And she had needed love. She ha d needed tenderness. She was frightene d and she was alone, and the romance sh e had needed so desperately, of which sh e had dreamed so long, was simply not i n him to give.
This was the second time that deat h for somehow she felt sure that Jacob wa s dead and had left her alone. First, it had bee n her father. Suddenly she was alone in a strange place and her father was dead; bu t he had taken from her more than a father , more than financial support he had take n her dreams with him.
He had always been filled with plan s wild, impractical plans they might be, bu t plans, dreams . . . and a goal. He ha d always had that, and as swiftly as on e faded away he was busy with another, an d his stories as well as his dreams had fed he r own dreaming. Always, somewhere in th e offing there was a Prince Charming, a someone who needed her, someone wh o was young and handsome, and filled wit h romance.
When her father died she lost he r dreams. There was nothing of the Princ e Charming about Jacob Teale, but he was a rock to which she could cling, and she ha d been frightened. With no money, n o home, and no chance even to work, sh e had accepted his offer of marriage.
Now she was alone again, yet not quit e alone, for there were the children and the y needed her. They needed her as much a s she needed them. She had them, and sh e had this place; without them she woul d again be where she had been, a woma n alone in a harsh world where there was n o place for a woman alone.
The coolness of the night held a hint o f distant rain. Something far out upon th e grass stirred, and she heard the whisper o f sound. She stood a moment longer, an d then she went back to the cabin and le t herself in, barring the door behind her.
A moment then, she listened, hearin g the breathing in the loft above. She looke d around at the shadowed room, lighte d only by the lantern and a faint flickerin g from the fire.
A double bed, a table, some benches, a chair . . . the pots and pans shining upo n the wall or near the fireplace, the hardpacke d earth floor . . . Would she eve r have a plank floor, now that Jacob wa s gone?
She went to her carpetbag, the repositor y of the few things she had brough t with her when she came to Jacob, and too k out a thin volume of poetry. For an hou r she read, then stared into the fire for a lon g time. Her loneliness was with her always; o nly the hours when she was most bus y gave her respite, and each stage sh e awaited with a half-conscious longing, a hope that someone, or something specia l would come for her.
Six months had gone by since Jaco b Teale had ridden away, and she foun d herself hard put to remember his features.
She remembered his square-shouldere d dignity, his quiet, somewhat stern manner; a nd whenever she thought of him sh e found herself feeling guilty that she di d not mourn him. But when she remembere d him now he was like a stranger.
The following day Charlie McClou d brought in the stage, and there were n o passengers, so he lingered, drinking coffe e with her.
Mrs. Teale, he said abruptly , yo u ought to find yourself a man. You're to o fine a woman to go to waste out here lik e this .
Mr. Teale has only been gone si x months, Mr. McCloud. I think it is rathe r too soon to?
Nonsense! he interrupted . Yo u know as well as I do that something's happened to him. Mrs. Teale, this here is a violent land, and I've helped bury two , three men whose names nobody knew . . . i t happens all the time.
A man can get throwed by his hors e out there on the plains and he can die o f thirst before he can get anywhere. That's why they hang horse thieves, ma'am , because out here if you take a man's hors e you may have taken his life along with it.
It's a sight easier to die out here than t o live. It doesn't have to be Injuns o r outlaws. Now, you take your husband.
I've asked around, passed the word alon g the stage line for any information abou t him or his horse. Neither of them seems t o have been seen by anybody. I'd say tha t was pretty good evidence that they ra n into trouble somewhere together.
There was a flood on the Rio Grand e shortly after he left here, and heavy rain s over east of here, too. He may have tried t o swim a river or take a short cut acros s country somewhere. You'd better coun t yourself a widow, Mrs. Teale .
Perhaps you are right, Mr. McCloud.
I would not say it to anyone but a goo d friend, but I am lonely, and sometime s when we are alone here, I am frightened; b ut even if I was sure Mr. Teale was dead , I still would know of no one I'd b e interested in .
Well, he said , you deserve yourself a good man, and I'd surely say I'd be th e last to advise you to latch onto the firs t saddle tramp who comes along. But yo u see, Mrs. Teale, the stage line . . . well , they want to put in their own station ou t west of here, four or five miles. I kno w you've been making a little off feeding us , but that time's about up, ma'am. I don't see how you're going to make it withou t the stages stopping here .
She had known it was corning, o f course. From the first, the stage compan y had planned to build their own place, an d she knew her small cabin was no t adequate.
This is all we have, Mr. McCloud, an d we must do the best we can. Mr. Teale ha d hoped to have a herd started by this time , but I've had no money to buy cattle .
Charlie McCloud put down his cup.
Mrs. Teale, I've got me an idea. There's a herd a-passin' through here, and whe n they come you should go talk to the trai l boss. Now, this here is a mixed herd, an d they've got some long, dry drives ahead , I'll bet you you could get some calves.
You'd have to wean 'em, most likely , but you've got that milk cow. No trail bos s likes to be bothered with calves, and wher e they don't have a wagon to carry 'em i n they just let 'em lay .
Suddenly his eyes began to twinkle.
Ma'am, I'll tell you what you do. Mak e up a big batch of them doughnuts. Th e average cow-poke would sell his soul for a doughnut. You make up a batch, have a couple of gallons of coffee handy, and yo u feed those cowboys and tell them if the y have any fresh-dropped calves you'd lik e to have them. They know those calve s aren't going to last out any desert crossing.
You're liable to pick up four or five, mayb e more .
She got up. Thanks, Mr. McCloud , for what you've told me. Thank you ver y much .
He rose, hesitating a moment . Don't you be forgetting. You keep your eye ou t for a good man, and latch onto him.
There's a-plenty running around who ar e no good. You need you a good, stead y man .
Mr. McCloud, if I marry again it wil l be for love, and only for love. I don't car e what comes. A woman deserves som e happiness, Mr. McCloud, and I've ha d precious little, but I can't leave this place.
It is all we have .
She knew his advice was good, for sh e had already seen how hungry traveler s were for any kind of baking, and fo r doughnuts in particular. The cattle woul d be coming through soon and she was goin g to gamble all she had at hand on a chanc e of success.
With Ruthie helping, and Laba n gathering additional firewood, she went t o work to bake the doughnuts and prepar e for a cowboy invasion. As she worked sh e considered the future. If she could ge t several calves it would be a start, at least , and Bess would be dropping a calf befor e the winter was over.
Before the herd came in sight they coul d hear the cattle bawling, and the herd was a big one.
Two men riding point swung away fro m the herd as it prepared to bed down for th e night, and rode up to the cabin. Evie me t them at the door, with Ruthie and Laba n at her side.
The first was a lean, broad-shouldere d man with a walrus mustache, and th e second an older man, leaner still an d stooped in the shoulders.
Are you the lady who bakes the bea r sign ?
Bear sign? Evie was puzzled . Do you mean doughnuts ?
Yes'm, reckon I do. We heard tell yo u was the best all-fired doughnut maker thi s side of the Mississippi, and that you'd se t us up to doughnuts .
Come on in, Evie said . I've coffe e on .
The two men swung down and wen
t inside, hats in hand. Both men wer e armed, both were dusty and tired-looking.
They seated themselves and she put out a tray of doughnuts and filled their cups.
After a few minutes of silent eating, th e first man looked up . I am John Catlin , ma'am, and this gent here ridin' herd o n me is my uncle, Sam Catlin. We hear tel l how you'd like some calves .
I can't afford to buy them , Evi e confessed . I'd heard that when you wer e driving a mixed herd calves could be a trouble. I thought perhaps you might hav e one or two that you want to be rid of .
That we do, the younger Catlin said.
They'd never make it across the deser t anyway, and they'd be a trouble on th e drive. As a matter of fact, I've got six head , a week to three weeks old, and we've lost a couple back yonder that couldn't keep up.
Ma'am, we'd be pleased for you t o have them, but I'm afraid it will cost you.
We've got nine or ten hungry cowhand s just a-sawin' at the bit to get over here .
Send them, and you're welcome an y time, whether you have calves or not, a s long as the flour holds out .
An hour later she had five hungr y cowhands around the table, and the wa y the doughnuts vanished was something t o see, but they had brought with them si x calves, all white-face, and along with the m a cow.
She's a mite old , Catlin said , an d likely this here's her last calf. I doub t whether she'd make it over the desert, s o you're welcome .
Evie Teale stared at the cow. If it wa s more than five years old she was badl y mistaken, and it looked to be in excellen t shape, but she offered no comment beyon d her thanks. The following morning whe n the herd moved out, the chuck wago n stopped by the house to fill its barrels wit h fresh water.
It was not until they were gone tha t Ruthie came running into the cabin . Ma!
Come look!
On the doorstep was a hundred-poun d sack of flour, fifty pounds of sugar, a sac k of rice and one of beans, with a smal l package of dried fruit.
On top of them was a torn piece o f canvas on which somebody had written , With the thanks of the 2-C.
The Two Bar C was gone, but the y would not be forgotten, and they had lef t behind them another legacy not lightly t o be dismissed. Where the herd had bedde d down there were cow chips enough fo r many a fire.
Evie Teale prepared for the next stage , and watched the sky. It was colder now , and the sky looked gray and lowering.
They must work hard to gather fuel for th e winter. It was surely on the way.
The wind was picking up, and th e tumbleweeds were starting to roll. Soo n they would be rolling off to the south i n unnumbered legions. She counted thos e she could see rolling.
. . . eight. . . nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . . t welve ...
After that there was no use in counting , for they rolled away across the vast plai n like an army of skirmishersscattere d out, moving forward, pausing, and the n moving again.
I wonder where they go , Laban said , watching them.
I don't know, Laban. Maybe they jus t never stop. Maybe they just keep o n rolling forever .
They hang up against corrals sometimes , or fences .
There are not many fences out here , Ruthie said , but when we came West I saw a great bank of them against som e willows and cottonwoods . . . remember?
They were piled up as high as a house .
Again that night, when the childre n were asleep, Evie walked out in th e moonlight.
The plain was stark and lonely, the star s shone unbelievably bright wherever th e clouds broke for them to be seen. Th e wind whipped her skirt, and she saw on e of the silent riders of the wind roll by no t very far away.
Maybe ... off to the south somewher e . . . maybe there was somebody dow n there as lonely as she was, somebod y whose thoughts reached out into th e emptiness of the night, longing, yearning , alone.
CONN CONAGHER came dow n out of the Mogollons riding a linebac k dun. He had a healing sca r over his right ear and a drawn look abou t him that showed even under the thic k stubble of black beard. His blanket rol l was tied behind his saddle and two rifle s were tied across it. His own rifle was in it s scabbard.
The Horse Springs stage station looke d wind-blown and bleak when he rode in , huddled in his thin coat. He rode up to th e station warily, like a man expectin g trouble.
Two horses were tied at the hitchin g rail, both of them cow ponies wearin g Ladder Five brands.
Conn glanced at the brands an d muttered to his horse , Now, there's a rustler's brand if ever I saw one. A Ladde r Five will cover almost anything .
He tied his horse and went up the step s to the store's porch, then he opened th e door and stepped in. There was a fir e glowing in the stove, and three men sa t around it. The storekeeper was arrangin g stock on the shelves.
Conn went up to the stove and warme d his hands . Cold out there , he cornmented.
Too cold.
Makes a man wonder what he did wit h his summer's wages , Conn continued.
Don't know anybody around who i s looking for a hand, do you ?
Can't say I do . The speaker was a square-built man in a buckskin jacket an d battered hat. He wore moccasins rathe r than boots.
The other two looked like hard cases.
Both were young, lean, and wiry, with a reckless cast to their features and a halftauntin g expression that Conagher ha d seen many times before. These men wer e trouble, and trouble was the last thing h e wanted right now.
He walked over to the counter . Mister , he said , I am in a swapping mood. I want one of them sheepskin coats an d some gloves. Maybe a pair of Levis an d some .44 ca'tridges .
What have you got to swap? I usuall y do a cash-on-the-barrel-head business .
I've got a couple of Winchesters , Conagher said . I'll get 'em .
He went out, untied the two rifles, an d brought them into the store . They'l l stand cleaning , he said.
The storekeeper took them in his hands , turned them over, tried the action, an d looked down the barrel of each one.
Unusual thing, he commented , a ma n wanting to swap off rifles, two of them .
They belonged to a pair of Indians , Conagher said . They jumped me up i n the Mogollons. There were three of them.
We had quite a go-around there for a fe w minutes .
The man in buckskin commented , Three Apaches? You're lucky you've go t your hair .
Well, I seen a rabbit up ahead . . . m aybe a hundred yards ahead. He wa s hoppin' along easy-like across the trai l when he suddenly took off back the way h e came, so I sort of figured there wa s something in the brush alongside the trai l that scared him.
If they were Indians they'd likely see n me, scouted ahead to lay for me, and likel y they were watching me now, so I pulled u p and got down and picked up my horse's hooflike it was giving me trouble.
I hunted around for a rock, hit at th e shoe a couple of times, then threw i t down and picked up another, droppe d it, and stepped over to the side of the trail , as if I was hunting a bigger rock. Then I ducked into the brush and sneaked up o n 'em.
Just about the time I got close the y began to wonder what had become of me , so one of them craned his neck up out o f the brush for a better look and he saw me.
He was surprised, but I wasn't. He wasn't any more than thirty feet off, but when I commenced shooting I dusted the brus h all around him and two Indians brok e from cover, one of them dragging a wounded leg .
So you nailed him , one of th e cowhands said.
No, I figured I had him, all right, so I let drive at the other one and dropped him.
When I looked around for the wounde d one, he was gone .
Did you hunt him down ?
Conagher gave the cowhand a glance*
Mister, nobody but a fool goes into th e rocks after a wounded Apache .
How'd you get the rifles, then ?
Well, I laid there a piece, and then I got over into the brush where I'd killed th e first one, a
nd I latched onto his rifle an d ammunition. No use leaving it for som e other Indian to kill with. Then I edge d around until I could see the last Indian I shot, and with a long stick I pulled his rifl e to me. Then I went back to my horse an d lit a shuck out of there .
I'll swap, the storekeeper said , an d I'll add a box of -44's for them you used u p in the fight. Most of the Apaches aroun d here are good people, and the Zunis nort h of us are no trouble makers, but it's the m south-of-the-border 'Paches who kee p raiding up here that give us trouble. The y attacked the stage station down the lin e where that womanTeale's her nam e runs it .
Conn Conagher looked up sharply.
They didn't kill her ?
She made a fight of it, she and the m youngsters. Then the stage came in, al l bloodied up, but amongst them the y fought 'em off .
Conagher tried on a sheepskin coat , then another. Satisfied, he put the boxes o f shells in the pockets and picked up th e gloves and the jeans.
Might as well set and have coffee , th e storekeeper said . You ain't goin' fa r tonight .
Thanks. I'll move on .
The man in buckskin followed hi m outside, leaning on the hitching rail whil e Conagher tightened the cinch . Wher e was you in the Mogollons ? he asked.
I'm a-headed up thataway .
My guess would be you knew the m pretty well , Conagher said . What is i t you want to know ?
The man in buckskin glanced over hi s shoulder . I got me a little stand over o n the Negrito. I was wonderin' if you'd bee n around thataway, and if you'd seen an y Injun sign .
I came down through Sheep Basin , Conagher said , and I saw no India n sign . He straightened up and rested hi s hands on the saddle. His eyes smiled a little, and he said , I did see some othe r sign over on Beaverdam .
The man in buckskin flushed a little , then grinned . Like I figured, you've go t savvy , he said . Those two in there ... I don't cotton to 'em. I'd as soon they didn't know where I hole up .
I'll do no talkin'. Ain't none of m y affair . He held out a hand . Name's Conagher. I'm ridin' the grub line whils t huntin' a job .
If you don't find anything come o n back to Beaverdam. There's wolves u p there, bear oncet in a while, and a fe w beaver. A man can make out on deer if h e likes venison. I live off the country, mak e up a few furs to bring out. My name i s Chip Huston .
Conagher (1969) Page 5
