House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman

by Gilbert, Morris

  Now he glared at his foreman. “You’ll have to get them off that claim, Ash!”

  Caudill shrugged in a casual manner. “I told you we should have bought that claim from Carlin. After we softened him up, he would have sold out cheap.”

  “So now it’s my fault?” Head demanded. He was not a man who could bear censure, but he gave Caudill more leeway than he did most men. There were two reasons for this: first, because Caudill was one of the few men he knew who was hard enough to keep the crew in line, and second, because there was some possibility that the foreman would be his son-in-law one day. These two facts gave Head pause, and he rubbed his chin. “Fact is I did plan to buy that place, just for the water. But Carlin got sore and left before I could get to him.” He stood to his feet and moved around the desk to look out the window. A group of cowboys were sitting on the top rail of the corral, yelling like Comanches as a rider tried to stay on top of a paint horse. “That all they got to do?” he muttered.

  Caudill ignored the question. “What d’ya want me to do about this new fellow? Run him out?”

  “No. We’ll go make him an offer. Come along.” Head grabbed his Stetson from the horns of a monstrous elk head and stomped out of his study. As the two of them left the house and stepped into the saddle, a young woman riding a fine mare tore around the corner of the barn and headed toward them. She pulled the mare up so abruptly that the horse threw back her head and reared her front legs in protest.

  “Diane, I told you to quit riding like a wild Indian!” Silas Head’s words were hard, but his eyes were not angry. This was his only surviving child, his wife having died five years after his daughter’s birth. There had been a son, too, but he had died in the war at Cold Harbor. Now it was too late for him to have other sons, so he had placed all his hopes of holding his empire together in Diane and the man she would marry.

  “Where you headed, Dad?” Diane smiled, patting the silken neck of her mare. She was an attractive woman of twenty-six, with black eyes and black hair, and the kind of coloring that made that combination spectacular. Her mouth was mobile and somewhat willful, which seemed to please most of the men she met. She wore a tan cotton riding outfit that clung to her body, the divided skirt permitting her to ride astride.

  “Just a ride,” Head said. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

  “She might be, Mr. Head,” Ash put in, smiling at Diane. “It’s her business. Besides, it’d give me a chance to convince her what a fine husband I’d be.”

  Diane laughed. “All right, Ash, you do that.” She swung her horse around and the three of them left the ranch, headed for the bench country. It was a long ride, but they never tired of looking over Arrow property. Ash and Diane did most of the talking, all of it in a light vein and mostly about the ranch. Ash related a story of an attempted holdup in War Paint, the small town ten miles from Arrow, and when he finished, Head asked, “Did they get the bandits?”

  “Sure did,” Caudill nodded. “Sheriff Rider was standing across the street all the time. He heard the shots inside the bank and pulled his rifle from his horse at the rack—then when the three bandits came out, he picked them off with three shots.”

  “Pretty good for an old fellow like Sheriff Rider,” Diane laughed.

  “Old?” Head snapped. “Rider’s two years younger than I am!”

  Ash winked at Diane, who smirked, “I just meant that he’s no spring chicken, Dad.”

  Head glared at her suspiciously, then said, “Me and Bill Rider stood off a bunch of Sioux two days after you was born!”

  They rode on past the Arrow herds, stopping to talk to the hands from time to time. Finally they came to the edge of the hills, and as they approached the house set at the base, Diane asked, “Isn’t that the Carlin place?”

  “Carlin left a while back,” Ash said. “Guess he sold out to this new man. Don’t know anything about him.”

  “Well, I know he’s sitting on the only water in this part of the valley,” Head snapped. “We’ve got to buy this place, or we can’t meet our contract with the army.”

  Diane looked at her father, then at Ash. “Dad, don’t lose your temper.”

  “Why would I lose my temper? I’m going to make the man an offer he can’t refuse.” He stood up in his stirrups and squinted through the blaze of the afternoon sun. “Not much of a place. We ought to get it for three or four thousand. All Carlin filed on was the section along the creek.”

  When they rode into the yard, they saw a big man standing on the porch watching them. A woman stood close by him. Pulling up to the porch, Head stepped out of the saddle, tied his horse, and spoke to the couple. “I’m Silas Head, owner of Arrow. This is my daughter, Diane, and my foreman, Ash Caudill.”

  “Willis Malloy—my wife, Hope.”

  Head had expected to be asked in, but when the offer didn’t come, he said stiffly, “Got some business to talk, Malloy. Maybe we could go inside?”

  Malloy shrugged. “Guess so—but the place ain’t much yet.” He turned and led the way inside, saying, “Hope, give these folks a drink of that water.”

  As Hope brought the water, all three of the visitors were studying the pair. Caudill and Head were sizing up the man, noting that he was a tough-looking fellow who wore his gun inside the house. There was nothing soft about him, Caudill observed, and as was second nature for him, he was wondering how fast the man could draw the weapon and get off a shot.

  Diane watched the woman, puzzled by the contrast between her appearance and that of the man. There was no way to judge a marriage, yet something didn’t fit between Malloy and his wife. Taking the water and murmuring, “Thank you,” she saw that the woman was much younger and that there was a sensitivity about her that clashed with the brash arrogance of Malloy. She’d be very pretty, Diane thought, if she’d take care with her hair and get some decent clothes. Then she realized that the woman would never do that. She’d be too busy working long hours to be able to take time for herself, and Malloy didn’t seem the type to spend money on pretty dresses.

  After Head took his drink, he plunged ahead in typical fashion. “Malloy, I’m no man to waste time. I’m going to come right out and make you an offer for this place.”

  “Not lookin’ to sell,” Malloy said at once. He had taken an instant dislike to Head, for no other reason than the fact that he always disliked men who were powerful. If Head had been a smaller, more humble man, Malloy might have been more agreeable. He was not adverse to the idea of selling in order to make a profit but was determined to call the shots himself. He might even sell to a man like Head, but only if he could gouge him for the place.

  Head looked up, a flash of anger in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but then caught a slight movement and saw Diane shaking her head in a warning. He immediately softened his response. “Now, don’t say that, Malloy, until you hear my offer.”

  Ash stood back listening as Head talked, but he knew the answer would be no. He could read faces better than most, and the obstinate expression on Malloy’s told him Head had no chance. That was fine with Caudill. Just one more opportunity to show Silas Head that he was the man to run Arrow—and to show Diane as well.

  “ . . . so I wanted to buy Carlin out, but he left before I could buy the place,” Head concluded. “Now, I suppose you’ve come a long way and spent a bundle on the cows you brought. I can’t expect you to take a loss, but I need this place. It’s the only water in this valley, which you well know. Tell you what, I’ll give you four thousand dollars—no, make that five thousand. Give you all the time you need to find another place. Now, that’s fair, isn’t it?”

  Malloy knew that it was fair. He had paid Carlin only two thousand, but he was a stubborn man. “I’ll take twelve thousand,” he grinned. “And you won’t run me off this place like you did Carlin.”

  A faint flush touched Head’s cheeks, and he glanced at Caudill. “We may have had a little trouble with the man, Malloy. But we didn’t—”

  “You ran him ou
t,” Malloy said flatly. “Carlin and me were old friends. He warned me when he sold me the place I couldn’t hold on to it. I may not be as easy to push around as he was. So, twelve thousand and the place is yours.”

  The rancher threw his head back, glared at Malloy, then bit his words off. “I won’t pay it!”

  “Then it looks like we’re gonna be neighbors,” Malloy said. “And some of your stock is watering on my creek. You can take them back with you when you leave.”

  Head gave him a killing look. “Malloy, I’ve fought for this land. I’m still fighting for it. I came out here to make you a good offer. Now, I’m going to do something I don’t do as a rule. I’m keeping my temper, and I’m raising my offer. I’ll give you eight thousand—and that’s five times what the place is worth.”

  “It’s worth twelve thousand to me,” Malloy grinned, a mocking light in his eyes.

  Ash said quietly, “It won’t be worth fifteen cents to you if you’re dead, Malloy.”

  Malloy dropped his hand to his gun and turned to face Caudill. “I heard about you from Carlin,” he sneered. “The hatchet man for Arrow—that’s what he called you. But you won’t run me off, Caudill!”

  Caudill smiled and would have taken the challenge, but Diane interrupted. “Dad! Ash!” Then she turned and apologized to Hope. “I’m sorry for this, Mrs. Malloy.” She walked out the door, taking Caudill’s arm and almost forcing him to follow her.

  Head stood there, anger written on his face. He stared at Malloy, then muttered, “Think it over. It’s a lot of money, and there are other places as good as this.”

  He left the house, mounted his horse, and the three of them spurred away from the house. Caudill was irritated. “Don’t ever come between me and a man I’m dealing with, Diane!”

  She gave him an angry look. “I should have let you kill the man? Then you could have shot his wife, too, so she couldn’t testify against you in court!”

  “Diane’s right, Ash,” Head interrupted. “It was no place for gunplay.”

  “So we let him alone?” Caudill demanded.

  Head answered, “Give him a day or two. He’s not that flush. I’ll offer him nine, and he’ll take ten.”

  Caudill shook his head but said no more. Though it was Silas Head who seemed to be the more stubborn of the two, it was Caudill who was actually the more determined. He had brought Arrow through some hard battles, and all of them had been won by his aggressiveness. He was a secretive man, sly in his ways. In this thing he saw a way to prove once again to Head—and perhaps finally—that he, and no other man, was able to lead Arrow. A plan began to form in his mind, and he thought, If I can save Silas a big chunk of money for Clear Creek, that ought to swing it. A smile turned the corners of his mouth upward, and he suddenly became cheerful, persuading Diane that the two of them had to go to the dance in War Paint the following week.

  Hope had tried to reason with Willis after the three left. She had heard Smoky Jacks tell how strong Head was, and she pleaded, “Willis, it’s a lot of money. We can go someplace else. This isn’t a home to us.”

  “He tried to force my hand,” Malloy grumbled, his temper still raw. Then he gave Hope a hard look. “I’ll probably sell the place—but I’ll get some of Silas Head’s hide with it!”

  “That man Caudill—he’s a gunman, isn’t he? If it hadn’t been for the woman, he might have killed you.”

  “Or I might’ve killed him!” Malloy snapped. It had grated on him that Hope had seen Jacks make him back down. He was a tough, hard man, and sooner or later he intended to show Hope just how tough he was. He smiled to himself, thinking about how he was going to work this out. “We’ll play this thing easy. Just settle down like we intend to stay here forever. Head’ll scream because he’s got to have this water.”

  “I’d rather not stay,” Hope said, worried. “It’ll mean trouble.”

  Malloy grinned and went to her, putting his arms around her. “You don’t know what a tough feller you married, Hope! Nothin’s gonna happen to me!”

  Despite her obvious resistance to his touch, he kissed her roughly, then left the house. Hope watched him leave, her fears not for him, or even for herself, so much as for Cody and Amos. She nervously paced around the room, wishing that Willis would change his mind, but she knew his stubbornness. Finally she took off her apron and went down to the creek where Cody and Amos were fishing. Buck was lying quietly by Cody’s side, intently watching the proceedings.

  “Catch anything?” Hope asked, tossing a stick for Buck to run after so she could sit beside Cody.

  “Sure!” He pulled up a string of sunfish that glittered in the reddish glow of the sun.

  “Who was them folks?” Amos inquired.

  Hope said, “It was Silas Head, the big owner Smoky told us about.” She hesitated, then added, “He offered Willis a lot of money for this place, but he wouldn’t take it.”

  Amos shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t.” He pulled in a fine fish, took him off the hook, then got to his feet. “Let’s go cook these fish up, Hope. I’m hungry.”

  “I wanna catch a few more,” Cody pleaded. When his mother said he could, he watched them go, then whistled for Buck, who had forgotten the stick and was now sniffing out a small animal burrowed in the bank of the creek. Cody pulled his hook from the water. He considered the worm that was wiggling wildly, then spit on it.

  “Now then—!” he said firmly, plopping it back into the clear water. “You git down there and do like you’re supposed to!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FIRST CASUALTY

  As Hope stepped out of the house at dawn, Buck came to nuzzle her, nearly upsetting her. In the two months since they had arrived at the Circle M, he had grown into a startlingly enormous dog with heavy muscles and a deep chest. “Get away, Buck,” she commanded, but when she got to the door, he edged himself inside before she could stop him, going at once to his spot behind the stove. He fell to the floor with a loud thump and watched her as she moved around the kitchen.

  As she got out the flour and began putting her biscuit mix together, she thought, It’ll be Christmas in a few months—and her mind went back to the last Christmas they’d had in Arkansas. She thought of the sight of her father’s face as he’d given Zane the Spencer, but then she thought of what she’d heard of Zane recently and her face grew sad. Smoky Jacks had found a job with a rancher named Dave Orr not too far away, and he’d stopped to tell her that he’d run across Zane. “Working with Oscar Wells. He’s doing fine.”

  As she rolled out the dough and cut out circles with an empty can, Hope thought of the one letter they’d gotten from Zane. It came a month after they’d settled in and had been only a few lines. I got a job. Not much, but I’ll make out. I’ll see you when I can get away. He had added a few details, but the only personal note was at the end: I sure do miss you all!

  She arranged the biscuits in a pan and put them into the oven. When they were almost done, she went to wake up Cody and Fred. The two of them shared a bedroom, and they came stumbling out as she finished fixing breakfast. “Wash your hands, Cody,” Hope said automatically.

  “What for?” he grumbled, asking as he always did when told to wash. “I ain’t touched nothin’ dead.” He dabbled gingerly with the tips of his fingers in the wash basin beside the door, then dried off and came to sit down at the table. “Seems like I spend half my life washing!”

  Fred Gibson washed his hands, too, doing little better than Cody but teasing the boy nonetheless. “For a kid that can’t stay away from that creek, you sure do hate water, Cody.” He smiled behind the heavy beard he’d started a month earlier. “When I was your age, I took a bath every day and twice on Sunday.”

  “You didn’t neither!” Cody challenged. He liked Gibson, but the big man teased him constantly. “You ain’t had a bath now since you fell in the creek last month!”

  “That’s enough, Cody,” Hope broke in, lifting the heavy frying pan off the stove. She came to the table and deposited
several fried eggs on their plates—two for Cody and four for Fred. “Are you ever going to stop arguing about washing yourself?” She came with the hot biscuits and sat down, then said a brief blessing.

  Cody could hardly wait until she was finished before stuffing his mouth with half a biscuit. Chewing it noisily, he argued, “I’ll bet Elijah didn’t take a bath, Ma. You said he was a great man, so if he didn’t take baths, why do I have to spend half my life washing?”

  “Cody, I don’t want to argue about taking baths!” Hope gave the boy a strict look that he recognized as being the end of the discussion, then asked Gibson, “Can you take care of the cattle by yourself today, Fred?” Malloy and Og had gone to War Paint the previous day and were not due back until late.

  “They’re right peaceful, Miz Malloy,” Gibson said. “Me and Cody can handle it.” He reached over and tousled Cody’s hair, grinning. “This cowboy’s getting to be quite a hand. You show your ma how you learned to use that rope, Cody?” The cowboy speared himself another biscuit, then got up and harvested the two remaining biscuits, turning as Amos came into the room. He looked down regretfully at the eggs, and Hope said, “Go on and eat them, Fred. I’ll fix Pa some more.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am,” Gibson said, brightening up. “I don’t like to mess my plate up fer less than half a dozen eggs.” He sat down and began to devour the rest of his breakfast, tossing the food far back in his throat.

  Amos watched the puncher as he swallowed the food, then shook his head in disgust. “Fred, you ain’t never actually tasted no food. A man tastes with his tongue, and you throw your grub back and swallow it whole—just like a snake swallows a chicken egg.” He looked tired but brightened as he turned to Cody. “I seen you rope that heifer yesterday, Cody. That was a good job.”