Lin was a dozen yards ahead when he unexpectedly drew rein and hung low off his saddle to study the ground.
“Found a prairie dog hole you admire?”
“Take a look at these tracks, boss.”
Chick had been so preoccupied he hadn’t noticed the hoof prints. “Cattle? Way out here? What do you make of it?”
Lin ranged in a wide circle that brought him back to Chick. “Five hundred head, or thereabouts. They came from the northwest and were driven south-east.” Lin pointed. “Toward Mr. Jackson’s spread.”
“It can’t be strays,” Chick said.
“Not likely it’s his own beeves at all.”
“Maybe he bought a herd up Kansas way,” Chick suggested, “and his boys were bringing it in.”
“Maybe,” Lin said.
It bothered Chick. Bothered him a lot. The next afternoon, when they spotted several riders, he reined toward them and Lin instantly reined to his side. The riders saw them and stopped to wait.
Lin’s eyes were better. “Bar J hands. That old cuss is Hap Evans. The block of gristle is Deke Scritch. I don’t know the third.”
Chick had met Evans a few times, a crusty goat who could hold his own with the Circle C’s own crusty goat, Amos Finch, any day of the year. “How are things, gentlemen?” he greeted them.
“I declare!” Hap cheerfully exclaimed. “This is a surprise, Mr. Storm. And Lin, you rascal. It’s been a spell since you visited.”
“Is your employer to home?” Chick inquired.
Hap spat a stream of tobacco juice and wiped the dribblings with a badly stained sleeve. “Sure is. He’s been keepin’ to himself a lot the past couple of months, more so since Joe and the boys were shot.”
Chick leaned on his saddle horn. “How is Joe Elliot, by the way? Lin was telling me he was shot to ribbons.”
“Pretty near,” Hap said. “I never saw anybody take so many slugs and keep on breathin’. The doc took enough lead out of him to sink a steamboat. But Joe’s on the mend, believe it or not. Another month or so and he’ll be up and about. And rarin’ for revenge, if I know him. He’ll give that gun crowd their lumps. You wait and see.”
Deke Scritch had a comment of his own. “How about it, Mr. Storm? Are you here to talk Mr. Jackson into showin’ some backbone?”
“Sheath your tongue,” Chick said sternly. “Seth Jackon never showed yellow his whole life. You shouldn’t slander your employer like that.”
Deke held both hands up. “No offense meant. But I’m not the only one who is wonderin’ where his grit went. Five of our punchers have taken their pay and skedaddled just in the past week and there’s talk more will do the same.”
“It’s as bad as that?”
“Worse,” Hap Evans declared. “I’ve never seen Mr. Jackson so down at the mouth. If his missus were still with us, she’d have him chewin’ nails in two shakes of a calf’s tail. But . . .” Hap fell silent.
“Then it’s good I’ve come when I have,” Chick Storm said.
Chapter Fourteen
Lin Cooley didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. An invisible storm cloud hung over the Bar J threatening to unleash a downpour at any second. Lin saw it in the tense faces of the Bar J punchers.
Seth Jackson had a reputation for being hard but fair. Everyone who rode for him was expected to do their full share of work, and then some. Lazy lie-a-bouts weren’t welcome, the same as on the Circle C. Today, though, most of Jackson’s hands were standing around doing nothing, something they would never do were their boss his usual self.
“I don’t like this,” Chick Storm said. “I don’t like it at all.”
Lin had seen a few outfits go to seed in his time. Top-notch outfits, too, with a sharp big augur and punchers who were weaned on cow’s milk. As a general rule, once the slide started, it took an act of Nature to restore a ranch to its former glory.
“I need to talk to Seth alone,” Chick said. “Occupy yourself as you please.”
“How long will you be?” Lin asked. They had parted company with Hap at the corral, and now they came to a hitch rail near the broad porch that bordered three sides of the squat ranch house.
“I shouldn’t be more than an hour, I should think. Then we’ll head back.”
“We’re not staying the night?” Lin was surprised. They always had before, in order to be rested up for the start of the long ride home.
“We’ll see,” was all the further Chick would commit himself.
Lin was averse to parting company but he drifted to the bunkhouse to look in on Joe Elliot. The curtains had been pulled, and the other Bar J punchers were fighting shy of the ram pasture to give Joe the peace and quiet he needed.
Once Lin’s eyes adjusted, he ambled to the far corner and roosted on the edge of the next bunk over. Joe was breathing heavily, a blanket pulled to his chin. Lin eased the blanket up high enough to see that Joe was one huge bandage from neck to crotch. As he lowered the blanket, Elliot’s eyes snapped open.
“Damn. For a second there I thought you were one of those French maids they have in New Orleans.”
“You’ve been drinkin’ alkalied water again,” Lin said.
“It was a dream, you knothead. I was in a big white mansion with marble columns, and I was being waited on hand and foot by this maid who thought I was the handsomest cuss who ever put on britches.”
“Was she drunk?”
Joe Elliot snorted, then coughed, then aired his lungs. “Damn you, Cooley! Don’t you know better than to make me laugh? The sawbones warned I could rupture something if I wasn’t careful.”
“Other than your brain?” Lin said. “What were you thinkin’? Going against Ike Longley and that pack of short-trigger artists?”
“Longley?” Joe was flabbergasted. “Why am I always the last to know these things? I’m lucky to be kickin’.”
“All your nine lives rolled into one,” Lin agreed. “I feel bad about not throwin’ in with you.”
Joe’s features were hard to read in the murk. “Don’t go weak sister on me. I lit the wick. It was mine to do. Mine and those shot down with me.” His voice faltered. “I’m too damn mouthy. I got those boys killed.”
“You called it like you saw it.” Lin let his friend compose himself, then commented, “There’s talk that once you mend, you’re fixin’ on bellyin’ up to the trough for a second helpin’.”
“Not on their terms, I’m not.”
“On any terms would be like grabbin’ a riled painter by the tail and holdin’ on for dear life. I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t get rambunctious without notifyin’ me first.”
“Oh? You my nanny now?”
“I’m Chick Storm’s nanny, whether he knows it or not. And this business will involve the Circle C if it gets worse.”
“It might already,” Joe said.
When the other foreman didn’t explain, Lin asked, “Is this a private puzzle?”
Elliot turned his face to the wall. “I’ve blabbed too much as it is. Just don’t let your guard down.”
Lin stood to go. “You worry me.”
“I aim to.” Joe weakly raised a hand. “Thanks for stoppin’. I’ll think about what you said but I ain’t makin’ any promises.”
The sun was doubly bright, its glare doubly jarring. Lin squinted and moseyed to the corral where Hap Evans and half a dozen other cowpokes were frittering the time away. “Is hard work forbidden here?”
No one cracked a grin.
“Mind your own ranch, we’ll mind ours,” Deke Scritch said.
Lin resented being talked down to, and let it show. “I mind Mr. Storm’s just fine, thank you.”
Deke started to say more but Hap Evans slapped his arm and barked, “Behave yourself! Don’t you know to be polite when company comes callin’?”
“I ain’t lazy,” Deke said. Hopping down from the top rail, he led his sorrel toward a water trough.
“You’ve got to excuse him,” Hap told Lin. “He’s afflicted by l
eaky mouth and there’s no known cure.”
“Short of a bullet,” Toby Gill commented.
Lin turned to the cow prod. “So you’re stickin’ around after all?”
“Only until I get wind of something better or lead hornets take to buzzin’ too close for comfort,” Toby Gill said. “ Cows are my life, not gun fannin’.”
“I mentioned your visit to my boss,” Lin informed him, “but we’re full up. Could be a few of the boys will drift after the next roundup but I won’t dangle an apple in front of your nose.”
Hap Evans gripped Gill’s arm. “Not you too, Toby? You’re thinkin’ of leavin’ us in the lurch when Mr. Jackson needs every hand?”
“I repeat,” Toby Gill said. “My life is cows. I don’t hire out to gunfight and I won’t look the other way when sunflowers migrate south.”
“Hush,” Hap said.
Toby Gill did no such thing. “We’re not supposed to air our gripes. But maybe we should. We both know what will happen, and I don’t care to be here when it does.”
Lin had not been a cowman for so long for nothing. “Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”
Hap Evans scowled. “Since when do you make it a habit to leap to conclusions? We’re not sure. Not to where we would swear on the Bible. And to be honest, we’d rather not root around. We might not like what we find.”
“Damn,” Lin Cooley said.
The change in Seth Jackson was something to behold. He hadn’t shaved in days. He hadn’t combed his hair, either, and it stuck out at all angles. His clothes had been slept in, his shirt was unbuttoned. On the table in front of him was a bottle of whiskey, three-fourths empty, and a glass. He filled it to the brim, lifted the glass in salute, and said, “Here’s to friends who show up out of the blue.”
“I was worried,” Chick said. “I heard about Joe.”
“So you came all this way? I’m touched.” But Seth did not sound touched. He drained the tarantula juice and poured another.
“A little early for that, don’t you think?”
“Early?” Seth chuckled. “Hell, I had some for breakfast with my pancakes. Only I forgot to make the pancakes. You should try it. Starts the day with a real kick in the gut.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Chick had never seen his friend like this.
“They call it life.” Seth gulped the refill dry and smacked his lips. “It snuck up on me when I wasn’t lookin’.”
Chick hadn’t been asked to take a seat but he sat anyway. “No one will think less of you if you don’t lead a charge into Nowhere. But if you do decide to even accounts, I’m here to let you know the Circle C will back your play all the way.”
“Dixie gave her consent, did she?” Seth asked, and laughed.
“I don’t much like bringing my wife into this. I’ll thank you to show a little more respect.”
“Oh, please.” Seth filled his glass again. “You don’t sneeze without her say-so. I’m not sayin’ it’s wrong. I was the same way when Clara was alive. I loved her so much, makin’ her happy made me happy.”
Mollified, Chick reached for the bottle but Seth slid it out of his reach.
“No, you don’t. You’re not spoilin’ my fun. If my company offends you, light a shuck for the Circle C.”
“That was rude.”
“Damn it, Chick. Can’t you take a hint?” Seth was becoming mad. “I want to be alone. I want to wallow in my mistakes. I want to make myself as miserable as I can so when I look in the mirror I’m as miserable on the outside as I feel inside.”
“Which mistake is this we’re talkin’ about? The only one I know of is your fondness for cards.”
It was a mistake. Seth bristled and smacked his glass down on the table so hard, he spilled half of it. “Bound to bring that up, weren’t you? The great man doesn’t have weaknesses like the rest of us! Oh no! But he’s sure not above grindin’ our noses in the ones we have.”
“Great man?” Chick said.
“Don’t be modest. The Circle C is one of the best ranches in the territory. Maybe the best. Ask anyone.”
“I don’t like where this is leading.”
Seth rose and walked to the window and leaned on the sill. “You shouldn’t have come. The part of me you liked has been knifed in the back and buried by the part of me I never let you see.”
Chick made another innocent comment. “Now you’re talking nonsense.”
Turning, Seth sat on the sill and folded his arms. “The great man knows everything, is that it? I open up to you and you think it’s the bug juice talkin’.”
“I’ll make some coffee and we’ll have you restored to your old sober self before supper,” Chick proposed. “Then we can talk this Nowhere business over with clear heads.”
“God, I hate you,” Seth said.
Chick was too stunned to respond.
“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. Not one word. You’ve got it sorted out in your head how things are and you can’t see anyone else’s point of view.”
“You don’t really hate me.” Chick found his voice.
Seth came to the table, his eyes boring into Chick’s. “Leave. Now. Before we reach the point of no return.”
“I don’t cut out on my friends when they need me,” Chick said. “I wasn’t kidding about the Circle C throwing in with the Bar J.”
Straightening, Seth laughed. A short, cold laugh, more like a snarl, that ended with, “I never saw it plain until now. All these years you had me fooled. All these years of me lookin’ up to you, and for what?”
“Seth?”
“I did, you know. Even though you’re from the East and didn’t know a bucket dogie from calf slobbers when you came out here, I always respected you. You learned fast, and you made the right decisions, and the Circle C prospered. And I thought to myself, ‘What an exceptional hombre.’ But you’re not. You’re ordinary. With no respect for anyone but yourself.”
Chick was trying to keep his temper but the insults were piling one on top of the other and he was close to losing it. “I’ve always held you in the highest esteem, too.”
“Strange you never mentioned it,” Seth said. “But why should you when the Bar J has always been in the Circle C’s shadow? Second fiddle is all we ever were. Second fiddle is all we’ll ever be.”
“I won’t listen to this foolishness. I’m leaving.” Chick stood and took several steps but suddenly Seth was in front of him. “Move.”
“Not until I’ve had my say.”
“You’ve said too much as it is.” Chick put a hand on Seth’s shoulder and lightly pushed but Seth knocked his arm away, and not lightly, either.
“You’ll hear me out whether you want to or not. You wouldn’t go when I asked you to so now you’ll ride out the storm.”
“You’re drunk.”
“So? Out of the mouths of drunkards come truths they would never say sober.” Seth poked Chick in the chest. “Yes, I truly do hate you! You’re too damned perfect. You don’t have flaws like the rest of us.”
Chick tried to go around but again Seth Jackson barred his way.
“I came to you for help, if you’ll recollect. A little loan was all I needed. Enough to set me straight with that gambler.”
“I couldn’t,” Chick said.
“Hell, no!” Seth spat. “Not for something as sinful as gamblin’! Not even for an old compadre!”
“Calm yourself. You get mad too easy.”
Seth was twitching in fury. “I’m just overflowin’ with flaws, aren’t I? You never get mad, huh? You never admit to yourself that you’re no better than the rest of us.”
“Enough of this.” This time when Seth tried to block him, Chick grabbed Seth’s left arm, hooked a boot behind Seth’s leg, and tripped him as slick as could be. Seth immediately went to rise but Chick stood over him with his fists clenched. “Don’t you dare. I’ve taken all I’m going to take.”
“Go ahead! Leave!” Seth barked. “You weren’t there for
me when I needed you, you uppity son of a bitch. So don’t pretend you’re here for me now.”
Chick Storm walked on, but then paused to look back. “There’s a line that should never be crossed and you’ve crossed it. Our friendship is over. It ends here. Don’t ever set foot on the Circle C again.”
The whole house shook when he slammed the front door.
Chapter Fifteen
Billy Braden strapped on his gun belt as he came out of a back room. Shasta called his name but he ignored her and jangled down the hall to the front of the saloon. The place was packed, as it always was these days, and liquor flowed by the gallon. All the seats at the card tables were taken, and Clell Craven and Jeb and Jed Ellsworth, who were pretty fair card slicks, were raking in pots from half-drunk and hugely inexperienced cowboys.
Billy shouldered to the bar and pounded it to get Dub Wheeton’s attention.
The balding proprietor was a walking smile. “What will it be for you tonight, my young friend?”
“I ain’t your friend.” Billy set him straight. “Just give me a shot of rotgut and go count your money.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
Billy took a sip and turned. It delighted him, the greedy fool being so afraid. Suddenly someone jostled his shoulder, jarring him so hard he nearly spilled his whiskey. “Watch where you’re going, you damned jackass!”
The cowboy responsible was barely old enough to shave. “Sorry, mister.”
“I should put windows in your skull.” Billy refused to let it rest.
“I said I was sorry,” the cowboy repeated, and then tried to be friendly. “I’m fresh in off the range. From the Slash Creek outfit, way off southwest of here. Have a week to myself, and I heard tell they have some sportin’ girls in this town.”
“You’re an idiot,” Billy said. He would have said more but Black Jack had been watching and called out his name and motioned. “But you’re a lucky idiot. You get to live.” He swaggered to the corner table but didn’t sit. “What is it now?”
Black Jack, Ike Longley, and two other members of Black Jack’s gang were playing poker. Black Jack asked for two cards before flicking his dark eyes at Billy. “Is it me or are you on the prod? Again?”
Ralph Compton Nowhere, TX Page 11