‘Nope, all I want is to have the shoes on my horse taken care of.’ Buck watched as the man took the shoe out of the forge and dropped it sizzling into a bucket of water.
‘Mister, you are about to learn what happens when someone I like gets hurt. I’m gonna hurt you,’ he whispered menacingly, as he walked toward the big cowboy. Buck stepped back and drew his Colt.
‘I don’t think so. A bullet in the leg will put a helluva stop to your fixing the shoes on my horse.’
‘Are you going to shoot me too, killer?’ someone behind Buck asked. Looking over his shoulder he saw the young man who’d been with the farmer, Cooder, standing with a three-tined pitchfork in his hands. ‘Why don’t you just put that pistol away and stand up to Calvin? Let’s see how you do without a gun in your hand.’ He said, laughing and jabbing threateningly at the cowboy’s back.
Buck looked back at the blacksmith who stood with his arms crossed, smiling. Shaking his head, Buck walked his horse over and looped the reins over a fence rail. Removing his Stetson, he let it dangle by the chinstrap from the black’s saddle horn. Unbuckling his gunbelt he hung it with the hat.
‘You better hang on to that pitchfork, youngster. You might need it.’
‘Come and get it, back shooter,’ the smith snarled, his body in a crouch, his calloused hands curled into rough-looking fists, as he slowly moved closer to Buck.
CHAPTER 10
Calvin almost ended the battle with the first blow. Buck took the first one on his shoulder, being able to only just duck out of the way of the fist. Back pedaling, he tried to get his balance, but the man was on him and didn’t let the cowboy get set. Evading the blacksmith’s iron-hard fists as much as he could, Buck misjudged the attack and the second jolt was to his rib cage. Knocked flat on his back, he quickly rolled away from the big man. Laughing at him in the dust, Calvin stood, waiting for him to get up. Buck saw the smithy wasn’t even breathing hard.
As strong as Buck was, this man was a lot stronger. It had been a long time since he’d been in a stand-up fistfight and this wasn’t going his way. Taking as much time as he could, he slowly came to his feet.
‘You aren’t so much without your gun, are you, killer?’ someone behind Buck laughed.
Wincing at the pain in his chest, Buck raised his fists and began circling the big blacksmith. Jabbing with a quick left, he saw that for all his size, Calvin was slow, a big, slow tree of a man. Another jab clipped his whiskery chin, brought the smith’s roundhouse left fist around. Buck ducked and came up inside, landing a solid blow square on the man’s chin. Shaking his head, the blacksmith grinned.
‘Is that the best you can do, little man?’
Buck didn’t waste time answering but started to circle again. If he could get a couple more like that, maybe he had a chance. Slow to react, the big man might be, but he was quicker when he needed to be. Buck flinched to the right when he saw the man’s left coming at him, only to run into a clenched right fist. Once again he found himself on his back in the street’s dust.
‘Stop it!’ he heard a woman’s cry. ‘Calvin, you stop fighting right now! You’ll kill him.’ Now on his knees, Buck shook his head, trying to stop the ringing.
‘Aw, Sis, this is the hardcase that ambushed Jose’s pa. Let Calvin have some fun with him,’ young Cooder protested.
‘I ain’t through with him yet,’ Calvin growled, standing with his legs firmly planted, waiting for Buck to get up.
Taking a quick glance around, Buck saw that quite a crowd had gathered to watch. Slowly he came to his feet and with his fists up circled his opponent, looking for an opening. Staying out of the smithy’s range, Buck knew if he took another wallop like the last one he wouldn’t get up. Jabbing as he circled, he kept his feet moving, ready for any strike. A couple of his jabs landed on the side of Calvin’s chin, one slamming against the side of the big man’s ear when he ducked. None of the punches seemed to bother the blacksmith.
Calvin’s grin grew as he turned, watching as the cowboy circled around. ‘Dammit, stand still,’ he snarled, hurling his fist once more at Buck’s head. Seeing it coming, Buck danced back and then reversed and, moving inside, slammed first his left fist and then his right, landing both on the unshaven chin knocking the blacksmith on his back.
Buck moved back and used the time to catch his breath, watching as the smithy rolled over and got his feet under him. Standing and shaking his head, neither man was ready to continue when Buck was pushed from behind. Off balance, he fell toward Calvin who reacted with a backhand that smacked Buck’s head around.
On his hands and knees, Buck let his head hang down and barely heard the yells and roars of the crowd aimed at whoever had pushed him. Slower than ever, he stood up. Putting up his fists once more and ignoring the sounds of the crowd, he started his circling. Almost stumbling as he moved, Buck knew he’d have only one more chance before it’d be all over.
Calvin simply batted the jabs at his face away. Standing solidly he could see that Buck was on his last legs. He could wait. Turning slowly as Buck circled he smiled and let one work-hardened fist fall a bit, enticing the other man to swing. Buck’s left fist snaked out and as the smithy’s dropped hand came up, Buck saw the opening and launched his right. Bringing it up from the ground and throwing all his weight behind it, his knuckles contacted fully on Calvin’s chin. Falling back from the blow the smithy’s head struck the iron anvil. Sprawled out, he didn’t move.
CHAPTER 11
Buck stood for a moment, catching his breath before turning to the now quiet crowd. Looking directly at young Cooder, he smiled. ‘Now who was it that pushed me?’ he asked, as evilly as he could.
Cooder, his face white with fear, turned and, pushing through the mob, disappeared.
‘Mister?’ Buck turned to find a young woman, no more than a girl, looking up at him. ‘He didn’t mean to push you,’ she said, letting her eyes drop in embarrassment.
Buck glanced beyond the girl at others who had watched the fight. Slowly, with the excitement over, the citizens began to go about their business leaving only a few anxious to see what would happen next. Standing beside Matilda Randle was Hugh Hightower. Matilda’s face was flushed and strained.
‘He didn’t?’ Buck asked quizzically, looking closely at the girl and seeing the family resemblance. ‘Is this the same fellow who stood behind me with a pitchfork forcing the fight?’
Stammering with more embarrassment, the girl simply nodded. ‘He’s just hot-headed. And the Navarros have been friends of our family since we got here. He really isn’t cruel or mean, just angry.’
‘Buck, I’d like to talk with you when you’re finished there,’ said Matilda, still full of nervous tension. ‘I’ll be at the horses.’ Turning she walked away with Hightower at her side leaving Frank and two other young men. Smirking, Frank nodded to Buck and nudging the man next to him, followed his father.
‘Young lady … what’s your name, anyhow?’
‘Elizabeth Cooder.’
‘Yeah, I figured. I’ve met your father and his friends and now I’ve met you and your brother. A very angry family, aren’t you, and blaming your troubles on Matilda’s crew. And myself, of course. Well, Miss Cooder, I’ll tell you just as I’ve tried to persuade everybody … I did not shoot the sheepherder or his boy’s sheep.’
‘The sheriff thinks you did and until he learns differently, so does my pa. And,’ she said, with pride behind her words, ‘so do I.’
‘Elizabeth, come away now.’ The youngster who had been standing with the Hightowers put his hand on the girl’s arm. ‘It does no good, standing here in the street talking to this man.’
Nodding in agreement and giving Buck a last look of displeasure, Elizabeth Cooder let the young man walk her away.
Buck watched the couple walk off and, after checking to see that Calvin was breathing, dipped his head in a nearby water trough. Combing his hair with his fingers and brushing at his clothes, he buckled on his gunbelt and settled his hat in p
lace before stepping into the saddle and going to looking for Matilda. What he really wanted, he thought was a hot bath and a drink of good whiskey, but that could wait a bit.
Hightower and Matilda were sitting on chairs on the hotel porch as Buck rode up. Tying the reins loosely to the rail, he went up the three broad steps and stood facing them. After nodding in Hightower’s direction, he put his fingers to his hat, as a greeting to Matilda.
‘You said you wanted to talk,’ he smiled, lounging back against the porch railing. The pain in his chest was fading so he didn’t believe a rib had been broken. When the smithy had hit him, he was sure the whole side of his chest had been caved in, but now the main pain was the throbbing in his head.
‘Yes, I do.’ She turned to Hightower and said, ‘Thank you, Hugh. But I think I’d better handle this.’
The horse rancher signaled his agreement and with a last mocking smile at the standing cowboy, walked off down the boardwalk.
‘Buck, I don’t know what to think. You have offered to help me with the bank and I appreciate that, but, well, since you came into the valley there have been at least two men shot, one of them a defenseless old sheepherder. The other, I’ll admit, might have been a rustler, but we’ll never know, will we?’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘And now picking a fight with the blacksmith. I honestly don’t know what to believe.’
‘I see your beau, Hightower, didn’t waste any time,’ he said gently.
‘He’s not my beau.’ Anger brought more color to her face. ‘Hugh is just looking out for me. After all, I’ve known him since I was little and I don’t know you at all. Of course he’s concerned for me and did talk to me on the things he’s worried about.’
‘For the record, Mrs Randle,’ he let a little bite creep into his words, ‘the rustler was stealing your cows and he did make his draw first. As far as that old sheepherder is concerned, I didn’t shoot him. Wasn’t anywhere near his camp when it happened. The fight? Well, I didn’t start that and was damn lucky to walk away when it was finished.’
‘Maybe all you say is right and Hugh is wrong. I’m just not sure.’
‘Well, missy, you just do whatever you think is best for you. I was asked by my good friend the professor to help you if I could and that’s what I’m doing.’
‘Buck, I’m very grateful for your offer to pay the bank payment, but you won’t have to. Hugh says he’ll take care of it and I can repay him when I sell my herd.’
Buck studied the toe of his boots for a minute and then smiled down at the woman. ‘All right. It’s your call. Now, if you’ll excuse me I think it’s time for a drink and a bath.’ Touching his hat brim toward the lady, he picked up the reins and swung back into the saddle.
CHAPTER 12
While Buck enjoyed the luxuriously steaming-hot bath water, he had the dirt from the street beaten and shaken out of his clothes. Once again he didn’t know what to do. He had offered Matilda money to help her out of one problem and had been turned down. The rustling, at least as far as one curly wolf was concerned, was taken care of. He could, he supposed, have a talk with the man holding the gambling IOUs, but that might be a problem better left to Matilda to work out. What else could he do? Leaving the valley without feeling he’d done as the professor had asked was not an easy decision, but … what else was there?
His black horse was ready for traveling. Riding away from the hotel and Matilda, he had gone back to the stable and the blacksmith’s shop. Someone had poured a pail of water over the smith and Buck found him sitting with his back to the tree stump that held the anvil, holding his head.
‘I have to say,’ Buck smiled through his words, ‘getting hit by you is not something I’d recommend to my worst enemy.’
Calvin moved his head slowly as if he was afraid it’d break. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘Why, my horse still needs shoeing. That little fight didn’t put you out of business, did it?’
‘You’d come back here, after doing what you did? And expect me to put shoes on your horse?’
‘Hey, my horse didn’t do anything to you. To tell the truth, if it hadn’t been for that anvil, I’d be the one holding my head. You’re one tough man.’
Staring up at the rider, the smith thought for a minute and then smiled. ‘You are not so easy yourself. Here, help me up.’ He held out a big paw of a hand. Buck swung down and pulled the man up. ‘Is your horse as mean as you said?’
‘He’s got a mean streak, for sure. Somehow he puts up with me, but he can get rambunctious around anyone else.’
‘Damn. All right, you hold him and I’ll fix his shoes.’
Buck held the big black’s bridle and Calvin lifted first one leg and then the other, inspecting the shoes. The man was big and tough, but his hands were surprisingly gentle as he ran them down each leg.
‘Have to replace that one,’ he allowed, ‘a couple nails in another and you’ll be right.’ Standing and looking at Buck, he thought for a minute and then asked, ‘Is it true? Did you shoot old Juan Navarro like they say you did?’
‘Nope. The old man shared a cup of coffee with me and when his boy came into camp … well, I decided not to take him up on his invitation to spend the night. I rode on and made a dry camp a few miles away. Didn’t hear any shots and didn’t know there had been any until a day or so later when young Navarro came in accusing me. I liked him, the old man, I mean.’
‘OK, then. I’ll fit a new shoe on your horse.’
Buck stood by the black’s head, stroking his broad forehead while Calvin sized a shoe and nailed it in place. Accepting a few coins in payment, the blacksmith nodded his thanks and without another word went back to the bellows, forcing air into the forge, building up his fire.
With one foot in the stirrup, Buck stopped and watched a man come riding down the street toward him.
‘Hey, there. Where can I find Miz Randle?’ the Rocking C foreman asked pulling to a stop. ‘We got to that pen you told us about a tad late. The cattle had been moved out.’
‘Damn,’ Buck swore, grimacing. ‘I’ll bet it was that fool partner of the guy I shot, Lew. He probably met up with the rest of the gang. That’s how they got the jump on you. Those cows’ll be sold by now. I should’ve gone back then, instead of grabbing a night in a real bed.’
‘Well, we know where they went and they couldn’t have been traveling very fast. I followed the trail left by the rustlers. They’re heading for the railhead at Big Valley. That’s where we’ll be taking our herd. There’re always a few buyers hanging out there this time of year. More later in the fall when ranchers from all over this part of the state make their drives.’
‘Hank, how far south is that railhead?’ asked Buck as he swung into the saddle.
‘From here? It’s maybe two days’ ride, I expect. With a fast horse, a rider might make it in a bit less.’
Thinking about it, Buck shook his head. ‘They don’t know me there, so if I were to come riding in nobody would pay me any attention.’
‘Well, unless Miz Randle says different, I can’t go. After all, it’s only a dozen or so yearlings and young stuff. They’d already started dropping off the mother cows so those that reach the buyers will have the right brands on their hip. I just wanted to let Miz Randle know what I’d found and this is almost on my way back to the holding ground. I still got a round-up to take care of.’
Buck told Hank he’d most likely find his boss at the hotel. At least that was the last place he’d seen her. As the foreman reined away, Buck called out a questions. ‘How far south would I find the sign of the rustled stock?’
‘About two hours or so, a little south-east of here. The river thins out just before it joins the Red River,’ Hank pointed. ‘That one is more dirt than water, too thick to drink but too wet to walk on, they say. This time of year a herd can be forded almost anywhere along there. You watch, you won’t miss the mess those young beeves made making the crossing. The railhead is just a few miles beyond.’ Tipping his hat, t
he foreman reined around and gigged his horse on up the street.
It was well over two hours before Buck found any sign of a small herd being pushed along. The sun was close to dropping below the horizon when he found the hoofprints. Even then, with dusk starting to make it difficult, he might not have found the trail except for the bawling of a cow. Turning to find the troubled animal, he came up on a mean-looking cow walking with her head down, looking about ready to drop.
‘Hey, bossy,’ Buck murmured. ‘What are you doing out here, trying to be dinner for a bunch of coyotes?’ Coyotes wouldn’t bother a full-grown beef and rarely even try to bring down anything but a newborn calf. But from the looks of the cow, death wasn’t far away. Thin, even in the failing light, Buck could see her ribs sticking out of her heaving sides. Hearing the horse coming up behind her, she stopped and turned her head, swinging her wide-spaced horns toward any danger. Buck pulled his horse to a halt.
‘Well, horse, what do you say we make a dry camp right about here? There’s enough water in the canteen to make things a little better.’ Once again the horse didn’t pay any attention.
Camp was quickly set up. First he dropped a rope around the cow’s horns and snubbing her head to a nearby bush, poured a good measure of water into his cooking pan. Picketing his horse, he shared more of the water with the black stud. After a quick supper cooked over a small fire, he filled his coffee pot with enough for tonight and in the morning and gave the rest to the tethered cow. He wasn’t sure, but this heifer looked a lot like the one he’d seen in the rope corral. There was no reason he could think of for her to be following the rustled herd. If so, maybe he could make her trip a little easier.
CHAPTER 13
The next morning Buck hazed the heifer along as fast as he dared. Late in the morning they come up on the river and he could see what Hank had meant about it becoming thin. Flowing out over the flats, the water spread out wide and shallow. Both the big black and the heifer quickly drank their fill.
Buck and the Widow Rancher (2006) Page 6