“Oh, Billy…! I—I don’t know! It all sounds so mixed up. What you say—what Jase says. I—I’m confused, Billy. I can’t think.”
“Would it make it any simpler,” he asked quietly, “if we just forgot what’s happened—the war and all—and began where we left off?”
She clung to his hand, pressing it to her as if to find reassurance in his closeness. He could feel the warmth of her body against his hand, the quick pulsing of her heart under the soft roundness of her breast. He leaned toward her.
Suddenly she broke away, leaning back away from the window. Her breath came in short gasps. “Oh, Billy! I—I can’t answer that. The way I feel now, I…”
“You what, Mary?”
“I—I don’t know, Billy. Six years—it’s such a long time. There were days when I wondered if I’d ever see you again. Days when I wondered if all that had been between us before hadn’t been just a dream. You—you didn’t write. I had no way of knowing. For all I knew you’d forgotten me entirely.”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her what he wanted to. Tell her about the nights he’d lain awake, thinking of her, wondering…
“Is it because of the way Jase feels?”
She shivered ever so lightly. “Oh, Billy—Jason has changed so much since the war. He’s so bitter about everything that’s happened to the South—to Texas. No markets for cattle, the way the carpetbaggers have moved in and taken over. He hates anybody and anything that has anything to do with the North. He…” She paused, her eyes searching his in the faint light.
Billy saw the meaning there and finished what she was about to say.
“He hates me in particular—isn’t that what you were about to say?”
She buried her face in her hands once more and began crying again. “It’s—it’s terrible! It scares me sometimes, the way he talks about you. He goes—goes kind of crazy. I’m afraid, Billy, that he might try to k…”
She scrambled to her feet and laid a warning hand on his arm. “Listen!” she whispered.
Billy heard it plainly then. The movement of the doorknob to her room. She gave his arm a shove. “You’ve got to get out of here, quickly!”
He hesitated. If he left now and Jase found out he’d been to see her…Still, if he could get away without being noticed…
“Mary!” It was Jase’s voice.
Billy pulled back into the shadows, flattening himself against the house. He heard Mary cross to the door and unlock it.
“What’s the matter, Jase?”
“Were you talking in your sleep again?”
“I—I don’t know, Jason. What makes you think…?” Billy wondered whether to risk staying where he was or to try to slip around the corner of the house. It would be risky either way—not so much for him, but for Mary.
“I could’ve swore I heard you talking,” Jase was saying. “What’s more, I thought I heard a man’s voice, too.”
“You—you must have imagined it, Jase. Why I…”
“Was it Condo?” Jase’s voice was an angry growl.
Billy stiffened against the wall of the house, his right hand closing over the hardwood grips of the .44.
“Jason—please! You’re hurting my arm! What—what ever gave you such an idea? Why would he…?”
Billy heard Jase’s footsteps crossing the floor towards the window. He slipped quickly along the wall. Out of sight around the corner he stopped to listen again. After a while he heard Jase’s voice and Mary’s answering. But he couldn’t make out what was being said. Then he heard the door slam and everything was quiet. He started across the yard in a running crouch. Once across the fence, he stopped in the shadows and looked back. He thought he could see Mary standing just inside the room, slightly back from the window, looking out. But he couldn’t be sure. For an instant he felt a consuming desire to go back to her, to take her to him… But reason took hold of him and he knew the time was not now. He turned quietly and made his way back to where he’d left the dun.
* * * *
The moon was down by the time he rode back up the box canyon toward the little spring. He felt bone-weary, and the dun seemed glad to have the saddle off and the chance to graze and rest. Billy put a side-line on him and let him go, knowing the green grass around the spring wouldn’t let him go far. Then he dumped his bedroll among the trees and was soon asleep.
He was awakened at noon by the sunlight streaming through an opening in the branches overhead. Squinting in the sudden brightness, he sat up and yawned. It had been a long time, he was thinking, since he’d wakened with the sun so high.
He rolled a cigarette while his eyes searched the slope of the box canyon for a sign of the dun. A movement in a bunch of juniper a hundred yards away told him where the horse stood dozing in the shade, swishing lazily at the flies.
Billy flipped the cigarette into the ashes of last night’s fire and stood up. At the edge of the spring pool he knelt and sloshed water on his face, feeling the tingle of its coolness. Then he filled the tin cup with water and started a fire for breakfast, wishing he’d brought along coffee and a pot. Jerky and beans was all he’d stuffed in the war sack on leaving the Circle 8.
While he ate, his mind ran back to the night before. There was no doubt, now, that Mary’s actions toward him, from the very beginning, had been the result of Jase’s influence. He understood her, uncertainty of their relationship. He could even sympathize with her, remembering how he himself had waited and wondered through the long years they’d been apart. But that was a natural thing—it took time for a girl to get used to the idea of seeing a man she hadn’t known was alive or dead for six years. A man who might have forgotten her, for all she knew. And his return had been unexpected, unannounced. There, again, given time, the situation would work itself out. Of that much he felt confident.
The catch was Jase. He had filled Mary’s mind with his poison hatred through the years, and even though she could never share that hatred it was bound to have its effect on her. There were doubts there that would be hard to remove. Doubts about the past—about Billy having fought on what she instinctively felt was the wrong side. Doubts about the future—about the life they might have together if she married a man who would be an outcast in his own land, shunned by people who had long been her neighbors and friends.
What could he do about it? He wished to God he knew.
He shook his head and rolled another cigarette. This wasn’t what he’d expected to come back to. Not at all. During those long, dreary nights of the war he’d lain awake and dreamed his dreams. They’d been dreams of coming home to a country prospering in peace. And, maybe, after a little time, of asking Mary to marry him and building a little place…
The shrill whinny of the dun shattered his reverie.
He stood up, every nerve tingling, his hand flashing instinctively to the smooth walnut butt of the .44. An answering whinny sounded from the other end of the canyon, down where it led up from the flat along the river. Billy ran over and squatted behind the biggest of the cottonwoods.
Right away he thought of Jase Thornhill’s suspicions of the night before. If Jase had thought it over and looked around this morning—well, Billy hadn’t taken any pains to cover his trail. It would be easy to follow. And if Jase had…
Billy thought about what Mary had said about her brother, and it worried him. He wouldn’t put anything past Jase anymore—not even killing his own sister, the way the man’s mind seemed to have gone. Billy swore quietly and checked the loading of his .44.
Minutes passed.
The dun whinnied again, and again came the answer—closer now. It could be mustangs, he thought. That eased his mind a little. Although he hadn’t seen wild horse signs lately, he knew they could be here.
He was watching the turn of the canyon when the horse came into view. It was carrying a rider—a man who kept running his eyes up and dow
n the canyon and then leaning over in the saddle to look down at the trail. Billy’s trail.
CHAPTER NINE
The rider came on, stopping only when he was near the box end of the canyon, less than fifty yards from where Billy was waiting. When the dun came out of the junipers and stood looking at the stranger’s horse Billy was kicking himself for not having kept the animal saddled and close. But then he took a good look at the man.
It wasn’t Jase Thornhill.
It wasn’t Ackerman, either. But then, Jase could have sent anybody. Billy was relieved to see the man carried no saddle gun. At least they were even there.
If it came to a fight, the stranger had the advantage of being mounted. Billy knew a lot would depend on how everything started. Without the dun, he would be at the mercy of the man on the horse—as long as the stranger chose to wait. If it came to a showdown…
He saw the man looking down at the trail again. The tracks here would be a little confused. The stranger would know his quarry couldn’t be far away. Maybe he’d seen what little smoke came from the chip fire. Even though that was out now, it could only have come from the box end of the canyon—Billy knew the man had figured that much. He cocked the .44 and waited.
The stranger rode on a few yards, then stopped and dismounted. Billy could see he was a tall man, about middle age. Something about the stranger’s rig caught his eye and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it sooner. There was a bedroll and war sack behind the cantle. It wouldn’t be likely that one of Jase’s men would be carrying all that equipment. Chances were, then, that this man was moving through. Still…
All of a sudden the man opened his mouth and bellowed, “Hallo, there! Anybody home?”
It took Billy by surprise. There was only one way to settle things. He stepped quickly from behind the tree.
“Get your hands up, pronto!”
It was the stranger’s turn to be surprised. His mouth opened a little, then he slowly raised his hands over his head, letting his mount’s reins drop to the ground.
“Easy, fella,” he said uneasily to Billy. “I come peaceable.”
“You seemed mighty interested in my trail,” Billy said evenly.
The man looked down at the gun, then up at Billy’s face. “Son, if you’re on the dodge, just let me turn my pony around and I’ll forget we ever met. I’m just down from Kansas and saw your track and the smoke from down on the river. Thought I’d ride up and ask for information.”
Billy looked the man over again. He’d never seen anybody that looked like this around Jase’s place. But that was no guarantee. Still, from the looks of his clothes he’d been on the trail awhile.
“Kansas?” Billy said suspiciously.
“Now look, son,” the man said quickly, “I’m not a federal marshal, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”
Billy had to grin. “I’m not on the dodge, mister. It’s just that a man has to be careful who he associates with down here, that’s all.”
“Then if you’ll let me put my hands down before my arms drop off, I can dig in my belongings there and show you a letter that proves what I’m here for.”
“Afraid I’ll have to ask you to unbuckle your gun first,” Billy apologized.
The man shrugged his shoulders, then reached down and let his gun belt drop to the ground. He stepped out of it and walked over to his horse.
“Just a minute,” Billy said quickly. “People can carry derringers in places like that. Mind if I look.”
The man looked at him a minute, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Son, if you ain’t on the dodge, then you’re just naturally the most suspicious human I ever run acrost.” He nodded to the war sack. “Pull ’er open. The letter’s on top.”
Keeping his eye on the still-grinning stranger, Billy fumbled with the drawstrings on the war sack. His hand felt the paper and he pulled it out. Between glances to make sure the stranger stood still, he managed to read it.
When he’d finished he looked at the man with a quizzical expression. “Mister,” he said slowly, “if what this letter says is true, then you’re the most welcome man in Texas since Sam Houston!”
The stranger smiled again. “Nice to hear you say that, son, but I’d come a whole lot nearer believin’ it if you’d put away that gun.”
Billy smiled back. He stuck the .44 away and held out his hand. “My name’s Condo—Billy Condo.”
“Ed Sheff—of Abilene, Kansas.”
They shook hands.
Billy jerked his thumb in the direction of the spring. “I ain’t got much but jerky and beans—but you’re welcome to share. There’s good grass and water. I’d like to ask you a few questions after you’ve unsaddled.”
While Sheff led his horse to the spring, Billy followed and asked, “So this Joe McCoy has built this place in Abilene just to draw the Texas cattle trade, eh?”
Sheff lay belly down and replied between gulps of water. “Yep…yards for cattle…hotel…everythin’.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a long way. Up through Indian Territory to boot.”
Sheff wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “It ain’t a bad trail. Good water if you scout it right. The Comanche won’t bother you—unless to stop and beg a head of beef or two. Seems the guv’ment never gives ’em enough beef.”
Billy was thinking—about a lot of things. “I know a little of the country through there. When my folks came out here from Louisiana, before the war, my dad had an idea he’d like to settle in Kansas. I made two trips up that way with him. Each time, though, he got homesick for this Panhandle country. Last time was eight years ago. But I might be able to remember the way as I go along.”
Sheff loosened both cinches on his double-rig, but left it on. “I won’t be stayin’ long,” he explained. “Just enough to rest up a bit.” He squatted on the ground and cocked an eye at Billy. “You got a herd you’d like to move?”
Billy shook his head. “I know somebody who has, though. I was just thinkin’ of makin’ the drive.”
Sheff picked up a stick and began to trace lines in the dirt. “You’d have no trouble if you’ve been up that way before, like you say. It ain’t far—two hundred fifty miles at most. McCoy figures we’ll draw cattle all the way from the Gulf and along the border. I’m goin’ down that way now to spread the word. You fellas up in the Panhandle can get the jump on the rest.”
Billy watched the lines Sheff was drawing. “Only a couple of rivers between here and Abilene, if I remember rightly.”
“That’s right. The Cimarron and the Arkansas. But they’re not hard to cross, except sometimes in spring.”
“I wasn’t thinkin’ of the crossing,” Billy told him. “I was thinkin’ of water.”
“There’s plenty of water,” Sheff assured him. “All you have to do is scout far enough ahead to plan your stops. You’ll have one or two long stretches between water, but if you start early and drive late you can reach water every night out.”
A thought occurred to Billy. “Have you stopped at any outfits hereabouts?”
“I found one up the line a piece. Maybe you know it. Run by a man named Thornhill.”
Billy only nodded. “That the only one?”
“Yes. Thornhill told me the next ranch he knew of lay five or ten miles south of the Canadian. That’s why I followed your tracks in here, to ask the way.”
Billy was thinking that sounded like a trick Jase would pull. If it hadn’t been for Sheff stumbling in here like this it might have been months before Thad Harper had any idea there was a market for cattle up in Kansas. He swore beneath his breath as he thought of the riders Thad would be turning loose. Maybe there would still be time…
Billy stood up suddenly. “Glad I met up with you, Sheff,” he said, extending his hand. “If I’m going to get a herd on the trail to Abilene I’d better move. The outfit I worked for j
ust started to let its riders go because it couldn’t find a cattle market. Maybe I can get there before they’re all gone.”
Sheff shook hands. “I’ll be movin’ along, too. By the way, I never did ask you the way to those places south of the Canadian.”
Billy told him of three outfits he knew that might be interested.
Sheff thanked him and said, “Mind tellin’ me what outfit you aim to go up trail with?—y’see, McCoy gives me a bonus for every one I contact that comes to Abilene.”
“Sure,” Billy told him. “Circle 8. Thad Harper is the name of the man who…”
“Wait a minute,” Sheff interrupted, fishing a piece of paper from his shirt. “Seems to me that’s the brand this fella Thornhill named. Are you sure you don’t mean…?”
Billy’s eyes narrowed. “Thornhill told you that?”
Sheff looked at the paper and nodded. “Yep. Got it right here. Thornhill says his regular brand is Lazy S, but that he’ll trail brand his cows for Abilene with a Circle 8. That’s easy to do with a runnin’ iron I guess and…”
“Too damn easy!” Billy exploded, picking up his saddle and starting for where the dun was cropping grass by the spring. Over his shoulder he said, “You can tell your boss to expect Circle 8 cows in Abilene all right, but they won’t be brought in by a man named Thornhill.”
Sheff stood scratching his head and glancing at the paper in his hand. “Damned if I don’t think this hot sun does somethin’ to these Texas people,” he mumbled under his breath.
The dun saw the saddle and started to skitter away, but the sideline hobbled him to a clumsy walk. Billy dumped his rig and picked the rope off it, shaking out a loop as he walked. He threw easily, and the dun was led back to the saddle. When Billy had tightened the rig and tied his war sack and bedroll on behind he turned once more to Sheff.
“One more thing,” he said with a grin, “next time we meet up, I promise not to make it so hard for us to get introduced.”
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