by Abe Dancer
When they came across the narrow path of a hunter, they stayed with it for about a mile. Then, still some distance ahead, Houston saw the slender, climbing ribbon of white smoke. He was about to point it out when Carrick spoke.
‘I saw it before you did,’ he said.
‘It’s not from a campfire.’
‘Nope,’ Carrick agreed. ‘It’s a regular smokestack.’
‘Means someone’s at home. Keep headed towards it,’ Houston said.
Carrick trudged on with his head bowed, his hands clasped and cuffed behind him. Houston was gripping the mare’s reins and tie rope in his left hand, his Colt now in his right.
Soon the cabin appeared dead ahead. It was a rudimentary logged structure with a thick, sod roof, but somewhat larger, more robust than usual. There was a pole corral containing several horses.
In the shadow of the rising hill, the encampment area had a permanent appearance. Thirty yards up the hillside, Houston saw the unmistakeable prop structure of a mine shaft.
A man was already climbing from the corral, hustling towards them with an irate challenge. He was toting a scatter-gun and Houston judged him to be middle-aged. He was garbed in home-spuns, sweat-grimed range hat and boots. Another, and much older man was emerging from the mine shaft. His hair was silver-grey, but in all other respects similar appearance to the first man and he held a big, Patterson Colt. Houston, with no reason to expect a hostile reception, other than a miner’s customary aversion to unannounced strangers, quickly forgot his weariness.
‘Hold it fellers. A gunfight seems a hell of a price to pay for making a mistake,’ he called.
‘Billy boy,’ shouted back the man with the scatter-gun. ‘What in tarnation’s all this?’
‘Swing around him, Gramps,’ Carrick yelled to the older man. ‘I don’t reckon he’ll shoot.’
‘Don’t bet anyone’s life on it, boy,’ Houston rasped. ‘He knows he’ll be the first to die.’
The scatter-gun man stopped, for a moment uncertain. ‘Who’s this, Billy?’ he questioned. ‘Where the hell you been? Step forward. Let’s see you.’
Before anything happened, Houston’s uncertainty increased when two women came out of the cabin. One was tall and of similar age to the man with the scatter-gun. The moment she saw Billy Carrick, the mien of her face showed shock and dismay. The other woman appeared to be hardly out of her teens. She was short, slightly built and very fair-haired. Her tiny, right fist gripped what Houston thought might have been a match to the Patterson Colt.
‘Whoever you are, you best drop that nice-lookin’ Colt. We got the majority here,’ called out the man with the scatter gun. ‘It won’t be much of a gunfight.’
‘Just watch him careful, Pa,’ Billy Carrick warned. ‘He’s smart . . . quick as a coachwhip.’
‘Pa?’ Houston repeated incredulously, then flicked a glance towards the older man outside the shaft entrance. ‘Gramps? Hell, you mean your grandpa? And this is your pa?’
‘Yeah. Your smartness must have taken a couple o’ minutes off, Houston,’ Billy Carrick sneered. ‘You’ve brought me home. Say howdy to my folks.’
‘So, drop your piece, mister,’ called the fair-haired girl. ‘Drop it an’ move away from my brother or . . . or . . .’
‘Or nothin’, Mimsy,’ Billy’s father interrupted. ‘Now hush up.’
‘Reckon I have indeed made a mistake, Mr Carrick, assuming that’s your name,’ Houston said. ‘But please don’t get in the way of my intention. I’m only interested in horses.’
‘The boy’s handcuffed,’ Gramps observed. ‘But the stranger ain’t puttin’ up a tin star. Maybe he’s one o’ them out o’ State kidnappers.’
‘He’s George Houston, not a goddamn thief,’ Billy explained and grinned derisively. ‘He’s a bounty hunter.’
‘So how come you’s his prisoner?’ his father demanded.
‘I can explain that,’ Houston replied. ‘But only after you lower those shooters. That goes for you too, ma’am.’
‘We got him outnumbered an’ surrounded,’ the old timer reminded his family. ‘How come he’s callin’ the shots?’
‘He’s got the drop on Billy an’ can’t miss from where he’s standin’. That’s why,’ Billy’s father answered back.
‘Your son’s wanted for murder, and I’m aiming to take him back to Bullhead for trial,’ Houston announced. He felt uncomfortable and apprehensive, sorry for the woman who silently clasped her hands to her mouth. Carrick’s sister, Mimsy, gasped and let the old revolver drop from her fingers. In turn, his father and grandfather lowered their weapons.
‘I don’t want any trouble from you people,’ Houston went on. ‘If I’d known I was headed for Billy’s home, I’d have changed direction, and that’s the truth of it.’
The Carrick family eyed him in bemused silence. The girl was first to speak.
‘Is it, Billy? Is it true what he says?’ she asked, staring worriedly at her brother.
‘Yeah. I’m wanted for murder all right. But I didn’t do it, Sis, an’ nobody’s goin’ to believe me.’
Mimsy gripped her mother’s arm and walked her past the corral. Gramps Carrick descended the slope to stand beside his son.
Houston holstered his Colt and told Billy he could rest up a while. ‘I reckon now’s your time,’ he said. ‘They’re entitled to some sort of explanation. Tell them.’
Billy sat on a juniper blowdown. In brief, affecting sentences he acquainted his family with his predicament. They listened, attentive to every word, every nuance and expression. When he’d finished, he grinned wryly at Houston, then his family. ‘So, this is George Houston. He can’t help what he is. Bit like us.’
‘I’m sorry we have to get introduced like this,’ Houston told them.
‘He talks like someone schooled,’ Mimsy observed.
‘I’m just naturally careful . . . guarded mostly,’ Houston replied.
‘Feller does what you do, I ain’t surprised,’ Gramps contributed dourly.
Houston nodded. ‘There’s no other way,’ he said. ‘If your boy’s innocent he’ll be back the sooner for it.’
‘I am innocent, goddamnit. Sorry, Sis . . . Ma,’ Billy growled. ‘But how can I prove it?’
‘Nevada,’ Gramps stated. ‘Once he’s across the line, Utah law can’t touch him.’
‘I could,’ Houston responded. ‘I gave up respecting County and State borders many years ago. It’s something you don’t want to test me on.’
‘No, I bet. Runnin’ anywhere ain’t goin’ to help him any,’ Harve Carrick said. ‘Besides, I don’t want my son to be called a killer on the loose.’ For a moment he stared hard at Houston. ‘Have every lawman an’ goddamn bounty hunter west o’ the Grand Canyon wantin’ to collar him. No, the boy has to be cleared, else none of us will be able to show our faces in Bullhead again.’
‘All my family deaf?’ Billy challenged. ‘They’ve got evidence. They found my gun by Jarrow’s body. He had a piece o’ my shirt in his fist. Hell, I’m still wearin’ it.’
‘You say you were so drunk you can’t recall anythin’ that happened?’ Harve put to Billy. ‘Huh, it’s the bit I’d believe.’
‘Yeah, an’ it’s the truth. I know it ain’t a defence, but it’s what happened.’
‘What we goin’ to do, Harve?’ Billy’s mother asked distraughtly.
‘Not sure, Alice. Us Carricks are supposed to be wild an’ unfriendly . . . spend most nights at the jar, some say. But that ain’t so,’ Harve muttered. ‘We ain’t makin’ a fortune from this claim . . . hell we ain’t makin’ a pinch. But we’re workin’ at it . . . hopin’ for a bonanza one day.’
‘That’s an OK sentiment, Mr Carrick, but what’s it mean? Why are you telling me?’ Houston asked.
‘I’m tellin’ you so’s you know. For all the tarradiddle about us, we never went against the law. Maybe Myron Games don’t trust us, but that ain’t our fault. We’re as law abidin’ as any pasty-faced towners . . . maybe more so
.’
‘Got no reason not to believe you,’ Houston accepted.
‘An’ the boy still won’t have a chance.’ Gramps scowled.
‘But we’ve got to see if there’s one there, Gramps,’ Harve answered. ‘I don’t cotton to that sheriff, but repute says he’s a square-shooter.’
‘If that’s how you feel, you can oblige me,’ Houston said. ‘I need a couple of saddle-brokes.’
Harve nodded. ‘I’ve got ’em.’
‘And give me your word you won’t help the boy escape. You know that if you do, any understandings are off, and that’s not good for your Billy or you. We’ll stay here until morning, and in return I’ll give you an assurance.’
‘On what?’
‘I’ll take the boy back alive. But just to get it all clear, what I’m doing is my business, how I earn money, so by Christ, I am taking him. There’ll be no mob lynching and I’ll even check on a local lawyer, if there is such a thing.’ Houston switched his attention to the mother and daughter, offered a slight reassuring grin. ‘No matter what you’ve heard of people like me, my bounty’s paid on bringing back young Billy alive.’
‘I believe him, Pa,’ Mimsy said.
‘Got no choice,’ Harve conceded. ‘I figure he’ll do right by us, but he’s only one man. Those who want to hang young Billy, come by the handful. You can stay with us tonight, Mr Houston. An’ tomorrow when you move out, some of us will be right alongside you.’
Harve swung up his scatter-gun but Houston shook his head emphatically. ‘No, Mr Carrick, you’ve been misunderstanding me. I’m not taking anyone else along. It’s just me and Billy.’
CHAPTER 9
Harve Carrick gave Houston a long, severe look. ‘An’ how’d you reckon on stoppin’ us?’ he demanded. ‘The east trail’s for anyone to use. I ain’t your prisoner, nor’s Gramps or the women. So how can you stop us from just taggin’ along?’
‘Who’s goin’ to cook for you?’ Ma asked.
‘An’ tuck you in at night?’ Mimsy added.
‘You all just haul in,’ Houston rejoined. ‘I’m taking in a fugitive of the law, not his whole family.’
Gramps Carrick fidgeted with irritation. ‘Like Harve says, how can you stop us?’ he asked, adding something unintelligible.
‘Ne’er mind him. He’s just lookin’ for trouble,’ Harve said. ‘Your word an’ mine should be good enough. We won’t give you no trouble, Mr Houston. We just have to be sure there’s some look out for young Billy.’
‘Yeah. Pity you didn’t think like that before he took to the bottle, Mr Carrick,’ Houston answered back.
Harve Carrick warped a smile. ‘I guess I deserve that,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I’m tryin’ to make up.’
Houston shrugged. ‘As good a time as any.’
‘I’ll make us all some food then. Come with me, Mimsy,’ Ma announced. She retreated to the cabin with her daughter while Harve and the old man helped Houston unpack the grullo mare and the pack mule. Houston realized the Carrick clan were accepting the inevitable, Gramps even becoming gruffly polite. Harve gave him a nubbin of lye soap and a towel, nodded towards a barrel at a corner of the corral. After some hesitation, he unlocked Billy’s handcuffs, gave a look that represented don’t try anything I won’t like.
Houston was vaguely disturbed when they asked him to sit at one end of their table. He suspected it was so they could all keep an eye on him, for some reason.
Ma sensed his unease. ‘When you’re on the trail you’ll be the man takin’ away our Billy,’ she said. ‘When you’re here eatin’ with us, you’re a guest.’
Houston considered the words, thought there was a challenge. In some way he felt less comfortable, even more so when Harve said a rudimentary grace.
Mimsy and her mother served up tasty platters of meat, gravy and sourdough biscuits. There was an unreal atmosphere to this brief period of domesticity. Their attitude was summed up by Harve.
‘We got no right to treat Mr Houston bad,’ he said. ‘If he was, he wouldn’t be returnin’ Billy the way he says he is. Even though we’ll be watchin’.’
As if reading all their thoughts, Mimsy chimed in. ‘They only hang guilty men. Ain’t that so, Mr Houston?’
‘Generally speaking, yes. It’s the usual arrangement.’ Houston was at once thinking that there had always been exceptions to the rule.
‘Well then, all will be fine,’ the girl smiled, then immediately changed the subject. ‘I’ll bet you’ve travelled all over, Mr Houston. Have you seen the really big towns, like Cedar City an’ Colorado Springs? I’m goin’ to travel when I’m older. I want to visit one of those fancy theatres with terpsichore an’ dancin’ an’ play-actin’ on a stage with coloured lamps an’ all. When I get to be twenty-one, Pa’s sendin’ me to stay with my Aunt Clara in Kansas City. She sends me newspapers an’ pictorials an’ . . .’
‘Stop gabblin’ on, Mimsy,’ Ma intervened. ‘Mr Houston’s got other stuff to think about. Let him finish his food.’
Meanwhile, the sharp-eyed Gramps had been looking at Houston’s hat. It was hanging on one of the big clout nails near the parlour entrance, beside the Stetson Billy had taken from Dod Levitch.
‘That bonnet o’ yours has sure taken a bashin’,’ he pointed out. ‘Why’s it lookin’ more like a drowned cat?’
Houston smiled ruefully as the memory returned. It hadn’t occurred to him to tell Billy about the sharpshooter at the creek. ‘Somebody took a shot at me before I started into the desert. I spent some time under the water . . . me and my hat.’
Billy grinned. ‘Hah, I guess nobody cares much for a bounty hunter.’
‘So you didn’t see who it was?’ Harve wondered.
‘Hardly.’ Houston grinned crookedly. ‘But he likely figures I’m floating face down towards Mexico.’
‘An old enemy maybe?’ Harve pressed.
Houston shrugged. ‘Don’t narrow it down much. Could be one of a few.’
‘If I was you, feller, I’d be a mighty jumpy hombre,’ Gramps grunted.
‘It’s something for me to think about. But it can wait until I’ve taken your Billy back to Bullhead.’
‘Yeah, nothin’s more important than one hundred sawbucks,’ Billy joined in.
‘Who was it made such a big offer?’ Harve asked.
‘Agnes Jarrow . . . Chester Jarrow’s wife. She got to thinking Billy is innocent,’ Houston told him.
‘But why. . . ?’ Ma started.
‘Because she knew he’d die unless somebody went after him with water and supplies.’ Houston frowned at Harve. ‘Mrs Jarrow feels like you do, Mr Carrick. She’s expecting Billy to be cleared when he stands trial.’
‘If he stands trial, more like,’ Billy scowled.
‘It was a real Christian thing she did,’ Ma reflected. ‘Forgettin’ her own grief to do it.’
‘I don’t think she’s forgot that, Mrs Carrick.’ Houston wondered if, for the shortest moment, he was considering Agnes Jarrow’s common sense rather than the palpable evidence.
Conversation broke up until the end of the meal. When they were chewing their way through thick coffee, Harve opened up on his thinking.
‘Look, Mr Houston, you an’ my boy ain’t that tired,’ he said. ‘So why wait till tomorrow mornin’? We all want Billy squared with the law, an’ as soon as can be done. So why don’t we pull out straight away?’
‘My thinkin’ too,’ Gramps readily agreed.
‘We could all be ready in less than an hour,’ Mort continued. ‘There’s no rich pickin’s to guard. What we got’s transferable assets . . . can be carried in our pockets. You’ll be back in town sooner’n it took to cross the Tierra Sin Vida.’
Houston’s brows knitted with unease. He wondered if he was being finagled . . . having his ropes pulled.
Billy grinned mirthlessly. ‘Why not? Why wait, Houston?’ he asked. ‘You’ll be itchin’ to get your hands on all that bounty.’
‘Just stop it, Billy,’ his mother sighed
. ‘Things are the way they are. Let’s get on with what’s to be done.’
Houston stared hard at his captive. ‘I’ll leave the cuffs off,’ he told him coldly. ‘You’re a born tearaway. But you’re not doing it between here and Bullhead. And before a smirk creases your face, it’s more for your ma than what you might be thinking.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Harve growled. ‘If he runs, I’ll catch him . . . take my belt to him, if I have to.’
‘Whose side you on, Pa?’ Billy challenged.
‘Your ma’s . . . like Mr Houston. Maybe someday you’ll understand why we’re wantin’ to get you cleared.’
‘There ain’t an attorney in this whole blessed country who could talk a jury into turnin’ me loose,’ Billy muttered. ‘How’d he explain my gun bein’ in the bank with Jarrow’s blood all over it? An’ my shirt . . .’
Houston cut him short. ‘Save it. We’ll have time enough for coming up with something.’
‘Ma an’ Gramps an’ Mimsy can ride in the wagon. The team’s sound . . . can move smart if we have to,’ Harve said. ‘I’ve got horses for you, me an’ Billy. I don’t know of anyone round these parts snaky enough to steal your mare or the mule.’
Houston nodded. ‘So, we’ll start as soon as you folks are ready.’
They were moving away from the Carrick place within an hour. The charcoal mare loaned to Houston, lacked the grullo’s breeding, but it was well broken and easy to manage. Houston was riding alongside Billy, some fifty feet behind Harve. After them came the freighter drawn by the pair of teamsters. Gramps was handling the reins and Mimsy and Ma perched beside him on the seat. It doubled as a locker, most likely contained the Carrick arsenal of fully functional weapons.
‘Reckon we’ll meet the Bullhead trail in another hour,’ Harve called over his shoulder.
Houston nodded, took another preoccupied look at Billy. ‘I meant to mention it before,’ he started. ‘That’s quite a hat. A tad out of place on you.’
‘That’s ’cause it’s Levitch’s.’ Billy grinned. ‘You hear how I’d cleared jail?’
‘Sure, I heard. Dressed in the deputy’s best duds. I just mentioned it.’