The Loner 2

by Sheldon B. Cole

  “We’ve covered some hard country today,” he told her. Sundown lifted his head, water dripping from his mouth. The horse looked at her and went back to his drinking. When Sundown had had his fill, he moved to the side of the house and began to crop grass which sprouted up in a thick clump from ground watered by the trough’s overflow. Blake pumped water for himself, drank and finally sank his head into the trough, coming up shaking like a terrier at a rag and drawing both hands down his sun baked cheeks.

  The woman backed away a little towards the corner of the house. She still watched him warily as he said, “How far to the next town, ma’am?”

  She pointed with the barrel of the rifle past the front of the house. “Crimson Falls is across the hills. Fifteen miles and not easy going. Figure four hours at least the way your horse is.”

  Blake nodded his thanks, drank again and then took a canteen from Sundown’s saddle and filled it. Returning to the horse, he hooked the canteen, tightened the cinch again, swung up and rode slowly past the young woman. “Obliged to you, ma’am,” he said. She stepped back to let him pass and Blake saw indecision in her face. She had let the rifle muzzle lower until it pointed at the ground.

  “Wait,” she said.

  Blake looked at her and thought her cheeks reddened a little under his gaze. But he allowed that it might have been just the way the sunlight suddenly caught the side of her face.

  The young woman turned towards the forbidding crags in the distance and said, “Some sections of the trail are dangerous. If you knew the country there’d be no trouble getting through, but not knowing it might cause the horse unnecessary hardship. If you like, there’s oats in the barn and you could rest him a spell.”

  This time Blake was sure of the blush his gaze brought. Her face still held a measure of reserve but her expression had softened. The woman fidgeted with the ribbon of her blouse and pushed a strand of hair from her brow.

  “That’d be fine, ma’am,” he said. “The horse has done me proud this far and I don’t like to keep pushing him. I’m obliged to you.”

  “It’s little enough I’m offering,” she said, and moved back to the doorway of the house.

  Blake came out of the saddle and led Sundown off. In the barn he unsaddled the horse, rubbed him down lightly and filled the feed box with fresh oats. Then he walked outside again and sat on the ground in the shade of the barn wall. He tipped his hat across his face and let the weariness of his body drag him into a deep sleep.

  A sudden sound jolted him awake. Even while his eyes were opening and his mind digging for awareness of time and place, his right hand slashed down for his gun butt. His gun was clear and level when he shook his hat back out of his eyes.

  The young woman, cloth-covered tray in hand, stepped back in alarm, almost dropping the tray. Blake’s look went to her, the raw edges of caution still etched in his tanned features. Then his expression was bland again. He put up his gun.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  The young woman bit her lip. “I ... I shouldn’t have startled you.” She extended the plate towards him, adding, “It’s nothing fancy, but we don’t see many strangers.”

  Blake pushed himself to his feet, muttered his thanks, and took the plate from her. The woman rubbed her hands as if embarrassed before retreating down the clearing. Blake saw her hesitate in the doorway and look back. Even across the heat-seared distance he could feel her curiosity and interest. He concluded she was both a sensible and careful woman.

  Two – A Boy’s Pride

  It was close to dusk and long shadows had closed on the clearing when Blake led Sundown from the barn. The young woman came into the doorway, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun’s glare. Blake removed his flop-brimmed hat and smoothed down his thick yellow hair, saying casually, “Much obliged, ma’am. We’ll find the going a lot easier now.”

  “Just neighborly,” she said, color rising lightly in her face.

  Blake stepped into the saddle and Sundown shifted impatiently under him and moved off a couple of steps before Blake could restrain him. He noticed that the woman was taking deeper stock of him now and at the same time he found himself weighing her carefully. A sharp twitch of pain drove through him when she turned slightly away and soft curls, recently combed, caressed a smooth cheek. He drew a ragged breath. Why did he think of Louise? The thoughtful look in her eyes when they stood close to each other ... the rise and fall of her high bosom ... the sweet, sweet smell of her. Blake’s hand went to the yellow silk bandanna and he realized with a shock how much this woman was like Louise, even to the slightly tilted nose, the wide expressive mouth and the delicate neck. His fingers opened and closed on the bandanna.

  Then he raked Sundown about and drove the painful thoughts from his mind. He looked at the distant hills and was glad he had a hard ride ahead of him.

  “If you mean to travel the night, stranger,” the young woman called out, “maybe you should take the valley trail. It’s ten miles longer, but if time isn’t important it will suit you better.”

  Her voice had the same warm ring now that Louise’s often had. He realized that he didn’t know her name. Maybe it was best not to know.

  “Time is nothing,” he said, ready to ride on But she spoke again, closer now:

  “Crimson Falls is a big town and still on the grow. It’s very wild.”

  Blake nodded acceptance of the information. Whatever Crimson Falls was, he didn’t care. The woman’s sudden willingness to talk disturbed him, yet he could not bring himself to depart abruptly. He wondered how much loneliness was in her life, if she had a man. He wondered, too, what kind of a man he was. Then he looked back at her, saw questions in her eyes and knew she was wondering about him. Her uplifted face showed no signs of embarrassment. It was almost as if she had made a decision about him, that she wanted him to stay a little longer.

  Sundown was restless under him and Blake was suddenly glad of that. “’Bye,” he muttered.

  “Goodbye,” she said, and he saw her draw in a light breath which swelled her bosom. Her deep-set eyes settled calmly on him, as Louise’s always had when she was sure of herself and could accept the waiting. He nudged Sundown forward and through the corner of his eye saw her walk back towards the house. Loneliness settled about him again. He worked his neck and felt the silky comfort of the yellow bandanna on his weathered skin. Then he kicked Sundown into a gallop and the horse, strength restored with grass and water, responded eagerly.

  Blake was a hundred yards or so up the clearing when a horse burst into view from the flat country. He saw a boy low on the horse’s back, slapping the reins wildly. Hoof thunder brought Sundown swinging suddenly to the right. Blake drew rein as the boy thundered past; he saw the youngster’s bloodied shirt and bruised mouth. Blake turned and watched horror rush into the woman’s face, then he turned Sundown around and walked him back.

  “Jesse, what happened?” the woman cried.

  The boy reined in and jumped from the saddle. “Ma, they stole our calves!”

  “Who?”

  “That polecat Benjamin and two of his friends.”

  The woman grasped the boy’s arms but he twisted free of her grip and started at a run for the house. She stood there, empty hands held out, face white with shock, tears glistened in her eyes. Then she looked imploringly at Blake and all at once he knew she had no one else to turn to.

  Blake called, “Hold on, son.”

  The boy whipped about and glared at Blake, then turned to the woman.

  “They stole our calves, Ma! I’m gettin’ the gun and goin’ back!” And he ran into the house.

  Blake came out of the saddle. As he walked towards the woman he saw how fear had taken control of her. Then the door opened and Jesse came running from the house with a Winchester in his left hand. Blake stepped in front of the boy and whipped the rifle from his grip. The boy, jerked off balance, staggered a few paces before he swung around, a wild light in his eyes.

  “Give it here, damn
you! Who’re you to buy in? I gotta have that gun and go back!”

  “Simmer down and take it slow,” Blake advised.

  But the boy made a lunge for the rifle. Blake lifted the gun high and pushed the boy off with his free hand. Then the woman stood between them, tears coursing down her cheeks.

  “Jesse, listen to me,” she implored. “I don’t want you to take up a gun. It doesn’t matter what happened; I won’t see you killed like your father was.”

  “I’m goin’ back!” Jesse cried. “I’m gonna shoot dead all three of ’em!”

  “Ease down, boy,” Blake said gently. “Nothing’s so bad that it can’t be put right.”

  The youngster’s face twisted. “Who says so? They ain’t your calves and you ain’t been beat up like I was. Now you get the hell away and leave us be and let me have my gun.”

  “Don’t you want some help?”

  The boy blinked his eyes, obviously surprised by the offer. The woman stepped close to her son and put a hand on his shoulder. Blake, watching while the boy trembled against the fury inside himself, was relieved to see the youngster’s breathing grow less labored.

  “Tell me what happened,” the woman said.

  “It was the Cowley bunch, Ma.” Jesse shifted from his mother’s grip. “Sully Benjamin and that Pearl and Briller who always ride with him. They stole our calves and beat the hell outa me. No matter about that, though—I’m goin’ back and I’m gonna kill him.”

  Blake watched the woman’s face go pale. Fear stiffened her lips and her body sagged. Then, in a voice so low that Blake had trouble making out the words, she said:

  “I can’t let you do that, Jesse. I won’t let you. You’re all I’ve got left.”

  “Got to, Ma,” the boy said firmly.

  Blake inspected the rifle. It was old, with a loose stock and a slightly rusted barrel. He moved away from the wall, drawing Jesse’s stare. Man and boy studied each other, then the youngster said bitterly:

  “What do you reckon I should do, mister, let them take our calves which was branded plain?”

  “Before I answer a question like that,” Blake said, “I’d like to hear the full story.”

  Jesse glanced at his mother before saying, “I came across ’em leading off two of our calves. I wanted ’em back. They beat me up and told me to git. I didn’t have no gun or nothin’ and there was three of ’em.”

  “No mistake about whose calves they were, eh?” Blake said.

  “No mistake. We got few enough as it is. I know every head we got; branded ’em myself.”

  Blake threw a look at the young woman and saw the glint of hope in her eyes. Then Jesse walked up to Blake, grim determination in his young face.

  “I’m goin’, mister, and nobody’s gonna stop me—you, Ma, nobody. So hand it over.”

  The woman, mouth pinched, pulled Jesse around. “Listen to me, son, for heaven’s sake. Those men will kill you. What will I do then? Please—forget about the calves and come inside and let me fix your face. Then we’ll have a hot dinner and talk it over. In the morning perhaps we’ll go into town, see Sheriff Dowd and let the law look into the matter.”

  Jesse drew away, anger bright in his eyes. “No. We let ’em get away with this and we might as well pack and git out. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I ain’t no fool and I know what pa would’ve done and how he’d’ve done it.”

  Blake looked at the woman’s troubled face and felt sympathy tug at him. But he had feeling for this boy, too—a boy trying to be a man. Suddenly he made up his mind for both mother and son. He tossed the rifle to the youngster.

  “You see me down to the valley trail, Jesse, so I won’t lose my way.”

  Jesse had caught the rifle. Now, after a searching look at Blake Durant, he tightened his belt and said, “I got to go, Ma, I just got to.”

  Jesse turned deliberately and mounted the mare. Blake caught up Sundown’s reins and swung into the saddle. He circled back past the young woman and said, quietly, “I’ll be with him.”

  Her eyes opened wide with uncertainty, but under the calm look of the stranger she drew in a deep breath and slowly nodded. Blake moved alongside the boy and then boy and man kicked their mounts into full gallop.

  Dusk had settled in and the air was cooler. The blood had dried on the boy’s face and he scratched some of it off, his fingers moving gingerly over the bruises. At the bottom of the valley, Blake drew level with Jesse. He sat easily in the saddle, the wind flapping his loose hide coat against his wide-shouldered, deep-chested body.

  Blake’s stare searched ahead. “How far?”

  “Ain’t far. Just ahead down the creek was where I seen ’em. I’ll track ’em down before dark sets in.”

  “When you do, it might help to ask for the calves again, Jesse. Could be they got you wrong last time.”

  Jesse’s eyes fired with annoyance. “They didn’t get me wrong, mister. They knew what they was up to—stealin’, sure as hell.”

  “You’ll have company this time,” Blake said. “Listen to me. Put it to them quiet, and keep that gun down.”

  Blake watched the struggle in the boy’s face. He wanted the boy to make the decisions. Jesse again wiped sweat from his face.

  “You comin’ along, mister?”

  “Don’t see how it will hurt any,” Blake said. “Rustling is a hanging offence where I come from, but a man has to make dead sure of his facts before he lays a charge that serious. When we meet up with them, you ask and I’ll listen.”

  Jesse shifted uneasily in the saddle and Blake realized how young he was, how uncertain of himself—yet determined to prove himself and hang onto what was his. The man felt an immediate respect for the boy and nodded for him to proceed. Jesse let his mare pick her way through the fence and across the timbered slopes. Reaching the top of a rise, Blake looked to where Jesse pointed. Three men were squatted at the bend of the creek ahead, a fire’s glow flickering bright across their sullen features.

  Blake said, “Go ahead, Jesse, and do your talking.”

  Jesse gulped, touched the stock of the rifle, then drew in a deep breath. Blake trailed the boy to the end of the slope where a big man stirred and looked up at them. He was chewing on fresh-cooked meat while he brushed bothersome flies from his face.

  Three – Drifter’s Call

  Sully Benjamin pushed himself off the rock’s flat edge and hurled a partly chewed piece of meat into the leaf-flecked pool twenty yards away. He licked his fingers, wiped his mouth with his blood-stained sleeve and sucked his gums. Behind him the two men stopped eating and looked guardedly at Blake and the boy.

  Blake’s stare shifted from Benjamin and settled on a hung carcass, then onto a hide draped over a tree stump, beneath which the insides of the slain calf had been spilled and left for the flies to worry.

  “They kilt one of ’em,” Jesse said at Blake’s side, and leaned forward in the saddle, preparing to dismount. But Blake’s hand went across his chest, holding him back.

  “Take it easy, son,” Blake advised and moved into tree shade. The silence of the twilight hour was complete. Blake sized up the trio again and decided that the boy’s earlier description fitted them perfectly. They looked rugged, sour-bellied, hardcase cowhands. “Go down now,” Blake said, “and do what I told you.”

  Jesse needed no prompting. When he reached the bottom of the slope and the three grouped to confront him, Blake came a little closer. His lean, sun-baked face showed no emotion. Nor was there any hint of decision in his green eyes. He stared hard at the three men, drawing their attention away from the boy.

  Sully Benjamin gestured with his left hand and shifted his right closer to his gun butt. “Well now, what’ve we got here?” he drawled.

  Jesse walked to where the carcass hung.

  “Yours?” Blake asked.

  Jesse nodded. His mauled face was white and his lips quivered.

  “Yeah, ours right enough, mister. They butchered ’em!”

  Blake let Sundown shift
closer and his look hardened as it settled on the big man now leaning against a tree, left hand up-stretched, his right firmly planted on his gun butt. Grim curiosity was etched in his fat, grease-stained face.

  “What’s your business?” Benjamin asked sourly.

  Will Pearl squatted at the edge of the creek, positioned, Blake knew, to get him in crossfire if trouble erupted. Pearl looked relaxed to the point of disdain. The third man Blake ignored; he seemed slow-moving, uncertain.

  “The boy’s laying a claim against you gents,” Blake said calmly.

  “That so?” Sully Benjamin growled.

  “He said you stole two of his ma’s calves,” Blake went on easily. “I guess the brand he’s showing me right now proves he’s right.”

  Benjamin wiped his hands down his grubby shirt. His head didn’t move but Blake saw his glance flick sideways at Will Pearl. Then the big man’s jaw squared and his lips tightened.

  “Mister,” Benjamin said, “do you always listen to what kids tell you?”

  “You stole ’em right enough, Benjamin,” Jesse said, waving the branded hide in Benjamin’s face. Benjamin pursed his lips. Anger tightened his face.

  “Boy, don’t you know when to quit?” Benjamin said. As he spoke he moved to the left, letting Arch Briller get a clear view of Blake.

  “You’re a damn thief!” Jesse charged. “And worse, you ain’t got no feelings. That calf wasn’t even half grown and you slashed it open, killed it!”

  Benjamin’s eyes blazed. “Boy, take a hold on your tongue or I’ll bust you again.”

  Blake Durant was no more than a few yards from Benjamin now. “The boy won’t be touched,” he said, and there was a ring of authority to his voice which made Benjamin’s mouth gape open. Will Pearl started to rise, body stiff with tension, cold black eyes narrowing. Briller licked his lips and gulped. Jesse shifted across to where Blake Durant sat his horse.

  “The brat’s a damn liar, mister, not that I care what you think,” Benjamin snorted angrily. “Now get to hell outa here and take the kid with you. We got no time to jaw with interferin’ jaspers that jump right outa the ground.”