The Outlaws 2

by Brian Garfield

  ‘It will come in, anyway. Curtains won’t stop the dust.’

  ‘They help a little,’ she said. She came forward and stood by him, looking down out the window.

  It was not a pretty view. There was only the alley and then the roof of the hardware store, and beyond that the long pale sweep of the flats, a sea of yellow shortgrass, and dust. And far off, the faint indigo sawteeth of the distant, pastel mountains forty miles away.

  Ada’s voice was slightly brittle: ‘Nothing escapes the dust, does it?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  ‘When were married, let’s get out of this terrible country. Please, Ben?’

  ‘That’s your finishing school talking,’ he told her. ‘You were raised on this frontier.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why I hate it so.’

  ‘I’ll take you up in the mountains with me,’ he said. ‘There’s no dust at timberline.’

  ‘There are other things just as bad, or worse. I don’t like this wild country.’

  He couldn’t think of an answer and so, feeling awkward, he turned back into the room. He did not want to argue with her. Still, he liked this land. It was his home; he took a fierce pride in conquering it. You couldn’t find that kind of satisfaction by clerking in a city store.

  Her voice came from behind him: ‘Why did you come to town today?’

  ‘We lost some stock the other night. I came in to talk to Tom Mossgrove.’

  ‘Was it that man Six?’

  ‘I guess it was.’

  ‘Come to the mountains with me,’ she said, mocking him. ‘You see? The mountains are no better than the desert.’

  A thought flashed across his mind—would she be happy anywhere? But it went away and presently he forgot about it. He said, ‘The whole world is full of people like Chet Six. You can’t avoid them just by running away from them.’

  She had come around to be close in front of him, and now her eyes lifted and held his. ‘Sometimes I don’t understand your way of thinking, Ben.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry about that,’ he said. He found himself wishing that the window faced the other way, so that from this room you might be able to see the nearby risings of the Arrowheads, instead of that dismal view of the flats. No wonder she liked to keep the curtains closed.

  She said, ‘May I get you some coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said, thinking of the drink that was waiting for him at the saloon.

  ‘Well then, sit down, can’t you?’

  He realized that his standing was making her feel awkward, and so he sat, sinking into the unfamiliar softness of the big chair’s faded red overstuffing. The girl sat across from him in a cane-bottom chair and folded her hands primly in her lap.

  He said, ‘I wanted to talk to you about something,’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was a tough winter,’ he said. ‘The ranch isn’t in too good shape, though it’s better than it was when I came. Felix Ochoa hasn’t got too much loose cash and he owes me about six months’ salary. He’s offered me a piece of the ranch to pay it—two sections of grass up at the Apache Springs line camp and the cabin and corrals thrown in. It would be a good place for me to graze my own eighty head of cattle.’

  ‘Don’t take it,’ she said immediately. ‘Make him pay you the money he owes.’

  Startled, he looked up. ‘Why?’

  She shook her head. Her hair swayed and picked up gold glints from the light of the window. She was not looking at him. ‘Don’t let yourself become tied to that country,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’m already tied to it. I’ve built my little herd up to eighty head, and that’s a beginning. I’ve made friends here—I’ve sunk my roots. And so have you. You want to throw it all away?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said fervently. ‘Yes, I do. Ben, don’t tell me you haven’t seen what this country does to women. Look at Florence Bannerman. Do you know that she’s no more than five years older than I am? But she’s been married to a rancher for seven years, and look what it’s done to her. She looks twice her age.’

  ‘Why,’ he said, ‘I always thought she was a good-looking woman.’

  ‘She’s got lines all over her face,’ Ada said. ‘I don’t want to work myself into that kind of a state, Ben. Perhaps it sounds cruel and selfish of me, but I can’t help that. I just don’t agree that my hands were made to be calloused and my back was made to be bent by living as the wife of a cattle rancher. There are better ways to live than that—better ways for you, too.’

  ‘Like selling shoes or booking steamship passages?’

  ‘Well, why not?’

  He shook his head and said mildly, ‘I wasn’t made for that, Ada.’

  She was looking down at her folded hands. She let the conversation die where it was and McCracken felt no wish to revive it. His legs were crossed and his hat was balanced on his upraised knee; now he picked up the hat and got out of the deep chair and stood, turning the hat around in his hands.

  He tried to think of words that would help, but he couldn’t, and he turned toward the door, walking slowly. When he reached it, he turned again to look at her, and saw moisture in her eyes.

  She got up and came forward and touched his chest with her fingers. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, and put the side of her face against his chest, holding his arms. ‘I love you, Ben. Why do we always argue?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said softly. ‘I wish I did.’ He patted her head and curled his index finger under her chin, lifting her face, stooping to kiss her. He made his kiss gentle.

  Then he nodded to her and went out, putting on his hat when he was halfway down the stairs.

  In the store he exchanged a few friendly remarks with Ada’s father, munched a few salt crackers from the open barrel, bought a sack of tobacco and a pack of cigarette papers, and went down the street toward his reunion with Cody Longwell.

  Three

  The saloon was a low-roofed adobe building, long and narrow. Above the front door a faded sign hung listlessly on rusted chains. A little puff of wind threw a whorl of dust around his boots and then he was pushing inside through the sprung batwing doors that squeaked on unoiled hinges when he went through. When his eyes were adjusted to the relative darkness of the room he started forward toward the bar, but stopped suddenly, his gaze narrowing and his hand stopping its swing near his gun butt.

  Longwell was at a table in a back corner, according to his habit, but it was not Longwell who had caught McCracken’s attention. It was a short, thin man at the bar. A bantam figure of a man with bright little button eyes and a cocky expression—Channing Pierce, Chet Six’s right-hand man.

  ‘You’ve got a lot of gall,’ McCracken said. ‘Where’d you get the guts to ride into town in broad daylight?’

  ‘Relax, big man,’ Pierce said. His voice, a soft buzz, always reminded McCracken of the dry cackling of a snake’s rattles. Pierce had a mug of beer in his hand and now he lifted it unhurriedly to his lips. He wiped foam off his mouth with a sleeve and grinned. ‘Any law against me coming to town, big man?’

  ‘If there isn’t, maybe I’ll make one,’ McCracken said. He knew the little man was baiting him but he didn’t care. The day had been a frustrating series of setbacks and this, on top of all the rest, was enough to break his temper loose.

  ‘Easy,’ Pierce murmured, still grinning. ‘Tell me something, McCracken—you ever pick on anybody your own size?’

  ‘That’s a coward’s dodge,’ McCracken said, and had the satisfaction of seeing his remark take effect. Pierce’s eyes grew narrow and a bright point of light glittered in each; the man’s hand slipped from the bar to hang loosely by his holstered gun. ‘Go ahead,’ McCracken breathed.

  ‘No,’ Pierce said, letting out a long gust of wind. ‘I guess not, McCracken. Not just now.’

  ‘On a lonely trail, when my back’s turned. That’s more your style, isn’t it?’

  ‘Keep it up,’ Pierce said thinly, ‘and I’ll splatter you all over the street, big man.’r />
  ‘You’re welcome to try.’ McCracken felt a little irritated now by his own complacence. He was playing the old game as a child would play it; it didn’t feel right. Guns were not toys. And so, while Channing Pierce slowly finished his beer and turned away from the bar to walk insolently forward, McCracken kept still. The little man grinned derisively when he came past. Pride kept McCracken’s gaze forward. He heard the batwings squeal and the choppy strides of the short man’s boots fading on the walk. When they were out of earshot, McCracken went up to the bar and asked for a beer. When it came, he took it back to Longwell’s table. Longwell had been watching the scene with droll interest. ‘Who’s that testy little gent?’

  ‘A horsefly,’ McCracken said dourly and pulled up a chair. ‘The country’s full of horseflies.’

  ‘What have you got against that one?’

  ‘I’m willing to bet he was one of the crew that made off with forty head of our cattle the other night.’

  ‘Moonlighters, hey?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Well,’ Longwell said easily, ‘that’s a profitable game, rustling. Maybe you ought to try it sometime yourself.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  Longwell grinned. ‘That’s the old spirit. I was beginning to fear you’d really settled down.’ His cheeks were hollow and he was as thin as a man could be and still have flesh on his skeleton. ‘You own a ranch or something?’

  ‘I’m foreman at Wagon Wheel, up the mountain a ways.’

  ‘That’s the kind of job that don’t appeal to me at all,’ Longwell observed. ‘Matter of fact, I’m surprised to find you doing that kind of thing. What brought you to this?’

  ‘Maybe I grew up.’

  ‘Well,’ Longwell said, grinning, ‘I guess I’ll let that pass. Just the same, it sounded like an insult.’

  ‘Shoot me down, then,’ McCracken said.

  ‘Don’t get sour. Is that what settlin’ down’s done for you? Hell, I can remember a day when a few two-bit rustlers wouldn’t bother you.’

  ‘We’ve got our backs to the wall as it is,’ McCracken told him. ‘If we don’t ship a good herd to the railhead this fall, Wagon Wheel’s finished.’

  ‘What of it? You can get another job, can’t you?’

  McCracken didn’t bother to answer. It wouldn’t be any use because he knew that the only kind of loyalty Longwell could understand was the kind that money bought. Besides, a new thought was cruising around in his head and he let the small talk drop while he worked out his idea. He took a swallow of beer and considered Longwell over the rim of his mug.

  The idea grew and took shape in his mind, and presently he said, ‘On your way to anywhere in particular, Cody?’

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice it.’

  ‘That means you’re free to take a job.’

  ‘If I like the job.’

  ‘You might like this one,’ McCracken said dryly.

  ‘Well, then, go on.’

  ‘I was thinking along the line of a bit of moonlighting,’ McCracken said.

  A slow smile turned up the corners of Longwell’s lips. ‘Go on,’ he said again.

  ‘There’s a man named Chet Six.’

  ‘I’ve heard of him, somewhere.’

  ‘He headquarters up at Dragoon Pass, which is up in the top of the Arrowheads. Follow the trail west from here and you’ll get there.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And?’

  ‘The sawed-off hairpin who just left here is Six’s chore boy.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The ranchers figure that Six is responsible for all the rustling around here,’ McCracken said. ‘And there’s quite a bit of that.’

  ‘What do you figure?’

  ‘I’m one of the ranchers.’

  ‘All right,’ Longwell said. ‘You still don’t look like one to me.’

  McCracken waved a hand. ‘How would you like to rustle some beef back from Six?’

  ‘You mean steal the stuff he’s already stolen?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Longwell thought about it. His grin split his features. ‘Sounds like fun. What do I get out of it?’

  ‘Every fourth steer. Agreeable?’

  Longwell leaned back in his chair and gave McCracken a speculative look. ‘What’s to keep me from just trailing the whole herd over the backside of the mountain? I might just keep on going.’

  ‘You might not get far,’ McCracken said softly, ‘with both Chet Six’s bunch and my crew and all the other ranchers on your tail.’

  The grin returned to Longwell’s face. ‘Pretty bad odds, ain’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Even if I play fair with you, it’s pretty risky. How many men has Six got?’

  ‘Maybe ten or twelve. Some of them are scattered around the hills. You seldom find more than four or five together.’

  ‘It’s still risky,’ Longwell said.

  ‘Take it or leave it. One out of every four steers is yours. The rest you return to me. I’ll cut them out and return them to their rightful owners.’

  ‘What if they’ve got Six’s brand on them?’

  ‘If it’s not blotched leave them alone. If you find blotched brands, round them up and take them in.’

  ‘Well,’ Longwell observed, ‘it’ll do for a few weeks’ diversion, I guess.’

  ‘Just one thing, Cody.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If I catch you stealing any of our cattle and then trying to sell them back to me, I’ll hang you to the nearest tree. And there are plenty of trees in the Arrowheads. Understand me?’

  Longwell gave him a flat stare and then abruptly grinned. ‘That’s what I like,’ he said amiably. ‘A nice friendly business deal. It warms my heart, the trust you show in me.’

  ‘This isn’t a game, Cody. If you deal off the top with me, then all you’ll have to worry about is Chet Six and Channing Pierce and that bunch. They’re all hairpins except Six—he’s tough enough. But if you start slipping cards off the bottom, you’ll get a chance to test my draw.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Longwell said lazily, and uncoiled his lanky frame from the chair. ‘Where do I find all these cows?’

  ‘Look around up there on the far slopes. He probably keeps them pretty well scattered until he’s ready to round them up and drive them across the Territory.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, good hunting, Ben. I’ll see you sometime.’ Longwell touched his hat brim and left. McCracken sat back to finish his beer and wondered if he had done right.

  Four

  At mid-afternoon he tightened his horse’s cinches and mounted, giving the horse a last draw at the water trough before he pointed it up the westward road toward the foothills. It was, he thought, a day gone sour. He looked back at the second story of Stewart’s store, and rode into the sun. The well-traveled wagon road ran up a slope and pitched over the top and flopped down across a meandering oblong valley that marked the course of the Smoke River. He rode downhill through a field of wildflowers and entered the line of cottonwoods along the river, drummed hollowly across the wooden bridge and looked down at the white-flecked shallow river. There was precious little water in it, he observed; drought had come early and hot this year. Luckily the mountain springs were still flowing strongly, keeping the grass green on Wagon Wheel and Turkey Track and the other mountain outfits.

  He came out of the cottonwoods and followed the rutted wagon route through the foothills and climbed steadily toward the higher reaches of the mountains. Soon he passed the dust line, and noticed the marked clarity of the air and the quick drop of temperature. He felt the solid-bunching muscles of the horse ripple under him with each pace. His hat was thrown back and he let the crisp wind brush his face. It was a good land, wide and clean; and it was there for him and his kind to make something of it with their hands. That was a challenge he could not run from; it was not in him to run. For that reason he was troubled by Ada’s continuing adamant insistence on leaving Arizona.

  He was stil
l worrying that problem when he entered the first of the scrub timber, clattered through a narrow rocky defile and came out into a pine-bordered meadow, a pretty little pocket of green grass and gentle slopes. On the far slope white face cattle were grazing. Up the trail a hundred yards was a fork and the Box B mailbox, and coming down the right-hand fork was a horseman, just now leaving the trees. That would be Knox Bannerman, who owned the Box B, and out of common range courtesy McCracken halted at the intersection to wait for Bannerman to come up.

  Bannerman was a tall and thickset horseman with handsome graying features and very brown, very smooth skin. There were crow’s feet around his eyes and mouth corners.

  He reined in and sat on his big bay horse and said, ‘Afternoon, Ben. Been to town?’

  McCracken nodded. ‘How’s Florence?’

  ‘Better. A touch of the fever—all gone now. Thanks for asking.’

  McCracken considered the man, ordinarily an easy-going fellow, but Bannerman occasionally had a way of sidestepping or backing away from things which, in McCracken’s experience, a man’s pride should not allow him to avoid.

  There had been times when he had questioned Banner-man’s courage, like one Saturday last fall when Bannerman had backed away from Channing Pierce’s cocky challenge. But still, Bannerman was the owner of Box B, and thus was a part of the alliance of ranchers that pretty well controlled politics and range affairs in this section of the country.

  For that reason, McCracken decided to try out his new plan on Bannerman, and he proceeded to explain to Bannerman the fact of Cody Longwell’s presence and the job he had given Longwell.

  ‘If Longwell brings down any Box B steers,’ he concluded, ‘I’ll cut them out and hold them for you.’

  Bannerman was frowning uncertainly. He was leaning forward, both hands against the saddle horn, and he said in a troubled tone, ‘I don’t know, Ben. It sounds bad to me. I don’t like the idea of associating myself with a tough like Longwell.’

  ‘He won’t bother you,’ McCracken said dryly. ‘He’ll never come within twenty miles of you.’