by John Legg
Squire wiped his blade clean on Belknap’s shirt and then sheathed it. He rolled the body over, jammed his rifle and Belknap’s through the dead man’s shirt so they stuck out from top and bottom of the cloth, held fast against the body’s back. With ease, Squire lifted the corpse and hung it over his shoulder. He walked quickly back across the river and into the clearing.
Train had tied Breen to a tree and brought the horses up. A haunch of deer was roasting over the small fire that he had revived. Squire dumped his burden on the ground in front of the frightened Breen. He pulled his rifle free of the tattered shirt.
Train stared at the body. “Did ya have to kill him?” he asked, a sick expression on his face.
“Aye, lad. He had his chance. More’n one.”
Train nodded.
“Ye’d best be gettin’ used to such. If’n ye ain’t got the balls to put someone under when it needs doin’, you’ll go under yourself.”
“How many men you killed, Nathaniel?” Train asked, swallowing hard.
“Another thing ye’d best learn is that ye don’t go askin’ such questions of a man. Most don’t take kindly to it,” he said harshly.
Train noticed the hole in Squire’s shirt and the smudge of blood surrounding it. “You was shot!” he gasped.
“Just a nick, lad. Don’t ye go concernin’ yourself o’er it.”
“The hell I won’t. It needs bandagin’ before it takes to festerin’.”
“All right, lad,” Squire said when it dawned on him that Train was trying to get his mind off Belknap’s nearby body. “But there’ll be time enough for that after we’ve ate.”
Train nodded at the corpse. “What’re ya aimin’ to do with him?”
“Take him back with us. Give him o’er to the law, see if’n anyone wants to claim the body. That deer done yet?”
“Reckon so. When’re we gonna head back?” Train asked as he began to slice off hunks of meat. He was tired and felt sick to his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to sleep for a night—or maybe a week.
“Soon’s we can. It’s barely new mornin’ yet. Ain’t no reason to set here till the morrow.”
They wolfed down the hot, dripping meat and cold corncakes, untying Breen just long enough to allow him to eat. Train was uneasy, but Squire had no fears. He knew Breen was not going to try anything.
After eating, Train poulticed Squire’s side with boiled bark and chewed tobacco, then bandaged it. As he did, he said, “There’s somethin’ I got to tell ya, Nathaniel.”
“Say it.”
“You’re gonna hate me for certain.”
“Ye ought to be lettin’ me judge that.”
Train fidgeted. He had wanted to tell Squire since they had left, but he had not had the courage. Now he could not put it off any longer. He gulped, then spoke in a rush. “I didn’t pick that fight with ya ’cause I was trying to show off. I was paid to do it. Mr. Strapp said he’d give me five dollars for settin’ onto ya that way. ”
Squire looked at him in mild surprise. “What’n hell for?” he asked. Strapp couldn’t be so stupid as to think it would test me to have a boy like Abner Train come against me, could he? Squire thought. Or did he think I’d leave if my authority was challenged in front of the others? Could that be it? He did not really believe so, since Strapp could not be that foolish, but he could think of no other reasons. He shrugged at the thoughts.
“I don’t really know, Nathaniel. He just told me to do it and said he’d give me the five dollars later.”
“Ye get your money?”
“Not yet. Wasn’t really time.”
“Think you’ll e’er be gettin’ it?”
“Yes, sir.” There was a hardness to the words, and a set to his jaw. Train paused and cleaned his hands. “It was why I wanted to come with ya, Nathaniel. To try’n make up in some way for what I done to ya. ”
He’s wise beyond his years, Squire thought, pleased that Train had done what he had done. It had been the opening for a friendship. Squire thought he would make sure he cultivated that friendship. “Ye didn’t do nothin’ to me, lad,” Squire said with a chortle, “less’n ye forgot just what happened.”
Train winced, then grinned. “Naw, I ain’t forgot. My head still hurts when I get to thinkin’ on it.”
“See, lad, ye didn’t do much.”
“Ya mean you’re not hateful of me?”
“Nay, lad. Ye done what ye thought was best for ye at the time. Five dollars is a heap of specie. I can understand that. And now ye’ve fessed up. It be behind us, lad, less’n there be somethin’ else.”
“No, sir,” Train breathed. With a lighter heart, the young man set about his chores. So much relief did he feel that he almost entirely ignored the body lying on the ground.
Squire finally threw Belknap’s body over one of the stolen horses and tied it down. “I don’t want it to be flappin’ too much whilst we ride,” he said with glee. He left Breen’s hands bound in front of him as he tied the thief to the other stolen horse.
They rode out, Squire leading. Train, who held the rope to the horse bearing Belknap’s body, brought up the rear. They rode straight through and caught the ferry back across the Mississippi just after noon the next day. When they arrived in St. Louis, they brought Belknap’s body and a cowed Breen to the law. And they turned in the two stolen horses.
“You’ll have to give testimony,” the constable told Squire.
“Ain’t got the time, boy,” Squire said, turning away.
“Then he may go free.”
Squire shrugged. “I could’ve brung him in like the other, which is the way we usually take care of these things, as ye ought to well know. I could’ve took the horses and run ’em in with my string, too, and nobody’d e’er be the wiser. Ye take it from here, and do what ye will.”
The constable, not really a bad man, nodded and smiled. “We’ll take care of it.”
Squire and Train headed toward Melton’s hotel. Evidently word had already arrived that they were back, since Melton and Strapp were outside on the porch waiting for them.
“Ye won’t be havin’ no more trouble with them two niggurs, Colonel,” Squire said. “One’s dead; the other’s in the calabozo. Folks out here don’t take a shine to hoss thieves, and I wouldn’t be holdin’ out too much hope for John Breen e’er seein’ daylight agin.”
Melton nodded sadly. “I see. Well, I guess it had to be done. But that’ll leave us a little shorthanded, will it not?”
“We’ll be makin’ out just fine with what we got. Except for one more. I got somebody in mind to join us, if’n he be willin’.”
“Who is that?”
“I’d rather not be sayin’ till I talk to him. I’ll be seein’ to it on the morrow. First thing. But right now I reckon me’n Abner can be usin’ some robe time. We been up a spell.”
“I understand, Nathaniel. Rest, by all means.” The Colonel was certain now that he had chosen the right man for this job, but he did wonder about who this new man Squire wanted to hire was. “William and I have plenty to occupy our time, as do the other men.”
“Bon”
“Mr. Squire?” Strapp asked with a catch in his voice. “Did either of the two men—Breen or Belknap—say anything to you?”
“Like what?” Squire said politely, but with a knowing edge to his voice.
“I have no idea,” Strapp answered, squirming a little.
“Nay, William.” Squire saw Strapp sigh with relief. He turned back to face Melton. “Colonel, be makin’ certain that word about Breen and Belknap gets passed about so’s the other hands hear about it.” -
“Why?”
“Just might make someone else do a heap of thinkin’ if he was figurin’ on skedaddlin’ on us.”
“Very wise, Nathaniel. Now get some sleep. You both have earned it.”
“Aye, Colonel, in a moment.” Squire stepped over and faced Strapp, who fidgeted as Squire towered over him. “I just thought,” Squire said with a mischievous
grin, “that since we be here now, ye might like to be payin’ Abner for that little spot of work he done for ye, William. I believe ye told him five dollars. ”
“What work?” Melton asked, surprised, not only that Strapp had asked Train to do a job for him, but also at the price offered.
“Just some personal things, Colonel,” William Strapp said hastily, eyes darting about. The tip of his tongue came out and licked suddenly dry lips. He glared at Squire as he reached into his vest pocket at last. He pulled out a gold coin and flipped it angrily, carelessly, toward Train. The youth snatched it out of the air.
Chapter Eight
THE milling horses made a dusty, swirling, snorting, shuffling mass of confusion within the rickety fence posts of Homer Bellows’s old corral.
The men swarmed over the fence, cursing, yelling and grunting as they tried to rope the animals, most of whom had no intention of suffering such indignities.
“Have ya ever seen anything’ like this afore? Have ya?” Bellows asked Squire as they leaned on the rails watching the swirling melee.
Squire laughed. “Can’t say as I e’er did.”
Most of the young men had no experience with wild, small, powerful, prairie mustangs like the ones they were trying to rope. For most, their dealings with horses had been limited to workhorses or mules on small, rocky farms back East.
“Well, me, neither,” Bellows chortled. “Nope. Never have. Never in all my days.” His Adam’s apple bobbled with glee. “By the looks of it, Nathaniel, ya need yourself a man who knows animals. Yep. Ya sure do.”
He had lost his fear of the giant mountain man since their first meeting. And he now discounted at least half the rumors he had heard about the man known to many as L’on Farouche. He pulled off his ratty old felt hat and swiped a hand across his sweaty thatch of pale hair.
Squire smiled. “I figured as much. That’s why I be here today to watch ye lookin’ o’er the lads.” He had made up his mind several days ago to try to get Bellows to come along on the trip to handle the horses and mules. Not only did the scrawny, underfed-looking man with the too-big clothes and long, hooked nose know horses, he knew—and could handle, Squire had seen quickly— young men.
“I’ve had me quite a look at ’em, too, Nathaniel. Yep.”
“Kin ye think of anything’ I can be doin’ about findin’ me such a person as to handle the animals on this trip?”
“Get ya a good stock handler.”
“I know that much. What I don’t know is just where I can be findin’ one.” He looked blandly at Bellows.
“Best one ya can find is standin’ right here. Sure is.”
“Ye wouldn’t be suggestin’ yourself now, would ye, Homer?” Squire asked with a grin.
“Wouldn’t say suggestin’ to ya. Nope, couldn’t say that to ya. But ya asked about the best.” It was the day after he had met Squire and Colonel Melton that he decided he wanted to go along with them. He liked both men, saw in them the strength, determination and spirit that would make for a successful and profitable trip. And, damn, he had a hankering to get back to the mountains. He had been there before, but it had been some years since he made the last trip. It would be good to get back into the cold, clean air, away from the swirling dirt and festering stench of the city.
The danger of such an enterprise did not enter into his thoughts. It was just part of the deal, and as such, unworthy of a man’s concern. He had thought to volunteer, but a natural shyness—which he covered up well with bluster, curses and a loud voice—kept him quiet. Instead, he hoped Squire would be the one to ask him. He was much relieved now to hear that Squire was leaning in that direction and seemed on the verge of doing just that.
“Aye, Homer, that ye did.” Squire grinned again. “Well, then, ol’ coon, what do ye say to throwin’ in with this chil’ and the others?”
“Ah, Nathaniel, I can’t do that, now. Nope. Wouldn’t do my ol’ heart no good.” He was gambling a little, he knew, but he didn’t figure it was too much. He had to make some pretense at protest. He didn’t want to seem too eager, though he felt that way. But when he looked at the mountain man, there was a bright gleam in his eye. “I’d be payin’ ye twenty dollars a month, plus all your possibles.”
“Nope. Them goddamn fellers’d do nuttin’ but get me in trouble. Can’t do it.” He began to worry a little that he was treadin’ on thin ice here.
“Twenty-five dollars a month,” Squire said, suppressing another grin, knowing full well the game Bellows was playing, and knowing he had the man hooked. Bellows would be coming along—they just had to dicker a little bit for appearance’s sake.
Bellows squinted up at Squire, his faded eyes buried. “And for doin’ what, I ask ya?”
“Takin’ care of the animals. E’er last piece of horseflesh we be takin’ with us. Mules, too. All ’cept for my hoss, Noir Astre.”
Bellows grinned wide and handsome, showing a few missing teeth. “Sure I’ll go with ya. Goddamn. Been waitin’ for ya to ask.”
Squire laughed. “You’re a connivin’ little bastard, ain’t ye?” He didn’t mean it. And he had planned to offer Bellows twenty-five dollars all along, but he, too, felt he had to dicker. After all, it was far more than Bellows was making here at the corral, even if he did run it.
“Now,” Squire said, peering out onto the melee inside the corral, “do ye think ye could get out there and help them lads get somethin’ done? They ain’t gettin’ nowhere the way they be goin’.”
“Nuttin’ to it, Nathaniel. Nope.”
Squire grinned as he watched the lanky man climb the fence. The grin broadened when he watched Bellows at work. The transformation was remarkable. When Squire had first met him, what he had seen was a skinny, unshaven, worn-out man, old before his time, although there was the impression of vitality lurking behind the bony exterior. Now there was a spring in Bellows’s step, and Squire realized Bellows was not as old as he had first supposed. Perhaps his own age, thirty-five or a bit older, Squire guessed. And he knew Bellows’s scrawny-looking frame belied a strength that would not easily wear out. Squire was glad to have him along.
Bellows stood amidst the twirling dust cloud, barely visible in it. “All right, ya goddamn broke-down, buckskin-headed, horse-foolish sons a bitches,” he roared. “Let them poor goddamn animals be.” The boys stopped, trying to locate the disembodied voice.
As the dust began to settle, Bellows hollered again. “Let ’em be, damn it. Are ya all as bad at hearin’ as ya are at workin’ horses? Yep. Must be. Ever’ goddamn one of ya deef as a fence post. ”
The men trudged away from the frightened, skittish horses. The animals slowly quieted as the dust settled, though they rolled their eyes nervously. Bellows stood patiently in the center of the corral. “Any of ya ever use a rope afore?” he asked.
Nobody answered.
“Lord a’mighty. You fellers are a bunch of useless, goddamn, good-fer-nuttin’, shiftless dung heaps. Yep. Sure are. All right, then, we ain’t got much time for your foolishness, but I got to teach ya
from the beginnin’. You, there, what’s your name, boy?”
“Abner Train.” He stepped up, feeling a little abashed. It was not always good being as big as he was, he thought as he shuffled forward. Sometimes you stood out when all you wanted to do was hide.
Bellows had not picked him only because of his size, though that counted. But young Train also had a look about him, an aura of confidence that Bellows perceived. “Well now, Abner. Get that rope over there.”
Train did so and handed it to Bellows, his ears burning at the hoots from the other boys at his subservience.
“Now, y’all should watch this. Yep. Sure should.” He shook the rope out until he had a good-sized loop. Then he stepped easily toward one of the horses—one he knew had been worked with at least some and was not as wild as a few of the others.
“First off,” he said, “ya got to remember ya can’t go scarin’ the horses none. They don’t like it. Nope
, they sure don’t. Chases ’em off in a right quick hurry. Got to talk to ’em nice and softlike if’n ya want to catch ’em. That’s the way to do it. Don’t matter none what ya say to ’em neither.”
His words were meant for the assembled group, but the soft voice was directed at the horses. “Gots to talk to ’em like ya was talkin’ to a pretty young thing ya was sweet on. Yep. Sure do. But most likely you dumb shits don’t know much about that yet.”
Gentling the animal with his voice, Bellows walked close to the frightened horse and quickly but gently slipped the rope around its neck. The half-wild animal sidestepped, but did not try to get away.
“See. There ain’t nuttin’ to it. Nope. Ain’t nuttin’ to be scared about wit’ ol’ Homer,” he soothed as he patted the horse’s neck and muzzle. “That’s a good feller.”
With an easy tug of the rope he led the horse around the corral, giving it small bits of lump sugar and apple that he carried in the seemingly bottomless pockets of his droopy pants. He stopped near the men gathered at the fence.
“Supposin’ you try it, boy,” he said to Train.
Train sheepishly took another rope from the fence and scuffled through the dust toward a sorrel mustang that had a splash of white on its face and legs. He spoke softly as he edged up to the animal, feeling foolish as he muttered inane things. He had no trouble getting the lasso around the horse’s neck. He spun and grinned at all the others, who were watching him intently.
“I did it!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
The startled horse bolted.
Train managed to keep a firm grip on the rope, but his arms were nearly pulled from their sockets as the horse took off. Train fell and was dragged along, gagging on the dirt. The other horses neighed, panicked, ran around in a tight circle within the confines of the corral. The shuffling tons of horseflesh and the animals’ sharp hooves came close to Train more than once as he fought to slow his horse and stand at the same time.