by John Shirley
“About going into business with me?”
“Yeah. I’ll see what Queenie says. I’d like to keep her with me if I can. And I’d like to go into ranching with you. I like the peaceful sound of it.”
“Hasn’t been peaceful on the drive,” Mase admitted. “Next time I’ll take the well-worn trail. Or send Pug to be trail boss and stay home.”
“Now you’re thinking smart. One thing I know: I’ll never go back to Leadton again. My letter go out with that liquor wagon?”
“Yep. Should get to Queenie in a week or so. I got one myself from Katie. It was waiting here. But she sent it a tolerable long time ago. More than a month. Mostly just talk of Jim and stock and . . .” He frowned.
“Anything about that varmint Harning?” Hiram had heard all about Vinder.
“Yeah. He’s been pushing her to get off the land! Can you figure that kind of gall? The bank’s asking for its money from us—threatening to foreclose. She said her uncle was going to get a stay of some kind. But I’m right worried, Hiram.”
“Maybe ranching’s not as peaceful as I thought.”
“Wasn’t this time. Anyhow, Hiram, I’ve got to get back. I’m sorry for it. I’d like to linger here and look after you.”
“I’ve asked Queenie to come up. I think she’ll show. And Dr. Sudbury’s a good hand. I’ll be all right.”
Mase nodded. Then he glanced at the door and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pint bottle of Old Overholt. “Here’s something to hide under your pillow. Don’t overdo it, now.”
“Overdo it? You hardly gave me enough to get me drunk. But I’ll try!” Hiram winked, uncorked the bottle, drank a little, and offered it to Mase.
“You hold on to it.” Mase stuck out his hand, and they shook. “Write to me when you know what you reckon to do.” He stood up. “If I push the herd, I can be in Wichita in ten days. I won’t be spending the night there. I’m going back home soon as ever I can.”
“I’ll write, Mase. Or I’ll just come and tell you myself.”
Mase smiled, clapped his hat on his head, and headed out the door. Hiram sighed, took one more swallow of the whiskey, carefully hid it away, and lay back down again.
Would Queenie come all the way up here just because he’d asked her to? Maybe so. Maybe in two or three weeks, Miss Amaryllis Jones would walk right through that door. . . .
* * *
* * *
It was a cool dusk, eighty-seven days into the drive, when Mase Durst finished paying off his drovers and his cook.
They were standing around the rear of the chuck wagon, near the cattle pens at the south end of town. The drive from Morrisville to Wichita had been delightfully uneventful, and every man was smiling as he received his pay. The smiles were all the wider because Mase had included a one-hundred-dollar bonus. He figured that getting into gunfights for the sake of the drive was more than the drovers had signed on for. And he could afford it—his timing had been right. He had gotten to the market ahead of the other drives and reaped the reward of top dollar. Mr. Osgood had been as good as his word.
Mase paid Dollager last. As the cook tucked the money into a coat pocket, Mase said, “Boys—you all did a fine job. It was a hard trail. But you were the best hands I could’ve hoped for.”
“Damned right,” said Ray Jost. “We even built a bridge for you!”
Mase grinned. “You did at that!” He turned to Dollager. “What will you be doing now, Mick?”
“Was it you who spoke about me to Mr. Bentley at the High Steaks restaurant, sir?” Dollager asked.
“It was,” Mase admitted. “I saw his sign—that he was looking for a top cook. I asked him about it, and he said he’d turned away three already as just not up to his standards.”
“Well, sir, apparently I am up to his standards. He has taken me into his employ, commencing the day after tomorrow. Won’t you come by and have a meal with us? There’ll be no cost—that goes for all of you gents!”
“Can’t do it myself,” Mase said. “Wish I could. Taking the train for points south today. Heading back home quick as I can get there.” He shook his head. He didn’t want to burden them with his problems. “I’ve got to see to some things.”
“How about Harry Duff’s family?” asked Karl Dorge. “They deserve to know. . . .”
Mase nodded. “I found an envelope in his bag. It gives their address, so I’ll be writing them a letter. . . .” The saddest letter he would ever write, he thought. “I’ll send them his pay.”
There was a solemn silence after that. Then, to break it up, Mase asked, “How about you, East Wind? You want to work for me? You’re a drover now if you want to be.”
East Wind shook his head. “I am going home, too, boss. The reservation. I asked Indian police—I’m not a wanted man. Seems they don’t mind I kill renegade Apaches. I want to see my sister. Help my people.”
Mase nodded approvingly. “They couldn’t ask for better help. How about you, Denver?”
Denver Jimson shrugged. “Doc Holliday’s in town. Invited me to a card game.”
“Holliday? You’d better be careful not to lose all your pay, Denver.” Mase wasn’t surprised at Denver’s plans. A man like Denver Jimson wasn’t the sort to change his stripes.
“What about you, Lorenzo?” Mase asked, smiling at the vaquero. “You want to come to work for me in Texas?”
“Someday, maybe so, Senor Durst. But—I wish to go see my father now. I wish to make peace. I think now is the time. When those bullets fly past us at Shepherd’s Crook—” He blew out his cheeks. “It makes a man think!”
The others nodded gravely at that.
“You other boys,” said Mase, “you can always find work with me. First thing I need is someone to drive this chuck wagon back to my ranch. I’ll pay fifty dollars for the trip.”
“Me and Lorenzo were talking about that,” said Pug. “Happy to take it down for you. We was thinking eighty for two of us.”
Mase nodded. “It’s a deal.”
“Mr. Durst?” said Rufus tentatively. “Could I find work with you right away? I’ve got a lot of saving to do.”
“Surely. You can take the train with me if you want.”
“A train at last! But what about our horses?”
“Our horses will go in the stock car.” Mase turned to the others. “You boys staying in town—y’all be smart and keep your money close. You get too drunk, you’ll wake up finding it’s stolen or spent. That goes for you especially, Ray Jost.”
“Me!”
“I never saw a cowboy run through his money so fast as you do, Ray. I remember Dodge City—”
“You got the wrong idea there, Mase! Now, what really happened in Dodge was—I decided to bet my horse could outrace a feller. Well, my horse run so fast, the wind tore my coat off, and all my money went flying ’cross the prairie. I swear it’s true!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mr. Harning?” Uncle Forrest said.
Katie and her uncle were just coming out of the courtroom in town as Tom Harning walked up. He was on his way into the building, carrying some papers with him in a leather folder.
Harning stopped and frowned at Forrest. “Who the devil are you?” he asked.
“I am Forrest Malley, sir, attorney for the Durst Ranch. We are well met. It saves me riding to your spread. I have something for you.” He opened his own leather folder, took out an envelope, and handed it smartly to Harning. “That is your copy, signed, of the deposition concerning yourself, which we just gave to Judge Murray.”
“Saying what and signed by who?” Harning demanded.
“It says that you stated you blackmailed Mr. Ralph Fuller into taking legal action against the Durst Ranch.”
“What!”
“And it further states you were heard hiring a man to make an attempt on Mason Durst’s lif
e.”
“And who made these . . . these scurrilous allegations!”
“Why,” said Katie, smiling, “your wife did, Mr. Harning.”
“I don’t believe it!” he sputtered.
“It’s true, sir,” said Forrest equably.
“Where is that woman?” demanded Harning. “She left the ranch when I was out on the range, and she’s taken the children!”
“As to that, sir,” said Forrest, shrugging, “I cannot say.”
“She felt unsafe in your company,” Katie said. “You struck her. You knocked her down. You threatened her. And doing that, you made up her mind for her. She decided to testify.”
“So!” Harning jabbed a finger at her. “You’ve talked to her! Then you know where she is!”
“I have a notion,” said Katie. “But I will not reveal her whereabouts.”
“I will get an order from the judge to force you to tell!”
Forrest shook his head in mock sympathy. “I don’t suppose Judge Murray will think kindly of that proposal, sir. We confronted Ralph Fuller, with Mrs. Harning in company, and he confessed. He admitted before witnesses that you blackmailed him into taking action. He signed an affidavit to that effect. It has been presented to Judge Murray!”
“Fuller! That lying weasel! Where is he?”
“He has resigned and, I believe, fled town.”
“Lies, all of it! Conspiracy!” bellowed Harning.
“You tried to have my husband killed,” Katie said coldly. “He sent a letter three days ago from Wichita to the US marshal at Fort Worth. The marshal sent it on by stagecoach, and it arrived yesterday. My husband is alive! And he is very angry.”
“I’ll have you all in court for these lies!”
“Lies, sir?” Forrest said mildly, eyebrows raised. “You are the very Prince of Lies. You even aspersed this lady’s character. Do you know the Bible, sir? The Book of Proverbs? It tells us of the things the Lord despises. ‘A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood . . .’ The first two are simply your nature, sir. The third you have attempted. And you are guilty of these as well: ‘A heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies—and he that soweth discord . . . ’ The Bible has described you right down to the ground, sir. Now, I bid you good day. You would do well to stay away from Mrs. Durst and the Durst Ranch hereafter.”
So saying, he offered his arm to Katie. She took it, and they walked away with Harning staring after them, stunned and trembling with anger.
“I will not stand for this!” Harning shouted after them. “I will not stand for it!”
* * *
* * *
I thought the new trains were fast,” Mase growled, not for the first time, as they approached Dallas, Texas.
“Mr. Durst,” Rufus declared, looking out the window, “I’ll say it can go faster than any horse I ever rode!”
“Seems to take forever . . .” Still, Mase admitted to himself, riding a horse would have taken longer.
They were seated two cars behind the engine, but smoke and cinders found their way in so that Mase coughed from time to time and waved the smoke away from his face.
“I expect you’re plenty worried about your folks, Mr. Durst?” Rufus asked.
“Rufus, just call me Mase. This Mr. Durst business is wearing on my ear.” He wasn’t in a good mood. He kept thinking about what Katie’s letter had said. Harning busting down the fence. Men threatening her. The sheriff being useless. For all he knew, she might be dead.
The thought struck him like a chisel through the heart, and his hands clenched on his knees.
No. He refused to believe it. Katie was strong, and she was smart. She would never let Harning get the better of her.
“We taking the horses cross-country from Dallas, Mase?” Rufus asked as if he wanted to try out using Mase’s first name.
“We’ll get there any way that’s quickest. Roads, trails. Jumping fences. I don’t care.”
Grimly, he was looking forward to confronting Harning. But he was just as angry at Sheriff Beslow. The one man he should be able to count on had let Harning hound his family.
The train chugged on, maddeningly slowing now as it came into Dallas. “Come on, Rufus,” Mase said, standing and reaching for his duffel bag.
They got up and went to the doors to wait for the train to stop. Mase wasn’t going to waste a second. Now was the time to get on that stallion and ride.
But he knew the ride home, even at gut-busting speed and risking his horse, would take a couple of days. What would happen to Katie and Jim in the meantime?
* * *
* * *
Hoeing the weeds away from her potato and corn sprouts, Katie glanced at the cloudless sky and wondered when it would rain again. It was June and starting to get hot. She just might have to get Jim to help her bring buckets of water out to the vegetable garden every morning.
The garden was between the barn corral and the gate, so she was the first one to see the riders. Five of them, one getting down to cut the knotted leather ties she used as a lock. That kind of impatience told her something. It spoke of a man obsessed.
“Jim!” she called.
He came out of the barn. “Yes, Ma?”
“Is Sam Houston still saddled?”
“Yes, I didn’t get a chance to—”
“Never mind! Get on that pony and go find Curly! He’s not far—he’s over by the creek working on that watering pond! Send him here quick! And then go find Hector. He’s probably working in their field. Go with him to the Smoles! See if Marty and Gwendoline will come over here quick as they can! Tell them to come quick but careful!” The Smoles were the closest neighbors and the ones most likely to come. “I’ll come for you at their place later!”
“What’s going on, Ma?” Jim asked, a catch in his voice.
“I need help, is what’s going on, boy! Don’t waste time on questions, just get!”
He ran into the barn. Katie threw down her hoe and hurried across the barnyard and into the house.
By the time the men were riding up, Jim was well on his way, and she was standing in the doorway with the rifle butt tucked into the hollow of her right shoulder. She kept back in the shade of the house so she wasn’t a good target.
The riders were just who she’d figured on: Tom Harning, Clement Adams, Red Sullivan, Andy Pike, and the man Wurreck. They were sitting on their horses, lined up about forty feet in front of her porch, all of them looking at her. But not with the same expressions. Harning had a look of frozen rage on his face. Adams seemed calm, almost bored, slightly amused. Pike was nervous, his eyes darting around. Red Sullivan seemed smug and eager. But Wurreck—he looked bone scared, like he didn’t want to be there at all.
Katie sighted the rifle in on Harning. He had his pistol in his right hand—he’d ridden up with the Colt drawn.
“Who do you intend to shoot, Tom Harning?” she called out. “Me? My milk cow? My son?”
His scowl deepened. “I don’t want to shoot anybody, but I’ll do what I have to! You send my missus and my kids out to me!”
“They are not here, you damn fool!”
“You’re a liar! They’re nowhere else to be found! I had a man ride all the way to Missouri! She ain’t at Lavinia’s! She’s nowhere in town neither! I figure they’re with you!”
“Whoever told you that is talking out his rear! Now, get off my land!”
“I’m coming in there, Katie! Or you can send her out!”
She considered letting him search the place but didn’t want him in her house—because he could get the drop on her. Then he’d take the place over.
“I don’t think finding Gertrude is the only reason you’re here, Tom Harning. But if you put your gun in your saddlebag and come in alone, I’l
l let you search. There’s a root cellar—you can look there, too.”
“She’s armed,” said Adams. “Foolish to let her get you under her gun in there, Tom, and you unarmed.”
“You’re nervous about that woman, are you, Clement?” Sullivan said, jeeringly.
“I have looked her over and find her to be capable of blowing your fool head off, Sullivan, at the very least.”
“He’s right about that!” Katie said. “Right now I’ve got a bead on Tom Harning’s heart. I’ll let him come in if he puts aside his gun! Only then!”
Harning shook his head. “Wurreck! Get that kerosene down, and take it over to the barn!”
Wurreck looked at Harning, then at Katie. He took a long, shaky breath. Then he nodded, got off his horse, and untied a large can of kerosene hanging from his saddlebags.
“You’d better leave that on your horse!” Katie said, glancing quickly between Wurreck and Harning.
Carrying the kerosene, Wurreck turned and walked toward the barn. The muzzle of Katie’s rifle wavered. She didn’t want to take it off Harning—
She had to. She swung the barrel over and fired at the ground between Wurreck and the barn.
Wurreck made a sort of yip sound of fear and dropped the can, stumbling back. She fired again, closer to him, and he turned and ran back to his horse as Katie swung the rifle back toward the other men.
Wurreck mounted and turned the horse toward the gate. “This ain’t my job, Mr. Harning!” he said, riding off. “I’m quittin’!”
Harning snarled and turned in his saddle to point his gun at Wurreck. Adams surprised Katie by reaching over and pushing the barrel of Harning’s gun up. “Don’t do that, Tom. Let’s save it for where it’s needed. It’ll look bad if you shoot a man in the back.”
Harning gave Adams a burning look—then turned angrily back to Katie. “Katie, I can send Sullivan or Pike to ride around the other side of that barn. You can’t get us all. One way or another, we’ll burn it down. Whatever stock you have in there’s going to die! Now, I don’t want to do that. I plan to use it myself when I take this place! You just drop that rifle and send my family out here!”
