Morgan could have pointed out that Jim Carrick had settled on the best farm site in the valley, not caring whether it was open to entry or not, but he didn’t argue. His own father had done the same thing, and held the same low opinion of the company. So Morgan built a smoke, and shook his head when Carrick offered the bottle.
“You’re sitting between a rock and the hard place, ain’t you?” Morgan asked.
“That’s right,” Carrick said gloomily. “We furnish Clancy and his outfit with grain and garden sass and hay. That’s free to him for lettin’ us live here. Once a year he butchers and gives every family a quarter of beef. You’d think he was bein’ plumb generous the way he acts. Might as well be livin’ in the old days with a king pushin’ you around. Got so you can’t even blow your nose without ridin’ over to the Turkey Track and askin’ old Broad about it.” He shook his head. “Now if the company moves in, we won’t have nothin’.”
“Might be you’re wrong. Suppose a lot of people move into the valley. It’ll bust the Turkey Track. You’ll have neighbors working for the same thing you are. Won’t be long till a railroad is built in and Irish Bend will be a big town.”
“Crazy talk,” Carrick jeered. “I’ll lose this place, won’t I?” He flung a big hand toward the Morgan graves. “You know why I kept ’em up? Clipped the grass and watered ’em? I’ll tell you. Them boys died fightin’ Broad Clancy. I never knowed ’em, but they stood for somethin’. I keep hangin’ on, thinkin’ more folks’ll move in so we can give old Broad a fight and I want ’em to see other men have died tryin’ to make this a free valley.”
“Look, Jim,” Morgan said suddenly. “I own the wagon road grant. Not somebody back in Boston in a soft-bottomed chair. I want families on this land. I hope to make money and I hope to bust Clancy, but mostly I want folks to develop this valley the way Dad wanted it done.”
“I’ll be blowed!” Carrick had started to lift the bottle again. He put it back, eyes pinned on Morgan. “Yes, sir, I’ll be blowed!”
“This place is on an odd section,” Morgan went on. “That makes it mine, but I don’t want to shove you off. I’ve got a proposition. Interested?”
“You’re danged right!” Carrick boomed.
“By September the valley will be full of settlers. They’ve got to be fed. We’ll have to haul water for ’em. They’ll need horse feed. Maybe there’ll be a fight with the Turkey Track. I want your help. You give me that help, and the day the land sale is finished, I’ll hand you a deed to your land.”
“Mister, you’ve made a deal, and I hope there’s some fightin’.”
“What about the others?”
Carrick spat contemptuously. “Like I told you, Royce is no good, and that gal of his is a no-good. A Delilah. I like a pretty filly same as the next man, but I don’t like to see ’em give a wiggle at every man that goes by. Maybe you’ll find a few who’ll back you up, but most of ’em will sell out to Clancy.” Carrick sobered. “You’re buckin’ a pat hand, Morgan. All below the north rim know that the minute they start goin’ ag’in’ Broad Clancy, he’ll send Rip and Jaggers Flint and a bunch of riders, and every nester in the valley will get cleaned out.”
“I’ll go see ’em,” Morgan said promptly.
“Me and Tom and Buck will back your play no matter what it buys us,” Carrick promised.
Morgan leaned back in the chair. He was more tired than he had realized. He felt like a man who has been in a whip-lashing gale and will go into it again in a moment, but now is in a pool of quiet. He looked across the valley toward the Sunset Mountains, rising swiftly above the nearly flat desert, the green pine-covering turned a hazy blue by the distance.
Here was an open land, a wide land bright with promise. For the moment Morgan let his dreams build. If they held the dark shadow of trouble, it was no more than he could expect. He could cope with trouble when it came; he had been raised with it. He had always been alone; he would be alone now except for the Carricks.
A man could do no more than fight the thing that opposed him, regardless of the form it held. The fun came in the dreaming and the shaping of that dream into the hardness of reality. Someday he might not be alone. A woman gave a fullness to a man’s life. He had never known his mother, but from the things his father had told him, she must have been beautiful and fine, the kind of woman a man sees in his mind, with little hope of finding.
He thought of Jewell Clancy, sweet and fine and practical, but set apart from him because she was named Clancy and he was a Morgan. There was Peg Royce, vibrant and alive, the thought of her enough to send a stirring through him. Carrick had called her a Delilah. Buck had said she was a poison. Still, she fastened herself in his mind. He remembered the fragrance of her hair, the thrill of her nearness when she had stood close to him.
Carrick sat in silence, watching Morgan soberly, as if sensing the younger man’s thoughts.
“I ain’t one to tell another fellow his business,” he broke out, “but you’d better get one thing straight now. Don’t have no truck with either Pete Royce or his girl. They’ll sell you out and shoot you in the back. They’ll....”
The clatter of horses’ hoofs brought Carrick upright.
“Tom,” he whispered. “He’s bringin’ Buck in. The boy didn’t come home last night.”
Buck was reeling in his saddle, his face powder-gray, blood a black patch on his shirt front.
“Got shot by Rip Clancy last night!” Tom Carrick called. “Pretty bad. Now you ready to go after him?”
Jim Carrick swayed drunkenly, a hand gripping a fence post.
“Let’s get Buck in,” he said harshly. “Then I reckon we’ll ride.” He swung to face Morgan. “Mister, no use puttin’ this off. If you want our help, you sure as thunder better ride with us.”
“That’ll wait.” Morgan helped Buck down. “Your boy won’t.”
They carried Buck inside. Buck was, Morgan saw, closer to death than he had at first thought.
“Doc Velie’s at the Royce place,” Morgan said grimly. “If Tom busts the breeze gettin’ there, he can catch him.”
“I ain’t goin’ after no sawbones,” Tom said darkly. “I’m goin’ after Rip Clancy.”
“Then you’ll have a dead brother,” Morgan snapped. “That slug has got to come out of him.”
Still Tom hesitated, his narrow vindictive face dark with the urge to kill.
“Go on,” Jim Carrick said. “Morgan’s right.”
Tom wheeled out of the cabin. The thunder of his horse’s hoofs came and was slowly muffled by distance, then died.
“Kick up your fire.” Morgan motioned to the fireplace. “Get a kettle of water on there and find some clean rags.”
Jim Carrick obeyed. Buck lay on the bunk, eyes closed, body slack from weariness.
“Can’t understand it,” Carrick muttered. “Buck went to town yesterday. We’ve been workin’ pretty hard gettin’ some crops in. Tom...he ain’t worth a cuss here. Hunts and fishes and rides all the time. Ain’t no part of the farmer in him, but Buck had a night for howlin’ comin’ to him. Must have got drunk and jumped Rip.”
“Tell him, Buck,” Morgan said softly. Buck stirred, his eyes coming open. “Nothin’ to tell,” he muttered.
“You’re forgettin’ Peg,” Morgan pressed.
It was cruel, but necessary. The one thing Morgan couldn’t afford now was a showdown fight with the Turkey Track. If he rode to town with the Carricks, the only result would be a useless death.
“That Royce gal ain’t got nothin’ to do with his gettin’ shot!” Jim Carrick bellowed. “You tryin’ to say she did, Morgan?”
“Go ahead, Buck,” Morgan urged, “unless you want me to tell it.”
Young Carrick understood. He struggled for a moment with indecision before he said: “I met Peg at the Smith shack. This hombre was there. Rip and his bunch was huntin’ me. Pe
g came back and I lined out south, but Rip caught up with me at the lake. We swapped some lead and they got lucky, but I gave ’em the dodge. Fainted once and fell out of the saddle. Tom found me the other side of Morgan rock. Couldn’t get back on my horse.”
Jim Carrick was trembling with rage. He began to curse. “So you’re seein’ that cussed, double-crossin’, no-good....”
Morgan came quickly across the room to him. “You trying to kill him, you fool? Tell him it’s all right.”
Carrick sleeved sweat from his forehead. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “All right, boy. It’s all right.”
Buck had closed his eyes again. “I love her, Dad. I’ll run away with her if I have to.”
Morgan jerked his head at the door. Carrick stepped outside, Morgan following.
“Now get this through your head, Jim. We can ride to town looking for Rip and get ourselves killed, which same won’t do no good at all. Buck asked for his trouble. If you go off and leave him, he’ll die.”
“You said yourself a man can stand so much pushin’ and no more,” Carrick flung back. “I’ve had mine.”
“There’s no hurry,” Morgan urged. “Wait till Buck’s on his feet. No sense in getting salivated if it doesn’t do some good.”
Carrick wiped a big hand across his face, a driving rage battling his better judgment.
“All right,” he said at last. “We’ll wait, but I won’t have him seein’ Peg Royce. You hear?”
“Don’t tell me,” Morgan said softly. “Tell Buck when he’s able to listen.”
VIII
It was near sunset when Doc Velie rode in with Tom Carrick. Doc was an old man, close to seventy, white whiskered and gaunt with gray eyes that were unusually keen for a man his age.
“Been kicking things around for a fellow who’s been in the valley less than twenty-four hours,” he said as he shook Morgan’s hand. “Old Josh Morgan’s son, ain’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“You won’t live long,” Velie said briskly. “Nobody backs Jaggers Flint down, growls at Broad, shoots Pete Royce, and peels Rip’s hide off his back, and lives to talk about it. You just cut too wide a swath, mister.”
Tom Carrick’s dour face was momentarily lighted by a rush of admiration.
“I figgered you wrong, Morgan. From now on count me in. I want to see things like that.”
“You’ll see him die,” the medico said brusquely. “Come on, Jim. Give me a hand. You other two stay outside.”
While Doc Velie operated, Morgan told Tom Carrick why he was in the valley and what he hoped to do. Tom swore in delight.
“I’d have braced old Broad myself if I’d had the chance,” he declared. “I ain’t cut out for no farmer. Maybe I’ll be a town marshal when Irish Bend spreads out.”
“Maybe,” Morgan said, and let it go at that. Tom Carrick lacked the cool judgment a lawman needed, but there was no point in telling him so.
Hours later Doc Velie came out of the cabin, with Jim Carrick behind him.
“It’ll be close,” the medico said. “He’s lost a lot of blood and that slug was hard to get. Keep somebody with him all the time, Jim, and don’t get him worked up over nothing. Might be a good idea to send for Peg Royce.”
“She’ll never put a foot in my house,” Jim Carrick said darkly.
“All right. Let the boy die.” Velie pinned his eyes on Tom who had come to stand in the patch of light washing through the open door. “If you want Buck to live, quit talking about getting square with Rip Clancy. No use of worrying him with your tough talk.”
Without another word Doc Velie strode to his horse, pulled himself into saddle, and rode westward.
“There goes the one man in this valley,” Jim Carrick murmured, “who ain’t afraid to tell Broad Clancy what he thinks....”
* * * * *
The next week was slow and worry-plagued. Morgan or Jim or Tom Carrick was always in the cabin or within call. Tom fretted with the inaction, giving less time than either of the others, and the moment he was relieved, he would saddle his horse and thunder out of the yard without a backward glance.
“Always been that way,” Jim Carrick said, with regret. “I’ve been a farmer all my life. Always will be. Like to have my hands on the plow. Like to have my feet in the furrow. Buck’s like me.” He shook his head, brown eyes turned dull by regret. “But Tom’s got wild blood in him. Wants to ride out of the valley and hire his gun. Born to die with lead in him, I reckon.”
It was not a wasted week for Morgan. He learned the names of the nester families, what each man was like, how far he could be depended upon. He trusted Jim Carrick’s judgment. He felt a closeness and understanding the same as he instinctively felt distrust of Tom. Not of the boy’s integrity or loyalty, but his stability, for Tom Carrick was the kind who would throw away his life on a sudden wild impulse, and bitterness over Buck’s shooting was growing in him.
* * * * *
At the end of the week Doc Velie nodded with satisfaction as he made his examination of Buck.
“Give him plenty to eat and keep him quiet,” he said. “All it takes is time.” He winked at Buck. “That’s what comes of living right.” Outside, he laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “I’m not one to meddle in family business, but Buck’s not going to get back on his feet like he ought to unless he’s got something to live for.”
“If you’re talking about Peg....”
“That’s just who I am talking about,” the medico snapped.
“He’s got me to live for,” Jim said sourly. “And Tom. He’s got the place.”
“Blessed if you ain’t the stubbornest man outside the Clancy family there is in the valley. Jim, get this through your thick head. Buck has come close to dying. He loves you and Tom, sure. He likes the place even if it isn’t yours, but there’s something more than that in the living and dying of a man. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve seen it time after time. I know it’s something beyond what any doctor can do for a man. I reckon you’d call it the will to live. Put Peg Royce in this house for a few hours and you’ll think it’s a miracle. Don’t send for her, and chances are you’ll bury him up there with the Morgan boys.”
It was the longest speech Morgan had heard the medico make.
“Jim,” he said, when Velie was gone, “I’ve got to get some chores done. I’d like for Tom to notify all the north-rim nesters that there’ll be a meeting tonight. Can he see ’em in time?”
“Sure.”
“Where’ll we have it? Here?”
Carrick shook his head. “It’d be a long way for some of ’em to come. Let’s say Blazer’s place. That’s central, and it’d make ’em be there.” He gave Morgan a straight look. “Be ready for the cussedest fight you ever had. A pair of fists is the only thing that’ll make Arch listen.”
“Then that’s what I’ll use.” Morgan glanced up at the sun. “Get Tom started. You and me will head out of here ’bout noon.”
As Morgan turned toward the corral Carrick called: “Where you goin’?”
“After Peg.”
Morgan didn’t look back. He had learned to know Jim Carrick well, and he measured him as a just man but a stubborn one. He was not sure whether Jim would rather see his son dead or married to Peg Royce.
Strangely enough, he never doubted that Peg would come, but when he reined up in front of the Royce cabin, doubts hit him like the rush of cloudburst waters roaring down a dry channel. Peg was standing in the doorway, black-haired head tilted against the jamb, the same confident smile on her lips that had been there the last time he had seen her.
“So, you came back, Mister Morgan.” She walked quickly across the yard to where he sat his saddle. “Get down. Royce isn’t here.”
“You’ve heard about Buck?” he asked her.
She nodded, suddenly sober. “Doc stops whe
never he goes by. He was worried about Buck for a while.”
“He’s still worried. When Buck was out of his head, he did a lot of talking about you.”
Interest was keen in her dark eyes. “What did he say?”
“He loves you, but I guess you knew that. He’s still pretty bad. We’ve got to be gone a day or two. Jim wants you to come over and stay with Buck.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment before she caught the significance of what he had said.
“I gave up believing in fairies a long time ago, Mister Morgan,” she said then. “I’d as soon start in now as believe Jim Carrick wants me in his house.”
“It’s true.”
He had a bad moment then. He wasn’t sure Peg believed him and he wasn’t sure she would come. He thought of telling her it was her fault Buck had been shot, and knew that wouldn’t do. He thought of offering her money, and immediately gave that up. So he sat looking down at her and saying nothing until she laughed, not the gay laugh he had heard before but a short, bitter one, as if something had hurt her and she was covering it with a show of humor.
“All right. I guess I’d better not miss seeing Jim Carrick’s face when I walk in.”
“I’ll saddle up for you,” Morgan offered.
“You could take me up in front.”
“This animal won’t carry double,” he said quickly. “I’ll saddle up.”
She bit her lip, frowning. “I don’t usually frighten men,” she said.
“I scare easy,” he said. Reining around her, he rode to the corral.
There was little talk on the way back to the Carrick place. Morgan watched Peg for minutes at a time, but if she was aware of it, she gave no indication. He had never seen, he thought, a prettier girl. Her firm chest rose and fell with her breathing. He saw the pulse beat in her white throat. When at last she appeared conscious of his gaze, she turned to him, smiling again, and he saw the dimples in her cheeks and the knowledge in her dark eyes.
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