by Russ Durbin
I’m trying to run him out of the country.”
“You’re used to that kind of talk, Luke.”
“You pretty friendly with the Schmidts, Murdock?” Callahan’s voice had an edge. He was standing with his back to the bar, his elbows supporting him. His position made the holstered gun he wore obvious.
“They’re hard to know. But I think a lot of their boy, Jimmy. He’s a nice kid and a bright one, too.”
Slowly the smile came back into Callahan’s eyes. He turned around and took the bottle, pouring a drink for himself and one for Murdock. “That forty acres of bottom land you were asking me about for a calf pasture,” he said. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it. I guess I could lease it to you, being a neighbor and all.”
“That’s fine, Luke,” Murdock said as he downed his drink. It didn’t taste quite right somehow, but he drank it anyway. The two cowboys started scuffling, and one of them collided with a table. It overturned with a crash. Both men were loudly cursing each other.
“Please, Luke,” the bartender said. “They’re gonna get me in trouble….” His voice trailed off and his eyes widened. A man had come through the door. He stood there, blinking from the bright sun outside.
“Morning, Mr. Schmidt,” the bartender mumbled.
Henry Schmidt was a thick, dull man with black hair and brows. Murdock saw Schmidt wore the rusty black suit the man always saved for Sundays. There were faint dirt stains on the knees, the mark of a farmer who could not leave the soil alone, even on Sundays.
He looked at Murdock, not at Callahan. “It’s no good,” he said. “My son says I must talk to Billy Winslow. I talk, sign paper but he does nothing. It’s no good.” He shook his head.
There was silence in the room, and the two cowboys who had been scuffling stood looking at the farmer.
“Say what’s on your mind, Schmidt,” said Callahan.
“You broke my fence,” Schmidt said, pointing a stubby finger. “You drive your cows in my corn and spoil my crop. You pay for damage.”
“Maybe you’re mistaken, Schmidt.”
“My boy says this is for judge (he pronounced it chudge) to decide,” said Schmidt. “My boy tells me to go to Marshal Billy and he will make a paper and a judge will decide.” Schmidt stubbornly insisted. “My boy says this is fair, and he has learning.” He stared unblinkingly at Callahan.
“You’re a liar, Schmidt!” Callahan snarled. He backhanded Schmit across the face; then put his hand to Schmidt’s chest and shoved. The farmer stumbled backward, out the batwing doors. His heel caught in a loose board on the sidewalk and he fell heavily in the dust of the street. For a long time he lay there, his face red and his brown eyes staring questioningly at Murdock, not Callahan. Then he got up and brushed the dirt off his suit.
Murdock saw the blind on the window of the marshal’s office across the street move and then drop into place. Billy came hurrying across the street.
“What’s going on heah?” he asked Schmidt.
Callahan spoke first. “Schmidt was looking for trouble. I threw him out.” Callahan was standing in the doorway, beside Murdock. For a brief moment, Callahan’s eyes met Murdock’s and Murdock saw the challenge. Unspoken was the thought, “If you don’t like it, do something about it. “
There was a dryness in Murdock’s mouth. He had backed Luke down years before; he could do it again. But there comes a time when a man has to live his own life.
He looked toward the church, and the doors were just opening. People were coming out to stand on the porch, a small block of humanity suddenly aware of trouble. Murdock saw June, and he knew her hand was at her throat, twisting the ribbon that held her cameo. It had been a wedding gift from him.
He thought of his little ranch and of the things he and June had planned for the future. He looked back at Billy Winslow, and he knew Billy wasn’t going to buck Luke Callahan. So Murdock could make a stand, and he would be right back into it again, just the way he had for nearly a decade. There were beads of sweat on Murdock’s upper lip.
“That’s the way it was, Billy,” Murdock said at last.
He saw a quick smile cross Callahan’s face, and the relief in Billy Winslow’s eyes.
“Get out of town, Schmidt,” Billy ordered. “If Luke’s cows got in your corn, it was an accident.”
“It was not accident,” Schmidt insisted. “Let judge decide. My boy says….”
“It was an accident,” Billy repeated. “Make your fences stronger next time.” He didn’t look at Murdock but turned to Callahan, “Sorry it happened, Luke.”
Schmidt stared at the star on Billy’s vest, then turned and walked slowly up the street to his spring wagon. His wife, Mary, was there, a woman with tired eyes and a trifle gone at the waist. She never smiled and never complained.
Watching them, Murdock saw Jimmy, their son, who thought Marshal Murdock could do no wrong, and who always believed every word Murdock said. Murdock liked talking to Jimmy. The boy had questions, always questions. Jimmy was a bright lad with an unlimited belief in the future, living in a house where there was no future. Jimmy was watching Murdock, disappointment in his eyes.
Murdock saw Schmidt reach under the seat of the wagon. Mary grabbed her husband’s arm, but he pulled away and started back down the street, the sun glinting on the barrels of the shotgun he carried.
Billy moved to meet Schmidt and held out his hand. Murdock saw Schmidt hesitate; he was after all a law-abiding man. Billy said something to him. Finally, the farmer lowered his head and let his chin fall to his chest. As the boy came running up, Billy took the shotgun from Schmidt, shucked the shells, and handed it to the boy.
Murdock felt the triumph come into Luke Callahan. He didn’t need to look at the man.
Goaded by his ambition and sense of power, Callahan shouted, “No sodbuster tells lies about me and gets away with it!” His hand dropped to the butt of his holstered revolver as he shouted, “Get out of town or I’ll shoot the next time I see your dirty face.”
As he turned, Callahan touched Murdock on the shoulder. “Have another drink with me, Murdock?”
Murdock saw June standing in front of the church, and he could feel her anxiety reach through the hot, troubled air. And he saw the boy in the street, the shotgun in his hand, his eyes bewildered, searching Murdock’s face.
“I reckon I won’t have time, Luke. The Missus is waiting.” He walked up the street, a feeling of being two men strong in him. There was a responsibility to Billy Winslow that he couldn’t deny. He had talked Billy into taking his lonely job. He walked close to Billy and said in a low voice, “Look, Billy, if you can disarm one man, you can disarm another—Luke Callahan.”
Billy’s hands were shaking. “A two-year-old could have taken that shotgun away from Schmidt.” He reached up swiftly and unpinned the badge from his vest. “They don’t pay me enough to go up against Callahan. He’s poison mean with a six-shooter.” He held out the star. “You want it?”
Murdock looked at the familiar piece of metal, and he could feel Billy’s eyes on him. Then he looked up and saw June, still standing in front of the church, and he thought of their dreams and plans. “No, Billy,” he said. “I don’t want it.”
“Then let it lay,” Billy said as he dropped the badge into the dust and hurried off, a man happy to go back to selling shirts and overalls.
The Schmidt boy looked up and said, “Mr. Murdock, what’s wrong? You told me once….”
“We’ll talk about it later, Jimmy,” Murdock said. He walked swiftly toward June.
A mile outside town, Murdock pulled the horse to a halt in the shade of a sycamore to put up the buggy top. June, watching him, said, “If there’s anything you want to say, John….”
What could he say?
“Maybe the Schmidts would be better off someplace else,” she continued when he failed to answer. “They’ve never made their place pay.”
It was an argument he could have used on himself, but now, hearing it put into words, he didn’t like
the sound of it. His voice was rough. “I reckon they look on it as home. Their boy was born there. I reckon it sort of ties you to a place if your first one is born there.”
June closed her eyes tightly, and then opened them. After a pause, she said softly, “I suppose we’ll feel that way too, John. It will always be our home and our town after our baby is born here. I…I talked to Doctor Williams yesterday.”
Murdock felt coldness run up his spine. It was surprise, mingled with fear and great pride. He swallowed hard, then turned to June. “You feel all right, honey? Anything I can do?”
He was so in earnest, she didn’t dare laugh. Instead, she reached over and put her hand on his hand, and smiled. When they arrived at the ranch, he lifted her out of the buggy and helped her up the front steps. “Land sakes, John, I’m not an invalid; I’m just having a baby,” laughing as they entered the house.
Murdock sat down in his big horsehide chair. “Good to be home and have nothing to do.” He raised his eyes to meet hers, and they both knew he was lying. There was always something to do, especially for a man like Murdock, June thought. She watched him with knowing eyes. He glanced up and their eyes met.
The moment he was sure she knew, the easier it was for him. But he still had to be positive that she understood what he had to do. Once he made this move there would be no turning back. She had to see that.
An hour ago the town had been just another little cow town, nothing more, and Murdock