Leggett was sitting in front of the bun k house when Conagher rode in. The ol d man looked up . We've et , he said , bu t coffee's on. The Old Man figured yo u might come in late .
Thanks.
Conagher stripped the rigging from hi s horse and threw it over a saddle tree unde r the shed. He was dog-tired and bone weary.
McGivern come in ?
'Nope . . . Kris took off some place. t oo .
Conagher dumped water into th e washbasin beside the door and, rolling u p his sleeves, he took off his hat an d neckerchief and washed his face, neck, an d arms. Then he dried them on the rolle r towel, hitched his gunbelt into place, an d started for the house.
Then he stopped . Leggett, you migh t as well have some coffee with me. You'l l grow right into that bench if you set ther e much longer .
Leggett got up and walked along wit h him to the patch of light that fell from th e kitchen door.
The Old Man's turned in, but he sai d you'd better pick yourself a couple of goo d winter horses and iron them out a little, t o suit you .
All right.
Tay's got good stock. There's a bi g dapple-gray would make quite a horse i f you're man enough to take the kinks out o f him, and there's a buckskin about th e same size. Both of them big enough an d strong enough for the snow .
Does she get deep around here ?
In the draws and canyons she piles up.
You'll need Montana-style horses .
They sat in silence for a time, and the n Conagher refilled his cup . You been o n this range quite a while. How's the Ol d Man when it comes to trouble ?
Leggett gave Conagher a bleak look.
He'll stand by you, if that's what yo u mean, but nobody else will. I'm the onl y one of the old hands left, and I'm only her e because I ain't a youngster no more and I got nowhere to go .
Leggett got to his feet . I don't kno w you, cowboy, an' you don't know me. I f you got any ideas about buckin' troubl e you got to go it alone .
You won't help me ?
How much help would I be? I'm up i n my sixties, boy, older than you thought , an' I want to live out my days, not die o n some sandy slope with lead in my guts .
And the Old Man ?
Leggett looked at him . Ain't that wha t they want most? If they can get him out o n the range they'll kill him, and then the y can take the cattle as they want, an d nobody to stop them .
Conn Conagher was a stubborn man.
He had never given much thought to trut h and justice or the rights of man, but he di d not like what seemed to be happenin g here, and anything that happened to a n outfit he rode for, happened to him.
Will you stand by the Old Man ? h e asked . Supposin' they come after him ?
I'll fight. If they come after him, I'l l fight .
All right, then you stay here. You kee p a rifle handy, and if there's any doub t shoot .
KRIS MAHLER rode in about a n hour later. Conn was seated in th e bunk house with his feet up on a box reading a dog-eared copy of a magazine. He knew by the way Mahle r stalked into the room that the man wa s angry.
Conn, what's got into you? We've got a good thing here if you play your card s right .
I play them the way they're dealt , Kris. What don't you like ?
There's no need to stir up trouble. Yo u wanted a place to lay up during the winte r . . . well, you got it. So set still and ride i t out. In the spring you can drift .
Conagher glanced around . When I take a man's money, Kris, I do the jo b he hired me for. I don't know no othe r way.
No, I guess you don't . Mahle r dropped onto a bench . Conn, you're n o tenderfoot. The Ladder Five is Smok e Parnell's outfit. Tile Coker is his righ t hand. You run a-foul of them and they'l l nail your hide to the barn door .
Slowly, Conagher lowered his feet.
Every time somebody warned him o r threatened him it got his back up. He wanted trouble with no man, but he wasn't going to take any pushing around, either.
You tell me something, Mahler.
Where do you stand? Are you riding fo r the brand? Are you runnin' scared? Or ar e you sellin' out to that damned bunch o f highbinders on the Ladder ?
Mahler's face turned ugly . I coul d make you draw a gun for that , he sai d hoarsely . Damn you, Conn! Don't pus h me !
Seems to me, Conagher replie d mildly , that I am the one who is bein g pushed. I'll tell you this, Mahler, and pu t it in your pipe and smoke it. Every ST b eef critter I see heading toward Ladde r range is going to get turned back, and if I smell any hide burning from a Ladde r iron, I'll go in a-fogging it ... no matte r who is doing the branding. Do you hea r me ?
You're a damn fool , Mahler said.
Look, they're going to clean him out. By spring there won't be a head of beef left o n ST range, and there isn't a thing anybod y can do about it. You can do your job an' l ook the other way, or you can set yoursel f up for a target. You've got a choice .
It's you who have the choice, Mahler.
You've got the choice right this minute.
You throw your pack on your horse an d ride out of here tonight, or you do wha t you mentioned, and pull that gun on me.
Before you reach for it, remember this.
I been shot at a few times, and I'm stil l around. I've gone down a few times, but I always got some lead into the man who di d the shooting .
Conn Conagher stood up . Kris, yo u pack up and light a shuck. I got no use fo r a traitor .
Mahler got to his feet, his features dar k with fury. Desperately, he wanted to pull a gun on Conagher, but there was a health y streak of caution in him.
There was nothing of the tenderfoot i n Conagher. He was an old curly wolf fro m the high country, and Mahler had see n what he did to Staples. That beating ha d been brutal and thorough. Morever, in th e close confines of a bunk house there wa s no way either of them could miss. Kri s Mahler was ready enough to shoot, but h e was not ready to die.
All right, he said , I'll pull out. An d Johnny will go with me. That mean s there's just you, the Old Man, and Legget t . . . how far will that take you ?
Conagher shrugged . Kris, neither o f us is going to get out of this alive. That's the only thing a man knows about life.
I'll work my tail off and cash in m y chips some dark night riding herd o n another man's cows, but when they writ e my epitaph they'll say, He rode for th e brand, and when they write yours they'l l say, He sold out the man who trusted him. I like mine better .
You're a damn fool , Mahler said.
Am I? I've seen your kind, Kris.
Whatever you steal, the women on th e Line will get, or you'll get headaches fro m the rotten booze they feed you, and whe n your back is turned one of your partner s will shoot you for what's left in you r pockets .
Kris Mahler walked to the door , dropped his gear, and went to saddle a horse . Seaborn Tay came to the door of th e ranch house . Kris? Is that you ? h e called.
He's just quit, Mr. Tay , Conn said.
He's workin' for the Ladder outfit now .
You got money coming, Mahler , Ta y said.
He's got nothing coming. He's helpin g them rob you .
Nevertheless, I am paying him. Com e to the house, Mahler, when you're read y to go .
There's a square man, Kris , Conaghe r said.
Mahler did not speak, but when hi s horse was saddled he turned on Conagher.
Tell him to keep his damn money! I don't want it !
Better take it. That may be the las t honest money you ever see .
Mahler turned around sharply . La y off, Conagher. Damn you, lay off! I don't want to kill, but?
Arizona is nice this time of year, if yo u go south far enough , Conn suggested , or California, or the gulf coast of Texas .
Suddenly a rider came in from the dark.
It was Johnny McGivern.
He looked startled when he saw Mahle r packing his gear behind the saddle . Hey , what's goin' on here ?
I just q
uit, kid. Get your outfit an d let's go .
Go where?
I'm joining up with the Ladder Five.
Come on. I ain't got all night .
Johnny stared at him, then looked a t Conagher . Is this your doing ?
No, his. He decided he didn't want t o swindle a man who paid him honest wages.
He's going where he belongs, of his ow n choice .
You talk too damn much ! Mahle r said . Come on, kid .
There it lays, Johnny. You've got a choice. You can ride the owl-hoot trail, o r you can play it honest. What you decid e tonight can change your whole life .
Kris is my partner !
Right down the road to hell, or to a hangman's noose. That the way you wan t it ?
Lay off, Conn! Mahler exclaimed.
I'm warnin' you. Lay off !
Can't you see it, Mahler? I'm neve r going to lay off. I'm going to show thos e friends of yours what it costs to steal a n honest man's cattle. From the momen t you ride out of here, it's war, Kris, and I don't have one ounce of mercy in me fo r your kind .
You're only one man .
I know. And there was a Texas range r named Captain Bill MacDonald who sai d there was no stoppin' a man who knew h e was in the right and kept a-comin'.
You boys had better shoot me, Kris , and then you'd better shoot me agai n and stomp the life out of me, because a s long as I can crawl, I'll fight. As lon g as I can move a finger, I'll squeeze a trigger. You boys have saddled you r bronc, now let's see if you can rid e him !
Johnny, you goin' to stand there?
Come on!
Conn? What'll I do ?
You're a man, son , Conagher answered.
You make your own decision.
Just remember when you make this be t you've thrown your life into the pot . . . y our life and your future .
Johnny hesitated, then slowly he go t down from the saddle . I'll stay. You rid e on, Kris. I'm sorry, but this here's wher e the trail divides .
The hell with you !
Kris Mahler jerked his horse aroun d savagely and rode out of the yard.
Conagher looked at the boy. There wer e tears in his eyes. Conn put a hand on hi s shoulder . Come on, son. You nee d something to eat .
The next morning, leaving Johnn y McGivern on the ranch, Conn Conaghe r took off, but instead of making the wid e sweep he rode directly across country.
From the top of a ridge he studied th e layout with his field glasses for nearly hal f an hour before he rode down to the flat.
Then he began a sweep, pushing cattl e back toward the canyons of the Blac k Range where there was water and grass, a s well as some shelter from the weather. He worked hard, starting several bunche s moving, and stopping every once in a while to study the range to the north.
Then he rode on, keeping under cover , starting cattle whenever he encountere d them, having the one idea of getting the m as deep into ST territory as possible.
It was late afternoon before he saw an y riders, and when he did see them h e turned at once toward the hills, ridin g back toward the ridge by a route he ha d previously scouted. Leaving his horse ou t of sight beyond the ridge, he dug out a small hollow in a place that seemed to offe r no cover, and there he watched the riders.
One of them was young, the second was , by the look of him, Smoke Parnell himself.
Suddenly they drew up. Conaghe r swore. They had found his tracks!
He eased his rifle forward and waited , watching to see what they would do.
Parnell studied the tracks, then scanne d the country around, particularly the ridg e where Conagher lay, but farther to the eas t and west in places of obvious cover. The n he reached for his rifle, and when he put a hand on it, Conagher tucked the butt o f his own rifle against his shoulder, hi s cheek against the stock, and took a goo d sight. He squeezed off his shot as Parnell's rifle began to leave the scabbard.
He saw the horse jump and go t o pitching even as the boom of the sho t reverberated against the hills. Instantl y Conn was on his feet and running for hi s horse.
When he reached the crest of the ridg e again, fifty yards off, he was in the saddle , and only his eyes cleared the ridge, behin d some brush.
Parnell was getting up off the ground , and he was shouting mad. His horse ha d run off a few steps and the rider wit h Parnell had gone after it. Parnell stoppe d to pick up his rifle and Conagher sho t again, his bullet kicking sand withi n inches of Parnell's hand.
The outlaw leaped back so swiftly tha t he tripped himself and fell again. Instantly , Conn fired again, splashing san d into Parnell's face; then switching his aim , he put a bullet in front of the horse just a s the other rider was reaching for the bridle.
The frightened horse, evidently burned b y the first bullet as it ricocheted, now too k off running.
The rider wheeled his horse and rod e back, lending a stirrup to Parnell. Just a s Parnell lifted a foot to the stirrup , Conagher coolly shot again, kicking san d under the horse's belly.
The horse lunged, and Parnell, his foo t caught in the stirrup, fell to the sand, an d the plunging horse dragged him twent y feet before its rider calmed the anima l enough for Parnell to get up.
Conagher checked his position as he fe d shells into the magazine. He had dismounte d for more accurate shooting, and no w he walked back and mounted up. When h e let his eyes clear the ridge again, the hors e carrying two riders was some distance off , and out of rifle shot.
Conagher worked on until sundown , pushing strays back toward the mountains.
Once they got into those canyon s where there was plenty of water and goo d grass it would be the devil's own job t o round them up and get them out. And a s he knew, outlaws have no particular driv e toward hard work.
It was long after dusk when he starte d back, and midnight before he finally rod e into the ranch yard.
There was a movement in the shadow s near the house, and Seaborn Tay walke d out into the open.
Worried about you, boy. Your hors e looks beat, plumb beat .
Conagher dismounted, stripped th e rigging from his horse, and roped another.
As he did so, he explained, and added , might as well let them know it isn't al l going to be fun , he said . Might b e they'll lose their taste for it .
Not them, Tay said . Not Smok e Parnell .
They've been warned. Now they'l l come a-hunting blood. You got to be read y for them . Conagher walked into th e kitchen and dropped wearily into a chair.
I'm going out on the trail . . . bed dow n and wait for them .
He ate slowly, relishing every bite , scarcely aware that he had eaten nothing i n many hours. But he could feel th e heaviness in his muscles. He neede d sleepneeded it the worst way, but he ha d started something today that would tak e some time to quiet down.
We need men, Tay said . You can't carry this on by yourself. Leggett's old , and McGivern . . . well, he'll get himsel f killed. He'll try too hard, I'm thinking .
Leave it to me. You hold the place, I'l l move around and make it kind o f unpleasant for them .
Suddenly his eyes brightened . I've go t an idea where we might find a man. It's a gamble, but worth the chance .
When he left the house he went out an d shook Johnny awake . How'd you like t o ride, fifty, sixty miles ?
Where?
Sitting down on a bench, Conaghe r traced out the route . Now you hold to it.
Don't try no short cuts, because there ain't any in that country. Keep a sharp watc h out for Indians . . . maybe they'll be there , maybe they won't. The man we want i s trappin' back yonderhis name is Chi p Euston. I don't have any idea whethe r he'll come, but if he does come he'll b e worth any three of those outlaws .
When Johnny McGivern rode off , taking a route that would avoid towns , Conn rode out on the trail down whic h he expected the Ladder Five to come.
When he got out a way, he rode of f the trail, climbed a ridge, and bedde d down where he could look around hi m and list
en.
He was trusting more to his horse tha n to himself. He had deliberately chosen a mountain-bred mustang, a horse only a few months away from running wild. He wanted a horse that was spooky . . . tha t would hear every sound . . . and a hors e could both see and hear better than a man.
He slept fitfully, awakening to listen an d look, dozing off again. At daylight th e country was empty as far as his eyes coul d reach. A slow smoke lifted from th e chimney at the ranch, and wearily h e climbed into the saddle and rode back.
They didn't come , Tay said. j No, but they will. They will .
He went to the bunk house and tumble d into his bunk and slept.
Tay and Leggett could keep watch. He would sleep.
FOR some time after he awoke he la y still, staring up at the bottom of th e bunk above him. The room wa s shadowed and still, and he heard no soun d outside. He was still tired, but he ha d often been tired, and simply being so di d not offer a reason for lying abed.
But he was more than tired. An d perhaps because he was tired he wa s feeling again that dreadful, depressin g loneliness that came to him sometimes.
Was it that which led him to fight for th e brand for which he rode? Was it actuall y because he was an honest man, or was i t simply that he clung to the brand, th e outfit for which he rode, as the one stabl e thing in his transient world?
He was not, he told himself, gifted wit h much imagination. He simply did wha t had to be done, and his code of ethics wa s the code of his father, his family, and hi s time. It would be easy, he told himself , to throw everything overboard and disclai m any responsibility. All he had to d o was saddle up and ride out of the country.
It sounded easy, but it was not that easy , even if a man could leave behind his sens e of guilt at having deserted a cause. To be a man was to be responsible. It was a s simple as that. To be a man was to buil d something, to try to make the world abou t him a bit easier to live in for himself an d those who followed.
You could sneer at that, you could scoff , you could refuse to acknowledge it, bu t when it came right down to it, Con n decided it was the man who planted a tree , dug a well, or graded a road who mattered.
Conagher (1969) Page 7
