“Some,” said Jesse, rubbing his aching forearm.
“Then we’re through for the day. Tomorrow it’ll be easier.”
Durant prodded out bullets from his belt and filled his gun. Jesse stood close to him and pointed to the can. “How’s about hittin’ it for me?”
Durant holstered the gun. As he walked away, he said, “A can never hurt anybody. Come on, boy. Work to be done.”
They didn’t speak more than a dozen words to each other all day and when Jesse arrived back at the ranch house he quickly unsaddled his horse and made his way to his mother.
When she greeted him enthusiastically, he said: “Some teacher,” and went on to his room.
Jessica watched him go off, then turned to see Blake Durant walking into the barn. She felt a rise of uneasiness inside her at the sight of him and dreaded mealtime with all the remembering and embarrassment. She continued to prepare the meal, wearing an old frock that she knew had long since ceased to flatter her. When Blake Durant appeared at the doorway, washed and in a change of clothes, she felt a kind of chill go through her.
He said, “We made good progress with the gun.”
“I’m glad,” she said and fussed about the stove, her back to him.
“Come a week or so, he’ll make out well enough. Then all he’ll have to do is practice and remember.”
Jesse’s door opened as Blake spoke. There was a hint of curiosity in the boy’s face.
“In a week ... all that time?” he asked.
“A man can get killed in a second, Jesse,” Durant told him and took his seat at the table.
While the meal progressed he kept his eyes on his food, aware of the tension in the woman and pained because of it. But as soon as he finished his meal, he sat back, wiped his hands and mouth on a table napkin and said:
“Time we thought about stocking up the place.”
Jessica gaped at him. “Stock? But how? We can’t afford to buy anything. We’re lucky enough now just to make ends meet and—”
“A place is no good without stock. Stock multiply themselves. Start with fifty cows and a bull and in three years’ time you’ve got a few hundred. Only way.”
Jesse was looking as shocked as his mother. “You mean you’re going to buy cows for us?”
“For all of us,” Durant said. “I’ve invested money in the place and I don’t want to see it go to waste. In time you’ll pay me back.”
Jessica’s face was filled with emotion. She shook her head, the lantern light catching at the loose curls of her hair. “We can’t let you,” she said.
“You can’t stop me, ma’am,” Durant said. He got to his feet and ruffled Jesse’s hair. “Be earlier tomorrow.”
With that he went out. Jessica and the boy sat at the table and Jesse said, “Gosh, Ma, cows and everything.”
She nodded, not daring to say a word, full of happiness for the first time in years.
Later she looked at herself in the mirror in her room and tore her old frock off, swearing she would never wear it again except for some chore for which it was fitted.
That night she lay down and remembered what a preacher had told her when she was a lot younger:
“Girl, the wind blows into your face and chokes and blinds you one day, and the next it blows from behind, helping you along. Be patient and good times will follow the bad.”
Well, she told herself, she had been patient. She had done the best she could and learned to live with her fears. Now she wondered if the wind was really beginning to blow from the other direction and if, somehow, miraculously, she would soon be able to give Jesse some of the things he needed and wanted, and if there might not be enough left over for the necessary things she herself needed. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything, believing that if she did, she would make all the promise disappear, never to be regained.
Griff Darrett walked into the saloon ten days after he had talked with Blake Durant in his office at the bank. He looked troubled so Belle went to him, saying:
“You look like somebody just robbed your bank, Griff.”
Jolted out of his thoughts, Griff Darrett gave her a guarded smile. “No, not as bad as that, Belle.”
“Nothing I can do to help?”
Darrett looked over her full, rounded body and then into her attractive face. He had never been able to understand Belle Hudson. She pretended to be so damned hard, always holding herself in rigid reserve, yet underneath he sensed there was more tenderness in her than most women would know in a lifetime. He had seen her help out drunks, give handouts to old-timers, assist people in a number of ways. Happily married himself, with four fine boys and a daughter, he could not understand how people like Belle got on without the joys of such a union.
“I’m just waiting for Tom Dowd,” he said.
At that moment Marie walked up, breathed a sigh of boredom, acknowledged Darrett’s cursory look and sat beside Belle.
“I’m going out to see Gus Cowley,” Darrett went on. “There’s some hard business to get settled, an option to hand back. Cowley isn’t going to be in the best of tempers when he hears about it, so I’m taking Tom along.”
Belle looked thoughtful. “Has this something to do with the Gray place?”
Marie was suddenly all attention.
Darrett nodded. “Yes. That stranger who happened by a week or so ago rocked me right back on my heels the other day when he paid up the mortgage on the Gray place. I don’t rightly understand his reasons, but what he did has enabled that woman and her boy to keep the place. Which means Cowley is going to hit the sky.”
Marie, shifting forward to study Darrett more intently, said, “You don’t mean to say, Mr. Darrett, that Mr. Durant has taken up with the Gray woman, do you? Why, she isn’t any more than a worn-out, plain old—”
“Marie!” Belle cut in angrily. “Go and help out back and keep your silly little thoughts to yourself.”
Marie straightened on the seat, aghast at the bitterness in Belle’s voice. Her mouth remained open even when she left the stool. Another severe look from Belle sent her scuttling away. As soon as Marie had gone, Belle regained her composure and asked:
“Is it that way, Griff?”
Darrett pretended not to understand the question so Belle expanded. “Jessica Gray and Durant? Have they taken up with each other?”
Darrett was clearly disturbed by so blunt a question. “Hell, I don’t know, Belle. Durant’s a peculiar kind of jasper from what I’ve seen and heard of him. Who knows what a man like that has in mind? But I don’t go along with Marie. I think Jessica Gray is one of the finest women I’ve ever known. After that terrible accident to her husband, Chad, I squirm when I think how little I could do to help her. There could be something between them, but I’m saying only that Durant’s out there, whipping the place into shape. He’s got some kind of partnership going with the Grays.”
Belle breathed a deep sigh and called for a drink from Hap. Since it was still early morning, Darrett was mildly surprised. Belle rarely had a drink before late afternoon, reserving herself for late at night when she often sat with businessmen and discussed Crimson Falls’ future.
A difficult silence settled, with Griff Darrett remembering details of Belle’s association with Durant which were widely discussed in town. He had a second drink before Tom Dowd showed up. The sheriff, after acknowledging Belle’s presence, said curtly:
“Okay, Griff, let’s get it over with.”
Darrett swung off the stool and nodded at Belle. Wearing a still-troubled look, he made his way to the batwing doors. But Belle detained Dowd by grasping his wrist.
“Will you be going through the Gray place, Tom?”
Dowd shrugged. “No need to. I’ll have enough trouble with Cowley, I reckon.”
“I just thought ... if you happen to see Blake Durant, you might give him my regards.”
Dowd studied her face. “Cowley will be enough for me, today, Belle. I sure don’t hanker to fit Durant in, too. Th
is damn town is beginning to figure me for a damn diplomat.”
“Don’t worry then,” Belle said and walked away, shoulders squared and head lifted.
Dowd joined Darrett on the boardwalk where both their horses were waiting. In the saddle, Dowd took a careful look up and down the street and found it quiet. Satisfied that the town could look after itself for a few hours, he sent his horse running, but not before saying to Griff Darrett:
“If Cowley bucks, let me handle it. And I mean that, Griff. Cowley, I don’t have to tell you, has big ideas on himself.”
“You don’t have to tell anybody in this town that, Tom. Look, after I hand him back his option, I’m finished with him. And I don’t like to do it, not with him such a good customer of the bank. But what could I do? Durant settled the matter legally and it’s out of my hands.”
They rode out of town. With Tom Dowd setting a fast pace, they crossed Dry Plains and made their way into the foothills. Dowd seemed completely unaffected by the heat but Darrett called for a rest before they had gone ten miles. Sitting his horse in timber shade, he mopped his brow and muttered:
“Now you tell me, Tom, just what the hell do those range men get out of this damned country? Dust and heat and damn flies and a sore seat. It don’t appeal to me one bit.”
“Try putting them in your office, confined, stale air, same surroundings, and they’d go berserk, Griff. It’s not far now.”
Darrett moved his sore bottom in the saddle and sighed in resignation. Then he trailed Dowd across another run of hills until finally they reached Cowley country. The hot sun burned relentlessly down. Dust billowed with the wind and Darrett found himself hardly able to breathe. But once in the shade of the Box C ranch house porch, he began to feel better.
Gus Cowley came onto the porch, studying them grimly at first, squinting to get his eyes used to the sun-glare. When he recognized Griff Darrett, his face brightened.
“Well, howdy, Darrett, Dowd. Damn near forgot what day it was, been too damn busy herdin’ cows. Come in, come in, have a drink, sit down and enjoy the cool.”
Darrett looked nervously at Dowd, drew in a deep breath and let Dowd precede him onto the porch. He looked about the heat-seared, dust-choked clearing and wondered how anybody could live in such circumstances. Inside, he found Jud Slater leaning against the living room wall. Cowley fussed about at his whisky cabinet and Dowd stood in the center of the room, his face expressionless as he took in Jud Slater, whose right arm still carried a bandage.
Cowley came back with drinks, took their hats, tossed them onto a divan and pointed to chairs. “Relax, make yourselves at home. Good day this, one I’ve been waiting for for a long time. It couldn’t come soon enough for me.”
Darrett drew papers from his pocket, leaving his drink untasted. He stole a look at Tom Dowd, settled on the divan, then Darrett drove his long legs out and made himself comfortable.
Cowley was in high spirits. But Griff Darrett, feeling that a devil was on his shoulder, suddenly cleared his throat and said:
“Mr. Cowley, there’s something you should know right away.”
“Sure is, Griff. How much I got to pay? Don’t really matter how much, but don’t try to cheat me blind. Still, I’m willing to give a point or two for the help you gave me. What is it? A thousand, fifteen hundred?”
Darrett looked at Dowd who completely ignored him. The banker said, “No money is going to change hands, Mr. Cowley. You see, there’s been a change in things.”
Cowley spun on him, his face darkening. “No money? How come?”
“The Gray place ain’t for sale any longer.”
Cowley straightened, his hand tightening on his glass. “What do you mean it ain’t for sale? I got an option on it! The mortgage falls due today and I’m picking up my option. So cut the foolery, mister, and state the amount. I’ll give you my note, sign some papers and the deal’s finished.”
Darrett gulped. “There’ll be no signing,” he said.
Slater shifted away from the wall and worked his fingers. But Cowley gave him a warning look and strode across to Darrett. His face was livid with rage now.
“Plainer, mister, real plain, straight down the line!”
Darrett wiped sweat from his forehead. He had never known a hotter day. “The mortgage was met,” he said.
A curse exploded from Cowley. “Met? What the hell are you talking about? That widow hasn’t got a dime to bless herself with. She ain’t got nothing to sell up either. She’s down, finished!”
“Just the same,” Cowley said, “the mortgage was met.”
“By your stinkin’ bank, Darrett?” Cowley barked. “You give her a damn extension?”
Darrett shook his head. “No, there was no extension. There was no need for one. The mortgage was paid up, to the cent. She’s free to work her place for as long as she likes and nobody can shift her off.”
“As plain as that,” Dowd put in, rising to his feet and regarding Slater contemptuously.
Griff Darrett knew of Slater’s prowess with a gun and was surprised to see Dowd so disdainful, of the gun-handler.
Cowley spun on the lawman. “Keep out of this, Dowd. This is between me and this snivellin’ bank clerk.”
“I’m here to see the law upheld and no trouble made, Cowley. Darrett’s stated his case.”
“To hell he has!” Cowley roared. “You figure me to take this lying down? That damn widow didn’t have a cent, nothing. So how come the mortgage was paid up? How come—” He stopped in mid-sentence and eyed Darrett malevolently. “Who?” he demanded. “Give the person a name!”
Darrett swallowed hard. This was the moment he’d been fearing. Cowley took him by the shoulder and turned him against the wall. But Dowd was quick to reach them and he plucked Cowley’s hand away. He stood gravely before Cowley.
“Who, damn you?” Cowley demanded of Darrett.
Darrett worked away from Cowley and glanced at Dowd who calmly nodded his head.
Darrett cleared his throat and muttered, “Blake Durant!”
Cowley, struck speechless, stepped away from the banker, his face losing color. Then he looked meaningfully at Jud Slater and saw the fierce anger in the gunfighter’s face.
“Durant!”
The word was like a curse from Cowley’s tight-lipped mouth. “Durant!” he said again. He walked away from Darrett and Dowd, his shoulders slumped.
Darrett said, “Blake Durant came to see me and paid over the money owed on the mortgage.”
Cowley moved restlessly about the room for some time before he turned suddenly to Darrett again. He mouthed a curse and backhanded the banker in the face. Then he made to hit the stumbling banker again, but Dowd grabbed his shoulder and hurled him away. Dowd’s hand dived down for his gun but before he could clear leather, Jud Slater had his gun trained on him.
“Don’t, lawman!” Slater snapped.
Dowd’s hand froze. His eyes filled with hostility. Then Darrett regained his balance and turned on Cowley.
“Damn you! Can’t you ever see another man’s point of view.”
Slater stood with the gun leveled on Dowd as Cowley stepped back, a nerve working at his temple. In that moment, Griff Darrett knew that Slater, given the order by Cowley, would surely kill. It was there in Slater’s face—complete contempt for the law and everything Dowd stood for. There was also a depth of viciousness in Slater’s black eyes that proclaimed him a killer.
“Don’t be a fool, Cowley,” Darrett told the rancher.
Cowley’s chest heaved under the strain of his fury. Then he said, “Get out, Dowd, and take this snivellin’ scum with you. Get to hell off my place and don’t ever come back.”
Dowd lifted his hand from his gun butt and nodded for Darrett to move. The banker was only too willing. He hurried to the door and, without looking back, made for his horse. Following him, Sheriff Tom Dowd said:
“Take it easy, Cowley. You’re not a law unto yourself in these parts. You worry the hell out of that widow
and her boy, and by hell I’ll come after you.”
“Just git while you got the means to do it, mister,” snapped Cowley and he motioned for Slater to put up his gun. He stood in the middle of the living room, his face burning, his lips white and tightly compressed and his hands clenched. When the sound of hoof beats sounded outside he said:
“Durant! By hell, I’ll get him!”
Nine – A Loner’s Fury
Sheriff Dowd forced Darrett to go with him to the Gray ranch. There they found Jessica Gray on her own. Durant and Jesse had already left for the bottom country where Blake Durant meant to bargain for some good stock for the place. Dowd told Jessica that Cowley was making threats and thought he would hunt down Durant. He left word for Durant to be on his guard. Unable to be of further help, he continued on to town, dragging a crushed Darrett with him. In all his dealings with hard and vicious men, Griff Darrett couldn’t remember a man who had frightened him as much as Gus Cowley had. In town, he went straight to his bank and locked himself in his office. Only then, when he had the familiar drab walls, the old solid furniture and the sounds of business around him, did he relax to any degree.
Dowd left his horse outside the jailhouse, returned down the street to the saloon, and had more drinks than he had ever had in a full week. He had the uncomfortable feeling that there was more he should be doing about this trouble, but he couldn’t see how. Although Dowd’s sympathies were with the widow and her son, he felt that Durant had made his play and had to see it through. Later, Dowd would pick up the pieces.
Blake Durant visited three ranches in the bottom country below the Gray place before he found the stock he was looking for. He herded off fifty head of good prime cattle for a price he felt was fair. Turning them back home, he watched the excitement rise in Jesse’s face and for the first time in many months felt the thrill of accomplishment take hold.
It was a hot day and the air was still, broken only by the rumble of the cattle across the dry-grass country. At the Gray place he saw Jessica waiting at the door of the house, her apron flapping in the breeze, her hair tidy, looking as fresh as the valley country they had just come from. Jesse rode ahead, reined in near his mother and pointed at the herd. He did not say anything—his beaming face said all that needed to be said.
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