Conagher (1969)

by L'amour, Louis

  Scott Baker . . . curly hair . . . Curl y Scottl She had heard Charlie McClou d speak of him. Curly Scott was one of th e Parnell gang, wanted by Wells Fargo fo r stage holdups. There were five of them , sometimes six, and they were a toug h outfit.

  Smoke Parnell was a lean, lath of a ma n with a long, hatchet face who had com e west from the Bald Knob country o f Missouri. He was a dead shot with a rifle , and a fair hand with a short gun. He ha d come into the Territory from Nevada an d was suspected of a stage holdup in Blac k Canyon, south of Prescott. The gang wa s also wanted for raiding several minin g operations, and for at least one killin g during the course of a robbery.

  Your brother been out here long ? th e marshal asked.

  Oh, he came out about three year s ago , Lucy Baker said . He wanted t o leave school and try mining for a while. He had a mine somewhere in the Mogollons .

  She pronounced the word with a n emphasis on the ?goll?and not as it wa s spoken in the area, as ?Muggyowns . I don't know how successful he has been , but when we did not hear from him for s o long, we were worried . . . and my aun t wanted to come west, anyway .

  Evie poured her own cup of tea and sa t down at the table while the marshal an d his companion went outside to talk t o Charlie McCloud. She was starved for th e companionship of women, and she longe d to talk to them. While she was taking i n their clothes her heart went out to them a s she thought of the shock it would be fo r them to learn that Curly Scott was a n outlaw.

  I love it here , she said suddenly . I think there is something here, somethin g more than all you see and feel. . . it's in th e wind.

  Oh, it is very hard ! she went on . I miss women to talk to, I miss the things w e had back Eastthe band concerts, th e dances. The only time when we see anyon e is like now, when the stage comes. But yo u do not know what music is until you hav e heard the wind in the cedars, or the far-of f wind in the pines. Someday I am going t o ge t on a horse and ride out there, sh e pointed toward the wide grass befor e them?until I can see the other side ... i f there is another side .

  What about the Indians? Aren't yo u afraid of them ? Lucy Baker asked.

  So far we haven't seen any. We hea r rumors. The Apaches are raiding to th e south of us, but so far they haven't com e up here. We will have to face that when th e time comes .

  Long after they were gone Evie coul d hear the sound of their voices. At the en d the two women had talked of clothes an d fashions, of the theater, and of schools.

  She would stop often and look out ove r the plains, which grew blue and then a dusky purple as evening came, and sh e would try to remember all that had bee n said.

  She wished she could have warned the m about Curly. They would stop in th e Plaza, but the marshal would be there, too , and if Curly heard they were there h e would ride in to meet them.

  Early the following morning Laban ha d gone to feed the stock. Ruthie had gon e with him, and Evie was finishing th e morning dishes. She dried her hands o n her apron, and almost automatically he r eyes lifted to the hills.

  She saw the Indians at once. There wer e a dozen of them, and they were comin g single file down the mountain. Ther e were no squaws among them, jus t warriors, and they were stripped fo r action.

  Laban! she called . Come to th e cabin! Both of you! Come quickly !

  Laban straightened up and started t o protest, then he caught Ruthie by th e shoulder . Let's go , he said.

  She jerked her shoulder free . Don't b e so bossy ! she said.

  Ruth! Evie spoke sharply . Come ... n ow !

  Ruthie started to speak to assert he r independence, but Laban just scooped he r up in his arms and carried her to the cabin , kicking and arguing.

  He dropped her at the door and sh e started to run back . What is it, ma ?

  Laban asked.

  Indians, Evie said . They are comin g down the mountain. You'd better come in , Ruth .

  Ruthie turned sharply, looked up at the , mountain, and then, her face suddenl y white, she ran into the cabin. Laba n stopped to gather an armful of wood. He came in and went to the back of the cabi n closed the strong wooden shutters. Ther e were loop holes in the walls through whic h they could fire. Evie put the bar close t o the door, but left the door open par t way.

  Her heart was pounding and her lip s were dry . Laban , she said , they mus t not know we are alone here, and they mus t not know we are frightened .

  All right, ma.

  He was standing in the middle of th e room, looking around. There was nothin g that remained to be done.

  They will try to take the horses , h e said.

  Yes. We must stop them if we can .

  The Indians rode suddenly into th e yard, and drew up when they saw he r standing in the door. Laban was poise d behind it, ready to slam it shut and dro p the bar.

  What is it you want ? Evie asked.

  Grub, one of them said . You give u s grub .

  I am sorry. I have none to spare .

  Ruthie took up the rifle Charli e McCloud had brought to them and sli d the muzzle through a loop hole.

  You give us grub or we take horses.

  We take cow.

  Ride on, Evie ordered , ride on now!

  We do not want trouble, but you must no t come here like this. I do not like threats.

  Go now.

  They looked at her. Their horses shifte d position, and one Indian rode slowl y around the cabin.

  She stood very still, the shotgun held i n the fold of her dress, concealed by it. Sh e sensed they were not sure. They could se e the muzzle of one gun, and she seeme d very confident.

  One of the Indians turned his pony an d started for the horse corral.

  Tell that man to leave the horse s alone , she said clearly.

  Suddenly, they charged.

  What warned her, she never knew.

  Perhaps it was the tensing of muscle s before the horses lunged. They were no t forty feet from the door when they started.

  She lifted the shotgun and fired fro m the hip . . . there was no time to raise i t further. Then she stepped back so quickl y she almost tripped, and Laban slamme d the door and dropped the bar.

  Bodies crashed against the door and sh e opened the loop hole in the heavy door an d fired the shotgun through it.

  She heard a scream, then a scattering.

  Laban leaped to take the rifle from Ruthi e and fired almost without aiming.

  You got one, ma , Ruthie said . Yo u killed one of them. There's anothe r bleeding something awful .

  Laban not only had the rifle, but was a good shot. He was watching the horse s while Ruthie and Evie moved from loo p hole to loop hole to see what wa s happening.

  All was quiet outside. The one India n lay sprawled in the yard, a pool of bloo d under him and around him. The shotgu n blast had caught him not more tha n twenty feet off, for he was coming at the m when she fired. The heavy charge o f buckshot must have nearly cut him in two.

  Suddenly Laban fired the rifle again.

  The corral stood out in the open, and i t was not easy to approach it without bein g seen.

  Ma, Laban said , it's almost time fo r the stage. They'll be here when it comes .

  The stage . . . she had forgotten abou t the stage.

  Ruthie, she said , go up in the lof t and keep a watch out on the road. Whe n you see it coming, call down to Laban an d he can start shooting .

  What if there's nothing to shoot at ?

  Laban asked.

  Shoot anyway. It will warn them o n the stage. Shoot where you think you'd b e if you were an Indian .

  Going to the fireplace, she made coffee , put the bean pot close to the fire to warm , and then sliced some meat. The chance s were the stage would go right on through , but if they did stop, they must have war m food and hot coffeeabove all, they woul d want coffee.

  From time to time she peered throug h the loop holes, but there was nothin g stirring. All was still, scarcely a breath o f air moving. She could see sunlight
on th e grass out in front, the horses standing i n the corral, and the view down the trai l toward the Plaza, miles away. Within th e cabin it was shadowed and quiet, th e shutters closing out the light except th e little that filtered through around them.

  The stage was due by now. Th e passengers would be stiff and tired fro m the long ride in cramped quarters. Charli e or Ben Logan, who drove alternate, woul d be up on the box. He would be right out i n the open and a perfect target. Evie wa s hoping there were no women aboard.

  She checked the loads in the shotgun.

  She was frightened, but she knew what sh e must do. How many Indians there wer e she did not know . . . she thought she ha d seen a dozen, although there might hav e been twice as many. The dead one still la y in front of the house, and at least one ha d been wounded, the one Ruthie had see n with the bloody leg might have been o n the porch when she fired through the loo p hole. And Laban might have hit one.

  The minutes went slowly by. Sh e poured a cup of coffee for herself and on e for Laban, who never drank coffee excep t on the coldest days.

  They're still out there, ma , Laba n said . I saw a magpie fly up just now.

  Something scared him, and the horse s kind of shied, too .

  Where was the stage?

  Suddenly Ruthie called out , Ma! It's comin'! The stage is comin'!

  Laban fired. The roar of the gun seeme d unnaturally loud after the long silence i n the shuttered cabin. Instantly he fire d again. And then they saw the stage.

  The team was running wild, and th e driver lay slumped over the seat; how h e was staying up there on the jolting , bounding stage was more than she coul d guess. She saw the team charging towar d the cabin, and suddenly the driver sat up , swinging the horses right at the door.

  Evie ran to the door and took down th e bar. The team swung toward the door an d the stage almost crashed against the side o f the building, then stopped.

  Evie swung the door open as two me n and a woman almost fell from the stage.

  One of the men was dragging another on e down. The driverit was Ben Loga n fell into the room, his chest and one ar m bloody. He clutched a .44 Colt and h e paused one instant to fire before the y slammed the door shut.

  Hit us about three mile up , he said , around the Point. I figure we got a couple, but they hit us hard .

  He staggered back and almost fell to a bench by the table, resting his gun han d on it.

  The two active and able men, afte r dragging the wounded man inside, ha d gone at once to loop holes. There wa s almost steady firing now, and the roo m was filled with gun smoke.

  What kind of a roof you got, ma'am ? o ne of the men asked . I didn't notic e when we came in .

  It's a pole roof, covered with earth .

  Thank God for that! They can't set i t afire .

  The shooting slowed, then stopped.

  The other man, short and stocky with a square, determined face, turned to Logan.

  Ben, we've got to get that stage moved.

  They'll set it afire and burn the cabin .

  It's stone, Evie said.

  Makes no difference. They'll bur n down the door and fire through th e opening. Anyway, the smoke might do fo r us .

  The horses are still hitched , Ben said , but I can't hold a rein .

  The woman had been kneeling besid e the wounded man, gently unbuttoning hi s vest and shirt. Evie went to her . If w e could get him on the bed?

  The woman looked up. She was scarcel y more than a girl, with a round, pretty face.

  We'd better not move him. He might b e gut-shot .

  The rough term from her lips wa s startling. Evie started to speak, then sh e realized what the woman probably was.

  Yes, yes, of course , she said.

  There's hot water on the fire and we hav e bandages. I'm afraid I don't know muc h about wounds .

  I do, the girl said practically . I'v e seen a good many. I've lived in som e shooting towns .

  The stocky man was easing the doo r open, peering out . One of the horses i s down. He'll have to be cut from th e harness first .

  Then cut him, Logan said . There's no time to spare, man .

  He tossed a bowie knife to the man a t the door, who hesitated only a moment , then slipped out and went to his knees.

  Rising quickly, he slashed, then slashe d again. The bowie knife had a heavy blad e and was razor sharp. Seizing the whip, h e lashed the nearest horse and the anima l leaped, impelling the others. In an instan t they were gone, careening across the yard , running down an Indian who sprang u p suddenly from behind a cedar log.

  The man who had done the cuttin g lunged for the door and tripped, and the n was dragged inside as several bullet s drummed on the door or ricocheted fro m the rock walls. And then again there wa s silence.

  The girl had gone from the wounde d man on the floor to Ben Logan. Workin g with smooth skill, she cleaned and the n dressed his wounds.

  Outside there was neither sound no r movement. The day wore on, the heat o f the afternoon changing to the coolness o f evening.

  What do you think, Ben ? the squareface d man asked Logan . Will they sta y and fight, or will they pull out ?

  Ben Logan shrugged . I figure they'l l pull out. No Injun wants to fight a losin' b attle, and they've lost more men toda y than in many a fight with the Army. I figure they'll try to get that dead one ou t yonder and they may try for the horses , but they're likely to go .

  After a moment he added , They ca n count, good as you or me, and they kno w there's four, five guns in here, and we'r e behind a stone wall. They aren't out to wi n no medals .

  It was a long, slow evening, and a longer, slower night. Several times, just t o keep the Indians away, one of them fired a rifle along the side of the corral. It was a moonlit night and from the cabin the fron t of the corral and both sides were covere d easily. Only the back of the corral coul d not be observed.

  At daybreak the horses were still there , the body of the dead Indian was gone, an d by ten o'clock they knew the siege ha d been lifted.

  Don't worry none , Logan said.

  When the stage doesn't reach the Plaz a they'll come huntin' us .

  And they did ... a party of fort y horsemen, heavily armed.

  THE Apaches had come and gone , and they had left no scars on th e landscape. Those who had attacke d were a small renegade band who ha d come over the border from Mexico , from their hide-aways in the far-off Sierr a Madres.

  Evie Teale looked out over the brow n grass of autumn, and thought of th e Apaches. Only a week had gone by sinc e the day the men rode in from the Plaza , but it seemed an age ago. Things had suc h a way of passing here and leaving no mar k upon the landpeople, events, storms , troubles.

  But the Apaches had left a mark upo n her, and upon Laban and Ruthie. Fro m now on they would be more cautious , more wary, more aware that it coul d happen to them. But the attack had als o left them stronger, in that they had face d an enemy and they had survived.

  Evie Teale suddenly became aware o f something else. For the first time she wa s at peace here, really at peace. She ha d believed the land was her enemy, and sh e had struggled against it, but you could no t make war against a land any more than yo u could against the sea. One had to learn t o live with it, to belong to it, to fit into it s seasons and its ways.

  The land was a living thing, breathin g with the wind, weeping with the rain , growing somber with clouds or gay wit h sunlight.

  When she had come to this place sh e had looked aghast upon desolation. No w the cabin no longer looked out of place, i t no longer looked like something droppe d alongside the way, for it had become a par t of the landscape, as she had.

  As she had. ... She thought of that, an d knew that it was true, and that it had bee n the sun and shadow on the grass out ther e which had first won her; but now she mus t do something herself, she must not leave i t to the land alone.

  Laban . . . Ruthie . . . we're going t o make a flower bed. We're goi
ng to plan t some flowers .

  They looked at her, surprised, bu t eager, anticipating . We'll dig up som e prairie flowers and plant them alongsid e the door , she said.

  Laban, you have to start it. Take you r shovel and dig up a flower bed on each sid e of the door. From the corners of the cabi n to the doorstep, and about four feet deep.

  Ruthie, you and I will go look fo r flowers. We'll get some daisies, and there's Indian paintbrush. . . . Come on !

  By the time they returned with a baske t filled with carefully dug-up plants, Laba n had the earth spaded up, raked, an d watered ready for the planting.

  We should plant some trees , Evi e said . We've got water enough, an d there's some young cottonwoods down b y the creek .

  It was dusk before they settled wher e the trees would be planted so that the y would offer shade for the cabin and at th e same time would not be in the way of th e stages.

  Often, after the children were in bed, Evi e walked out in front of the cabin to look a t the stars and to feel the wind. These wer e the lonely hours, when at last she could le t down from the work of the day, whe n she could stand there and feel th e wind touch her hair, when she could loo k at the bright, silent stars, and hear a coyote's plaintive cry come from far out o n the plain.

  Behind her the windows would show a faint light from her lantern, for the fir e would be banked for the night, the coal-oi l light would be out or turned low.

  She could hear a faint stirring amon g the horses in the corral, and sometime s one would stamp or blow dust from hi s nostrils.

  Jacob was gone. . . .

  Now she accepted the fact. How or wh y he had gone she had no idea, but someho w he had been killed or had died or bee n injured in some terrible way. That h e might have simply gone off and left the m she did not for a moment consider. Jaco b was too much a man of duty, and both hi s place and his children meant too much t o him.

  She had never been sure if he loved her , for he was not a tender man. In the fe w moments when he had approached tendernes s he had seemed oddly uncomfortable , yet she felt that in his own way that he di d care for her. He was simply one of thos e silent millions who have never reall y learned how to express what they feel, o r somehow seem to find it indelicate to d o so.