Benedict and Brazos 16

by E. Jefferson Clay

  But despite Brazos’ superior skill, it was the dances she shared with Benedict that she enjoyed most. They made a handsome couple circling the room. And there was nothing hesitant about the way Benedict held her. His fingers on her bare back moved softly over her skin as he smiled down into her eyes, and he paid her the sort of polished compliments she hadn’t heard since she’d returned to the west.

  It was midnight when the ranch hands and their wives left, then the Kilraines and their guests went into Ethan’s study for coffee. Animated from the dancing, Tracy sat in her father’s big chair behind the desk while he passed out cigars. Benedict stood by the door, china cup in hand. Brazos lounged in a deep chair, cigar smoke curling before his face, and Kilraine moved across to sit on the edge of the desk.

  “Well, gentlemen,” the rancher smiled, “I hope you’ve enjoyed our little evening.”

  “We most certainly have,” Benedict said.

  “Evenings such as this were once a common occurrence here at Golden Hoof, but now they are a rarity I’m afraid,” Kilraine said with a sigh. He turned to look at his daughter. “Isn’t that so, honey?”

  She nodded. “Unfortunately, yes, Father, I don’t suppose there is any need to tell Hank and Duke why.”

  It was obviously time to touch on serious matters. Benedict set his cup aside, and then, cigar in hand, he moved across the room to study the small bronze statue of a rearing horse.

  “You’re referring to the range war, of course?” Benedict said. They both nodded as he turned to face them. “Dirty businesses, range wars, as Brazos and I know from first-hand experience.”

  “We got tangled up in a feud between a couple of big cowmen down in Arizona a couple of months back,” Brazos supplied. He grimaced. “Afterwards, we wished we hadn’t.”

  Then Benedict said, “The Hardcastles came into Sunsmoke to see us last night. They seemed concerned that we might have come to Box Butte County to hire out in the war.” He looked directly at Tracy. “We assured them that this wouldn’t happen.”

  The girl’s face went cold. Her father sighed and said, “It’s a strange thing, but even now, after all the bloodshed and violence, I find it hard to believe that Martin Hardcastle could turn so vindictive and vengeful so quickly. After all, men get rejected by women every day, but few find it necessary to retaliate with theft and violence.”

  Benedict and Brazos exchanged a glance. Then Brazos looked at Tracy and said, “Is that how it got started?”

  “The subject is still painful to my daughter, Hank,” Kilraine said. “But I’ll tell you how it began. Tracy and Martin Hardcastle were engaged to be married, but Tracy realized she didn’t really love the man and told him so. Two nights later, some of our cattle were stolen. My men found them on the Shotgun’s east graze. When we accused the Hardcastles of rustling, Barlow shot down one of my men ... and men have been dying ever since.”

  Brazos nodded slowly. “That was one of the stories we heard in town, but we couldn’t tell which was true and which wasn’t.”

  “That’s the ugly truth, Hank,” Tracy confirmed, and went on to tell them more about the conflict, of the lightning raids, the stolen cattle, the dead men. “It’s a ghastly situation,” she said bitterly. “The worst part of it is, father has had to resort to the very things that the Shotgun has been doing—hiring gunmen and striking back after we’ve been hurt ourselves. That’s the hideous part, for all we want is to be left in peace. As it is, I’m very much afraid that we won’t be able to keep going much longer ...”

  Kilraine was quick to chime in. “If there was only a way to end it. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be. We’ve a bigger, richer ranch than the Shotgun, but their men are more ruthless, more adept at gunplay, ambush and rustling. Sheriff Vint has attempted to help several times, but with no luck. He’s an adequate town lawman, but he’s certainly not the sort of man the Hardcastles would feel obligated to respect.”

  A thick silence descended. Brazos shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Benedict made an elaborate business of lighting a fresh cigar. The big clock on the mantel ticked loudly, then the cattleman cleared his throat.

  “I’m glad you gave the Hardcastles an assurance that you wouldn’t get involved in this business, gentlemen. It’s comforting to know that you won’t be against us, even if you won’t be ...” His voice trailed away .

  “Were you about to say—with us, Ethan?” Benedict asked soberly.

  Kilraine started to reply, but Tracy cut in:

  “That’s exactly what father meant, Duke.” She moved to stand before the desk, her gown outlining her superb figure. “I think it’s time to stop beating around the bush, Father. Duke and Hank are men of the world. They realize we had a special reason for inviting them out here tonight.”

  “Do you want to hire us, Tracy?” Brazos asked.

  “Yes, we do.” She held up a hand as he began to reply. “Let me explain before you reach a decision, Hank. All we want on the Golden Hoof is somebody big enough to safeguard our lives and property. We have no interest in causing hardship or trouble to the Shotgun. Martin obviously hates me for what happened between us, but that hatred is one-sided. We just want peace, particularly while we’re busy with the roundup. From what we had heard about you, we felt you were the men we needed to help us achieve security, and now, having met you and studied you at close quarters, there is no doubt in my mind that your presence here on the Golden Hoof is all we need to deter the Shotgun men.”

  “As usual, my daughter has put things more plainly than I could,” Kilraine said. He looked at Benedict and Brazos with hope in his eyes. “Would you consider our request, gentlemen? Of course, I realize it’s a big decision and I wouldn’t expect you to make it immediately. If you would do us the honor of staying here tonight, perhaps you might like the opportunity of talking it over in the morning? A good night’s sleep often puts things in clearer perspective, don’t you agree?”

  Benedict looked at Brazos. The Texan got to his feet with the lines of refusal showing plain in his face, but they faded as he looked at the girl.

  There were tears in Tracy Kilraine’s green eyes.

  It was Brazos’ turn to clear his throat. “Well, I suppose thinkin’ it over wouldn’t hurt all that much ... What do you say, Yank?”

  Benedict had crossed to the girl to offer his linen handkerchief. Only a cad could have come out with an uncompromising refusal right then and there.

  “As you say, Reb,” Benedict murmured, “it wouldn’t hurt ...”

  “And now,” Kilraine said, “you must stay for the night.”

  It was ten minutes later when Kilraine returned to the study after showing his guests to their rooms. He crossed quickly to Tracy and put an arm around her shoulders. “You were superb, honey. A man would need a heart of flint to turn you down.”

  She smiled at him, not a trace of tears in her bright green eyes. “I was rather good, wasn’t I, Father?”

  He chuckled. “I know they’ll agree to sign on tomorrow. I’m sure Hank was quite smitten with you, and Duke was interested to say the least. He—”

  “He’s a fascinating man, isn’t he, Father?”

  “Duke? Quite remarkable.” He stepped back to study her. “You were quite impressed by him, weren’t you, Tracy?”

  “Of course. What woman wouldn’t be?”

  Kilraine stroked his jaw. “You know, honey, despite the fact that the fellow is a gunfighter, I feel quite certain that he could accomplish almost anything were he to put his mind to it. And don’t think I didn’t notice the way you danced with him tonight. I haven’t heard you laugh like that since you and Martin broke up. I know you don’t like to discuss your broken romance, Tracy, but ... well, perhaps a man like Duke Benedict is just what you need to lift you out of the doldrums. And that is where you’ve been since the breakup, honey, even if you mightn’t be aware of it.” Kilraine was warming to his topic. “Yes, indeed, you could do a lot worse than a gentleman of Duke’s—”

 
; Tracy faced him squarely, her beautiful face set in hard planes and angles of determination. “I don’t ‘fall’ for men, as you put it, Father,” she said coldly. “I did that once to my cost, but I shall never do it again. Now I use them ... and I’m prepared to use Hank Brazos and Duke Benedict because we need them.” She gave a cool smile. “You see, I really have changed, Father. It’s just that you haven’t gotten used to it yet.”

  “Don’t talk that way, Tracy. It worries me.”

  “You have nothing to worry about, Father,” she told him. Then the cold look was gone, to be replaced by a warm smile. Then, as she had done since she was a little girl, Tracy Kilraine kissed her father gently on the cheek and said, “Goodnight, Papa.” She walked slowly from the room and mounted the great stairs.

  Chapter Four

  The Brothers

  A chill November wind was blowing russet-colored leaves across the hard-packed sand of the Golden Hoof ranch yard as Duke Benedict emerged from the great house and walked towards the corrals.

  There was the sharp tang of frost in the wind this morning, and heavy, billowing cloud masses were building up over the bleak crags of the Whetstone Mountains to the south. The weak autumn sun was struggling to peer through the clouds, and the birch trees flanking the outbuildings looked naked and bleak. Winter came early to Montana Territory and by the feel of the chill wind, Old Ghost Face, as the Cheyenne called the snow season, wasn’t more than a couple of weeks away.

  It was quiet around the headquarters that cold morning, though normally it would have been a scene of bustle and activity. Benedict had heard the hands riding out to the ranges in the dark hour before dawn. The conflict with the Shotgun had put the roundup behind schedule and he reckoned the weary hands wouldn’t see home before dark.

  He walked slowly, with the weak, watery light gleaming dully on shell belt and boots. His low-crowned hat was tipped at an angle against the bite of the wind, and the smoke from his first cigar of the day was whipped away from his lips as he exhaled. He’d shaved before leaving the house and the skin along his jawline looked tight and hard from the touch of the razor.

  Brazos didn’t hear Benedict approach. The big Texan was currying his appaloosa in the corrals with his new shirt unbuttoned as if to demonstrate for the razor-edged wind. Benedict saw his own black in the next corral with his hide gleaming from the brush, munching chaff from a feedbox. Brazos’ surly monster of a dog was in sight over at the barn chasing a bunch of Black Orpingtons that looked terrified, as they should be.

  His expression pensive, Benedict leaned against the corral fence and watched Brazos’ swift, deft strokes with the currycomb. The Texan caught the whiff of cigar smoke and turned.

  “Great day,” he grunted. “That’s if you happen to be a wild goose headin’ south.”

  Benedict nodded, looked up at the threatening sky and said casually, “I’ve been doing some thinking, Johnny Reb …”

  “Do you mean you want to stay on for a spell?”

  “Well ... yes.”

  “Me, too.”

  Benedict turned sharply. “You mean you agree?”

  Brazos was plucking horse hair from the curry comb as he crossed to the fence, his eyes on the house. He propped a big boot up on the bottom railing, the pallid sunlight glinting on the harmonica resting on his chest.

  “I know I was against the idea,” Brazos said soberly, “but that was before I got a good look into the set-up.” He nodded. “Yeah, I reckon we should hang around a little.”

  A deep frown cut across Benedict’s brows. It wasn’t in Brazos’ nature to change his mind so quickly. The man could be as stubborn as a whole team of gray mules when he made up his mind on something, and Benedict had anticipated a big argument in trying to persuade him to change his mind. Of course, he’d also changed his own mind, but that was different—he’d never been able to say no to a pretty girl.

  He was about to speak when he noticed Brazos’ eyes light up. He turned his head to follow the line of his trail partner’s gaze and saw Tracy Kilraine standing on the upper gallery of the house. Even at a hundred yards she was breathtakingly beautiful. She waved and Brazos lifted a hand in response. Benedict studied the Texan’s rugged bronzed profile, and an involuntary, “Well I’ll be damned!” came from his lips.

  “Huh?” Brazos grunted, still watching the girl.

  “You’ve fallen for her,” Benedict accused.

  Brazos flushed and tugged out his sack of Bull Durham. “Like I said, when it comes to thinkin’, dude, they sure enough short-changed you.”

  “Brazos,” Benedict said, genuine disturbed, “you’re making a big mistake. She’s not your type.”

  “I suppose she’s yours, is she?”

  “Well, if you put it bluntly, I suppose she is. But—”

  “Figgered that’s how it’d be.” Brazos’ blue eyes bored at Benedict. “What’s the matter, Yank? So used to winnin’ with the womenfolk you don’t like competition anymore? Oh, I know you’re the Romeo dude who sweeps ’em off their feet from Arizona to Abilene. But you can’t charm ’em all.”

  Benedict shook his head slowly. “I’m not trying to win Tracy, Reb. I just wouldn’t like to see you make a fool of yourself, that’s all.”

  Brazos’ grin was tight as he stepped through the fence. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

  Benedict shook his head. He didn’t like this one bit, and suddenly he found himself wondering if staying on at the Golden Hoof was such a brilliant idea after all.

  He said as much and Brazos replied curtly, “We’re stayin’, mister. And not just because of Tracy either. We’re staying on for a spell on account of we know the Kilraines are in the right and they need us ... things we didn’t know when we left town.”

  “They would have none of my counsel; they despised all my reproof,” Benedict mumbled.

  “Huh?”

  “Book of Proverbs—and very pertinent.” Benedict held up his hand as Brazos made to reply. “I’ll say no more.”

  “You wouldn’t like to put that in writin’, would you?”

  “What would be the point?”

  The hard core of Brazos’ scowl melted. He essayed a grin and Benedict’s quick smile answered. Each realized he’d stepped a little too close to a serious clash, and neither had enjoyed it.

  “Well, like my pappy always said, too much book learnin’ is bad for the brain,” Brazos drawled.

  “Though I never had the questionable pleasure of meeting your rustic parent,” Benedict smiled, glad to be back on safe ground, “I feel quite certain he would know a great deal about stupidity.”

  “He also knew a power about womenfolk,” Brazos answered, unfazed. “Like how they don’t like to be kept waitin’.” He nodded towards the house. “Why don’t we get over there and tell Tracy what we’ve decided?”

  “Why not?”

  Benedict’s smile was easy as they started across the yard together. But he didn’t feel easy inside. Autumn leaves brushed across his boots as he walked, and he wondered why the wind, which had merely felt bracing on his way down from the house, should now suddenly feel cold.

  Too much imagination, Benedict, he told himself. That was another of the many things that Hank Brazos’ benighted pappy reckoned was bad for a man. Maybe the old packrat was right at that ...

  The border between the Golden Hoof and Shotgun ranches was seven miles long. Five of those miles comprised a spur of the rugged Whetstone Mountains, a lofty, steep range of razorbacks running almost due north and south, parallel to the course of the Whiplock River. The northern tip of the mountain spur was the source of Indian Creek, a tiny stream that ran out of the mountains through a fertile little valley until emptying into the river.

  The Shotgun was mustering cattle in Indian Creek Valley. Most of the cowhands had camped out the previous night to be ready for an early start, but work had been delayed because of the wild stallion.

  The stallion had come out of the Whetstones some time during
the night, trying to lure away the mares in the Shotgun’s remuda. The stallion had left his mares in a gulch a quarter mile from the chuckwagon camp. The big horse had come in rolling his eyes and twitching his tail and hoping to add to his harem. He had actually succeeded in getting away with three mares. The defectors had been sighted by the nighthawk, with the result that the crew had been forced to quit the blankets and give chase. Gunther, Dunn and Potter had retrieved two of the mares, but Barlow Hardcastle and Herbie Pitt were still out looking for the third when Martin Hardcastle arrived from headquarters. Annoyed by the delay, Martin had quickly got the crew working, and by eight the roundup was well under way.

  The hands spent the morning riding through the draws and pastures pushing the cows and calves out of their hiding places. The day was cold and blustery, uncomfortable for horsemen but good weather for working cattle. The beeves, half wild after a summer of roaming at will around the valley and up in the foothills, were full of ginger and took some running down. But once they were bunched up, they were easy enough to handle.

  It was getting on towards midday when Martin Hardcastle and his crew brought the first sizeable bunch of beeves down towards the corrals by the creek. Despite the cold, the horses were lathered from the hard riding and the cattle also were hot. The calves trotted along with their tongues out, dripping saliva in the grass. The old cows continually tried to stop and graze, only moving on when the ropes lashed against their red rumps. Cooking aromas rose from Tony Crump’s chuckwagon, and once the cattle were corralled the hungry crew wasted no time in getting their share of son-of-a-gun stew.

  “No sign of Barlow yet, Toby?” asked Hardcastle, standing with his plate by the wagon tongue.

  “Herbie came in a couple of hours back, boss,” the toothless cook said. “He told me that Barlow took off along Dead Horse Draw.”

  Hardcastle frowned, lean jaws working on the stew, dark eyes scanning the mountains. When the Shotgun boss looked that way, his kid brother was usually at the root of it. Ever since their parents had died, it had been Martin’s responsibility to keep a running rein on his younger brother. It had never been an easy job, for Barlow was hot-headed, mercurial, and as unpredictable as the weather. The wise old Shotgun hands held the view that, but for Martin, young Barlow would have wound up having dirt shoveled in his face long ago. But of course they kept their opinions to themselves. Barlow might cause his brother considerable concern, but it didn’t pay to criticize the kid in Martin’s hearing.