’re sure you know what you’re doing? Arresting men like Denning and the others is one thing, getting them convicted is another. And if they’re not convicted, you know what this county will be like toward you—”
“It’s always been like that,” Ramsey said.
“No,” Williams answered. “It hasn’t. You never could get it through your head, but that old grudge faded out long ago. The only ones who kept it alive were the antiques like Denning, some of the rest of the old-timers. Otherwise, the town don’t give a damn about you one way or the other. You can be friends with it or enemies, the choice is yours. But you bring this against Denning and there won’t be no questions. He’ll turn this county against you harder than it ever went against your daddy.”
“I can’t help that,” Ramsey said.
Williams stared at him a moment, then looked at the clock over Concho’s head on the far wall. “All right,” he said tiredly. “It’ll be another twenty minutes before Tom gits here. Y’all go git some coffee and I’ll call you when he comes.”
They crossed the street to the cafe. Concho halted at its door. “You know they won’t let me in,” he said. “I’ll hafta go down to Mex Town.”
Ramsey said, “I’ll bring you a cup out.”
Concho spat into the dust of the gutter. “F’git it. I’ll wait out here.” He sat on the edge of the sidewalk.
“Concho,” Nora said.
He did not look around.
“Concho, don’t go anywhere else. I mean, not to a store. You promised me—”
“I know whut I promised. I ain’t heeled. No hide-out gun, no knife, no anything—”
“Then don’t leave.”
“Ain’t gonna buy one, if that’s what worries you.”
“It does,” Nora said.
Ramsey took her arm, led her into the cafe. “He’s clean,” he said. “I searched him myself before we started out this morning.”
Nora’s face was pale. “I only hope so,” she said. They sat down at a table. “Sam, I’m afraid.”
“It’s too late to be afraid now. Besides, you’ve met Williams. I told you he was straight.”
“I know, but I can’t help it. I’ve got the most terrible feeling—
“It will all be according to law. The law will take care of everything.”
“But Denning’s such a big man ... ”
“Not bigger than Shan Williams,” Ramsey said. “Not bigger than the law.”
Nora smiled weakly and touched his hand. “Oh, Sam, you don’t know people like I do. You’ve kept yourself apart from them all your life. But I ... I’ve seen them at their worst. I know what they’re like, how things work, what a man like Denning can do. It’s the kind of trouble that can go on and on and—”
Ramsey thought of last night, of Nora in his arms, her body straining against his. He said, “No matter what happens, you’ll be safe, I promise you that.”
“Do you think it’s me I’m worried about?”
Ramsey said, “Here comes the coffee. Drink it and you’ll feel better.”
They sipped the coffee in silence. Ramsey had just set down his empty cup when the telephone on the wall at the end of the room blurted three short rings. The counterman went to it. “Yeah,” he said into the receiver, “I’ll tell ’em.” He hung up and turned. “Sam?”
“Yeah,” Ramsey said.
“Sheriff Williams wants you. He says Tom Denning’s in his office and for y’all to come on over.”
When they went outside, Concho was leaning against the building, rolling a cigarette. He said thinly, “The big dawg jest drove up. He over there now.”
“I know,” Ramsey said. “Come on.” He took Nora’s arm and they crossed the street, with Concho trailing behind.
Tom Denning sat in one of the chairs across from Williams. He wore a Stetson, a neatly pressed but dusty suit, a tie. As they entered, he arose, pale-blue eyes playing over them, and swept off his hat. “Sam … This is Mrs. Stewart?”
“You know damn good and well who she is,” Concho growled from behind them.
Denning’s eyes flicked to him. “Ramsey, you better tell your black friend to sit down and shut up.”
Concho took a step forward. Nora whirled and pressed a hand against his chest. “Concho, please!” He halted, then nodded, and went to the bench across the room. He sat dow
n, legs crossed, lambent eyes trained on Denning.
Denning motioned Nora to his chair and sat on the corner of the sheriff’s desk. “Now,” he said to Ramsey, “before we git into the rest of this cock-and-bull story, I hear you killed Sheep Kelly.”
“That’s right,” Ramsey said.
“Then you got a reward comin’ to you from the Cattle Raiser’s Association. I don’t reckon you can produce the body.”
“No,” said Ramsey.
“Well, all the same, maybe I can help you get it.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Ramsey said. “Shan, have you told him?”
“He’s told me,” Denning snapped. “And I must say it’s the biggest pile of damned foolishness I ever heard. We never killed no man named Hank Stewart. If he’s dead, blame it on the Mescans.”
“Why, you goddam liar!” Concho bellowed from across the room.
Denning whirled. “Nigger, you shut your mouth or I’ll—”
“You see?” The cords stood out in Concho’s neck. “You see?”
Nora’s face was agonized. “Please, Concho—”
He fell silent, but his mouth was grim, his eyes smoldering, and they could hear the hoarse rasp of his breathing.
Ramsey said quietly, “You can tell it in court, Tom. We’re swearing out a murder warrant against you.”
“Booshwah,” Denning said, but his face was pale. “You know so much, Ramsey, you see it happen?”
“No,” Ramsey said. “But Mrs. Stewart did. You hanged her husband before her eyes. Concho”—he jerked his head—“saw it too.”
“So that makes two witnesses.” The color came back to Denning’s face; he even smiled a little now, mockingly. “Two witnesses, against seventeen I kin call that’ll swear it never happened. Shan, I told you this was a waste of time!”
Then Nora sprang to her feet. “I can’t stand any more of this!” Her face was pale, but her eyes were blazing and her voice rang out forcefully. “Mr. Denning, you hanged my husband and I saw you do it! I saw you give the order for the horse to be whipped out from under him! I don’t care how many witnesses you’ve got, how many lies you tell, nothing can change that—!”
Denning’s smile vanished. Williams shoved back his chair. “Tom, you see how it is. I got no option but to put you under arrest. You can’t laugh off a murder warrant when a man like Sam Ramsey will cosign it against you.”
Denning turned his head, looking at all of them. Then, quite affably, he shrugged and held out his hands. “Sure, Shan. Put the irons on me if you want to. Don’t worry, I understand—won’t hold it against you. Like I said, I got seventeen witnesses against two, ’cause Ramsey says he didn’t see it. And I ain’t particularly worried about those two.”
Ramsey said quietly, “What do you mean?”
That smile lifted Denning’s mustache again. He dropped his hands. “What do you think I mean? Maybe there’s something about these folks you don’t know, Ramsey. When Stewart first moved into this county, I had the Association investigate him. And we found out some interestin’ things about him, his wife and his black hand. I’m anxious to tell what I know to a jury and a judge about ... Baton Rouge.”
Sam Ramsey had become so accustomed to a gun that his hand went to his hip before he realized he wore none. Then a terrible animal cry filled the room. “You devil!” Concho roared, and he was off the bench like a panther. His huge body slammed into Denning, knocked him back across the desk, and then Ramsey saw the gleam of the knife Concho had pulled from deep in his boot. He brought it down, and Denning screamed and his legs threshed, and Concho struck with the knife again and straightened up and whirled as Denning’s body slid to the floor.
“Noracita!” he cried in triumph. “Your husband’s killer is dead!” And at that moment, Shan Williams shot him three times with a Colt automatic.
All three bullets caught Concho in the chest and threw him backwards. The knife dropped, and he sprawled against the bench, clawing at the wounds, his eyes suddenly big and round.
“Concho!” Nora cried, a sound of terrible grief. She ran to him, threw her arms about him, struggling to help him up.
He looked at her with those strange, round eyes. His thick lips twisted in an eerie grin. Then blood poured from his mouth and his body was dead weight, tearing itself from Nora’s grasp, dropping heavily to the floor.
Nora stared down at it. A rasping sob broke from her and she turned blindly away. Ramsey was there to catch her in his arms.
“I thought you told me he wasn’t armed,” Shan Williams said, in a voice that shook with reaction.
“I searched him,” Ramsey said. “So help me God. But it musta been all the way down inside that boot. He worked it out while we were in the cafe ... ” His voice was like iron. “It doesn’t matter. If he hadn’t done it, I’d have killed Denning myself, with my hands.”
“And then I’d have had to shoot you,” Williams said. He crouched over the body of Tom Denning, shook his head, and stood up. “All right,” he said. “Denning for Stewart. Is that enough for you? Or do you want me to arrest the others.”
Nora pulled away from Ramsey. “No,” she said desperately. “No.”
“You’d never convict them,” Williams said thinly. He looked at Ramsey. “Let it lay here, Sam. Make your peace with the town. Tom was the guiding spirit in all this. The others were just followers.”
Ramsey said, “But we’ve got to live here. And you heard about that report Denning got from the Association. Do you think—?”
“I think it was a confidential report to Tom,” Williams said. “And I think that what was in it died forever, just a minute ago.” Gently, he touched Denning’s body with the toe of his boot. “If it didn’t, if the others knew, they’ll never dare breathe it, not as long as you don’t bring ’em into court and force their hands. It can end here, Sam. Concho jumped Tom and I shot him. You’ve got a long way to go to build up your herd again. You’re gonna need all the help you can get. Let it end here and make your peace with the town.”
Ramsey looked down at Concho’s sprawled body. He swallowed hard, full of grief and pity for this man who had been both enemy and friend, this man stronger than any he had ever known, strong enough even to endure the agony of the hopelessness of loving and being black. Nora was sobbing quietly against him. Ramsey thought: He knew all the time it would have to end this way.
Then, slowly, he nodded. “All right, Shan,” he said. “It ends here.”
“Good,” Williams said. There was profound relief in his voice.
“I want the body sent out to my place. We’ll bury him there.”
“I’ll see to it,” Williams said. “Will you be there if I need you?”
“Not right away,” Ramsey said.
Nora raised her tear-wet face and looked at him.
“First we’re going to the mayor’s office and get married,” Ramsey said. “Nora and me.”
“Sam—?” she said.
“We’re not waiting any longer,” he said. “My horses gone, Concho dead ... we’ve both got to start all over. We’re not going to lose any more time doing it.”
“All right, Sam,” she said, in a voice that was a choked mixture of joy and grief. She took out a handkerchief and began to dry her eyes.
A crowd had begun to form around the door of the sheriff’s office. “We’ll do that,” Ramsey said, “and then we’re going home.” He took Nora’s arm and led her to the door. The throng of people parted to let them by, staring at them curiously. As they crossed the street, Ramsey looked up and down it. Somehow the town seemed different, now that he was no longer alone.
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