Riding for the Brand (Ss) (1986)

by L'amour, Louis

  The nester was nowhere in sight, but I swung down and with the carbine in hand, started down through the trees, catfootin’ in along with no idea what I might see or where they could have gone. Then all of a sudden I come out on the edge of a cliff and looked down at a cabin in a grassy basin, maybe a hundred feet below and a good four hundred yards away.

  Standin’ in front of that cabin were two horses.

  My face was pretty pale, an’ my stomach felt sick, but I headed for the trail down, when I heard a scream. It was Julie!

  Then, in front of the cabin, I heard a yell, and that durned nester stepped right out in plain sight and started walking up to the cabin, and he wasn’t more than thirty yards away from it.

  That fool nester knowed he was askin’ for it.

  The Piute might have shot from behind the door jamb or from a window, but maybe the nester figured I was behind him and he might draw him out for my fire. Or maybe he figured his comin’ out in the open would make him leave the girl alone. Whatever his reason, it worked. The Piute stepped outside the door.

  Me? I was standin’ up there like a fool, just a-gawkin’, while there, right in front of my eyes, the Piute was goin’ to kill a man. Or was he?

  He was playin’ big Injun right then. Maybe he figured Julie was watchin’ or maybe he thought the nester would scare. Mister, that nester wouldn’t scare a copper cent.

  The Piute swaggered about a dozen steps out from the cabin and stood there, his thumbs in his belt, sneerin’. The nester, he just moseyed along kind of ladylike, carryin’ his old Spencer in his right hand like he’d plumb forgot about his hand gun.

  Then, like it was on a stage, I seen it happen.

  That Piute went for his guns and the nester swung up his Spencer. There was two shots then a third.

  It’s a wonder I didn’t break my neck gettin’ down that trail, but when I run up, the Piute was lyin’ there on his back with his eyes glazin’ over.

  I took one look an’ then turned away, and you can call me a pie-eatin’ tenderfoot, but I was sick as I could be. Mister, did you ever see a man who’d been hit by two soft-nosed .56 caliber bullets? In the stummick?

  Bin Morley come out with Julie, and I straightened up an’ she run over to me and began askin’ how Ma was. She wasn’t hurt none, as the nester got there just in time.

  We took the horses back, and then I fell behind with the nester. I jerked my head toward the Piute’s body.

  “You goin’ to bury him?” I asked.

  He looked at me like he thought I was soft in the head.

  “What fur? He picked the place hisself, didn’t he?”

  We mounted up.

  “Besides”… He said, “I’ve done lost two whole days as it is, and gettin’ behind on my work ain’t goin’ to help none.”… He was stuffin’ something in his slicker on the back of his horse.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A ham”… He said grimly, “a whole ham. I brung it clean from Tucson, an’ that durned Piute stole it off me. Right out of my cabin.

  Ma, she was out pickin’ berries when it happened.”

  “You mean”… I said, “you trailed the Piute clean over here just for a ham?”

  “Mister”… The nester spat, “you durned right I did! Why Ma and me ain’t et no hawg meat since we left Missoury, comin’ three year ago!”

  The steel-dust started to catch up with Julie’s pony, but I heard the nester sayin’, “Never was no hand to eat beef, nohow. Too durned stringy.

  Gets in my teeth!”

  *

  Author’s Note:

  BARNEY TAKES A HAND

  From the beginning it was imperative that men marching west shoot well. Surgeon John Gale, of the Missouri Expedition in 1819 tells of training given to the soldiers on the western march. They were firing ball cartridges.

  “Those who hit a circle of three inches diameter offhand at fifty yards three times in six are raised from the awkward squad to second class.

  Those who hit the same mark at one hundred yards three times in six are raised to first class.

  They make rapid improvement. There are but few who are not in the first class.”

  *

  Barney Takes a Hand.

  Blinding white sun simmered above the thick, flourlike dust of the road, and the ragged mesquite beside the trail was gray with that same dust. Between the ranch and the distant purple hills, there was nothing but endless flats and sagebrush, dusty and dancing with heat waves.

  Tess Bayeux stood in the doorway and shaded her eyes against the sun. The road was empty, empty to the horizon beyond which lay the little cow town of Black Mesa.

  With a little sigh of hopelessness, she turned away. It was too soon. Even if Rex Tilden had received her note and decided to come, he could never come so quickly.

  After an hour, during which she forced herself not to look even once, she returned to the door.

  The road was still empty, only white dust and heat. Then her eyes turned the other way, and she looked out across the desert, out to where the road dwindled off to a miserable trail into the badlands where nothing lived. For an instant then, she thought the heat played tricks with her eyes, for between her and the distant cliffs was a tiny figure.

  Struck by curiosity, she stood in the doorway, watching. She was a slender girl with a pert, impudent little nose above a friendly mouth and lips that laughed when her eyes did.

  She was still there, much later, when the figure took shape and became a man. The man wore no hat. His shaggy black hair was white with dust, his heavy woolen shirt was open at the neck, and his hairy chest was also dusty.

  The man’s face was unshaven, and his jaw was I heavy, almost brutal under the beard and dust.

  The jeans he wore were strange to the cow country, and his feet wore the ragged remains of what had been sneakers. His jeans were belted with a wide leather belt, curiously carved.

  He wore no gun.

  Several times the man staggered, and finally, m when he turned from the road and stopped at the II gate, he grasped the top with his big hands and f bar stared at Tess Bayeux.

  For a long time he stared while she tried to find words, and then one of the big hands dropped and he fumbled for the latch. He came through the gate and closed it behind him. It was a small thing, yet in his condition it told her something.

  The man came on toward the house, and when she saw his face she caught her breath. Sunburn had cracked the skin until it had bled, and the blood had dried. The face was haggard, a mask of utter weariness from which only the eyes glowed and seemed to be alive.

  Brought to herself suddenly, she ran inside for water. She tried to pick up the dipper, but drooped it. Then she carried the bucket to the man, and he seized it in his two big hands and lifted it to his mouth. She put out a hand to stop him, but he had merely taken a mouthful and then held it away, sloshing the water about in his mouth.

  He looked at her wisely, and suddenly she had a feeling that this man knew everything, that he was afraid of nothing, that he could do anything with himself. She knew how his whole body must be crying for water, yet he knew the consequences of too much too soon and held the bucket away, his face twisted as though in a sneer at his fervid desire for its cool freshness.

  Then he swallowed a little, and for a moment his face twisted again. He straightened it with an effort and picking up the washbasin beside the door, filled it and began to bathe his face and hands, slowly, tenderly. In all this time he said nothing, made no explanation.

  A long time ago Tess had ridden with her brother into the badlands beyond the desert. It was a waterless horror, a nightmare of gigantic stones and gnarled cacti, a place where nothing lived.

  How far had this man come? How could he have walked all that distance across the desert?

  That he had walked was obvious, for his sneakers were in tatters and there was some blood on the ground where he stood.

  He shook the water from his eyes and then, without
speaking, stepped up on the porch and entered the house. Half frightened, she started to speak, but he merely stretched out upon the floor in the cool interior and almost at once was asleep.

  Again she looked at the road. And still it was empty. If Rex Tilden were to come in time, he must come soon. Judge Barker had told her that as long as she had possession, there was a chance.

  If she lost possession before he returned from Phoenix, there was little chance that anything could be done.

  It was sundown when she saw them coming. It was not Rex Tilden, for he would come alone. It was the others.

  It was Harrington and Clyde, the men Tess feared.

  They rode into the yard at a canter and reined in at the edge of the veranda.

  “Well, Miss Bayeux” George Clyde’s silky voice was underlined with malice “you are ready to leave?”

  “No.”

  Tess stood very still. She knew there was little Clyde wouldn’t stoop to if he could gain an end.

  Harrington was brutal, rough. Clyde was smooth.

  It was Clyde she feared most, yet Harrington would do the rough work.

  He was a big man and cruel.

  “Then I am afraid we will have to move you,” said Clyde. “We have given you time. Now we can give you only ten minutes more to get what you want and get out on the road.”

  “I’m not going.”… Tess held her head high.

  Clyde’s mouth tightened. “Yes, you are. Of course” he crossed his hands on the saddle horn “if you want to come to my place, I think I could make you comfortable there. If you don’t come to my place, there will be nothing in Black Mesa for you.”

  “I’ll stay here.”

  Tess stood facing them. She couldn’t win. She knew that in her heart. Rex was too late now, and the odds were against her. Still, where would she go? She had no money; she had no friends who dared help her. There had been only Tilden.

  “All right, Harrington”… Clyde said grimly.

  “You move her. Put her outside the gate.”

  Harrington swung down from the saddle, his face glistening with evil. He stepped up on the porch.

  “Stay where yuh are”… A voice said from behind her.

  Tess started. She had forgotten the stranger, and his voice was peculiar. It was low, ugly with some fierceness that was only just covered by an even tone.

  “You come a step further and I’ll kill yuh”… He said.

  Harrington stood flatfooted. George Clyde was quicker.

  “Tess Bayeux, who is this man?”

  “Shut up”… The man walked out on the porch, and his feet were catlike in their movements.

  “And get movin’.”

  “Listen, my friend”… Clyde said, “you’re asking for trouble. You’re a stranger here and you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I know a skunk by the smell.”… The stranger advanced to the edge of the porch, and his redrimmed eyes glared at Clyde. “Get goin’!”

  “Why, you his Harrington reached for him.

  He reached, but the stranger’s left hand shot out and seized Harrington by the throat and jerked him to his tiptoes. Holding him there, the stranger slapped him twice across the face.

  Slapped him only, but left him with a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Then, setting him down on his heels, the stranger shoved, and big Deck Harrington sprawled at full length in the dust.

  Clyde’s face was deadly. He glanced at Harrington and then at the stranger, and then his hand shot for his gun. But the stranger was quicker. He seized the bridle and jerked the horse around and, catching Clyde by his gunarm, whipped him from the saddle to throw him into the dust.

  Clyde’s gun flew free, and the stranger caught it deftly and thrust it into his own waistband.

  “Now”… He said, “start walkin’. When yuh’re over the horizon, I’ll turn yore hosses loose.

  Until then, walk!”

  Harrington staggered to his feet, and Clyde got up more slowly. His black coat was dusty.

  The stranger looked at Harrington.

  “You still wear a gun”… He said coolly. “Want to die? If yuh do, why don’t yuh try drawin’ it.”

  Harrington wet his lips. Then his eyes fell and he turned away.

  “That goes for later”… The stranger said. “If yuh want to try a shot from up the road, do it. I haven’t killed a snake in a week!”

  The two men stumbled from the yard, and the stranger stood there, watching them go. Then he picked up the bucket and drank, for a long time.

  When the two recent visitors were growing small toward the horizon, he turned the horses loose, hitting each a ringing slap on the haunches.

  They would never stop short of town if he knew Western horses.

  “I’m going to get supper”… Tess told him.

  “Would you like to eat?”

  “You know I would.”… He looked at her for a moment. “Then yuh can tell me what this is all about.”

  Tess Bayeux worked swiftly, and when she had the coffee on and the bacon frying, she turned to look at the man who had come to her rescue. He was slumped in a chair at the table. Black hair curled in the V of his shirt, and there was black hair on his forearms.

  “You aren’t a Western man?” She asked him.

  “I was once”… He answered, “but that was a long time ago. I lived in Texas, in Oklahoma, then in Utah. Now I’m back in the West to stay.” “You have a home somewhere?”

  “No. Home is where the heart is, they say, and my heart is here” he touched his chest “for now. I’m still a dreamer, I reckon. Still thinkin’ of the one girl who is somewhere.”

  “You’ve had a hard time”… She said, looking at him again.

  She had never seen so much raw power in a man, never seen so much sleeping strength as in the muscles that rolled beneath his shirt.

  “Tell me about you”… He said. “Who are them two men that was here?”

  “Harrington and Clyde”… She told him. “The H and C Cattle Company. They moved in here two years ago, during the drouth. They bought land and cattle. They prospered. They aren’t big, but then, nobody else is either.

  “The sheriff doesn’t want trouble. Clyde outtalks those who dislike him. My father did, very much, and he wasn’t outtalked. He died, killed by a fall from a bad horse, about a year ago. It seems he was in debt. He was in debt to Nevers, who runs the general store in Black Mesa. Not much, but more than he could pay. Clyde bought up the notes from Nevers.

  “Wantrell, a lawyer in Phoenix who knew my father, is trying to get it arranged so we will have water here. If we do, we could pay off the notes in a short time. If we had water I could borrow money in Prescott. There is water on government land above us, and that’s why Clyde wants it. He tried to get me to move away for the notes.

  Then he offered to pay me five hundred dollars and give me the notes.

  “When I refused, he had some of his men dam the stream and shut off what water I had. My cattle died. Some of my horses were run off.

  Then he came in with some more bills and told me I’d have to leave or pay. He has some sort of a paper on the place. It says that my father promised to give Nevers the place if he didn’t pay up or if anything happened to him.”

  “No friends?” Asked the man.

  “Yes, a man named Rex Tilden”… Tess said.

  “He rode for Dad once and then started a ranch of his own. He’s good with a gun, and when I wrote to him, he said he would come. He’s five days late now.”

  The stranger nodded. “I know.”… He took a small wallet from his pocket. “That his?”

  She caught it up, her face turning pale. She had seen it many times.

  “Yes! You know him? You have seen him?”

  “He’s dead. Dry-gulched. He was killed near Santos three days ago.”

  “You knew him?” Tess repeated.

  “No. I got kicked off a train I was ridin’.

  I found him dyin’. He told me a
bout you, asked me to help. There was nobody else around, so I came.”

  “Oh, thank you! But Rex! Rex Tilden dead.

  And because of me!”

  His face didn’t change. “Mebbe.”… He brought out the gun he had taken from Clyde and checked it. “Mebbe I’ll need this. Where’s that dam?”

  “Up there, on the ridge. But they have it guarded.”

  “Do they?” He didn’t look interested.

  She put the bacon on his plate and poured coffee. He ate in silence, and when he had finished, it was dark. He got up suddenly.

  “You got a gun?” He asked.

  “Just a small rifle, for rabbits.”

  “Use it. If anything moves, shoot.”

  “But it might be you”… She protested. “When you come back, I mean!”

  He smiled, and his whole face seemed to lighten.

  “When anything moves, shoot. It won’t be me.

  When I come back yuh won’t hear me.”

  “Who are you?” It was the first time she had asked that.

  He hesitated, looking at the ground and then at her, and his eyes glinted with humor.

  “My name is Barney Shaw”… He said then.

  “That mean anything to yuh?”

  She shook her head.

  “Should it?”

  “No, I reckon not.”

  He ate for a while in silence and then looked up at her.

  “A few years ago I was punchin’ cows. Then I worked in the mines. A man saw me in a fight once and trained me. In two years I was one of the best. Then I killed a man in a dice game and got two years for it. He was cheatin’, I accused him, he struck at me.

  “When the two years was up I’d been sentenced to ten, but they let me out after two I went to sea. I was at sea for four years. Then I decided to come back and find a place for myself, here in the West. But first, a job.”

  Tess looked at him understandingly.

  “I need a man”… She said, “but I haven’t the money to pay.”

  He looked at his plate. “How about a workin’ share?”

  “All right. Fifty-fifty.”… She smiled ruefully.

  “But it isn’t much. I think Clyde will win, after all.”

  “Not if I can help it. How much do yuh owe?”

  “A thousand dollars. It might as well be a million.