by Abe Dancer
‘There’s some would call that the thunderbolt,’ Broome said, while favouring Felix with an incredulous stare. ‘If your brain was an egg, I’d say it was addled under that goddamn hat you’re still wearin’.’
Felix grimaced, removed his hat before he responded. ‘I knew it wouldn’t be easy gettin’ your approval, Pa, but I’d like it anyway,’ he said. ‘The girl’s Megan McGovren.’
‘What?’ Wilshaw Broome’s eyes took on a curious, alarmed glint.
‘Megan. I asked her today. Asked her to marry me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said she’d think it over. Comin’ from a well-mannered girl, that’s got to mean yes.’
‘So how bad do you want all this – the girl, the home, the settlin’ down? How’s your gut feelin’?’
‘I never thought of it in them terms, Pa. It’s just somethin’ that I feel when I’m with Meg.’ By Felix’s sensitive assessment, Broome thought he might have his son cornered. ‘Well, I ain’t givin’ my approval or anythin’ else,’ he said. ‘You really thought I would?’
Felix winced at his father’s spoiling. ‘No, o’ course I didn’t. I was just runnin’ out some courtesy I picked up from somewhere,’ he retaliated. ‘What’s your difficulty with Megan McGovren?’
‘It’s the difficulty that you’re goin’ to have with her pa, the moment she tells him your intentions towards her. He’ll lay for you with everythin’ he’s got. The only chance you’ll have of a life with young Megan is to wait till the worms are feedin’ off his scrawny ol’ hide.’
‘We’ll just up an’ marry. I’m prepared to take a chance if Megan is.’
‘There won’t be a chance, Felix. He’ll shoot you from the saddle. At the very least go an’ see him. Use that new found courtesy to pay your respects. See his reaction for yourself.’ Broome waited for a second, while his opinion sank in. ‘An’ I don’t blame you for wantin’ Megan McGovren,’ he added. ‘Now get, I still got me some business thoughts.’
When Felix had left the room, Broome turned back to the fire, closed his eyes on his new problems. Goddamn Ben MeGovren, was his immediate thought. Less than a month to go until my title’s good, an’ he still ain’t talkin’ to me. He’s got somethin’ up his sleeve, that’s for sure. Although, if his boy was enamoured of the man’s daughter, maybe he had an advantage. Hmm, but just where and when, he schemed.
Early next morning Ben McGovren was saddling his horse, when Megan came out. She drew the mare’s head towards her, while Ben fastened the cinch.
‘Megan, there ain’t much I ever told you not to do,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but I got to make sure you don’t go ridin’ the thickets for a few days.’
‘I know, you already told me, Pa,’ Megan replied. ‘So where are you ridin’ to?’
‘Lemmon. It ain’t likely that Hector an’ Joseph will turn up there, but I’ve got to go see. They might need mounts.’
‘You told me it would be you found dead in the thicket, not me.’
‘Think, Megan. I was talkin’ about events after the trouble, not before.’
A few minutes later, Megan watched her father ride across the river. I never saw him so tired and worried, she mused. He only hints at stuff, the stuff I don’t know about. For heaven’s sake why can’t one of us amount to something? If I had, I can’t see Felix Broome thinking I’d want to marry him. She shook her head sadly, turned away as Ben disappeared into the trail that cut through the pear and mesquite.
Back at the cabin, she turned the other horses out on the range, left her own mount in the corral. She would much rather be riding out than staying close and listening to the trials and tribulations of her mother. But her father had asked her, and she wouldn’t flout his request. She had long known of hostility between her father and Wilshaw Broome; in more recent years, had supposed it to be the explicable envy of a cockle-bar cow outfit. Now she knew there was something more behind the hostility, something to do with the land. It was her pa blaming Broome for losing the ‘little world of league and labour’ that for so many years, he thought he had inherited. She also knew that if her pa was in danger for that ‘blame’ it would only be on her account.
As the hours dragged on, Megan’s concern persisted. She expected Ben to return shortly after midday, so after a bite of lunch, she went back to the corral and with growing unease saddled her horse. But then she climbed up on the corral fence and looked out across the creek to the mesquite through which the clearing ran. She sat there for nearly an hour, until she caught a glimpse of something moving through the brush. She watched until she could see the mount that was swerving erratically towards the creek, and barely a half-mile distant. She swung from the corral, was quickly astride her own horse, and she rode to just beyond the creek, where she almost ran headlong into Ben’s mare. The animal was fractious and jumpy from its run, was trailing ribbons of foam across its sweating neck. Megan herded it into a tight circle, and pushed it back along the trail in the direction of Lemmon.
About halfway between the McGovren cabin and Lemmon, the trail crossed a long draw that ran into the Rio Bonito. The broad, flat-bottomed gully was thickly grown over with mesquite, vine and catclaw, and Megan’s horse stopped short, snorted its displeasure. The girl dismounted and, catching Ben’s still frightened horse, she stood looking about her, groaned audibly when she recognized Ben’s Colt .44 by the side of the trail.
She noticed the near empty bottle of Jim Beam and the scuffle marks in the dust as she picked up the Colt. She could see the gun hadn’t been fired, and cursed for an explanation. Perhaps the mount ain’t such a clear foot as we all thought. ‘Yeah, that’ll be it,’ she muttered wretchedly, knowing that it wasn’t, and not understanding the whiskey bottle. She was on the point of tethering the horses and taking a look around when she heard the rumble of hoofs from the direction of Lemmon. Almost immediately, two dust-covered riders appeared through the brush and reined in within thirty feet of Megan. There was no need to ask or wonder who they were, she just knew.
12
The men were well mounted, and each carried a plain-to-see Colt at his belt, and a carbine in a saddle scabbard. From the way he sat the saddle, one of them was very tall and featured a drooping, iron-grey moustache. The other was a young, amenable-looking man with clear blue eyes.
‘You in some sort o’ trouble, ma’am?’ the older man enquired.
The nip of alarm ebbed away as Megan became more certain of the men’s identities. ‘No,’ she said as confident as she could. ‘This is my pa’s horse, but it’s comin’ home without him.’
‘Hmm, maybe he’s in trouble then,’ the man suggested. ‘Is that your pa’s Colt that you dropped when you saw us?’
‘Yes. But it hasn’t been fired. I didn’t want you thinkin’…’ Megan was saying.
The man shook his head as if to say that he wasn’t thinking anything. ‘You just stay here,’ he said. With that, he dismounted and went to take a closer look at the nearby thickets. Megan stood and waited with the young man who had yet to say anything. He studied the area that surrounded them, watching intently, taking in everything.
A few minutes later, the older man returned. ‘Which way did you expect your pa to come from?’ he asked Megan.
‘Lemmon,’ she answered, pointing in the direction of town.
The man gave a kindly smile. ‘Yeah, I know where Lemmon is,’ he said. ‘An’ how about you?’
‘My name’s Megan McGovren. Ben McGovren is my father. We got some land an’ a homestead not far from here.’
The man smiled again and nodded knowingly. ‘Well, my name’s Hector Chaf. The big button here is Joseph Kettle, an’ I’d be a mite surprised if that didn’t mean somethin’ to you.’
Megan nodded back. ‘It does. Pa got a letter an’ he’s been expectin’ you. Have you come from Lemmon?’
The man eyed Megan keenly. ‘So you’re the McGovren kid, eh?’ he considered. ‘You was no more’n knee-high, the last time I saw you. I
guess time really does work wonders. No, we ain’t been to or come from Lemmon, an’ for good reason. We struck this trail about a mile back, an’ I wish it had been sooner. Your pa an’ me once knew just about every inch o’ this country, so maybe it’s because o’ that, an’ the fact that none of us are gettin’ any younger, that he’s just nodded off in the saddle. His horse got spooked an’ down he went. Chances are he’s curled up around here somewhere too darned embarrassed to show his face. Now we’re here, you let us go find him. If we ain’t in your front yard come sundown, meet us back here.’
Megan glanced at Joe, and he nodded his own approval. She remounted and took the bridle of Ben’s horse from him. She smiled weakly and without another word, turned back along the trail.
When Megan was well clear, Joe pointed to the bottle. ‘Sleepin’ it off under the brush, more’n likely, if he’s sucked the life from that bottle,’ he said jokily.
Hector shook his head. ‘No, that’s not what happened. I reckon the party’s got itself started without us, goddamn it.’
Hector picked up the trail again and they followed it only for a short distance before he spurred for more speed. They forded the Rio Bonito where the prickly pear grew tall and he moved carefully on through the rough country for another half-mile.
‘See that big oak risin’ over there?’ he indicated Joe. ‘Well, that’s where we’re headed, In this rubbish we’re workin’ close, so leave your carbine.’
The men stopped, quietly loose tethered the mounts they’d purchased at the station yard in Flora Vista. They stole forward through the pear, stopping occasionally to listen, wait for the cicadas and quail to re-settle. They were only a short way off the big oak, when they heard the shouting.
‘Coffee’s goin’ to run out before full dark, food after breakfast.’ Ben McGovren’s voice carried. ‘If you don’t feed me you’ll get yourselves a whole day. What in hell’s name are you pair o’ turkeys goin’ to do after that?’ he shouted.
‘Huh, I guessed this is where he’d be if he was anywhere,’ Hector muttered to himself. ‘Didn’t guess he’d be in company, though.’
Hector and Joe inched closer. Through a break in the vegetation, a line shack stood hard against the trunk of a live oak. Two horses with dragging bridles were half hidden by a stand of tall cordgrass. They were nosing a ribbon of water that was a run off from the Rio Bonito, Two men stood at the open door, and Ben was sitting just inside, his hands bound, his knees drawn up against his chest. Of the two men, one was an American, the other carried the looks and garb of a Mexican.
‘We’ll be gettin’ another visitor, soon. You’ll be more obligin’ before the moon comes up,’ the American rasped.
‘Who the hell’s he talkin’ about?’ Hector said, as he waved Joe forward. The two men advanced quickly on the shack, their guns thrust forward, menacing the two captors.
‘Don’t move,’ Hector shouted. ‘Ben, you old goat, it’s me. Me an’ young Joe Kettle’s come to get you. Joe, cut him loose,’ he added
Hector turned on the other two men, roughly pushed one up against the other. ‘Do I shoot you without knowin’ who an’ why?’ he snapped at them.
‘I’m havin’ a say at what happens to them,’ Ben rasped, as he got to his feet. He rubbed at the parts that were aching and sore, then relieved the men of their holstered Colts.
‘We ain’t done any more’n what we was told to do,’ the American growled.
‘Hah, so that makes it OK, does it, you sons o’ bitches? Who was it gave you your orders then?’ Hector demanded.
‘An’ we don’t talk,’ the Mexican toughed.
‘That’s real gritty. Real gritty, an’ very, very stupid,’ Hector retorted, then turned to his old friend. ‘Ben, you got a daughter who’s more’n a tad worried about your welfare,’ he said. ‘No doubt your wife too, by now. You an’ Joe go back to the horses. Leave theirs, but take the guns. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’
‘What are you goin’ to do with them?’ Ben asked with an edge of anticipation.
‘Make sure they’re tucked up safe an’ sound. We don’t want ’em to follow just yet, do we?’ Hector shoved the two men inside the shack, indicated for them to stand against the wall opposite the door. ‘Ben McGovren’s been my friend for a long time, an’ he don’t deserve to be pig-strung by the likes o’ you.’ he said threateningly. ‘But so far it’s all you done, an’ I’m takin’ that into account.’
The American was suddenly concerned, ‘What you goin’ to do?’ he asked.
‘If you take a look, you’ll see this is a shack that’s got a hole in each of its corners,’ Hector explained. ‘They been chewed by cotton rats, maybe a coon who’s after the cowboys’ food store. Who knows, maybe a sidewinder got himself a home here.’
‘I don’t like any o’ them,’ the Mexican said uneasily.
‘Yeah, for good reason,’ Hector said, and stepped outside. He kicked the door to and threw across the retaining bar. ‘Maybe your kickin’ an’ hollerin’ will bring a big ol’ cougar to eat your mounts.’ Then he looked around him, dug deep into his pants pocket to feel a small canvas pouch he’d been keeping there.
‘You hurtin’ anywhere, Ben?’ Hector asked, when he returned to find him and Joe waiting in silence with the horses.
‘Maybe some place you can’t see,’ he said, suppressed anger showing darkly in his eyes. ‘Lucky for them fellers you showed up when you did.’
‘Yeah, I reckon they’re seein’ it that way too,’ Hector agreed with an ironic grin. ‘We found your horse, an’ signs o’ where you must’ve had a scuffle.’
‘Yeah, I thought you must’ve done,’ Ben gruffed. ‘I was on the way back from town when I met up with ’em. Their names are Buscar an’ Tate, who’s a straw boss to Broome. He pulled a bottle that’s got a couple o’ fingers left, an’ invites me to take a drink with him. “Cut the dust”, he says. Before I could refuse, they was real close, one each side o’ me. Next thing I knew, the Mex was pressin’ a Colt to my kidneys. Weren’t much I was goin’ to do in them circumstances.’
‘So what did happen?’ Hector asked.
‘Tate took my Colt an’ tossed it to the ground with the bottle. He told me to get off my horse, an’ he smacks it for home, says for him an’ Buscar to take me on to the line shack.’
‘What did they want? What was you supposed to be tellin’ ’em?’
‘While they’re tyin’ me up, Tate asks what I know about the title to the Standin’ K. Well, I know as much as the ol’ iron pot, an’ tell him so. But then he offers to turn me loose if I give him the information. Which is kind o’ curious, don’t you think?’
‘I think the son-of-a-bitch got wind o’ somethin’ an’ wanted to trade it on,’ Hector suggested. ‘An’ right now, this ain’t the healthiest place for us to sit jawbonin’. I’m hell certain it’s Wilshaw Broome that’s on the way here, an’ we can’t take a chance on him bein’ alone.’
‘I’d take a chance,’ Ben rasped.
‘Yeah, sure you would,’ Hector agreed. ‘Meantime, get up behind me, an’ let’s ride. You follow us real tight, Joe,’ he added. ‘If you see somethin’ move, shoot it. There’s likely more bandits an’ their snaky kin in this brush than there is thorns.’
Before first dark, they came to where Ben had been kidnapped. Megan was calmly sitting on her horse waiting for them. ‘What happened?’ she asked impatiently, before anyone else could explain.
As if rehearsed, Ben was ready with his reply. ‘Hello, Megan. I was timber drunk,’ he excused himself. ‘I guess it was the strain got to me. I fell, an’ went to the creek to get sobered up. That’s where Hec and young Joe found me. That’s about it, an’ I’m real sorry.’
‘That’s the story, is it?’ Megan asked tetchily.
‘Not the full one, no.’
‘Let me guess,’ Megan retorted. ‘These two are honeydew drummers who got lost between Gallup an’ Albuquerque?’
With a touch of fatherly pride, Ben
smiled at his daughter. ‘Not quite, lass,’ he said. ‘But if anyone wants to know, they’re stock buyers from Denver, Colorado. They’ll be stayin’ with us for a night or two, an’ we’re off to look at some breed mares in the mornin’. Now, let’s ride. It’s gettin’ late, an’ you never know, your ma might be worried.’
Aboard his mare again, and only a little sore from being tightly trussed, Ben rode on ahead with Hector. Joe didn’t appear to notice that Megan was there. She glanced at him from time to time, observed his continued interest in what was going on around, that he did look prepared to shoot if anything moved. She compared him to Felix Broome, intrigued that she should feel so different. She felt in some way superior to Felix, but in no way was that true of Bruno Joseph Kettle.
It was close to full dark when they arrived at the McGovren cabin. ‘Of no interest to you, Aileen, they’re stock contractors,’ Ben said. ‘Huh, they ain’t even got interestin’ monikers.’
After supper the three men went for a stroll around the yard. Megan knew her father would tell her what they were talking about when the proper time came. Her ma wasn’t one for exchanging ‘snag tales’, as she called daily tribulations. For many years she carried a chip on her shoulder at what she’d let herself in for. Once upon a time, Aileen had wanted little more than a comfortable home, and a few fine things to go in it. Ben wanted a homely wife, and a son. So far, neither of them had been truly successful with those wants.
13
‘I was tellin’ young Joe that someone started the dance before the fiddlers come,’ Hector drawled, as the three men stood lee side of the corral chute where they couldn’t be overseen or overheard.
‘An’ I was tellin’ you, I didn’t start nothin’,’ Ben McGovren countered. ‘An’ why should I have thought someone was watchin’ me?’
‘With a section in this godforsaken country, you should be watchin’ everythin’,’ Hector suggested. ‘You forgettin’ history?’