Flame Across the Land

by Colin Bainbridge

  He didn’t know exactly where the oldster was to be found, except that he was somewhere in the hills. The obvious thing to do was to begin the search at the point where he had last seen Utah, which was his own camp by the stream. It was late in the afternoon when he got there. He had done a good job of clearing the site. A passing traveller would never have realized anyone had been there. He was tempted to set up camp on the same spot but decided to carry on further. When he had gone a little way beyond where he had seen the last of the oldster, he got down from his horse and examined the ground for traces of the skewbald’s sign and saw enough to make him think he had found it. However, he couldn’t be sure. Tracking wasn’t one of his strong points and other people had passed through. There were animal tracks too. He decided that the best thing would be to follow the lie of the land. Any trail would follow the line of least resistance and he would carry on that way until he saw good reason to turn aside.

  He climbed back into leather and carried on riding while the sun sank lower in the sky till eventually it was a fading yellow ball poised just above the line of the western hills. At that point he decided to call a halt. As the shadows descended, he first tended to the horse and then built a fire. He laid slabs of bacon in the skillet and made coffee with water from a nearby run-off. By the time he had eaten, darkness had fallen. A cool wind blew down from the ranges and from somewhere a bird called. The sky wheeled with stars and he could see for quite a distance into the luminous night. He was glad to have left the town behind, but that didn’t prevent him from feeling a touch lonesome. He thought about old Utah, spending night after night in some remote valley with only his sheep for company, and felt a twinge of regret that he hadn’t done more to help him. But what could he have done? Then he remembered the oldster’s limp. Was Utah’s account of it quite accurate? Whether it was or not, he had justification for feeling concern. When he finally turned in it was with a renewed purpose to locate the oldster as quickly as he could.

  Dawn came up and he quickly made breakfast before climbing into the saddle and setting out again. As he got further into the hills, the trail became less easy to follow. It was barely discernible; an old Indian track abandoned by them long since. There were wildflowers and scattered stands of aspen and spruce lining the hillsides. When he dismounted to search for signs, he could find nothing but animal tracks and presently he came upon the deer which had made them, about a dozen of them standing in a bunch. He saw marmots and at one point an eagle came swooping down and flew overhead for some time before soaring away over the crest of a ridge.

  As time went by, he began to be less certain that he was on the right track, but there was nothing else to do but carry on and keep watch for any indication of the oldster’s whereabouts. Despite his concerns, he took pleasure in observing the scenery, in savouring the clean air and the fresh, aromatic smell of the grass and the trees, things which he realized he had been missing too long. Maybe that was the real reason the oldster sought out the lonely, wide-open spaces and spent his time there. The trail was growing steep as it followed the shoulder of a tree-lined peak. Then it took a turn and he found himself on a grassy slope that fell away quite sharply into a secluded valley ringed with high hills, beyond which stood ragged peaks with escarpments of steep rock. Far below, he could see patches of white and when he took a closer look through his field-glasses, he could see that they were sheep. The only trouble was that some of them weren’t moving. He had found the place he was looking for, but if some of the sheep were dead, in what state would he find the old man? It was apparent already that all was not as it should be. Touching the mare’s flanks with his spurs, as quickly as he dared, he began the descent.

  The hillside was comparatively steep, and he had to go carefully, but eventually the chestnut reached the valley floor. As he moved on, he began to see sheep in little bunches, scattered about the grassy meadows. He considered trying to herd them but decided against it. It would take up time and he was anxious to reach the oldster. He spurred the horse and it broke into a trot, hoofs drumming gently on the soft earth, and soon, topping a rise, he saw what looked like Utah’s camp a little way ahead of him.

  There were various items of equipment scattered about the remains of a fire and a tattered tent lay ripped and torn nearby, but there was no sign of Utah. As he rode up he called the oldster’s name without eliciting a response. He leaped from the horse and began looking around. It didn’t take long. He was in something of a quandary as to what he should do when he suddenly heard a dog bark. Getting back on board the chestnut, he began to ride in the direction from which the sound seemed to come. It came again and then he saw, some way off to his right, the figure of the oldster. He had two dogs with him, and together they were attempting to herd a bunch of sheep. Utah had obviously seen him too, because he stopped and looked towards him, shielding his eyes against the sun. Seaton waved and called out his name and it seemed the oldster finally recognized him. Seaton dismounted and walked the rest of the distance between them, not wanting to scare the sheep. As he approached, one of the dogs ran up and began to jump up at him. He took its head between his hands and stroked its fur, but at a call from Utah it dropped down and returned to its position.

  ‘Looks like Jasper’s taken to you,’ the oldster said as Seaton came up to him.

  ‘And there was I thinkin’ you were all alone,’ Seaton replied.

  ‘A man ain’t ever alone when he’s got a good dog for company.’ Utah paused before attempting a smile. ‘Hell,’ he said. ‘Am I glad to see you. But what in tarnation are you doin’ here?’

  Seaton looked closely at the old man. Utah seemed to be OK, but he couldn’t be certain. Something had happened for sure but he would have to wait for an explanation.

  ‘Let me help you faze these critters back to wherever you want ’em,’ Seaton said. ‘After that we can get down to talkin’.’

  Utah didn’t object and, taking his cue from the oldster, Seaton took his place at the side of the flock, trying to keep it tight and prevent strays from breaking away. They were making slow progress back towards the camp and the oldster had no objection to Seaton getting back on his horse as they passed it. The chestnut seemed, if anything, more nervous than the sheep. It wasn’t an easy task. Every now and then the sheep would begin to run in little spurts but the dogs, under Utah’s control, kept them from going too far and finally they were left to graze on a grassy stretch leading from the camp towards the foot of the nearest hill. That wasn’t the end of the matter, however, because the oldster insisted on rounding up the rest of the flock while it was still light.

  ‘I got most of ’em,’ he said, ‘but there are still some wanderin’ out there.’

  ‘I know,’ Seaton answered. ‘I saw a few of ’em.’

  He didn’t mention the dead sheep he had seen. By the time they had rounded up the live ones, it was late and they were tired. While the oldster set about building up the ashes of his fire, Seaton attended the chestnut until eventually, as the evening shadows deepened, they were able to sit down together to eat. When they had finished, Seaton produced his pouch of Bull Durham and they built cigarettes.

  ‘OK,’ Seaton said. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  The oldster inhaled deeply and blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘There ain’t much to tell. There were three of ’em. They came ridin’ in early this mornin’. I heard the shootin’ first and managed to scramble out of the tent before they came chargin’ through the camp.’

  ‘Did you recognize ’em?’

  ‘Nope. They could have been anybody. Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘Well, it’s a pretty safe bet they’re connected to some cattle outfit. They’re the only ones likely to be upset enough by the prospect of havin’ sheep around to do somethin’ like this.’

  ‘This is free grass. They got no right.’

  Seaton laughed. ‘You think they’re gonna worry about a little detail like that? Believe me, you’re not the first to suffer this kind of t
reatment. I’ve come across it before. Men have been killed. If anythin’, you can count yourself lucky you heard ’em comin’.’

  ‘They killed some of my sheep,’ Utah commented.

  ‘Now you’ve been visited by these varmints, whoever they are,’ Seaton replied, ‘they might feel inclined to pay a return call. If I were you, I’d take the warnin’. Next time you might not be so lucky.’

  The oldster gathered a ball of spit and jettisoned it into the fire.

  ‘They killed my sheep,’ he said, ‘and I got a contract till the end of the summer.’

  Again Seaton laughed grimly. ‘I wouldn’t set a lot of store by that contract,’ he said. ‘I seem to remember you havin’ to seek out your own supplies because no one from the association bothered to turn up.’

  ‘Maybe the association ain’t been observin’ the terms of the agreement, but that don’t mean I won’t.’

  They sat back for a while talking and smoking in a desultory fashion while the fire burned down. Seaton was thinking about what the oldster had said. It was obvious he didn’t fully realize the danger he was in. Besides that, he was a stubborn old coot. Seaton couldn’t think of the right words to make him understand the situation. Finally he made one last appeal.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘The way I see it, the best thing you can do would be to pack that old paint and get out of here just as soon as you can.’

  ‘I got some buryin’ to do,’ Utah replied somewhat inconsequentially. For a moment Seaton didn’t realize he was talking about the sheep that had been shot.

  ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘If you’re so concerned, take the sheep right along with you. But don’t wait around here. Take them just as far away as you can.’

  ‘I don’t think the association would appreciate that.’

  Seaton got to his feet in exasperation. ‘If I had any sense, I’d saddle up that chestnut and leave right now myself,’ he said.

  The oldster looked up at him. ‘You don’t mean that,’ he said.

  ‘There’s just one thing that’s stoppin’ me,’ Seaton replied.

  ‘Yeah? What’s that?’

  ‘There’s a job that needs doin’.’

  The oldster continued looking at him with a puzzled expression on his grizzled features.

  ‘Helpin’ to bury some sheep,’ Seaton said.

  Chapter Two

  Nash Brandon heard the sound of hoofs on the dry packed ground of the yard and looked out of the ranch-house window. Three men rode up and dismounted, and while two of them led the horses away in the direction of the stables, the other one climbed the steps to the veranda and knocked on the door.

  ‘Come right on in!’ Brandon shouted and in a moment the door opened and his foreman, Cooley Held, a thin short man dressed in black, entered. He was dusty from riding.

  ‘I guess you could use a drink,’ Brandon said. He walked over to a cabinet from which he produced a bottle and a couple of glasses.

  ‘Don’t stand on ceremony,’ he said, ‘take a seat.’ He filled the glasses, handed one to Held and sat down himself in a large leather armchair. For a moment neither spoke as they drank the whisky.

  ‘Fine Scotch,’ Brandon remarked. ‘Special import.’

  ‘Sure tastes good,’ Held said.

  ‘I think you’ll find it hits the spot.’ Brandon took another sip. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘How did it go?’

  ‘We did just like you said,’ Held replied.

  ‘You didn’t give the old goat too big a beatin’?’

  ‘Nope, just enough to convince him he’d do best to get out.’ Held uttered a sneering laugh. ‘He’ll have less of those sheep to move on when he does.’

  Brandon smiled. ‘Well, let’s hope he gets the message.’

  Held swallowed the last of his whisky and glanced at his boss. ‘Why are we pussy-footin’ with the old man?’ he said. ‘We coulda dealt with him and his goddamned sheep once and for all.’

  Brandon shook his head and gave him a look of distaste. ‘That might be necessary as a last resort,’ he said, ‘but we don’t want to arouse any interest on the part of the federal authorities. I can keep the town marshal sweet, but there’s nothing to be gained by drawing attention to ourselves. I always find that it pays to exercise a little discretion.’

  ‘Unless it don’t work,’ Held replied.

  Brandon glanced at him again. ‘Yes, exactly,’ he replied. ‘Which reminds me; I may need you and the boys to help me apply a little more pressure on the Lazy Ladder.’

  ‘They turned down your latest offer?’

  ‘That would seem to be the case. I’ll be seeing Snape tomorrow, but I don’t see that two-bit lawyer offerin’ anythin’ new. He ain’t done much so far. Anyway, I’ll get back to you afterwards.’ Brandon’s heavy jowls tightened as he attempted a smile. ‘And don’t worry,’ he added. ‘I think the time’s about come to stop bein’ discreet, at least as far as Mitch Montgomery is concerned.’

  Held, realizing that the interview was at an end, got to his feet and moved to the door. ‘Anythin’ you want, just let us know,’ he said.

  When he had left, Brandon continued sitting in the big chair. Presently a thin smiled appeared at the corners of his mouth. His conversation with Held had given him a new idea. It was true that he didn’t see the need of using undue violence to achieve his ends, but if it might do so, he was quite prepared to consider it. And suddenly he saw a means both of getting rid of the nuisance posed by the old man and his sheep and dealing a blow against the Lazy Ladder. The plan would even serve a further useful purpose, keeping happy some of the wilder elements in his employ. Maybe Held was right and he had been too gentle with the old man. Maybe it was time to stop pussy-footing after all. He could eliminate the oldster and point the finger of blame at the Lazy Ladder. It wouldn’t be hard to convince the marshal. He had him well under his control. And with Mitch Montgomery under suspicion of murder, it should be an easy matter to manipulate him into selling the Lazy Ladder at an even lower price than he had offered. The more he thought about it, the better he liked it. Getting to his feet, he walked to the door and went outside. The sun was blazing down and he took a few moments to admire the sweep of his property before making his way to the bunkhouse to have a further word with Held.

  Between them, Utah and Seaton buried the dead sheep. It took the best part of the day following Seaton’s arrival, and there were times when Seaton would willingly have abandoned the enterprise. It seemed to him then to be a waste of time and effort. The buzzards had already been at work and it would have made more sense to let them finish the job. But when he saw the anguish in the old man’s eyes, he found reason to carry on. It was clear that the oldster felt a genuine affection for them, and that he blamed himself for not having done a better job of protecting them. It made no difference Seaton telling him that there was nothing he could have done. Utah felt responsible and it only made him more determined to carry on.

  That evening, sitting by the campfire, they both seemed content to let the conversation turn to other matters than herding sheep.

  ‘There’s somethin’ that’s been puzzlin’ me,’ the oldster said.

  ‘Yeah? And what’s that?’

  ‘I been kinda wonderin’ where you got a name like Fark from?’

  Seaton shuffled slightly and then grinned. ‘It’s short for Farquhar,’ he replied.

  ‘That’s quite a moniker,’ Utah replied noncommittally.

  ‘What about yourself?’ Seaton said, attempting to deflect the conversation and take the initiative. ‘Is Red your real name?’

  ‘You know,’ the oldster replied, ‘I ain’t rightly sure myself. But I spent a lot of time up Nevada way. Back in those days it was western Utah. Funny thing, but it was handed over by Mexico followin’ the war where I got this busted leg. I guess that’s where I got the name Utah. I’ve been around and done a lot of things since then, but it’s kinda stuck.’

  ‘How long you been herdin’ sheep?’

 
; ‘First time. It’s a pity I didn’t get into it sooner. I sure feel somethin’ for those critters. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time anythin’ has depended on me.’

  Seaton stared out towards the hills and peaks, silvered by moonlight. ‘Don’t you get kinda lonesome?’ he asked.

  ‘I got the dogs for company as well as the sheep,’ the oldster replied.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Seaton mused. ‘Those few days I spent in town were enough. After that, I just wanted to get away and hit the trail. But somethin’ still don’t feel right. Somethin’ is still missin’.’

  ‘Have you always felt that way?’

  ‘Nope. It’s just recently I guess.’

  ‘Maybe that spell of pannin’ for gold has somethin’ to do with it.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I wasn’t cut out to be a prospector, but it ain’t that.’

  ‘You’re young. At your age, it’s normal to be restless. I was that way myself once. But when I got older, I started to look at things different. Now there’s nothin’ much I need. I guess you could say I’m content.’

  ‘You don’t regret nothin’?’

  ‘There’s no point in regrets.’ The oldster coughed and spat out some phlegm before turning back to Seaton. ‘One other thing I reckon I’ve learned,’ he said, ‘and that is that the answer to some questions is nearer to home than you think.’ He got to his knees and began to spread his bedroll. ‘Thanks for everythin’ you did today,’ he said. ‘I sure appreciate it.’