The Black Horse Westerns

by Abe Dancer

  ‘I know too much, an’ the old man don’t want me out o’ his sight,’ Handy replied.

  ‘Handy, where the hell are you?’ Broome interrupted, with a shout from the bunkhouse door.

  ‘See?’ Handy said. He winked at Petty and tapped the side of his nose.

  ‘I told you to stay with me,’ Broome continued harshly.

  ‘I’m right here, boss,’ Handy answered him. ‘When you said to unsaddle the horses, I went right to it.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t mean you. I told you to stay away from the hands. Let’s get back to the house.’

  But the cage door had been opened, and throughout the night, the restless ’punchers sat about the bunkhouse. Each time Duff Handy’s tale was told, a little bit was taken away or a little bit added, until they all had the root of a horrifying tale. By first light, more than one rider had made up his mind to quit the Standing K, the demon-hunting payroll of Wilshaw Broome.

  After the burial of Max Pepper, Broome was waiting at the main corral. He was ready to issue further commands on the impending manhunt, but it was Frog Petty who got in first.

  ‘Me an’ one or two o’ the boys are aimin’ to collect our pay, Mr Broome,’ he said, with as much assurance as he could muster.

  ‘An’ why don’t that surprise me?’ Broome rasped back. ‘You an’ Handy formin’ a whisper club’s got nothin’ to do with it, I suppose?’

  ‘Rustlers are normally out for beef an’ broncs, Mr Broome. That’s who you told us we were up against. But now there’s wind o’ some real spooky stuff happenin’, an’ it didn’t have to be Duff who told us. We’re gettin’ out before we get brought home like Max,’ Petty declared.

  ‘You’re yellow,’ Broome snarled. ‘Yellow an’ scared o’ your own shadows. Those o’ you that want that pay, come by at the end o’ the week. Meantime, get your traps from the bunkhouse an’ clear the ranch.’

  An hour later, Broome was back in the shadows of the house veranda. Knowing there was something final needed, he was silently watching, pondering his next move.

  ‘Hey, Jollife, do you get spooked easy?’ he called out to a man who was carrying the look of an opportunist.

  ‘No, boss. Never seen much to get me that way,’ Tark Jolliffe answered back.

  ‘Good, ’cause the Standin’ K’s lookin’ for a new foreman. You been here long enough to know what’s to be done, an’ you know how we handle rustlers an’ killers. So take whatever men are left an’ go get ’em. I’ll give each o’ you six months’ extra pay for them you dispatch. A year’s, if you bring ’em in kickin’.’

  ‘That’s a darn sight more’n you offered the others,’ Jollife muttered. Due to the most recent developments, the man was feeling confident at his new-found status with Wilshaw Broome.

  It was shortly after first light when the men rode off. Broome deemed that the men who’d remained were of like feather, big profits distilling them to a hardline. But nearer the truth was, there were few places that such men would find ready employment along the Rio Bonito.

  ‘They’ll get results,’ Broome said.

  ‘Not if they come up against the likes o’ what Max was taikin’ about,’ Handy answered.

  ‘Yeah, that reminds me, what the hell did you tell Frog Petty?’ Broome demanded from Handy.

  ‘Nothin’. I was speculatin’ along with the others,’ Handy lied. ‘It was Max who got the worms in his head.’

  ‘Well I’m goin’ to have to decide your future pretty soon, feller, an’ promotion sure ain’t in the wind,’ Broome said ominously.

  Handy looked suitably worried, before turning away towards the empty bunkhouse. ‘I’ll go trim them lamp wicks, afore the place burns down,’ he said obligingly. But he was already wondering if Wilshaw Broome had thought everything out. After all, Handy was just about the only man in the outfit who hadn’t had his hand in a killing, or the burning of the McGovren cabin. Also, he’d met Megan and liked her. When he’d prodded the charred remains of what Carter Krate said was a body, he’d felt physically sick. Now he didn’t know what it was that Broome had in mind for him, and wondered why he hadn’t quit with the others.

  Throughout the rest of the day, unaware of what was going on in the various parts of the ranch, Handy and Broome kept close to the house. At that stage, Handy wasn’t unduly worried because he could keep a distrustful eye on his boss. In fact, on one occasion, he considered putting a bullet or two between the man’s shoulder blades. He smiled ruefully, reckoned that even if he stamped the man’s forehead with his own initials and ran, he’d be well down the list of likely suspects.

  24

  ‘Where’s Pa?’ Megan asked Hector Chaf, early the following morning.

  ‘He’s with Joe. They rode out long before first light,’ Hector answered.

  ‘Why? I mean, why did he ride out with Joe?’

  ‘Because, young lady, that was the understandin’. I was to ride with Joe one day, an’ Ben the next. “Weren’t negotiable”, Joe said. That was the price he set. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘I remember I didn’t get a chance to put in my two cents worth. I would’ve said that it was a needless danger for two men to ride out there.’

  ‘Well, me an’ Joe came back unscathed,’ Hector smiled considerately.

  ‘That’s how it appeared, but the night couldn’t have been much darker. I couldn’t see whether you had a fight or not, an’ you never mentioned it.’

  ‘Hah, we brushed some flies away. Nothin’ worth makin’ a fuss over.’

  ‘It’s not a lot to ask what’s goin’ on, if I’m to sit here twiddlin’ my thumbs.’

  ‘Yeah, fair enough, Megan,’ Hector said. ‘After we’ve ate some o’ what ol’ Gitano calls breakfast, I’ll tell you about it.’

  *

  Joe and Ben had ridden north that morning. They had searched around the scene of the previous day’s clash, and then beyond the oak stand, but they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a Wilshaw Broome man.

  ‘You fellows must’ve put some scare into ’em,’ Ben said. ‘We’ve raked through the most likely places an’ ain’t sniffed so much as a rattler’s fart. Whoever they are, they’re sure happy to give this place a miss,’

  ‘Yeah, well, they done the right thing there,’ Joe granted. ‘It’s gettin’ late, so maybe we should think about headin’ home.’ With that, he positioned them on the landmark line and rode.

  The two riders were several miles south of the oak stand. They were crossing a clearing with the sun in their eyes, when Joe heard Ben yell out. In the same instant a rifle shot crashed across the surrounding thicket and Ben pitched from his saddle.

  Joe yelled and raced forward to help. He was nearing the far edge of the brush, when Ben got to his feet. Ben looked dizzily around him, then fell again within a few feet of the unforgiving vegetation.

  ‘They ain’t given this place a miss, goddamnit,’ Joe cursed. ‘They’ve been laid up waitin’ for us.’ He was making a grab for his carbine, when his horse stumbled. Its legs buckled and its neck arched down as a bullet smashed into its bony forehead. He cursed again, freed the stirrups as the stricken animal collapsed under him, He dived to the ground, let go of his carbine as he rolled clear. He drew his pistol as he heard the sound of hoofs pounding the ground behind him. But he didn’t have time to turn or do much else before he was thumped hard from behind, and the world turned black.

  When Joe regained consciousness, the sun was sinking towards first dark. He was on his side, lying on the ground with his feet loosely bound, but his wrists and hands were tight. A small group of men stood around him, and the ruthless face of Tark Jollife peered at him, closely.

  ‘He’s comin’ round,’ Wilshaw Broome’s new foreman said. ‘He ain’t messed up, just got the wind knocked from him.’

  ‘As long as he can appreciate the view from a big ol’ oak branch,’ one of the men said.

  ‘No!’ Jollife snapped quickly. ‘Boss is payin’ double for bringin’ ’em in alive.’

/>   As darkness fell, Joe remained very still on the ground. He could hear men cursing at the painful scratch of thorns as they beat about the pear thicket. He thought that if Ben had managed to crawl somewhere to safety, maybe he wasn’t that badly wounded, that maybe he was waiting for the opportunity to make a move. When Joe was young and headed off to Tacoma, he recalled Hector was always saying, “May bees never fly at this time o’ year”. ‘Now I know what you meant,’ he muttered, and grinned ruefully.

  ‘We can’t find the other one,’ the man who wanted to hang Joe, said. ‘A few scratches ain’t much for a couple o’ hundred bucks, but it’s gettin’ real dark in there, an’ he might not be plumb dead yet.’

  ‘If he’s carryin’ a bullet, he won’t last long. Let’s get back to the ranch, an’ we’ll come back in the mornin’.’ Tark Jollife didn’t accept any of Max Pepper’s bunkum about devils, but he wasn’t going to test it by dallying.

  They helped Joe to his feet, untied his ankles and put him up on Ben’s horse.

  ‘Don’t fall,’ Jollife said. ‘Mr Broome’ll think we ain’t been lookin’ after you.’

  As the group of riders started their journey to the Standing K ranch, Joe peered into the surrounding darkness, the forbidding tangle of pear and matchweed. Sorry Ben, weren’t such a good idea after all, lettin’ me say what’s what, he thought to himself. To Joe, it now looked like it was the end of their fight, and he couldn’t help but choke on his prospects. He’d been hopeful when he’d ridden out with Hector, and then Ben. But if he’d known about the dollars that Broome was putting up, maybe he would have guessed that a handful of men would have the incentive, if not the stomach, to remain and fight.

  Using the lives of others as currency, Wilshaw Broome had paid a very high price to retain the Standing K. Consequently, Joe was expecting some of Hector and Ben’s own particular type of medicine in return when they arrived at the ranch. But maybe Broome would think twice about harming him with an armed and angry Hector Chaf still prowling around. Furthermore, he’d promised to build a bigger, better cabin for the McGovrens.

  Hector sat for a long hour staring into the embers of the fire, mulling stuff over. His eyes and ears were straining to interpret the sounds of the night, the approach of friend or foe, but his mind was on something else.

  The rest of the state was growing up, folk were changing with the times, getting civilized. But along the Rio Bonito, out on the Standing K, men still held a fundamentally cruel and primal outlook. The fight he was involved in gave both good and evil leanings of men full sway. It was where might prevailed and, right now, that was Wilshaw Broome and his outfit.

  With midnight far gone, no news of Joe and Ben was more than he could endure. He wanted to be out there looking for them, but Joe had told Ben that Megan should not be left there with only Gitano and Lunes, and he had agreed. He cursed quiet exasperation, eased himself to his feet and walked over to the higher sided slope of Megan’s lodge.

  ‘Megan,’ he called softly.

  A very short moment later, Megan stepped out. ‘Have Pa and Joe come in yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Hector answered. ‘Megan, you know you’re supposed to stay here, an’ I’m to watch over you, no matter what?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Why?’

  ‘I ain’t been thinkin’ much else other than about Ben and Joe. I know you have too, no sense pretendin’ otherwise.’

  ‘I know what you’re thinkin’ of, Hector Chaf, an’ before you say whatever it is you’re goin’ to say, I’m dressed an’ ready to ride with you. No negotiatin’,’ Megan declared.

  The pair of them took a narrow channel in the pear, quietly stole to the big old oak where their saddles and horses were. Within five minutes they were mounted, and guided by the stars, started on a northwards trail.

  Every few minutes, Hector held up their ride. He stopped, drew his Colt revolver and cocked the trigger. The swift, sharp sound breached the still night, and he stopped to listen before riding on again. It was a few miles before they got close to where Joe and Ben had been bushwhacked and Joe pulled his gun once again. The ominous metallic click penetrated the surrounding brush, but this time Hector raised his hand for Megan to halt alongside him.

  He pointed his Colt off to their left, waited a moment until they heard a low rumbling cough from the edge of the thicket.

  ‘At a time like this, you’re the only one dumb enough to try that ol’ signal, Hec,’ Ben groaned out. ‘My leg’s hurt bad.’

  Hector and Megan were quickly on the ground and making a run to where Ben was laying up.

  ‘Leg took a bullet, but it’s nothin’ that a glug o’ my patent medicine won’t cure,’ he gasped. ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘You’ll be OK now, Pa, but where’s Joe?’ Megan asked.

  ‘Yeah, I heard ’em. But I was holed up with a family o’ cottontails. Them fellers are real schooled in the ways o’ bein’ hush scared.’

  Hector rode back to camp with Ben riding in front of him. Megan followed. She was distressed and very tired, but she kept her senses alert for anything other than the sounds of disturbed critters and the sigh of night breezes.

  Dawn was breaking when they reached camp. Using their own mixture of nature’s remedies, Gitano and Lunes worked on Ben’s leg. As they cleansed the wound and stopped the flow of blood, Hector set the Pass whiskey crock to Ben’s lips. The wounded man took a swallow, grimaced and spat painfully.

  ‘What in hell’s name’s that?’ he rasped and opened his watering eyes.

  ‘You tell me, you ol’ goat. You probably been drinkin’ it since you were knee-high to a grasshopper,’ Hector chided.

  ‘So where would they go? Where would they have taken Joe?’ Megan persisted nervously.

  ‘I heard one of ’em say somethin’, then someone else said they were gettin’ back to the ranch for Broome to have his say.’ Ben then twisted his head towards Hector. ‘If they have got him, he might’ve been better out there in the prickly,’ he said.

  Hector shook his head slowly. ‘Not if I have it my way,’ he threatened.

  Gitano, who’d been kneeling close, suddenly rose to his feet and backed off. He grabbed his long-barrelled gun and walked quickly to the edge of the small clearing. Without saying a word, Quedo Lunes was close on his heels.

  ‘I thought my faculties were still sharp, but them ol’ Mexes got the ears o’ bats. There’s somebody comin’, Megan, so look to your pa,’ Hector said.

  25

  It was well after nightfall when Tark Jollife and his men reached the Standing K ranch house. With Duff Handy alongside him, Wilshaw Broome hurriedly crossed the yard to meet them.

  ‘Who you go there?’ Broome called out.

  ‘One o’ your rustlers, an’ he’s alive,’ Jollife replied. ‘But he ain’t said much.’

  ‘How many of ’em were there?’ Broome demanded.

  ‘Him an’ one other. He crawled off to die, we reckon. We’ll go find his carcass in the mornin’ … bring him in if there’s anythin’ left.’

  ‘You won’t leave anythin’ to the mornin,’ Broome called out. ‘Bring him into the house, get some food, then go find the other one. Thinkin’ these men are dead’s cost me dear.’

  Two men pulled Joe from his horse, and with Jollife on one side and a burly ’puncher on the other, he was led into the house and through to Broome’s den. On the way, Joe cast an incensed eye at the house and its trappings. Mine, he thought, then mindful of his predicament, changed his mind.

  ‘Put him in that chair,’ Broome ordered.

  Joe wasn’t to know it, but it was the same chair that his father and uncle had often sat in many years before when it was the Kettles’ inner sanctum.

  Under the broad, hanging cluster of lamps, Broome suddenly looked closer at Joe, his eyes squinting inquisitively.

  ‘You keep him covered, Handy, an’ get his feet tied,’ he said. ‘Tark, your money’s all here, plus a bonus if an’ when you bring the other one back. Go
now an’ take a couple o’ men with you.’ Then he again looked closely at Joe’s features. ‘Have we met before?’ he asked.

  ‘You met my pa,’ Joe answered back. ‘I’m told there’s a passin’ resemblance.’

  ‘An’ who’d he be?’

  ‘Kettle. Jasper Kettle,’ Joe said firmly. ‘It ain’t the way I had it planned, but I’ve come home.’

  Broome’s usual high colour faded, and his jaw worked nervously. He was facing something implausible, something that by all reckoning, just couldn’t be.

  ‘Joe Kettle died with Hector Chaf an’ Ben McGovren. They was there when the McGovren place burned down,’ he offered, trying for a grip on reality.

  Joe raised a weary smile. ‘Hardly. You got eyes,’ he said icily.

  ‘So who the hell was out there with you in the pear?’ he asked, dreading the reply.

  ‘Ben McGovren,’ Joe confirmed. ‘An’ before that brain o’ yours makes its flyblown mind up, Hector Chaf’s still out there, too. There’s someone with many years o’ bad feelin’ against you, Broome, so you got a problem. At least one of ’em’s comin’ to get you.’

  As his words chewed up Broome, Joe saw the overwhelming effect they were having on Duff Handy. The man was so scared that his tension-gripped pistol had fallen away until it was pointing down at the polished floor.

  ‘Who do you think’s been shootin’ your men?’ Joe continued. ‘Fireflies?’

  As Broome recoiled from the implications, Joe knew that he’d likely only get one chance before the man struck out. It would be an irrational response, out of wild fear, and just about in place.

  Joe grunted, roared with defiance and cannoned himself up and out of the chair. In one pistoned blow he caught Broom in his mouth, tight and very hard up under his nose. A bone cracked and gave way, and Broome went reeling backwards into an insensible heap.

  Handy stood frozen, as Joe suspected he would, and he turned to face him as he stripped the rope from around his ankles.