The Big Country

by Donald Hamilton

  The man shook his head. “The Major did not ride south, Señor, nor did Señor Leech. They had some talk, they waited for the Señorita to dress and join them, they rode north. to look at the herd at Caballo Springs.”

  “I see,” McKay said. He swung around to look at the corral again. “The yellowish horse,” he said. “The buckskin, I guess you’d say. Over in the corner. Has it got a name?"

  "They call it Old Thunder, Señor."

  "And what do they call you?"

  “Ramon, Señor.’ Ramon Gutierrez.” “Well, Ramon,” McKay said, “I’m going to ask a favor of you. I want you to help me be a damn fool. I want you to put a saddle on that beast over there. Can you do it alone, or do you need help to hold him?"

  The old Mexican studied McKay for a lengthy moment. "You did not ride this horse this morning, Señor McKay," he said quietly.

  "You know that, do you? I suppose everybody on the place does. Well, I did not wish to ride the horse this morning and get thrown off it for Señor Leech's satisfaction, Ramon. But I wish to ride it this afternoon and get thrown off it for my own satisfaction."

  "I will saddle the horse," the old man said. "A word of advice, Señor McKay." It would be well to change. You might get those fine clothes dirty."

  McKay grinned briefly. “I might break my fine neck, too. If I do I’ll deserve it. All right, if you can scare up an old shirt and a pair of trousers for me, I'll change in the barn while you're saddling the brute. But let's hurry it up, Ramon. I don’t want an audience for this display of stupidity and poor horsemanship.”

  When he came out of the barn, Ramon had already separated the buckskin horse from its companions and led it into a smaller, independent enclosure, where he was now working over it. The horse stood quite still except for the occasional twitching of an ear. McKay climbed through the bars of the fence.

  “Any advice will be appreciated, Ramon,” he said.

  The Mexican did not look around. “One man cannot tell another how to make love to a reluctant woman or how to ride an unwilling horse, Señor.” He pulled the cinches tight, tested them. carefully, and stepped back. “It is not a man-killing horse,” he said. “It will not bite or deliberately trample you. But there are few on this ranch who have ridden it. Steve Leech. The Major-”

  “Isn’t he rather old for that?”

  “It’s a matter of pride with him. He will not have a horse on his ranch that he cannot ride.”

  McKay said dryly, stepping forward, “Well, I hope the yellow devil gives me time to find the other stirrup. Not that I expect it to do me much good. All right, cast off, I’m aboard.”

  He sat for a moment in the saddle, feeling the sun hot on his bare head as he tested various ways of getting a grip with his knees on the animal under him. The stirrups seemed too long, but he had noticed that everyone out here used them long. Perhaps there was a reason. The horn in front of him was a temptation, but he was aware that it was not considered proper to hang onto it. Seconds passed, and nothing happened. He drew a long breath, lifted the reins, and kicked the horse in the flank.

  “Giddap, Dobbin,” he said.

  The animal laid its ears back and did not move. McKay was aware that Ramon had climbed the fence and was sitting on the top rail rolling a cigarette. There was no expression on the old Mexican’s face. McKay slapped at his mount with the reins and kicked again. There was no response from the horse. He started to kick a third time. Just as he had his heels out, with no grip on the saddle whatsoever, the animal exploded beneath him, tossing him up and aside. He landed on his shoulder in the dust, which did not appreciably soften the hard, sun-baked surface beneath.

  Picking himself up, he glanced at Ramon, who had put his tobacco away and was now licking the, cigarette paper and forming the tube between his fingers, apparently absorbed in the task. McKay spat the dust out of his mouth, and went over to the buckskin horse, picked up the trailing reins, put a foot in the stirrup, and swung himself up. This time the animal gave him no time at all, but humped itself in the middle before he had fully reached the saddle. Clinging to the horn, which seemed legitimate since he had never released it, he weathered the first jump. He tried for the far stirrup and missed. The second eruption threw him further off balance, and he let himself go, pushed clear, hit the ground rolling.

  Ramon had struck a match and was lighting his peculiarly shaped cigarette. McKay wiped his hands on-his trousers and walked up to the horse again. It was getting warmed up now, and it stepped around a little, nervously, while he was mounting, but let him get fully astride, with his feet in both stirrups, before it went into action. McKay was never quite sure what form the action took. The animal seemed to be several feet off the ground, hinged in the middle, and kicking at both ends. For a space of seconds he managed to keep his balance despite the fact that his contacts with the saddle were brief and violent. Then a number of things, none identifiable, happened at once, and he went flying Over the buckskin’s head and struck the earth hard enough that it was some time before he could breathe properly. When he got to his feet, Ramon was holding Old Thunder.

  “That’s enough, Señor,” the old man said. “The Major will hold me responsible if you get hurt.”

  McKay said, “I came out here to ride that brute. I'm a stubborn man, Ramon. I’m going to ride him if it takes all day.”

  "But-"

  McKay drew a deep breath and looked directly at the older man. “I’m, not qualified to give orders around here yet, Ramon. I ask it as a favor. I’ve got to do this one stupid thing, don’t you see? For myself. So that when I’m asked to do other stupid things of more importance I'll have the good sense to refuse.”

  The Mexican hesitated, and nodded. McKay walked around him, put his foot in the stirrup, and reached for the saddle horn for the fourth time... Later, he could never remember how many more times he went through the same motions. It became a kind of grim and deadly rhythm, so that when the end came it caught him by surprise. He found himself sitting peacefully on the back of a sweating horse that was making no further effort to dislodge him. He cut at the beast with the reins and kicked it hard. It began to trot around the corral in a docile fashion. He checked it and dismounted. Ramon came forward to take the reins.

  McKay found it difficult to walk straight to the pump in the yard. He concentrated on the tin dipper, first rinsing it out, then filling it with water and drinking deeply. He felt dazed and shaken and very dirty, and he had no-particular sense of satisfaction. He was relatively young for a man, and the horse was relatively old for a horse, and there was no great credit due him for having the greater endurance. Well, he thought wryly, that’s over. He pulled off the remains of the borrowed shirt, soaked the cloth with water, and began to clean himself.

  “I owe you a shirt,” he said as Ramon came up. He glanced down at himself. “A pair of pants, too, I guess.”

  “It is of no importance,” the Mexican said. “You are a very stubborn man, Señor McKay. Here, let me assist you-"

  He worked the pump, while McKay washed. The cold water was refreshing, and the distance from the pump to the barn was easier to negotiate than the distance from the corral to the pump had been. Dressed in his own clothes again, McKay returned to where the old man was hanging up the saddle. "

  “This is just between the two of us, remember,” he said.

  Ramon looked around. “The Señorita would like to know,” he said. “She would be pleased.”

  McKay said, “The, Señorita is presumably not marrying me for my horsemanship. I can’t see where the fact that I can climb on a horse more times than the horse can throw me off would be of interest to her. And I didn’t do it to impress the Señorita or anybody else except, possibly, myself. In fact, right now I couldn’t tell you exactly why I did it. Which is all the more reason for keeping it quiet.”

  “Very well, Señor.”

  “And now, if I may trouble you for one more favor,” McKay said, “will you throw that saddle on a horse that doesn�
��t object to me quite so vigorously, and get me a blanket, a little food, and a bottle of water, and draw approximate map of the country-”

  “You’re going for a ride, Señor McKay? I’ll guide you.”

  “I’m going for a ride alone,” McKay said. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer, though. And please restrain my host from turning the neighborhood upside down looking for me if I’m not back by evening. I’ve found my way home across some fairly large oceans, with a little luck, I think I can manage to survive Texas as well.”

  Chapter 10

  IN THE MORNING, Rufus Hannesey, a big man whose red beard was touched with white that made the tobacco stains more noticeable, came out on the sagging porch of his house and stood for a moment blinking at the sunlight. Blanco Canyon was already noisy with children and dogs. Surrounded by high, protecting walls of white rock, it was an impregnable fortress of a place. Hannesey smiled grimly at the thought, and stopped smiling abruptly. He snapped his fingers, and a couple of boys near by stopped their pay and looked around.

  “Young Rufus back yet?” he asked the nearest.

  “Came in late last night.”

  “Tell him I want him.”

  The boy scrambled to his feet and ran off, his shaggy red hair bright in the sunlight. Hannesey stood looking out at the cluster of ramshackle buildings grouped on a clay slope from which all signs of vegetation had long since been worn away. Set in spectacular surroundings as it was, it nevertheless looked a great deal like the miserable place in the eastern mountains where he had been born. A man could run as far as he liked, but he could never leave himself behind.

  “I didn’t tell you to go beating up strangers, Young Rufus,” he said as Buck Hannesey stepped up to the porch.

  "The boys had their business in town all finished, Monday. I had you stay the hell out of that because I didn’t trust your temper. Who told you to take them back and make trouble?”

  Buck looked surprised. “Hell, I just mussed up the dude a little. You want to keep pushing at them, don’t you?”

  “Not twice in one day, you fool!” Hannesey swung about to face his son. “That’s a stupid, hotheaded old man up there at Ladder, I can play him like a fiddle. These gentlemen are all alike in their arrogance. I’ve let him come busting in here twice and he thinks there’s nothing to it. Him and that cocky segundo of his, they think they’ve got the Hanneseys buffaloed. Any time they get mad enough, they’ll come riding again, all bright-eyed and bush-tailed, to teach us good manners. Do you understand? And if they come before I’m ready for them because you couldn’t mind your own business, I’ll take the hide off you behind in little strips, boy. I’ll say how hard you push and how often, so keep that damn pistol holstered until I tell you to use it, hear? Hell, you might have killed the dude. How’d you know how thick his skull was? If he’d died, I’d have ridden you over to Las Lomas myself and turned you over to the sheriff for murder. You got that clear now or you want I should say it again?”

  Buck started to speak rebelliously, but checked himself. “It’s clear,” he said in a sullen voice.

  Hannesey laughed and pushed at his son’s shoulder with his fist. “Don’t waste time figuring how you’re going to lick me, boy. Save it for the others, you’ll be needing it soon. And another thing, stay away from the schoolteacher now. You’re making us look foolish, hanging around her. I only meant for you to give her mind a push in a certain direction, not to move in and make yourself at home. I’ve got other plans for her.”

  The younger man’s head came up quickly. “Then you’d better change them!” Rufus Hannesey looked at his son with some surprise. “Well,” he said softly, “I’ll be damned!”

  Buck Hannesey brought the revolver from his hip with a conjuring movement and set it spinning about his fore-finger, forward and back, watching it. "The hell with her," he said. "What gives her the right to look at a man the way she does."

  The whirling revolver stopped and discharged with a clap of sound and a cloud of white smoke. Dust flew within a foot of a white rock across the yard.

  “Watch out for the kids, damn it,” the older man said, with sudden annoyance. “Put that thing away. You’re always fooling with a pistol. Put it away, I say!”

  Receiving no immediate obedience, he reached out to seize either the gun hand or the weapon itself. The gesture brought an instant and violent reaction. Buck Hannesey leaped aside like a great startled cat, turning so that for a moment Hannesey found himself staring into the muzzle of his son’s revolver. Then the weapon was lowered.

  “Don’t ever do that!” Buck Whispered. “I don't care if you are my pop, don’t ever do it, I tell you.”

  Hannesey glared. “Don’t try out your damn gunfighter’s temperament on me, you young pup! You’re always fooling with that damn pistol, and what the hell good is it? A man with a rifle can cut you to pieces at fifty yards, and a man with a shotgun can shoot you to rags across the room. Don’t try me, Young Rufus, or I’ll take the piece away from you and ram it down your throat.”

  Buck licked his lips. “Don’t talk like that. I don’t like to have you talk like that. No man takes my gun!”

  Hannesey looked at his son for a long moment, and suddenly he was a little afraid. It was like seeing his own youth in a distorted mirror. There was the same driving force here, the same urge for recognition that he had once felt, but here it was all directed to the skill and speed of that bony right hand. Hannesey thought, Why, the boy’s gun-mean, he’s got killing on his mind. If it isn’t knocked out of him soon, he’ll break loose for sure and wind up getting himself shot down in the street like a mad dog.

  He forced a laugh. “Let me show you what I mean, boy. I’ll play along with you, just this once. Shuck the rest of the loads out of that toy.” He drew his own revolver, removed the cartridges, returned the weapon to the holster, and waited until the younger man had followed suit. “Now, Young Rufus, let’s see how good you are. If you can get the drop on your old man, maybe he’ll buy you a new- Wait a minute, who’s that riding in?”

  Buck Hannesey, from the tense crouch into which he had fallen. threw an irritable glance in the direction his father indicated. In the same instant, Hannesey flung the handful of cartridges at his face. Instinctively, Buck threw up an arm to ward off the heavy, gleaming missiles. Hannesey drew his empty pistol almost deliberately and rammed the muzzle into his son’s side.

  “You see what I mean, Young Rufus?” he said casually, stepping back. “Maybe you’re young Mister Lightning himself, boy, but that speed’s only worth something if you can talk some fool into trying to match it, gun for gun. I wouldn’t match draws with you or Steve Leech or any other young fool who practices out by the barn by the hour, any more than I’d match strikes with a rattlesnake. I don't need to, it's easier to use my brains. Now put that thing away and stop looking murder at me. We was talking about your women, as I recall. You think it's fun to scare the little schoolteacher out of her wits?"

  “She don’t scare,” Buck said sullenly. “She just looks at me like I was nothing. Not a man, not a dog, not even a gun, just nothing.” He looked up with sudden anger. “And it ain’t as if she was rich or pretty, hell, she hasn’t even any family worth mentioning. She’s no better than us, is she? What’s she got to be so proud of?”

  Rufus Hannesey said, “You don’t make yourself real clear, Young Rufus. Do you want this girl, or do you just want her to honor and respect you, or what?”

  “Ah, I don’t know,” Buck said, flushing at the irony. “I just don’t like the way she looks at me. She’s got no right.”

  The older man’s eyes were thoughtful and a little sad. “You’re forgetting she’s had education, and she’s run with the Terrills, and it’s rubbed off on her. She’s been stringing us along as best she can to protect them. Poor trash like us, we’ve got to protect ourselves.” He looked Up. “By God, there are a couple of riders coming in. No, just one; the second horse packing something.”

  Buck look
ed up Warily, as if suspecting another trick. Father and Son stood on the porch watching the little procession approach. The first man had the red hair of all the Hanneseys. The second horse was led and carried a burden. Rufus Hannesey pursed his lips and spat off the edge of the porch.

  “Who’ve you got there, Cousin Clay?” he asked. “Brownie?”

  “Yeh,” the red-haired rider said. “Found him like that on his horse up the trail a piece. Couple of riders brought him down in the dark and left him there for us, by the tracks.”

  “Well, now,” Hannesey said, “see that he’s taken care of properly. He was a pretty good little man." He stood watching the burdened horse led past. After a While he turned to Buck, still standing beside him, and said in a casual voice, “You go after him and help him out, I'd better go see the widow. When he’s finished tell Cousin Clay it might be a good idea if he headed back into the breaks a little later in the day. Tell him to see how many of those bashful gents hiding out from the law he can find, have him pass the word they’ve been living off my beef long enough, I’d like a little help in return. People think we use them, I’d hate to make everybody out to be liars.” He stood for a moment in thought. Then he said, “After that, you can round up two or three of the hands that have got nothing to do, and saddle up a horse for me. We’re riding up north a piece to see a man."

  Chapter 11

  MCKAY AWOKE with the sun on his face and, after a little, sat up cautiously. The movement was just as painful as he had-expected it to be after the bruising experiences of the past two days. He yawned and sat cross-legged on the blanket looking around at the wide landscape sloping down toward the river to the east. A sparkle of morning sunlight gave life to the strip of yellow water.

  He looked for his horse, a small stocky beast colored halfway between black and brown. It was grazing peacefully where he had left it, picketed a little below him. McKay drew on his boots, gritting his teeth as various abused muscles protested the effort. He walked down to the river and washed his face and ran a comb through his hair. Now that some of the soreness was working out of him, he was aware of a sense of satisfaction.