by Abe Dancer
‘Fire that thing, mister, an’ I’ll get my hounds to follow you for ever,’ he rasped out, smiled coldly at the worth of his threat. ‘But help me, an’ we’ll both get away from here, if that’s what you want.’
‘Yeah, I’m comin’ with you,’ Handy agreed.
‘You don’t speak unless spoken to, an’ then everythin’s just fine,’ Joe said, pulling Broome’s Colt from its holster.
The two men stole from the house and on to the corral. They rapidly saddled two horses and turned at a gallop down the Rio Bonito. They rode fast for half a mile, then Joe turned west. They were soon off the range land and into the pear thickets where they reined in.
‘Somethin’s been botherin’ me, mister,’ Joe said. ‘Other than you think I’m some sort o’ hell-hound, why didn’t you shoot me back there when you had the chance? Broome would’ve been payin’ you to do just that.’
‘Because of what I know,’ Handy replied. ‘Whatever he had in mind for you, sooner or later it would’ve been the same for me.’
‘Well, your chances ain’t much improved,’ Joe suggested. ‘Now you got to tell me what you know or I’ll put a bullet in you.’
For a couple of minutes, Handy explained his story, mainly what had happened up at the McGovren cabin, how Carter Krate and Broome’s son, Felix, had died.
‘Yeah, well, there was nobody in the cabin. Well no body, that is,’ Joe quipped without humour. ‘Only some well-roasted yearlin’ meat.’
‘You asked me why I didn’t kill you,’ Handy said, after a moment of tangled thoughts. ‘Well, why didn’t you kill Broome?’ he asked, with an expression that held more than one reading.
‘It don’t say much for my judgement, I know, but I haven’t wanted him dead since me an’ Hector Chaf rode in,’ Joe answered truthfully. ‘Now, thinkin’ on what happens if we run into any o’ Broome’s men, are you ridin’ my way, or takin’ the owlhoot trail?’ he asked.
‘While I’m still alive, I’ll take my chances with you.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ As they rode, Joe was wondering on the whereabouts of Tark Jollife and his riders. He hoped they hadn’t discovered the camp, or that they were now leading them there.
After another hour’s ride, they were a few miles further south than Joe had thought. He looked about him for a landmark, soon made out the lone, darkly rising oak against the lightening sky.
Hector, Lunes and Gitano stood silent and vigilant in the brush as Joe and Duff Handy rode within twenty feet of them.
‘I know you’re there,’ Joe said, without raising his voice. ‘I’ve known it for most o’ the night.’
‘Yeah, so you should’ve,’ Hector returned. ‘Anyone else would o’ got a blast from Ben’s ol’ scattergun.’
‘It’s good to be back, Hec.’ The relief in Joe’s voice was palpable. ‘I went to visit Broome out at the ranch, an’ brought back a keepsake. How’s Ben? He is back here, ain’t he?’
Hector smiled warmly. ‘Yeah, he’s back. He’s goin’ to spend the rest of his miserable life goin’ gimp, but he’ll trade that for seein’ you safe. I think he feels bad about what happened out there.’
Megan appeared to gain no pleasure at Joe’s safe return. As he entered the camp, she gave an uneasy, questioning nod towards Handy and moved away from her father.
‘You’re old enough to have won a limp,’ Joe said moments later, as he knelt beside Ben. ‘The rest o’ you all right?’
‘Who knows?’ Ben said and lifted a hand towards Joe. ‘Gitano says it’ll take at least a couple o’ years afore I can do much. He knows about these things.’
‘Yeah, I just bet he does,’ Joe responded and smiled caringly. Then he drew Hector off to one side. ‘Does that sound like someone who’s goin’ to die?’ he asked.
Hector shrugged thoughtfully. ‘Gitano says he needs town doctorin’. His war bag don’t contain much for the sepsis.’
‘Then we’ll get him out of here soon,’ and Joe’s words represented a promise.
‘You know that Gitano an’ Lunes ain’t too pleased about you bringin’ Handy in here. If he decides to run, none of us’ll get out alive,’ Hector said.
Joe shook his head. ‘He won’t run, Hec. He’s the one who really ain’t got nowhere to go, believe me. As for Broome, well we ain’t goin’ to fight him or his men in the open again.’
‘We ain’t? So what you got in mind, jefe?’
‘It’s a long-shot idea, but I reckon we can make it. You, me, Handy an’ Gitano.’
Hector looked surprised. ‘Four of us to take on Broome?’ he said. ‘Have you seen Gitano mutterin’ in fear, then crossin’ himself every time he hears Broome’s name mentioned?’
‘Yep. I know. But he’ll see the light after I have a talk with him.’
‘An’ how about Handy? Are you trustin’ him?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Joe answered, and looked to where Handy was talking to Megan. ‘Right now, our enemy’s enemy really is our friend.’
For most of the remainder of the day, Joe couldn’t help wondering why it was that Megan was so cool towards him. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that it was because he’d put her pa in danger, not because she was shy of any real feeling towards him. He’d spoken confidentially to Gitano. No one knew what it was that he’d said, but the man had agreed to go along with his plans. As Joe expected, Handy decided it was an opportune moment to tie in with them.
As the shadows lengthened, Hector, Gitano and Joe lay dozing. Quedo Lunes was closely watching Ben, tending to him every now and again with encouraging words and a trickle of his own Pass whiskey.
In the shadow of her small lodge, Megan again picked up a conversation with Duff Handy.
‘So, where is it you’re goin’ tonight?’ she asked casually, but with a shade of savvy.
‘How do you know we’re goin’ anywhere?’ Handy asked distrustfully.
Megan gave a sigh and smiled. ‘Because that’s the reason they’re all taking forty-winks, except you o’ course. It’s obvious you’re goin’ somewhere.’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’, ‘cause I know nothin’ an’ that’s a fact,’ Handy said.
‘Well, if he is keepin’ things that close, I can’t say I blame him. There’s a big of patch o’ dirt at stake,’ Megan responded. ‘You might as well get your head down. I’ll take over from Quedo.’
The men stood in a small group near the lone oak. They were waiting for full dark before leaving cover of the pear. Joe’s face was set and grim, and it wasn’t entirely due to their mission. But he wasn’t going to say goodbye, not to Megan, Ben or Quedo Lunes. As far as he was concerned, it was just another way of saying something that he didn’t mean.
‘Well, let’s go an’ upset a few folk,’ Hector said. Then they mounted their horses and Joe led them from the thicket.
26
Tark Jollife had recruited two men and ridden back to the thicket where they had laid up for Joe and Ben. They trawled the area thoroughly, found nothing except a thick crust of flies on a patch of dried blood.
‘Yeah, this’ll be about where we hit the other one,’ Jollife said.
‘Well, there ain’t no sign of him now. Not even a well-picked bone,’ one of his men answered back,
The third rider was looking around him with a clear distaste. ‘Kind o’ spooky here,’ he remarked. ‘There ain’t nothin’ livin’ but us,’
‘They’re here all right, you just can’t see ’em,’ the other man replied.
‘We’re not bein’ paid to get spooked by nothin’,’ Jollife said, but he too was taking an anxious look around.
‘We can’t spend any money if we’re spread out here with a mob o’ vultures stompin’ all over our carcasses,’ one of the other two suggested darkly.
‘Yeah, there’s somethin’ that ain’t square,’ the other one said. ‘There’s a chill cuttin’ through here, an’ it ain’t just the time o’ year. I reckon Frog Petty had the right idea by drawin’ pay. I’m headin’ back. We’ll think u
p somethin’ to tell the boss.’
The trio turned and rode for the ranch. By and large they were unimaginative, mercenary men, but now something had broken their morale, and Jollife cursed ineffectively.
‘No sign … nothin’,’ Jollife reported to an increasingly troubled Broome. ‘We’re just wastin’ your time an’ money chasin’ banshees.’
Broome glared silently for a moment before he spoke. ‘So, what shall I do? Sit here twiddlin’ thumbs, waitin’ for old age to kill ’em off?’
‘No, boss, me an’ the boys been thinkin’,’ Jollife started by putting their contrived idea forward. ‘Why not send for a party o’ Rangers? Some of ’em ain’t too chary o’ visitin’ this neck o’ the woods if the dollars are right. They got a natural loathin’ of rustlers an’ the like, if that’s who we’re goin’ after,’ he added with a devious grin.
Broome threw Jollife a mean look. ‘I got to think this through,’ he said. ‘I know the brush as well as any of ’em, so if needs be, I’ll go out there myself. But if I do, there won’t be any bonuses payable, you included.’
After full dark, Broome sat moodily in the big room that was his den. He looked around him, apprehensively, before pouring himself a large glass of whiskey. But he knew that most crimes along the Rio Bonito were committed in the open, not by loners who skulked through houses looking for open windows and unlocked doors.
The year had moved into November – only three more weeks until the peaceful possession title to the Standing K became lawful. But despite all his attempts to silence them, he knew in his bones that Joe Kettle, Ben McGovren and Hector Chaf had somehow regrouped. They weren’t going to let any of it happen, least of all, the ‘peaceful’ bit. So somehow he’d have to keep them out in the brush, where they sought protection from him and his hired men. And if the young Kettle didn’t make it to town before the last Thursday of the month, Brent Perser would burn the filed counter-claim and the land would be his.
Over the years, Broome had built up many accounts in cattlemen’s banks between El Paso and Albuquerque. The neighbouring territory and its peoples were growing up, becoming settled and civic minded. Within a very few years, the Standing K land would be worth a fortune, and that was all he wanted. He’d retain the cattle business as a blind, have to weed out those who knew too much.
Appeased by his own bigoted reckoning, but also worn down by the stress and the whiskey, Broome dozed in his big, wing-back chair. Shortly, he dreamed of Hector and Ben, the bad things that had happened between them. Hector was standing over him, leering. ‘It’s all right Wil, we ain’t come to kill you. We got other stuff to do before that.’ Hector was so close now that Broome could hear the man’s tense intake of breath. Only Broome wasn’t dreaming.
‘This is most o’ your nightmares come true,’ Hector continued. ‘But I’m keepin’ one or two back, o’ course.’
Broome’s heart thumped, he cursed with shock and made an unthinking move forward.
Hector swiftly pushed the barrel of his Colt hard into the man’s chest, cornered him back in his chair. ‘You just stay there an’ listen to what young Joe’s got to say,’ he said. ‘An’ yeah, in case you’re still wonderin’, he really is the son o’ Jasper.’
Joe smiled casual. ‘We’re gettin’ to be old friends, ain’t we, Mr Broome?’ Joe started off. ‘You an’ Hec can settle your personal differences later. All I want is what’s mine, an’ you’re the only one who can give it me.’
‘I’ll see you in hell, kid,’ Broome rasped.
‘Maybe you will, Mr Broome, but it won’t be just yet. Come in,’ Joe then called out. ‘Here’s one o’ the men you hired to kill my uncle,’ Joe said flatly, as a moment later, Gitano suspiciously entered the room, ‘I thought you might recognize him,’ he continued. ‘Quedo Lunes knows the full story, an’ I can produce him too, when the time comes. You remember him? Maybe his wife an’ pretty daughter? They had an adobe just outside o’ town.’
‘What the hell is it you want?’ Broome gasped, his mind trying to make sense of a desperate situation.
‘Dumb question, even for a pants rat like you,’ Joe snapped back. ‘You’re ridin’ with me to Lemmon, an’ you’re signin’ a quit claim deed. That’ll be everythin’ you say was deeded to you by Judd Kettle. That was goin’ to be all,’ he continued, ‘but I changed my mind just recently. Now I want bank cheques for all the money you’ve got on deposit.’
‘That’s robbery. My money ain’t yours,’ Broome seethed back.
‘I know,’ Joe said and smiled icily.
‘What happens to me then?’ Broome asked.
‘Couldn’t care less. I’ll probably turn you loose in the street, an’ if there’s anyone wants to shoot you dead, they can. There’s no one comes to mind to stop ’em.’
‘An’ if I refuse to sign?’
‘Ha, that’s about as likely as the sun not risin’ tomorrow,’ Joe quipped back.
‘I still got my men, Kettle, if that is your name,’ Broome tried an implied threat.
‘But not many, I’ll wager. Once they know the trouble you’re in, they won’t fight. Why should they?’ Joe responded and turned to Gitano. ‘Go get a rope an’ hog-tie him,’ he said, then turned back to Broome. ‘We don’t want you leapin’ out o’ that chair an’ escapin’, do we?’ he chuckled sarcastically.
‘What about me?’ Handy asked of Joe. ‘Do I figure in all this?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Yeah, you do,’ Joe said. ‘When Gitano’s finished, you an’ him go hire a single rig an’ ride back to the camp. Bring everyone in, an’ if we ain’t here, just wait. We will be back, understand?’
‘Yes, boss,’ Handy said, and attempted what he thought was an honest smile.
Joe caught sight of Hector’s face, flinched when he saw the suppressed, murderous look in his eyes. He was going to ask Hector to watch Broome while he went to the main door of the ranch house, but then didn’t bother. ‘Back in a moment,’ he said, instead.
At the front of the house he opened the door a foot or so and took a look across the yard towards the corrals and the ’punchers’ bunkhouse. ‘Jollife, get yourself over here,’ he yelled, waited a moment then loudly called the man’s name again. Then he pushed the door to and returned to the den.
When Tark Jollife arrived and edged his way through the door, he stopped and stared. He had never seen Hector before, but he remembered that Joe was the man they had roped and captured and brought in from the pear thickets. He noted their guns, that Broome was now the one under duress.
‘Time’s run out, I’m afraid, Tarky,’ Broom started.
‘Last bit’s true enough,’ Hector echoed, as Broome continued.
‘I’m sellin’ everythin’ to the Kettles. It’s sort o’ dust to dust. But it means that you an’ whoever’s left on the payroll’s got to draw pay. As foreman you got authority, so ride to Lemmon an’ get it done, will you?’
Jollife had a careful look around him then backed from the room. He’d seen and heard enough to know there was something wrong, but knew better than to hang around or ask questions. As he stood on the veranda looking towards the bunkhouse and the few men that were left, ‘chickens come home to roost’ was the instant and obvious expression that came to mind. He cursed Broome, the Kettles and his own luck. Riding away was no problem, suited him just fine. It had been obvious from what Max Pepper had to say that men wouldn’t follow Broome again. He didn’t know exactly what had holed the Broome boat, and he didn’t care. He smiled when he suddenly realized he was boss-simple no more, that he’d also gained authority to pay himself an owed bonus.
An hour later, Joe and Hector were standing either side of Broome as they walked across the yard. They’d waited until the men had cleared the home pasture and crossed the Rio Bonito.
‘What now?’ Broome asked impassively.
‘We get our horses an’ we ride. You pick yourself a clear-foot with a big ass on it, ’cause you’ll need it,’ Hector advised him, with more stern emot
ion.
Another fifteen minutes, and the three of them used the same river crossing. But unlike Jollife and the others, they took the trail for Lemmon. Hector remained grim, couldn’t lose the thought of a final retribution with Broome.
Ben McGovren had been moved to the lodge, and now he was sleeping soundly on Megan’s cot. When his own Pass whiskey had run dry, he’d been won over by the warm mescal that Quedo Lunes had liberally administered. In the early hours, Lunes insisted that Megan also took some sleep while he looked to her pa. Worn out from just about everything, she buckled onto a blanket, without even removing her boots. The question of where the four riders had gone and what they were doing was in her mind for almost a minute before she fell into a deep sleep.
It was the slivers of rising sunlight through the east-facing side of the lodge that woke her. Lunes who was crouched in the doorway, but still watching Ben, put his fingers to his lips for her to remain quiet.
She looked and saw Ben’s chest rise and fall with slow, regular breathing. ‘Why? He’s OK isn’t he?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes, Megan, he’s OK … just less trouble when he’s asleep. Like goats, they too sleep when they’re not well.’
Megan smiled tiredly. ‘Well, he has been called that before,’ she muttered. She stepped from the lodge to be confronted by Duff Handy and Gitano. The two men had returned to the camp very soon after she fell asleep.
She stared at the rig, noticed its shiny panels were scored and scraped where it had been driven through the scrub.
‘Where’s Hector and Joe?’ she asked them.
‘Where they should be, guess,’ Handy replied.
‘Just tell me where they are,’ she said, her throat dry and constricted.
‘Sorry, I meant they were at the Standin’ K ranch house,’ Handy explained.
‘Sufferin’ cabin fever with Broome an’ his hired killers?’ she enquired testily.
‘Not exactly. The killers ain’t killin’ any longer, an’ they ain’t hired either. Joe an’ Hector’s got Broome there on his own, Megan. It looks like the trouble’s just about over.’