“Fine, fine. I knew I could count on you.” He poured more whiskey, and as Will picked up his glass, Baggett left the table and went to a footlocker at the end of his bed. He returned with a gun belt and a shiny Colt in a hand-tooled holster. “I’d feel better knowing you were wearing this,” Baggett said.
* * *
* * *
WHEN WILL RETURNED to his tent, Bootsy was standing outside, puffing on his corncob pipe. “With it being such a nice evening and all, I was wondering if you might like some company,” he said.
Bootsy was the closest thing to a friend Will had in the camp. He didn’t even know many of the other hands by name. People, he’d decided early on, didn’t sign up with Ben Baggett to develop friendships.
Two cups of coffee were sitting on a flat rock near the tent’s entrance. “Cook had some left over from dinner, so he obliged me with the dregs.”
“I’ve just come from Mr. Baggett’s cabin,” Will said, assuming that Bootsy already knew. “He had a proposition on his mind.”
“And?”
He outlined the proposal the boss had made. “I didn’t see it as a matter I really had a choice in,” Will said, “so I agreed to do it.”
Bootsy puffed at his pipe. “Seems to me,” he said, “you just got yourself a promotion. Tells me the ol’ man sees you as somethin’ special. Young Dell’s not likely to appreciate having a bodyguard trailing along, doing his bidding, but seeing how it’s his daddy’s notion, he’ll have to make his peace with the idea. Ain’t nobody here, Dell Baggett included, who goes against the wishes of the boss.”
It sounded more like a warning to Will than an observation.
They sat as darkness arrived and the ink black sky filled with stars. “You ever get weary of all this?” Will asked. “Ever want to just ride away somewhere and be by your lonesome, known to nobody?”
“When I was your age, I occasionally considered such notions. But time passes, and a body gets too tired to even think of such matters, much less act on them. You reach a point where you just accept your lot in life, trying to make it through one day at a time. Still, I have to admit, there are times when I think about owning my own place.”
The conversation went silent, the only sounds the wind humming through the canyon and coyotes calling out to their mates.
Finally, Will spoke. “I got another question that I’ve got no rightful cause for asking. If you consider it none of my business, just say so.”
“What’s that?”
“How was it you lost your eye?”
For a time it didn’t appear Bootsy was inclined to answer. “Back in my younger days, before stealing cattle became my trade, I had it in mind that I’d make my fortune as a buffalo hunter, selling skins and gathering the bones of carcasses picked clean by buzzards. The work was hard and stunk to high heaven, but it turned a nice profit.
“We were up on the Kansas plains and had made camp for the night when this band of renegades—Comanches—came riding down on us, hollering and shooting. Before we could get to our feet and raise our guns, my partner was shot dead. One of them come at me with the biggest knife I ever saw. We struggled for a bit before he slashed my face, cuttin’ through my eye.
“The pain was like nothing I’d ever known. It felt like he’d cut plumb into my brain, and I was wishing they’d go ahead and kill me as well. Instead, they bound my hands and feet, propped me up, and forced me to watch as they scalped my dead partner. Then they cut his skin away and opened him up. Last thing I remember was them eating his bloody heart.”
Will shook his head. “But you survived . . .”
“Next morning some other buffalo hunters found me and rode me to Topeka for doctoring. For a time I wore me an eye patch, but soon wearied of drunks and smart mouths referring to me as One-Eye. Last one who did got himself killed.”
He knocked ashes from his pipe. “So now you know my story.”
Then he rose and stretched his legs. “Time to put these weary ol’ bones to bed,” he said. Before walking away, he looked down at the Colt Will had been given by Baggett.
“Fine-lookin’ sidearm,” he said. “Hope you’ll not have cause to use it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DARBY HAD RIDDEN out on two more raids and would have thought little about watching out for Dell Baggett, had it not been for the occasions when their paths crossed in camp. Dell never spoke, only offering a sullen stare as he passed. Obviously, his father had told him of the plan he’d discussed with Will.
It was after the elder Baggett counted the take from the most recent theft and passed out pay to the men that he called Will aside. “Tomorrow, Dell will be riding into Tascosa for supplies,” he said. “Plan on accompanying him. Top Wilson will be along as well, helping load the wagon. Your job will be no heavy lifting. Just keep your eyes open for any trouble that might develop.”
They left early the following morning, Dell and Wilson in the wagon, Will riding alongside, wearing his sidearm.
Tascosa had already come into view when Dell finally spoke. “There’s no real need for me saying how much I dislike your coming along, but I wanted to bring it out into the open. I ain’t blaming you for being here. Still, I got no cause to like it.”
Darby didn’t reply.
The younger Baggett halted the wagon in front of the mercantile. He pulled a list the cook had written out for him and handed it to Top. “You tend this,” he said. “I’ll start fetching the other things.”
He looked at Will, who was tying his horse to a hitching post. “I suppose all that’s asked of you is to be ready should the old store owner—who can’t see his hand in front of his face—attempt to draw down on us.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.
Gathering the goods went quickly. Top loaded sacks of flour, beans, and sugar into the bed of the wagon, then went in search of coal oil, lard, and canned peaches. Several of the hands had given him money to buy chewing tobacco. Dell wandered the aisle filled with hardware items, collecting nails, a couple of rolls of barbed wire, a water pump to replace one that had recently quit working, and new canvas for making additional living quarters in the canyon.
While Baggett settled the bill at the counter up front, Top disappeared to the back of the store. Curious, Darby followed and found him in the company of a pretty young woman who was dusting and stocking shelves. Though his back was turned to Will, it was obvious that the balding, thin-lipped cowboy’s presence was making her uncomfortable.
He had moved closer and was attempting a kiss when Will called out, “Time we’re leaving, Top. Right now.”
Top turned and glared. The woman mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
Outside, Dell suggested a visit to the saloon. “This being the parching work it is,” he said, “I think we’ve earned ourselves a sip of whiskey.”
Approaching the doorway, he stepped over a sleeping dog and entered the cool darkness. There was only a handful of customers, locals seated at one of the poker tables. Dell tipped his hat to the owner. “Nice to see you, Miz Madge,” he said as he moved toward the bar.
One of the poker players spoke loud enough for the new arrivals to hear. “Looks like Lil’ Baggett’s come to town to do his daddy’s shopping,” he said. Dell ignored him and ordered a whiskey.
They drank in silence. Darby sipped at a glass of beer while Dell and Top downed several shots. “Ain’t my business how much a man drinks,” Will finally said, “but we’ll be needing to get on our way if we hope to make it back before dark.”
Dell grunted his disapproval but shoved his empty glass toward Madge. “You can put this on my old man’s account,” he said, “and I’ll be needing a bottle of his favorite brand to bring to him.”
* * *
* * *
THE WAGON CREAKED under its heavy load, and the horses snorted as their riggings tightened. Dell, warmed by the liquor, seemed in better s
pirits while Wilson was sullen, his hat pulled low over his face.
“Your lady friend you was speaking with back in the store,” Will said, “you two sweet on each other?”
Top didn’t answer, but Dell began to laugh.
“Jennie Broder, pretty little thing that she is, won’t have nothing to do with the likes of Top, no matter how hard he might wish.”
“That’s hogwash,” Wilson said. “She’ll come to her senses before all’s said and done.” He’d obviously had eyes on her for some time.
The conversation interested Darby. “Is the old man who runs the mercantile her daddy?”
Dell answered. “Nah, he’s her grandpa, and he don’t cotton to Top Wilson any more’n she does. She lives on a farm outside town. Her, her pa, and her grandpa. She comes into town on occasion to help out in the store.”
* * *
* * *
AFTER THE WAGON was unloaded and supper was served, Darby retreated to his tent. He removed his gun belt and boots and sat outside in the cool evening air, contemplating the day. He was pleased to have reported to the elder Baggett that the trip to town had passed without incident.
And he thought of Jennie Broder and the faint “thank you” smile she’d given him. Dell was right. She was easy on the eyes.
As Ben Baggett’s most trusted scout, Top Wilson spent less time in camp than any other employee. Though he was assigned one of the cabins in the canyon, he seemed to prefer the open spaces. His job was to roam Texas and eastern New Mexico in search of new targets for the rustlers, and it wasn’t unusual for him to be gone for long stretches of time.
Only after he’d been on the trail for weeks, returning with news of new herds he’d located, did he remain in camp, allowing his horse time to rest or, if need be, have a blacksmith replace his worn shoes. If the boredom of camp life set in, Top would accompany rustlers on a trip to one of the sites he’d scouted or volunteer to accompany Dell Baggett on his errand runs into Tascosa.
Wilson knew that the old man wouldn’t live forever, eventually turning his “cattle business” over to his son. Being friends with the young Baggett, he believed, was a good investment in his future. Dell, whom he judged a simpleton with no strong will, would need someone tough-minded to see that everyone stayed in line and that things continued to run smoothly. Top Wilson saw himself as that man.
Of all those working for Baggett, he was the most mysterious. When asked about his people, Top would fabricate tales of his father being a U.S. marshal who had patrolled the Texas–Mexico border, sending a dozen men, not including Indians, to meet their Maker. When asked where he’d come from, his answer was always “Down south.”
In truth, he was the son of a South Texas circuit preacher who shouted fire and brimstone in exchange for small donations from believers and an occasional free chicken dinner from strangers. They were never in any one place long. Top’s mother had died when he was just a child, so it was just he and the Reverend Wilson, wandering from place to place.
The older Top got, the angrier he became.
It was his duty to pass out the hymnals filled with songs he never memorized and to collect the “love offerings” at the end of each sermon. Top didn’t believe in the sometimes loving, sometimes vengeful God his father spoke of, nor did he concern himself with his destination in the Hereafter. He just wanted to ride away and never hear the preacher’s voice again.
Finally, after stealing a Sunday offering, he made his escape on his fourteenth birthday. He spent most of the money he’d taken, getting drunk on blackberry wine. He stole from farmers’ gardens for food.
In time, he signed on as a messenger for a bandito border gang, first learning the excitement and profit of the outlaw life. Then, a few years later, in a Sonora cantina, he met Ben Baggett, who convinced him there was a promising future in cattle rustling.
* * *
* * *
WILL DARBY FELT a growing dislike for Wilson, though it was based only on the brief encounter with Jennie Broder he’d witnessed in the mercantile. The feeling was obviously mutual, considering the silent glares Top gave him whenever they crossed paths.
Will was certain that the moment in the back of the store was not the first time Wilson had sought the young woman’s attention or that his doing so had made her quite uncomfortable.
* * *
* * *
ON A QUIET Sunday afternoon, Darby watched as Top left the pavilion and went to the corral to saddle his horse. As he rode away, it was obvious that he’d not stocked the provisions he took on a scouting trip.
Will quickly followed.
It soon became clear that Top was headed to Tascosa. But, instead of riding straight to the saloon, Will watched Wilson steer his horse toward the edge of town. In front of a small cabin, several buggies were parked, and from inside came the sound of voices singing hymns.
For a moment Darby wondered if Top had come to town to join in the gathering. But, when he simply stood outside, leaning against the wheel of one of the buggies, Will recognized that he was only waiting for the meeting to end.
He dismounted and moved closer, kneeling behind a vacant shed.
Soon, the singing ended and people began leaving, exchanging their goodbyes in the front yard. Will immediately recognized Jennie Broder. She was wearing a gingham dress, and her bonnet hid most of her blond hair. She was smiling as she walked toward her buggy. Until she saw Top Wilson.
They spoke for a few minutes, but from his distance, Darby couldn’t hear what was being said. Jennie began shaking her head and turned away. Top grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around until their faces were inches apart. The conversation had taken an ugly turn.
He wasn’t aware of Will’s presence until hands clamped against his shoulder, pulling him away from the terrified woman. “I think that’ll be enough,” Darby said. “Seems pretty clear the lady’s not interested in your company. Best you be on your way.”
Wilson gritted his teeth, let out what sounded like a low animal’s growl, and took a wild, ineffective swing at Will. Darby responded with a jarring blow to the side of Top’s head and quickly followed it with a breath-robbing blow to the stomach. Top slumped to his knees, the growl turning to a groan.
Nearby, Jennie held both hands to her face, crying.
Will stood over Wilson. “I didn’t come here intending you harm,” he said, “until you showed your ungentlemanly ways. That, I got no tolerance for. Before you get up and go on your way, I hope you’ll come to the decision not to bother this lady again.”
Top spat blood into the dirt and got to his feet, cursing. “Next time you attempt this manner of cowardly bushwhacking,” he said, “you’d best be wearing that pistol the boss gave you. I ain’t forgetting this, Darby. Believe me when I say it.”
He staggered away, wiping blood from his ear. He was still cursing as he rode in the direction of Madge’s saloon.
Will removed his hat and moved toward the shaken woman. “Miss,” he said, “I’d like to apologize for the unfortunate commotion. You okay?”
Jennie dabbed a kerchief at her eyes, then smiled the same warm smile he’d seen in the mercantile. “I thank you kindly once again,” she said.
They stood silently for a few seconds before she turned to climb into her buggy.
Will took a deep breath, hoping words would come. “My name’s Darby. Will Darby. I wonder would it be okay if I ride along with you to see you get home safe?”
She retied her bonnet and took the reins. “I’d much appreciate it,” she said.
As if she had read the question on Will’s mind, Jennie began trying to explain her history with Top Wilson. “He’s been a pest for quite some time,” she said, “though never have I given even the slightest indication I was interested in anything he might have to say. The truth is, he scares me, though he’s never done me any real harm. But you’ve seen the tempe
r he possesses. I don’t think he’s quite right.
“Seems he knows wherever I am. It was in my grandpa’s store that I first encountered him. In time, he began coming in there regular. I also used to occasionally help out Madge with cleaning the saloon, but seemed every time I did, there he was, looking at me, so I stopped going. A few times, he’s even come to the farm, acting nice as you please, but my pa always ran him off anyway. And now he shows up at Sunday singing, shaming me in front of my friends.”
Darby felt partially responsible for the latter as he listened to the weary frustration in her voice. As they neared the farm, the day was coming to an end, the sun turning to a giant orange ball sitting on the horizon.
He was helping her put the buggy away when her father emerged from the house, hurrying toward them with an angry look on his face. When he saw that it was a stranger removing the halter and reins from the horse, he slowed.
“Papa,” Jennie called out, “this is Mr. Darby. He kindly volunteered to escort me home.”
She turned to Will. “You’re welcome to sit a bit and catch your breath before leaving,” she said. “I’ve got lemonade to offer.”
“If you reckon it would be okay with your pa.”
Cyrus Broder’s voice was gruff, but the anger had eased from his face. “I reckon that’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ve got to go out to the barn and see the animals are bedded down and the chickens have gone to roost, so I’ll leave you two to it.”
They sat, sipping lemonade, when a bluetick hound came onto the porch and curled at Jennie’s feet.
“I had me a dog once. Name of Sarge. Me and my brother raised him from a pup,” Will said. There was a melancholy tone to his voice.
* * *
* * *
THE FOLLOWING DAY, several of the men asked Wilson about the bruise on the side of his face and the swelling of his ear. It was his explanation that two drunken buffalo hunters had attacked and tried to rob him when he went behind the saloon to relieve himself. He’d retaliated by taking a board to them, leaving both unconscious.
The Breckenridge Boys Page 9
