Conagher (1969)

by L'amour, Louis

  If I see him, I'll tell him you're al l well . McCloud touched the brim of hi s hat . Be seein' you, ma'am .

  They stood out in front of the cabin an d watched the stage until it disappeare d around the next curve of the road. The n Evie turned . Come, children , she said.

  We've got a lot to do .

  All of them felt a new excitement.

  Laban was puffed up with importanc e over his new job. He was to be a hostler, a t least until pa got home, and even after tha t if he could talk pa into letting him keep o n with itunder pa's supervision, of course.

  At sunset Evie walked away from th e cabin and stood alone, her hair stirring a little in the faint breeze. She stood on th e edge of the trail, a hundred yards from th e cabin. All was very still.

  She never tired of the mornings an d evenings here, the soft lights, the changin g colors of sunlight and cloud upon th e hills, the stirring of wind in the grass.

  Out here there was no escaping the sky o r the plains, and Evie knew that until sh e came west she had never really know n distance.

  The air was incredibly clear. Fresh an d cool as it was, one breathed it in lik e drinking cool water; and always there wa s a definite odor on it, the odor dependin g on the direction from which the win d blew: the smell of cedar, and of pine s beyond, the smell of sage, or, from th e dryer lands after a rain, the smell of th e creosote bush.

  She looked down now at the tracks i n the road, the tracks of the passing stage , the first tracks in their road since Jaco b left.

  Suddenly, she felt a chill. Superimpose d on the tracks of the stage were th e tracks of unshod ponies . . . Indian ponies!

  When could they have passed? Ho w could she have missed seeing them?

  It must have been at suppertime, whe n they were at the table. The stage had lef t shortly after noon, and they had worke d around the place, inside and out. Laba n had fed the stock . . . yes, it must hav e been at suppertime.

  She walked a little way, studying th e tracks. There seemed to have been tw o horses, and at one point the riders ha d drawn up, facing toward the cabin , perhaps listening to them talking.

  That was not over an hour ago. Sh e turned abruptly and, gathering her skirt , started for the cabin. Even now they migh t be up in the cedars, watching her. Sh e moved quickly.

  Laban met her at the door, brushing ha y from his clothes. Ruthie was reading a newspape r one of the men had left with them.

  What is it, ma? What's wrong ? Laba n asked.

  She hesitated for a moment, but the y must be told . Indians, Laban. I saw thei r tracks in the road. They must have com e along while we were eating supper. We must be very careful .

  That night she left a crack of th e window open looking toward the corrals , and she placed the shotgun beside her. I f the Indians came she supposed it would b e for the horses, but although the coyote s howled the long night through, she hear d no other sound.

  Before it was time for the stage to com e again, she carefully tamped down th e earthern floor, and then, as she had see n her grandmother do years ago on thei r farm in Ohio, she traced a floral pattern o n the floor to resemble a carpet. She wa s pleased with the result.

  When they were expecting the stage sh e put water on the fire and got food ready t o serve, and then they waited.

  They heard the stage coming long befor e it arrived, heard the rattle of the wheels ove r stones, and the running horses.

  Charlie McCloud was driving again , and a different man was riding shotgun.

  He was a lean, round-shouldered ma n with a tough face and a hard-cut mouth.

  He was sporting a cut on his cheekbon e and a black eye.

  This here is Kiowa Staples , Charli e said . It looks like he run into somethin g in the dark .

  Staples threw him a hard glance . I t was some no-account saddle bum , Staples said irritably . I misjudged him.

  The next time we meet it won't be fist s we'll use .

  Aw, forget it Kiowa , Charlie said.

  You brought it on yourself. There's som e men you just can't push, an' you pushe d that one too far. You think it over an' yo u won't blame him none .

  I won't blame him , Staples replied , but I'll kill him .

  There was one passenger, a portly ma n in a black derby and black suit wh o descended stiffly from the stage, stretched , and started toward the house.

  My advice to you, Kiowa, is to leav e that gent alone , Charlie McClou d advised . I've seen his kind before. Yo u don't find them swaggering aroun d hunting trouble, because they've see n trouble a-plenty. They've been u p the creek an' over the mountain , they've hunted buffalo an' they've fi t Injuns an' maybe outlaws, an' they'v e done it like you an' me hitch a tea m of hossesit's ever' day work to them.

  You steer clear of that kind if you wan t to keep a whole hide . . . an' a reputation .

  Together McCloud and Kiowa packe d the supplies in and placed them o n the floor out of the way, while Evie pu t the food on the table. It was good soli d food and all three men ate wit h relish.

  Stays with you, that kind of grub , Charlie said . If I wasn't married, Mr s Teale, I'd surely come a-courtin'.

  Evie blushed. Thank you, Mr.

  McCloud. I've always liked to see a ma n enjoy his food .

  Kiowa looked up at her . No Injuns ?

  We saw tracks, Laban said , righ t after you folks left, the last time. Ther e were two of them .

  They were scoutin' you , Kiowa said , and us. You keep a fresh eye, ma'am, an d you worry some. It'll likely be you r saving .

  When they were gone, Evie and Ruthi e put the supplies away, while Laban wen t back to work on the shelter for th e animals. It was crudely built and scarcel y more than a windbreak, but Evie , watching him from a distance, saw that th e boy worked with some assurance and not a little skill. Evidently he had watched hi s father and others, and perhaps had helpe d at such jobs before.

  Since his father had been gone Laba n had been getting up earlier and workin g harder, and he had fussed much less wit h Ruthie than before. His sister wa s mystified by the change. Laban seeme d suddenly grown up and far away from her.

  He went about his work with grea t seriousness, and did not wait to be asked.

  He did what needed doing, and Ruthie's respect grew despite herself. She foun d herself speaking to him as she might t o someone much older. At times it irked her , but Laban seemed not to notice; sometime s she deliberately teased him, hopin g to arouse his irritation, to make him wan t to fight back, but he assumed a loft y attitude and only smiled or, worse yet , ignored her.

  In the week that passed the stag e stopped only twice, and then on the day i t was due to come again, three rider s appeared, driving a herd of horses, a i dozen of them to be left at the Teale place.

  One of the cowhands was a youngster , not over seventeen, the others were olde r men. Johnny McGivern came gallopin g on ahead, yelling at Laban . Open th e bars there, boy! We're a-bringin' in th e hosses !

  Laban ran to open the gate and th e horses streamed in, and Johnny McGiver n swung down to put up the bars after them.

  He was a smiling boy, and he grinned a t Laban . I hear you're the hostler here.

  Well, there's a stage comin' through nig h on to noon, so you be set an' ready. An y chance to get some grub ?

  I'll ask ma, Laban replied wit h dignity, not sure how he should react t o this free-talking stranger.

  One of the older men was long and sli m and redheaded, with red hair on the back s of his hands . I'm Kris Mahler, son. Thi s galoot sportin' the remains of a shiner i s Conn Conagher. Shy clear of him, boy , he's got a burr under his saddle .

  Conagher was a lean dark man o f about thirty-five, with black hair an d mustache, and a stubble of beard. He wor e a battered black hat, a shabby suit-coa t and leather chaps. His boots were down a t the heel, his gun scabbard worn, and th e walnut grips looked as if they had see n much use.

  Conagher looked at Laban quite seriously.

  D
on't you set much store by wha t Kris tells you, boy. I'm a right peacelovin g man .

  Who gave you the black eye ? Laba n asked.

  Nobody gave it to me, son , Conaghe r said . I fought for it .

  That's the second black eye we'v e seen , Ruthie said . Kiowa Staples ha d one, too .

  When nobody replied to that, Ruthi e added , He says he's going to kill the ma n who gave it to him .

  Conn Conagher said nothing, but Kri s Mahler threw him a quick glance and said , Little girl, I reckon your ma wants to se e you .

  Ain't her fault , Johnny McGiver n said . If Kiowa said it, he said it, that's all !

  Evie Teale came out of the door, dryin g her hands on her apron . Won't yo u gentlemen come in for a bite? There's been no stage, and the food is ready .

  I'd take that kindly , Mahler said.

  Come on, Conn. Let's eat and ride .

  Conn lingered. He studied the crud e shelter and Laban watched him, fearful o f his comment. After a while, Conn nodded.

  That's a pretty good job, son. Did you d o that all by yourself ?

  Yes, sir.

  Conn glanced at him . Sir. Now that's nice, right nice .

  Conagher strolled over and took a close r look at the shelter . It helps , he said , i f when you start laying on cover you put th e bottom ones on first, then put the next ro w a mite higher with part of it overlapping.

  Helps the water to run off .

  Thanks, Laban said. He foun d himself liking the grim, dark-faced man , and the boy and man walked toward th e cabin together. Outside the cabin Con n removed his coat and rolled up his sleeve s to wash his hands and face, and the n combed his black hair.

  He turned, looking across the valley int o the distance . I like that , he said , gesturing toward the view . Nothing like a wide-open country .

  >>j ^ i t'

  We saw Indian tracks , Laban said.

  Conagher stopped and looked at him , then tilted his hat brim down and studie d the hills back of the cabin . You got a rifl e in there ?

  We've got a shotgun .

  That's good, but you'd better have a rifle too. When your pa gets here he'l l most likely have one .

  They went inside. During the mea l Mahler did most of the talking, aided b y Johnny McGivern. Evie was bright an d gay, excited by the company and glad to b e hearing some news, even though much o f it concerned events and people of who m she knew nothing.

  When the others had gone outside , Mahler lingered . Your girl said somethin g about Kiowa Staples threatening t o kill the man he fought. Is that true ?

  Well, he did say it. He was jus t talking .

  Not Kiowa. His kind don't 'just talk.

  He meant it.

  What happened?

  Only careless talk. Kiowa'd had a couple of drinks and he bumped into Con n a time or two. I won't say it was a-purpose , but he was sure not tryin' to avoid it. The y had words and I figure Kiowa wa s expectin' gun-play, only Conn belted hi m . . . knocked him down.

  They went around and around ther e for a while, but this here saddle tram p Conagher, I meanhe's a mean one t o tangle with, and he gave Kiowa a trimming .

  Will there be more trouble ?

  No tellin'. Conagher's a drifter. Neve r lights any place for long, I figure, and h e may drift clean out of the country befor e the two of them meet . . . but he's jus t stubborn enough to stick around .

  Who is he?

  Mahler shrugged . Wildy hired him fo r this job. He don't talk none about himsel f . . . does his share and a mite more, I'd say , and minds his own affairs. He goes his ow n way, and the way I'd see it he just don't give a damnbeggin' your pardon , ma'am .

  From the window, as she washed dishes , Evie watched Conagher tightening hi s cinch. He seemed a strange, lonely ma n and her heart went out to him, although h e seemed not to have noticed her. She wa s used to that. Men never had noticed he r very much, and now that she was n o longer a young girl they noticed her eve n less. She was not even sure that Jacob ha d noticed her, or that he gave much though t to what she cared about or what she dreamed.

  He had been looking for a steady woma n who would care for his children and hel p him build a home in the western lands.

  There was no romance about Jacob Teale.

  Yet what right had she to object to th e way he was? She had been frightene d before they met; her money was almos t gone and she had no relatives. There wa s no place for her to go. Jacob was seekin g help and she was seeking shelter, and bot h found what they wanted.

  Now she had the two children and sh e did not shrink from the task of raisin g them; she had grown to love them both.

  But she was a woman, with a woman's lov e to give, and she needed someone reachin g out for it. There was an emptiness withi n her, a yearning that must be fulfilled, a love that needed to be given.

  She went to the door when the rider s rode away, driving their small herd to th e other stations to the westward. They stoo d there, she and Ruthie, watching them unti l even the dust was gone.

  Laban had already gone back to hi s work. He was removing the pine and ceda r boughs from the lean-to and re-layin g them.

  It will be more waterproof if I lay th e bottom rows first and let the next ro w overlap , he explained . I don't kno w what I was thinking when I started it .

  They were alone again, and the silenc e had come.

  CONN CONAGHER tied his baridan a over his mouth to keep out th e dust of the drag. Once he turned t o glance back toward the cabin, but it wa s already obscured by the dust behind th e horses.

  Hell of a thing) he said to himself, leavin' a woman and two kids out there alone. Bu t even as he said it he knew that many a ma n had no choice. You took your chances i n this country; some of them paid off an d some did not.

  He gave no thought to Kiowa Staples.

  The man had the name of a gunfighter , and he had killed a couple of menone o f them up at Tin-Cup, in Colorado, th e other at Mobeete, in Texas. Con n Conagher had seen a good many wh o fancied themselves with guns, and ha d helped to bury at least one. They came an d they went.

  He rubbed the itchy stubble on his jaw s and squinted through the dust. He ha d been figuring on drifting to Tucson, o r maybe out to California. He had ridden fo r a couple of California outfits, and it bea t fighting northers in Texas or Ne w Mexico.

  He wasn't getting any younger, and i t was time he found himself a place to light.

  Twenty-two years now he'd spent on th e hurricane deck of a bronc, and it was tim e he found himself a chair on the porc h somewhere, or spent a winter at one o f those fancy Colorado hotels.

  Then he snorted with disgust. What wa s he thinking of? He couldn't even afford a new pair of boots. He was a thirty-dolla r cowhand, and that was all he was likely t o be.

  They pushed the horses at a good pace , and although the sun was close to settin g they kept on. The next station was no t many miles off, and if they rode on in i t would be to a warm fire and ready-mad e grub.

  Kris Mahler dropped back to talk t o Conagher . What do you think? Shall w e go on in ?

  Gettin' paid for the job, ain't we? Wh y waste time? We can make it short o f midnight, and these mustangs won't suffe r none. Drive 'em on in an' tomorro w they'll be fit as fiddles .

  There were two men at Red Rock, bu t there was no evidence of it when the her d rounded into the station. McGivern rod e over to the corral and opened the gate fo r the horses, who smelled the water in th e trough and pushed in, eager to reach it.

  Only when Mahler got down at the doo r did it open cautiously.

  Who's there? came the question.

  Conn Conagher yelled his answer . It's an apostle with an epistle for you! Ope n up, you sod-busters and let a man in !

  The door creaked on its hinges and the y saw the white undershirt of a man in hi s pants, holding a rifle . Put your horses up , an' come on in. I'll set the coffee on th e fire .

  After turning his horse into the corra l Conn followed the oth
ers in. He was tire d and cold.

  He nursed the cup of coffee in his stif f fingers. If he stayed in this countr y he'd have to rustle himself a sheepski n or buffalo coat, and he did no t want to leave with Kiowa making wa r talk ... he would like to see him first.

  Likely it was all talk, but you never knew.

  Between cups, while waiting for th e beans and cornpone, he pulled off hi s boots. There was another hole in his socks.

  Reminded him of the cowpuncher wh o went to wash his feet one spring and foun d two pairs of socks he didn't know he had.

  Conn picked up his cup again, an d sipped the coffee while staring into th e fire. There was a world of comfort in a fire , and he'd looked into a sight of them , round and about.

  The station agent was a man of fifty o r more, the hostler older, yet they'd found a place to light. The older you got th e tougher it got. You felt the cold more, an d you didn't take to sleeping out on th e ground so much. A man that old shoul d have himself a home, a place to hang hi s hat while he waited for the sunset.

  The waiting would not be bad if it wa s on a man's own place, where he coul d watch his own cattle graze and could liv e in some kind of peace. Conn turned hi s foot sideways. The heels of his boots wer e run down and the soles were growing thin.

  Lucky he was a rider and not a walker o r I they'd last no time at all.

  He'd never had a home that you coul d call a home. His ma had died when he wa s four, and his pa had gone off to help buil d railroads and had never come back. Hi s aunt and uncle had taken him in, but he'd worked for it. Lord above, how he ha d worked! His aunt always threw it up t o him how his pa had never come back . . . w ell, a lot of men went west who neve r came back, and it wasn't their fault either.

  And it didn't have to be Injuns. Choler a had done for a lot of them, and starvatio n and thirst for a good many more, and som e had been killed by men like Kiow a Staples, who were hunting a reputation. I f you got thrown from your horse out on th e prairie alone, or got caught in a stampede , gored by a longhorn, or drowned swimmin g a river . . . there were a hundre d ways a man could die in this wester n country, and nobody the wiser. It wa s likely the way he himself would end.