McKay turned his horse in front of Leech’s. “That’s enough, Mr. Leech,” he said. “Take your men and get out of here.”
The Ladder foreman looked at him in a startled way, like a man bitten by a rabbit; then he threw back his head and laughed. “I take my orders from Major Terrill,” he said.
McKay said, “One man is dead. That’s enough for today. You’re not going in there with guns.”
The taller man’s face hardened. “Get out of my way, McKay, or I’ll ride you down!”
McKay sighed. “This seems to be my day for paying off old debts. I would not fight you for a lady’s smile, Mr. Leech, but I’ll fight you for the lives of the men who’ll die if you make this stupid attack. Get off your horse and let’s get at it.”
Leech hesitated. “I won’t fight a man with an arm out of commission.”
“The bullet only cut the skin,” McKay said, dismounting. “I’ll warn you, Mr. Leech, that I went to sea at the age of twelve, and commanded my own ship at the age of twenty-one. There were times when I was forced to maintain discipline with my fists, I feel this gives me a slight advantage over a man who’s accustomed to settling his disputes with a pistol; so, if you feel the conditions are unfair, you’re at liberty to withdraw. Of course, in that case, I’ll expect you to apologize for striking me the other day.”
“Apologize, hell!”
Leech swung down lightly from his saddle and unbuckled his gun belt and hung it over the horn. He walked toward McKay, feinted clumsily, and swung hard at McKay’s head. McKay ducked, stepped forward and struck at the other’s midsection, left hand and right, putting the full weight of his wide shoulders into the blows, and all the pent-up bitterness of the long, brutal day . . . it took a while. The man was tough. McKay was knocked down three times in the early stages of the fight; then Leech’s powerful swings began to lose their strength, and after that it was only a matter of cutting him down.
Afterward, he turned from the beaten figure on the ground—still trying to rise; courage was, after all, a fairly common commodity—and walked to his horse, Ramon was beside him.
“I said it before—you are a stubborn man, Señor. A little water?”
“Thanks.” He rinsed out his mouth and drank. He thought. Well, that’s over.
He looked up and saw Patricia Terrill watching him from her horse; her eyes were quite dark, yet they had an odd, glowing look, and her lips shaped a promise. McKay turned away. He heard her slash savagely at her horse with her quirt and ride off . . .
It was almost dark when they reached San Rafael. At the edge of town, Ramon left them. McKay and Julie rode up to the house with the white gate. He dismounted and helped her to the ground.
“Come in,” she said. “I’ll make you some dinner.”
He smiled briefly. “Every time we meet, you feed me.”
She looked at him, and touched her own bruised eye and laughed. “We make a disreputable couple, Mr. McKay.” After a moment, she said, “I hate to remind you of unpleasant things, but those beautiful pistols should be cleaned before the fouling corrodes them. If you’ll bring them into the kitchen. I’ll get some water hot for you.”
He nodded, and got the mahogany case and followed her into the house. She lighted the lamp, and he put the case on the kitchen table and opened it. She went to the stove.
“I still don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t understand how Mr. Hannesey could—” Her voice died.
“I can.” McKay said. “It was a matter of honor, don’t you see? His son had disgraced him or disgraced some dream he had once had. I lived with honor for a long time,” McKay said. His voice had changed and grown harsher. “Honor was an important word in our house, Miss Maragon. So important that my mother cringed, as if at a blow, whenever it was spoken. So important——”
He picked up the gun marked No. 2 and looked at it. “So important that my father died with this weapon in his hand, for an insult the exact nature of which no one could remember later.”
Julie had turned at the stove. She said softly, “I see.”
McKay said evenly, “You understand, we loved him. Please don’t think otherwise. That’s what made it so hard to bear. He was a fine man, a good husband and a good father, but he had this one quirk about his honor. I think it was a sickness in him. If somebody accidentally elbowed him in a crowd, stepped on his toe, spilled a drink or spoke or even looked at him in a way he considered offensive, my father had to have satisfaction. He went out five times in all. Twice the seconds brought about a reconciliation. Once my father wounded his opponent, not seriously; and the matter was hushed up. Then he killed a man, and for more than a year we didn’t know if he’d be imprisoned or even hanged—dueling isn’t officially tolerated in Maryland. Finally he was killed. My mother died shortly thereafter; she had lived with terror too long. I promised myself that I would never in my life lift so much as a finger for the sake of pride or honor.” He grimaced. “This is a hard country in which to keep that promise, Miss Maragon.”
She said, after a pause “I think you may find it easier now, if you choose to stay. But were you quite fair to Pat, not to tell her why you had to act the way you did?”
He looked at her across the kitchen, and asked, “Would you have needed to be told, Julie?”
She did not answer. It was quite dark outside now, and the lamplight made the house seem warm and friendly and homelike after the places he had been recently. She was watching him in the grave and measuring way she had, still in her riding skirt and the perversely flattering boy’s shirt. Her hair had been loosened and softened by the wind and the long ride; it made a gentle dark frame about her face.
He asked, “Why didn’t you save yourself by telling Rufus Hannesey you’d sold Big Muddy to me?” She did not answer, and he said, “I’m keeping the ranch. I have plans for it. It’s very soon to speak of anything else.”
At this, she smiled slowly. “And you’re the man who’ll have nothing to do with pride and honor, Jim? Six months from now they’ll still say I caught you on the rebound, and well I have wasted all that time.”
He laughed suddenly, and laid the dueling pistol carefully back in its case and went to her.
THE END
Ambush at Blanco Canyon Page 10