Texas Drive

by Bill Dugan

  “Thanks, Cookie.”

  The old man reached out to squeeze Ted’s forearm. Then, without asking, he turned to the triangle suspended over the tail of the wagon and started rapping it with a metal spoon. The bell, ordinarily so welcome, seemed somehow feeble with so few cattle, and so few men to tend them. The hands wandered toward the mess wagon, three on foot and three on horseback.

  They gathered around like schoolboys staring at a new teacher, wondering what new tricks they’d have to invent to get by.

  The oldest of them was no more than twenty, and probably short of that by a few months.

  “I guess you boys must be tired of hanging around,” Ted said.

  They looked at one another, but said nothing.

  Ted continued, “Anybody wants to collect his wages, you let me know. I brought enough cash to settle up with everybody. Since most of the hands are gone, I guess I can pay a bonus for anyone who wants to leave, and raise the pay of anyone who wants to stay.”

  “What’s the use of stayin’,” one of the younger men asked. “We got no damn herd.”

  “That’s true. But we can get it back.”

  “Not likely,” the kid continued.

  “It won’t be easy, I know that. But if you’re game, so am I.”

  “Johnny couldn’t hang on to it. How in hell you expect to get it back?”

  “Johnny’s dead, Buck.”

  “Hell, I know that. Fact is, he was the only thing holdin’ us together. The older guys run off, but I need the money. That’s the only reason I stayed. I don’t have no desire to get my head blowed off. Not for no damn cows.”

  Ted nodded. “Alright. How about the rest of you boys? You all feel the same way?”

  “Reckon we do, Mr. Cotton,” another of the kids said. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. “I get my pay, I guess I’ll head on back to Texas. I don’t like it here.”

  “Can’t say I blame you, Peewee. But …”

  “No buts, Mr. Cotton,” Buck said “We never even figured you to be here. Figured Rafe would come back with our pay.”

  “Why didn’t you think I’d come?”

  “Hell, you know why. So’s ever’body else. Ain’t no secret.”

  “It is tome …”

  Buck looked for support to the other hands, but they were busy looking at the ground, watching their toes scratch blunt lines in the dirt. He hitched up his belt and sucked his teeth for a moment. “I was there in Breakneck. Maybe you forgot about that, but I didn’t. And I know sure as hell Tommy Dawson didn’t. You like to got him killed. Some of us figure you did get Johnny killed.”

  Ted felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “You bastard,” he said, taking a step toward me kid. “You lousy bastard.”

  The kid reached for his gun, but Ted was too fast for him. He stepped in and landed a quick combination, driving Buck back on his heels. The kid had to bring his hands up to protect his face, but he was just a hair too slow. The right cross nailed him on the jaw and he went down hard. Ted stood over him, breathing through his teeth. “Get up, you sonofabitch. Get the fuck up!”

  Ted felt Cookie wrap his arms around him. He struggled to break free, but the old man had powerful hands, and he locked them together like a vise, then dragged Ted back three or four steps. “Settle down, Teddy. Settle down. The kid don’t mean nothin’ others ain’t been whisperin’ behind their hands. Least he had the guts to say it out loud.”

  Ted finally broke free. He turned on Cookie, who backed away a step and held up his hands. “Hold on, son, don’t go poppin’ at me.”

  “You’re all a bunch of lyin’ bastards,” Ted shouted. He stalked to his horse and dug into his saddlebags. A moment later, he pulled out a thick canvas bag with a drawstring. Untying the knot, he reached in and tugged out a fistful of bills and coins, threw the whole thing in the air, then walked away. Climbing into the saddle, he watched the hands scramble for the money, his tongue between his teeth.

  “We’re even. You come up short, talk to somebody who come up long. I don’t ever want to see any of you again.”

  “No need to worry about that, Cotton,” Buck said. “Conlee’ll peel your hide back and make a damn rucksack out of it.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Oh, I know it.” Buck laughed. “You know, Cotton, I was your brother, I’da shot you, ‘stead of that Comanche. Done a whole lot more good.”

  Ted pulled his Colt and cocked the hammer. Buck backed up a step, but he didn’t look frightened, just disgusted. “I thought you had the guts to use that, I reckon I’d be scared. But …”

  Ted fired once, and the bullet tore through the edge of Buck’s left boot. The kid danced on one foot, cursing at Ted and grinning. “Crazy sonofabitch. You ought to have your head blowed off. I reckon Conlee can handle it, though.”

  “Sure as hell know you can’t, Buck,” Ted said. “Now get out of here before I drill you a third eye.”

  Buck danced away, reluctant to put his full weight on the foot. He wasn’t hurt, but this time he was scared. Ted didn’t blame him, he was frightened of himself, wondering whether he would shoot Buck or if it was all just some crazy bluff. Not knowing was the scary part.

  “Teddy,” Cookie said, “I don’t think that was such a good idea.”

  “I liked it.”

  “You got enough troubles without turnin’ ever’-body agin you. You can’t handle this by yourself. You know it and I know it.”

  “No, Cookie. I don’t know it. In fact, I think I have to handle it by myself. I think that’s the only way to handle it.”

  “I sure hope you know what yer doin’.”

  “Me, too, Cookie. But I’ll tell you one thing. If I don’t, it ain’t gonna matter a hell of a lot.”

  16

  TED SCOURED THE countryside for three days, looking for some lead to get him on Conlee’s trail. Cookie stayed on, and he used the old man as a touchstone. They camped beside the mess wagon, after cutting the cattle loose and hauling the wagon about four miles to a nearby creek. Summer was dying quickly, and Ted was only too conscious that the first snow would be due in two months, at the outside.

  On his daily forays, he saw the kind of evidence O’Hara had warned him about. Ruined homesteads, burned to the ground, sometimes rock chimneys the only things left standing. Barns turned to ashes. And always, the ashes were cold. He had found plenty of evidence of Ralph Conlee, but not a single clue to his present whereabouts.

  He was beginning to feel like he was cursed from the outset. He lay awake half the night nearly every night, wondering if he’d ever get a chance to make it up to Johnny. It seemed strange to lie there, seeing his brother’s face so clearly, and knowing that he’d never touch him again, never slap him on the shoulder or shake his hand. He wished he’d had a chance to say good-bye, but that wasn’t in the cards. He thought about asking Cookie to take him to the grave, but he wasn’t sure he could stand it.

  He needed every ounce of energy to concentrate on the work at hand. If he allowed the past to distract him, he might meet Johnny again a whole lot sooner than he’d care to. And Jacob paid him a visit now and then, looking like some avenging angel, wagging a finger under his nose. The old Quaker’s voice, deep as thunder and wavering like some ghost in a play, terrified him. It was so real, he’d wake up talking to Jacob, asking him what to do, or arguing with the old man, explaining how Johnny wouldn’t rest until Conlee paid for what he’d done.

  But in the morning, it was deathly still. There was never a footprint in the dew, never a bent blade of grass. He’d been alone, as he knew he had, but …

  And Cookie kept an eye on him, the way Rafe had always done. He’d try to teach him things without lecturing. Sometimes Ted listened, and sometimes he saw through the old man’s intention. When that happened, he’d pretend to listen, to spare Cookie’s feelings. He wasn’t sure he was getting anywhere, and there were times when he felt that he might just as well be locked up in a jail cell somewhere. He fou
nd walls no matter which way he turned.

  But on the fourth day, he got lucky. Smoke on the horizon brought him at a full gallop. It was no cooking fire. The smoke was too thick for that, and too black. It rolled up like a small thunder-head, then spread out on the wind. Something big was burning out of control.

  He cut across the plains at an angle to the road, trying for the most direct route. As he narrowed the gap, he heard gunshots. A second funnel of smoke ballooned up alongside the first. He broke over a gentle rise, and he could see the flames, a hungry orange licking at the bottom edges of the black smoke. A house and a barn had been torched.

  Charging down the slope, he saw horsemen, as many as a dozen, burst through the smoke and head toward the road. He was close enough to hear the pounding hooves now. A couple of gunshots cracked from somewhere behind the smoke, but the riders ignored them.

  Ted was torn. Obviously, someone was still alive, somewhere in the middle of the inferno. He didn’t want to lose the trail of the raiders, but he couldn’t let anyone stay in that raging holocaust. He charged for the larger of the two burning buildings. The squeals of terrified animals coiled up with the smoke. Ted dismounted in the open yard between house and barn.

  “Anybody there?” he called.

  No one answered, but it dawned on him that anyone inside might be afraid he was one of the raiders come back. He charged to the house and ripped open the front door. A wave of heat slammed him in the face. He could feel his skin withering and he backed away. Dropping to the floor, he tried to look in under the heavy cloud of smoke belching from the open door.

  He crawled close, poking his head through the doorway. He could still feel searing heat on his head and shoulders, but it wasn’t as bad as the first time.

  “Anyone there?” he called again.

  Again he got no answer, but as he was about to back away, he heard a thump from somewhere deep inside the boiling cloud. He tried to crawl inside, but the heat was too much for him. The smoke was thickening and slowly lowering toward the floor.

  Backing out, he ran around the side of the house, looking for a window. He could see nothing through the first one. At the second, he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Ted tried to raise the window, but it wouldn’t budge. Standing back, he planted a foot on the glass and pushed. The glass cracked, then fell into the house. Another wave of heat spewed out through the broken glass. Ted used the butt of his Colt to knock more glass from the frame, then leaned in. The smoke wasn’t as thick here, but it soon would be.

  On the floor, partially wreathed in smoke, he saw what might have been a bundle of rags. He stared at it for a moment, uncertain whether he had seen it move. As he was about to pull away from the window, he heard a moan. It might have been the bundle, but he wasn’t sure. Ted knocked the rest of the glass loose, then hoisted one leg in through the window. He could feel the heat through his dungarees.

  Inside, he dropped to the floor and bunched his handkerchief over his nose and mouth with one hand. Using his free hand to grope ahead of him in the thickening smoke, he felt his fingertips brush the cloth. Stretching out full length on the floor, he was able to grab enough of the cloth to tug on it with his fingers. It resisted, and he pushed deeper into the cloud. This time he was able to close his hand over part of the bundle. It was too heavy for a pile of rags.

  Pulling it toward him, he rose to his knees, still covering his nose and mouth. The acrid smoke made his eyes water and he was afraid he’d lost his sense of direction. Jerking the bundle against his knees, he let the handkerchief go and lifted with both hands. Ted staggered toward the window, now just a gray smear in the smoke. The heat swirled around him, and smoke billowed, and he could feel the rush of hot air pass him.

  Ted found the window again, but his lungs felt as if they were ready to burst. Leaning against the wall, he dumped the bundle through the opening, then leaned forward. He gulped for air, but there was too much smoke and he fell forward. He was conscious of landing hard, then his head started to swim.

  He coughed and his head ached as he tried to crawl away from the burning house. Ted dragged the bundle behind him, but his eyes hurt too much to open, and he still wasn’t sure who or what he had dragged from the flames.

  Lying on his stomach, he felt his guts heave, and he turned to one side, waiting for his breakfast to spew out. Convulsions racked him, but nothing came up. He gulped air through his mouth, swallowing it like cold water. Every mouthful burned, but he kept on, coughing and hacking to clear his lungs.

  He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to, he felt as if he were spinning slowly on some kind of revolving platform. The sky swam across his vision, and the black smoke pulsed toward him, backed away, then came down as if to swallow him again.

  His hands hurt, and the skin of his neck and face felt like it had been peeled away with a skinning knife.

  Slowly his head started to clear. He became conscious of a low moan somewhere near him. He reached out with a hand, still having difficulty opening his eyes. He found the bundle and realized it was a small person, probably a child. With a roar, the rafters of the barn gave way and the roof collapsed. He turned to look, but saw only a blur. The nearest wall sagged inward, and as Ted watched through watery eyes, it fell, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

  He wiped at his eyes with a sleeve. Turning on his stomach, he looked around, hoping to spot a well. He found a horse trough, over near the barn. It was close to the flames, but he thought he could get to it. Staggering toward it, he ripped off his shirt. At the trough, he plunged the shirt into the water and wrapped it around his head. The water was warm, but it soothed his skin. He let the water run down over his chest and shoulders, then scooped a handful to rinse his eyes. He could see a little better now and spotted a pail at one end of the trough.

  Scooping a pailful of water, he staggered back to the crumpled bundle. Ted emptied the pail of water, and the ball uncurled. He could see it was a girl about twelve or thirteen years old. She lay on her back now, and Ted knelt beside her.

  Mopping at her with the soaking shirt, he patted her cheeks. “Come on, honey, wake up,” he whispered.

  The girl moaned, and he patted her cheeks again. She stopped moaning, then darted straight up. The scream cut through him like a razor. It started high and went higher still, in one long, shuddering shriek.

  “It’s alright, honey, it’s alright,” he said.

  “Papa, where’s Papa, where’s Papa?” She turned to him, blinking away the water streaming from her hair. “I want my papa.” She broke off in a fit of coughing. He thought for a moment she was going to gag, but she fought it off.

  She screamed again, then buried her face in her hands.

  “What happened, darlin’?”

  She shook her head, mumbling something into her hands. Ted didn’t catch it, and she wouldn’t repeat it when he asked.

  “Is your father here somewhere?”

  She lowered her hands, tilted her head toward him in spasmodic jerks, like some sort of wading bird. Her eyes were bulging and her mouth moved in silent terror.

  “Where’s your father?” Ted repeated.

  She pointed to the house.

  “Your father’s in the house?”

  She nodded. “In the house.”

  Ted shook his head. There was no way in hell he could get back inside. The roof was already sagging on its beams. Smoke poured from every window, leaving thick clots of soot on the outside walls above them. Flames already licked at the window frames from inside.

  The girl tried to get up, and Ted reached out to hold her down. She turned to him. “I have to get Papa.”

  “Honey, you can’t go in there.”

  “I have to.”

  “It’s too late.” As if to underline the truth of his words, the roof caved in with a shudder. The girl screamed again, scratching at Ted’s hands to get loose. He held on and she stopped struggling. Looking into his face,
she seemed to be asking him what had happened.

  Ted noticed that one cheek was badly bruised, and a lip had been split. A thin trickle of blood, almost dry, ran from a corner of her mouth and down her chin. She seemed to realize what he was looking at and wiped at her chin with a torn sleeve. The blood came away in flakes.

  He realized all her clothing had been torn. Her dress, now soaked from the trough water, had been ripped down the front. She grew conscious of his gaze and tugged the tatters around her. Hugging herself tightly, she started to rock back and forth.

  “What happened in there?” Ted asked. “Before the fire?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Ted snapped. “Did they hurt you?”

  She seemed confused by the question. Staring at him with wide eyes, she shook her head again, this time with less conviction.

  “They did, didn’t they?”

  She looked at the ground.

  “It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault”

  “They …”

  “Never mind, darlin’. It’s going to be alright. They’ll pay for it, I promise you.”

  She shook her head again, this time vigorously.

  “Does anyone else live here with you?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “Dead.” She looked at him again. “Like Papa.”

  Ted stood, then reached down to help her up. She refused at first, cringing away from his hand. He dropped to one knee and put an arm around her shoulders. She tried to shrink away, but he held on, pulling her close. She collapsed suddenly, throwing herself into his arms and sobbing.

  “Come on,” he said. “We have to get you somewhere safe.”

  “There is no safe place. Not here. Not without Papa …”

  “We’ll see about that,” Ted said.

  17

  TED TRIED TO get the girl to talk to him, but she just ignored him completely. Nothing worked, small talk, stern interrogation, pleading. No matter how he tried to break through to her, she just stared back at him from eyes that seemed to grow deeper by the second as she retreated further and further into herself. She watched the world, but no longer cared to be part of it.