by Abe Dancer
‘I’m tired o’ what things look like,’ she said, and was beginning to show it.
Gitano nodded at Megan. ‘It’s different this time,’ he agreed. ‘The rig’s for Ben, an’ it was Joe sent us to get you. We’re to get back there pronto … all of us.’
‘All right.’ Megan raised her hands in acceptance. ‘Let’s get goin’ before somethin’ makes it not so different,’ she said.
There was no sign of life at the Standing K, except the bunkhouse dog and its friend. They carried Ben into the empty house and made him comfortable on the sofa under the high-beamed ceiling of the den. Megan sat beside him and Lunes looked around for Broome’s whiskey. Handy went with Gitano to unsaddle the horses before turning them loose in the corral. They searched the rest of the ranch buildings, bunkhouse and outhouses, but saw no one. It was as Joe said it might be.
‘It looks like they have gone,’ Gitano said, finally lowering the barrel of his rifle.
‘They’ll be makin’ for Lizard Pass, trailin’ Max Pepper’s prints all the way to Colorado, if they got any sense,’ Handy replied, having finally got his nerves under control.
‘I wonder why the dogs never went with ’em,’ Gitano said with uncaring surprise. ‘I’m cold, let’s get back in the house, an’ I’ll light us a big fire.’
27
It was pushing midday when three horsemen dismounted in front of the town hall at Lemmon. When they stepped up to the front door of the building, Joe was close beside Broome, and Hector was a pace behind. As well as a few townsfolk who saw them, Lawyer Daggert was watching from the window of his office. He told himself that, if they were wanting his particular services they’d have to ask, because he wasn’t about to offer. He’d already spoken to Tark Jollife, advised him and the rest of Broome’s men to clear the town after drawing their pay. ‘That’s good advice, an’ it’s for free,’ he’d said.
As a consequence, Jollife and his cohorts were long gone when the riders came to town. Daggert watched them until they had entered the town hall building, then he sat down and thoughtfully considered his part in the consequences.
Broome wasted no time once they were in the clerk’s office. ‘Get out your records, Perser,’ he commanded. ‘Look up the quitclaim deed to the Standin’ K. You know the one, the one that’s from Judd Kettle to me. I want you to write one just like it from me to Kettle.’
‘Bruno Joseph Kettle,’ Joe bluntly advised.
Neither Joe nor Hector spoke while the clerk was writing the deed. When it was finished, Broome signed it and had his signature acknowledged.
‘File that for record, an’ withdraw the suit that’s already there,’ Joe said as he paid the fees. Then he indicated that he, Broome and Hector leave the office. ‘Let’s get shot o’ this place,’ he said with displeasure.
Out on the walkway, Joe turned suddenly to Broome. ‘Well, now I know what I’ve got, mister,’ he started to say. ‘There’s the house an’ the land, an’ a whole load o’ prime livestock to go with it. You,’ he continued, ‘you got nothin’ except the horse I’m lettin’ you keep.’
Broome took a hesitant step away, as if he wasn’t sure what Joe was going to do or say next.
Joe smiled coldly. ‘I don’t know what the court’s goin’ to decide, but if I was you, I’d think on all the places not to go within ten miles of, before ridin’ the hell out o’ here,’ he threatened.
Hector laughed. ‘The boy’s all heart,’ he put in, with a smirk even chillier than Joe’s. ‘You know I ain’t quite so accommodatin’.’
Broome now felt the grip of revenge, as his old adversary confronted him, the sudden free-running sweat between his shoulder blades. ‘What are you goin’ to do with me?’ he demanded.
‘Takin’ you out a ways to make sure you cross the Rio Bonito. I’m makin’ sure you don’t ever think o’ returnin’.’
‘You mean, makin’ sure I can’t,’ Broome sneered.
‘Just get on your horse an’ ride south,’ Hector commanded. ‘Me an’ Joe’s goin’ to be right with you, but I’ll tell you when to rein in. Get goin’, he rasped.
The three men rode for nearly an hour. It was to where a stand of oaks met a ford of the Rio Bonito. It was also where Broome had planned the rustling of Standing K cattle, so many years before.
‘You recognize this place?’ Hector called out. ‘Get down, an’ take a look around.’
Broome cast a wary look around him, waited with bleak anticipation as Hector and Joe rode close.
‘You’re a murderin’, thievin’ piece o’ scum, Broome, an’ I’ve been at fault for not shootin’ you years ago,’ Hector said as he dismounted. Without taking his eyes off Broome, he unbuckled his gunbelt and handed it up to Joe who remained sitting his horse with quiet interest. Then he moved forward purposefully, cursed under his breath with the frustration of wanting it all over.
Broome threw out his chin. ‘You know, Chaf, I reckon you just ain’t got the guts to shoot me,’ he sneered.
Hardly a muscle moved in Hector’s face, as he retaliated, He lashed out very quickly with his right fist and Broome’s head went back like the hinge on a cow pen. The man’s lips were splitting tight against his jaw of rot-coloured teeth, and when his shoulders, backside and heels hit the ground flat out, Hector was on him.
Broome was badly shaken, but his extraordinary instinct for survival was still working. He half turned, flung an arm around Hector’s neck, and clung tight. Hector’s knuckles drove into the back of the man’s big head, but Broome swung himself over. Face down, he rose to get onto all-fours, and with brute strength, reached for another neck grip.
Hector dodged him and threw all his weight forward. Broome collapsed into the attack and together they rolled through the patches of cheat, snarling and growling with fury. They were struggling for an advantage, clawing for each other as ferocious as a pair of grizzlies.
They managed to climb to their feet, stood toe to toe, shocking each other with their enraged punches. Blood was oozing from their mouths and noses as Broome snapped them into a clinch. They staggered from side to side, backwards and forwards before going down heavily, with Hector underneath. Broome thrust his left forearm under Hector’s chin and with the fingers of his right hand gouged at his eyes. Hector lifted a leg as high as he could with his heel against Broome. He kicked inward and thrust his boot back down sharply. With a bellow of pain, Broome flung himself away, staggered to regain his balance. One leg of his pants had been ripped open, and blood streamed from where Hector’s prick spur had torn its way through.
They quartered the ground as they fought, sometimes throwing punches, sometimes manoeuvring for a handhold. Their lungs began to labour and rasp, and they staggered in unbalanced circles. Eventually, the muscles in their arms lost control, and their legs dragged heavily.
Broome was the heavier, stronger man, but he lacked the thoughtful purpose of Hector. Watching cautiously, Hector knew that if the fight went on much longer, they’d both go down. They were too old for anything else, and the one who went down fast, would stay there longest.
Broome was slumping now, could hardly lift his fists. He fought only in futile, defensive spurts and, as if to prove it, he lowered his head and went forward in one last despairing attack. A lucky aimless blow flung Hector across the bowl of one of the oaks, and thrashing even more wildly Broome plunged forward to try and finish the fight.
But Hector was still thinking and he ducked, twisting quickly to one side. Broome missed with his punch and rolled hard around the meat of the tree. Hector grunted, eased himself back and settled for grabbing as much of Broome’s hair and ears as he could. He drew the man’s head back and with the years of frustration and antagonism welling up, he smashed his face just once solidly against the ridges of crusty bark.
Broome’s thick-set body gave out and he sank to the ground, his head falling to the shallow water that curled close around the roots of the oak. Breathless, Hector lost his balance, and he fell exhausted on top of Broom
e. For a short time, both men lay without stirring, then Hector pushed himself away. But he stopped when he noticed the man’s shattered face was under the water, crushing against the river-bed. He gripped the dark coat around the man’s shoulders, and exerting his remaining strength, dragged Broome’s upper body clear of the water.
Taking support from the tree, Hector looked down at the swollen, bruised face of the man he’d wanted to fight, the man he’d wanted to kill only minutes earlier. But he was too weary for any sentiment and, regaining his footing, he wiped his face with his wet hands and painfully limped away. ‘Once upon a time, he wanted to kick the bejasus out o’ me,’ he said to no one.
Hector glanced up at Joe, held out his hand and took his gunbelt back. He drew the big bone-handled .44 Colt from its holster, and drew back the hammer. Then he turned slowly, deliberately took aim and fired. The sound of the single shot crashed out, reverberated along the winding course of the river.
‘In hell’s name, why not?’ Hector muttered and raised his eyes to Joe, as if there might be an answer there. ‘That was for Quedo Lunes, Jasper Kettle an’ Ben,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t just let him ride away. The son-of-a-bitch would’ve known that.’
Joe nodded his understanding and grunted out a fitting noise. ‘An’ I’m takin’ a horse back,’ he said.
Hector buckled up his belt, reached deep into his pants pocket and walked back to where Broome lay dead. He kneeled beside the body and pressed his poke of ear bits into the clutch of the dead man’s hand. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘this’ll pay the goddamn ferryman.’
‘Do you reckon there’s any o’ Broome’s men left? Do you reckon they could be out here, layin’ for us?’ Joe asked minutes later as they turned towards the Standing K.
‘If there are, I’ll leave ’em for you, son,’ Hector replied. ‘I’m driftin’ into a short saddle nap.’
‘Where’s Broome?’ Quedo Lunes asked immediately Hector and Joe returned.
‘Gone to his last roundup. So he won’t be passin’ for a long while,’ Hector told him.
‘Where’s Megan? How’s Ben?’ Joe asked in nervous, quick succession.
Lunes started to say that Ben was up and about. He pointed towards the house, but Joe and Hector were already headed that way. They went straight to the den and sat down. There was a fire and they waited for the chill to ease from their bones.
‘Just leave ’em be, Joe. They’re turnin’ in, doin’ what all sensible God-fearin’ folk should be doin’,’ Hector advised tiredly. ‘There’s plenty o’ time for all that we got to tell ’em.’
So Joe closed his eyes, but he didn’t go to sleep straight away. He spent an hour mulling on plans for their futures, some new beginnings. He tried to place Megan in his thoughts, but there was something missing. Perhaps it was what he’d seen between her and Duff Handy, whatever that was. The main thing was, he’d got back the ranch and most of its stock. That’s what he owed his pa, and the Kettles before that.
Weeks passed and Gitano was now working with the new hands they’d hired. Now and again he’d go missing, and Quedo Lunes said he’d go back to the lodge camp hidden deep in the wildness of the pear and mesquite. Quedo himself had regained a lot of his former character. He spent most of his time looking over stock, would sit outside of the bunkhouse in the long evenings, jawing with Joe Kettle’s ’punchers. Duff Handy eventually drew pay, said he’d ride up to Flora Vista to find work. Joe wasn’t that disappointed or troubled by the move. He guessed the man would try and team up with some of his old associates at the stockyards.
One day when they had taken the wagon to town for stores, Joe asked Ben about the relationship between Hector and Broome. ‘It must’ve been somethin’ real bad to smoulder away for so many years,’ he said.
‘I ain’t sure, Joe, but I always thought it was somethin’ to do with Quedo’s daughter, Clemente,’ Ben confided. ‘Somethin’ happened after her death, but Hec weren’t one for lettin’ on. He put his feelin’s into a very dark room, together with those he held for Broome. He locked the door, but never threw away the key. He was always goin’ to come back an’ open up.’
‘Well, I reckon he sure has now,’ Joe said. ‘An’ there’s a new life here that he can busy himself with.’
‘I can’t see me gettin’ much of a new life,’ Ben rumbled.
‘How’d you mean, Ben?’
‘First, we ain’t got a home any more. Second, I probably lost my daughter, an’ third, I got some real awkward wifely business in Lemmon that needs attendin’ to.’
‘Hey, wait up there, feller,’ Joe said. ‘My gran’pa, an’ his pa before him, gave your pa deed to a section. I know it was one o’ them dollar nominal sections, but the sentiment was bindin’ an’ for keeps. That ain’t ever goin’ to change,’ he offered.
‘It already has. All that’s left is a heap o’ goddamn ashes.’
‘Only the cabin. We build you a bigger an’ better one, like I promised. That’s your home, an’ that’s where you’ll stay. Besides, I reckon whatever that problem is you got in Lemmon, you’d be a darn more persuasive with a new home backin’ you up,’ Joe added with a wry smile. ‘We’ll even raise a fence with a latch gate. What do you say?’
‘Yeah, it could work,’ Ben said slowly, and with an expressive grin. ‘An’ I still got some saddle-brokes up at the Muleshoe tank. With a bit o’ help, I could start over.’
‘Hah, you’re damn right you could,’ Joe agreed. ‘Now I’d like to have a word with that daughter o’ yours,’ he said.
Megan was standing beside the corral. With a small fruit knife, she was pensively carving notches into the top rail.
‘It looks like we got most folk on the Standin’ K sorted out, Megan,’ Joe began. ‘O’ course, you got your own life, an’ what you do with it’s up to you. I was wonderin’ if you had anythin’ particular in mind,’ he proposed with a fairly cheerless uncertainty.
‘I reckon I’ll be stayin’ with Pa,’ she answered after a moment. ‘There was once a man I had feelin’s an’ a particular mind for, but he never noticed me, if that’s what you’re wonderin’.’
‘Ah, I reckon I know who you’re talkin’ about,’ Joe said. ‘An’ believe me, if he hadn’t have had other stuff on his mind, that feller woulda done a darn sight more’n notice you,’ he suggested, sensing the drift of encouragement.
Megan carved an extra large wedge from the corral rail. ‘So, you reckon you know this man I’m talkin’ about?’ she queried with a slight, dry smile.
‘Well, if he’s who I’m thinkin’ of, I hear he’s steadfast, hard-workin’ an’ wealthy … well-featured, too. You’d do well to let him know you’re still interested, Megan.’
‘Oh, I intend to, Joe,’ Megan said, and this time they exchanged mutual, more significant smiles.
Copyright
This ebook edition 2011
ISBN 978-0-7090-9260-5