“You’re not listening,” she said, a hint of despair in her voice as her lips left his.
“Yes, I am, Kathy.”
She sighed. “I wrote Josh’s father. I asked him if I could come back for just a visit. He wouldn’t allow it. He wants me to stay dead. I know what he must have told Josh—that I ran off with that poor slip of a cowhand.”
“Maybe you could write Josh—tell him the truth. Tell him what really happened.”
She frowned and turned away. “No. It would turn Josh against his father. And right now that’s all he’s got. He loves his father, admires him—and someday that empire John’s building will be his. I want that for him. If I did anything now to upset that it would leave him with nothing.”
Wolf took her in his arms again, astonished as always by the incredible tenacity and depth of a mother’s love for her own. “All right,” he said. “Don’t write him, then. Just get better, that’s all.”
She nodded solemnly at that, then pulled away and looked up into his face. “Wolf, promise me one thing?”
“Name it.”
“If ... well, if anything were to happen to me, would you go back ... I mean to see how Josh is getting on ... to see that he doesn’t ... well, let his father’s brutality take all the gentleness—all the kindness out of him?”
“That’s a tall order, Kathy.”
“I trust you, Wolf.”
“It’s a promise. But nothing’s going to happen to you, Kathy. You’re going to be back helping Josie run this place before long. You’ll see. Now, come here—before Josie comes in with some more of that damn medicine of hers.”
Willingly, her dark eyes smoldering, Kathy raised her face to his ...
Wolf flicked his stub of a cigarette away into the gathering twilight, recalling with a dull ache the pitiless, relentless speed with which Kathy’s dread illness consumed her—leaving him with only his memory of her and of his promise.
And of her story, her terrible story.
From the first day of their marriage John Blackmann had been a tyrant and a bully to Kathy until finally he had driven her from his bed. But this solved nothing for either of them and at last, in a towering jealous rage, Blackmann killed the poor cowboy with whom his imagination had coupled her. Not content with that he had turned on her and beaten her senseless. In his frenzy he thought her dead and, throwing her battered form over the pommel of his saddle, he had ridden with her for almost thirty miles through the night before dumping her by the side of a narrow mountain trail, a piece of carrion for the coyotes and the buzzards to quarrel over.
If Josie and her girls had not come by in their wagon a day or so later, Kathy would have died. Even so, the beating followed by the cruel exposure had seriously undermined her health. Josie gave her as much of a home as she could—considering Josie’s profession as well as her proclivities—but it soon became obvious that Kathy would never get well, even though—as is typical with tuberculosis—she had weeks and months during which she seemed perfectly healthy.
It was during one of her last, brief spells of apparent good health, while she was shopping for Josie one hot afternoon, that Wolf had met her ...
But during the intervening six years Wolf had followed grimmer trails. Only now—unable to deny his promise to Kathy—had he ridden this long trail north to seek out Josh. But now that Wolf had met the boy—and his father—Wolf wondered if perhaps he hadn’t come too late.
Though Josh seemed to be a young man at war with himself, he was a strong, loyal ally of his father, nevertheless. Furthermore, it appeared, Wolf was finding himself lining up with Pike and Ben against Snake Bar—and inevitably perhaps in the days to come, against Josh himself. This was not what he had wanted when he set out to see Josh, nor could it have been what Kathy had intended when she won that promise from him so long ago ...
Wolf stirred uneasily as Pike’s footsteps broke into his troubled thoughts. He turned to see Pike walking toward him across the yard.
“Climb up, Pike,” he said. “There’s a nice breeze up here.”
The old man hauled himself up onto the fence beside Wolf, grunting amiably at the exertion, then swung his feet over the top rail and sat down. He glanced at Wolf.
“Let me try one of those danged things, will you?” he asked. “I’m all out of my chaw.”
Wolf rolled the man a cigarette, shaped it carefully, then handed it to Pike. As soon as the match flared in the early darkness, Wolf said, “All set for the big day?”
“As set as I’ll ever be. Never realized how fast dust can settle and make itself to home. But the cabin’s clean now. Betsy better not say a word.” He shook his head and chuckled. “She likes to keep everything just so. And she can cook up a storm.” He smiled ruefully. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been getting pretty sick of beans myself.”
Wolf smiled at him. “I’m sure it’s going to be one hell of an improvement.”
“It will be if we can keep her safe from Snake Bar,” the man said, instantly sober.
Wolf said nothing to that. The old man was correct, of course. It would not do for Betsy to suffer the same fate as the last woman to keep house at the Double B.
Wolf looked at Pike. “Does Blackmann know Betsy’s coming in on tomorrow’s stage?”
Pike looked at Wolf, a sudden frown on his face. Wolf’s question had obviously reminded him of something. “Now that you mention it, Wolf—he could know.”
“How come?”
“The telegraph office is in Gibson’s Hardware. Gibson knows I wired Betsy the money and he wrote out the message I got from her last week telling me when she would arrive. Gibson ain’t known for his ability to keep his mouth shut and besides, he’s in it pretty deep with Blackmann. I wouldn’t doubt Blackmann’s backing his whole operation. And then there’s Dundee. Gibson and Dundee share a bottle now and then—though you wouldn’t think it to look at Gibson.”
“Dundee?”
“That’s the sheriff—if you can call him that. Blackmann owns him—and Judge Waterman, too. Fact is, Blackmann owns half the town, one way or another. That’s why no one’s willing to fight him.” He shrugged his shoulders wearily. “It looks bad, I know. But I don’t care, damn it! This here is a right smart piece of land, Wolf—and it belongs to Ben. I can’t see tucking tail and running out on the boy’s future.”
Wolf nodded. He understood what the old man meant. Riding back from the Snake Bar that afternoon Wolf had been impressed once again by the lush, fertile expanse of pasture land that Double B owned. He had found himself riding over gentle swells of bottom-land that extended as far as the horizon. The varieties of the grasses spoke eloquently of the valley’s fertility: gamma, bluestem, and the tight, curly buffalo grass that would turn any cattle prime that grazed it. He had found springs as well, so cold that he knew they would run the year round. On the hillsides there was plenty of timber and between the hills, meadows horse chest high with grass to cut for winter hay.
Pike was right. It made no kind of sense at all to let Blackmann have the Double B without a scrap. And yet, Double B couldn’t do it alone.
“You say there’s no ranchers around willing to fight?” Wolf asked.
“Oh, there’s probably some thinking about it. But that’s about all they do. Sometimes they manage to get up a meeting. I’ve been to a couple. They do a lot of talking. But that’s just about all they do. Scared sheep, most of them.” Pike shook his head. “Give a man a warm woman sometimes and it just seems to bring out the yellow in him. I heard yesterday that Mark Donnelly and his family was pulling out. Blackmann and his boys have been worrying them folks real fierce these past few months.”
Wolf frowned. That might mean that Blackmann’s attention could now be focused more completely on the Double B. And if he knew about Betsy coming in on the stage tomorrow, he just might want to take this opportunity to welcome Betsy to her new home.
“Any reason for Blackmann or any of his boys being in town tomorrow?”
Pi
ke considered a moment, then nodded. “Sure. With Donnelly out of the way, he’ll be visiting that land office to stake his claim to Donnelly’s section. He moves in fast, he does—like most buzzards.”
“I think,” said Wolf, “that we’d better turn in now, Pike. Get an early start into town tomorrow. I’d like to be in there well before the stage is due. Wouldn’t want any cowboys planning any welcomes I didn’t know about.”
Pike glanced at Wolf quickly, recognition of his purpose dawning instantly. Nodding quickly, he flicked his cigarette away and started down from the fence.
“Good idea, Wolf. Yessir, that’s a good idea.”
Wolf took one more drag on his cigarette, then followed Pike across the yard and into the cabin. He was bone-weary. It had been a very long day. And the coming day threatened to be just as long and just as wearying.
Four
The next morning just before noon, Wolf stood beside Pike and Ben on the broad hotel verandah and watched Blackmann and his Snake Bar outfit ride into Willow Bend.
To the right of Blackmann rode Josh and escorting them both—in a protective dust raising semi-circle of twenty or more riders—came the rest of the Snake Bar outfit. A few horsemen and wagons going in the other direction pulled hastily to one side so as not to impede Snake Bar’s arrogant progress down Main Street.
As Blackmann and his jingling retainers swept past the hotel, Wolf noted one rider in particular, a small sallow faced individual wearing a battered black bowler and a long dusty overcoat. He was the closest rider to Wolf and as he passed he glanced in Wolf’s direction, his eyes flicking coldly over Wolf. He did not look to be older than eighteen at the most, but his glance was chilling.
At the same time Josh caught sight of Wolf on the porch. Wolf saw the young man say something to his father, who glanced quickly in Wolf’s direction, then looked away. The riders converged finally on the land office—just as Pike had predicted. As Wolf watched, Blackmann dismounted and strode into the land office, his son and his foreman and a few other riders following in behind him.
It had been a long morning and a long wait in town. As far as Wolf and Pike had been able to tell, nothing ominous was afoot concerning Betsy’s arrival on the noon stage. On the other hand this entrance of Snake Bar riders could be the beginning of what they had feared. How many men, after all, did it take to sign one quick deed? Wolf glanced down at Pike.
“I’m dry. Dry as a flat in mid-July. Who serves the best whiskey in this town, Pike?”
The man’s grizzled face brightened appreciably. “Slade Hamner. He owns The Palace across the street there.”
Wolf glanced at Ben. “Keep an eye out for that stage, Ben. Let us know first sign it’s coming. We’ll be in The Palace.”
The boy nodded and took out his jack-knife. He’d been whittling on a stick all morning. He took out the stick again and slumped down onto the bench to wait for the stage. Wolf could tell he was disappointed not to have been included in Wolf’s invitation, but he was not old enough yet, and he knew it.
“We won’t be long, Ben,” Wolf said.
The boy nodded, then brushed a hank of hair out of his eyes and settled down to serious whittling.
As Wolf shouldered his way through the batwing door of The Palace, he glanced quickly around through the smoke-filled interior for sign of Snake Bar riders. There seemed to be more than a few of them in the place, but they were already drinking quietly at the bar or settling into card games at the gaming tables along the left wall. The place was heavy with the harsh laughter of men determined to find pleasure in a glass or a deck of cards and rank with the smell of too many long rides in the sun without a bath at the end of them.
As Wolf and Pike walked across the wet sawdust to the mahogany bar, the place grew ominously quiet.
“Whiskey,” said Wolf to the bartender, a tall fellow with thin black hair slicked back and parted down the middle.
“Same for me, Slade,” said Pike.
As Slade reached back for the whiskey, Pike said, “I want you to meet my friend—and new foreman of the Double B—Slade. His name is Wolf Caulder.”
“Howdy,” said Slade, as he quickly filled two shot glasses and pushed them toward Wolf and Pike.
“This here’s Slade Hamner, Wolf,” Pike said, taking up his glass. “He serves the best whiskey this side of St. Louis.” Pike tipped up the glass and downed the whiskey. His eyes popped slightly as he slammed the glass back down on the counter. Then he smiled gratefully and pushed his glass forward for a refill.
In spite of himself Slade smiled as he refilled Pike’s glass and acknowledged Pike’s compliment with a pleased shrug.
“Let me have your glass,” Slade told Wolf. “This one’ll be on the house. Wouldn’t want to make a liar out of Pike.”
Wolf thanked the man and pushed his own empty glass forward. He watched the owner of The Palace carefully. He did not have the look of an indoor man. He was thin and his face bore the stamp of wind and sun. The plastered down hair, Wolf thought, should have been covered with a wide-brimmed Stetson.
As Slade moved down the bar to attend to another customer, Wolf looked at Pike. “Slade been inside long? He looks like he belongs on a horse—not behind a bar.”
“You’re right, Wolf. He was the best rider and the best roper on the Snake Bar—a top hand—until a bronc went loco and stove in his ribs and then trampled him a bit. You notice he walks a mite crooked. Blackmann set him up here, and he’s doing all right now.”
“That was generous of Blackmann.”
“Blackmann stands by his men and they stand by him—or die.”
Wolf nodded and sipped his whiskey.
Abruptly there was a storm of boots in the doorway. Wolf turned to see the Snake Bar foreman entering The Palace, that undersized kid in the long coat Wolf had noticed earlier right behind him.
“Who’s the fellow with the Snake Bar foreman?” Wolf asked Pike quietly.
“The one beside Lassiter wearing the long overcoat?”
Wolf nodded.
“That’s the kid. Watch out for him. He’s as deadly as a rattler—without the rattles.”
As the two of them pushed into the smoke-filled interior of The Palace, the place became deathly still, all eyes on Lassiter and the kid. Behind them crowded other Snake Bar riders. Wolf was about to turn back to his whiskey when he heard his name called out.
It was barked, rather—and it came from the foreman, Lassiter. Wolf turned back from his whiskey and looked Lassiter over carefully as the foreman and the kid crossed The Palace floor toward him and Pike. Both of them were on the prod, obviously. Lassiter reminded Wolf of some great range bull, huge, head down, spoiling for trouble. The kid was deceptively slight physically, but there was no doubting the truth of Pike’s assertion. A rattler would have been a relief in comparison.
“You’re a fool, Caulder,” Lassiter said, his voice laced with contempt. “A damn fool—hooking up with a tired old man who ain’t got enough sense to get in out of the rain. The Double B is all finished, Caulder—and you will be too if you throw in with it.”
Pike, Wolf saw, had gone white with rage at Lassiter’s words. Every man in the place had heard Lassiter’s harsh, insolent characterization of Pike as a damn fool—and, worse, an old man. Wolf quickly reached out and placed his hand against Pike’s arm to restrain him from moving forward to the challenge.
Wolf said coldly, “I’d rather throw in with a decent human being, Lassiter, than work like you for a coldblooded hypocrite who hides behind a Bible. Hypocrites make lousy bosses, Lassiter—or haven’t you found that out yet?”
The words had been calculated to cut deep, so close to the bone of truth as to set Lassiter back—and every man in that saloon who had sworn allegiance to Blackmann. There was a kind of collective gasp at Wolf’s words. The kid’s face went dead and his pale, little girl’s hands dropped into the enormous pockets of his buffalo coat.
Wolf smiled at the kid. “Keep your hands in your pocket
s, Kid, or I’ll wipe your face through all this sawdust.”
The kid’s face hardened into a mask. “That’s it,” he said softly, his voice barely audible in the hushed room. “Tempt me. Go ahead.”
“Later, Kid. Later. You’ll get yours, I promise.”
Lassiter licked suddenly dry lips. Against all reason, he realized, he seemed to be getting the worse of this facedown. Wolf caught the man’s hesitation and spoke harshly.
“Say your piece, Lassiter—then get out of here. What’s Blackmann got to tell me and Pike?”
“The Double B is finished in this town,” Lassiter said. “There ain’t a store in town going to sell you a thing. Your credit in this town is finished. Gibson and Obermeyer know which side their bread is buttered on.”
Pike exploded in fury: “You mean Obermeyer and Gibson agreed to let Blackmann call the tune like that? I don’t believe it!”
Pleased at Pike’s discomfiture, Lassiter said, “Ask them. No more credit. You can grow what you need out there—or make it.” He was enjoying hugely the effect this news was having on Pike.
“Okay,” said Wolf. “You’ve said your piece. Now get out of here and get back to your keeper.”
That remark did it for the kid. He started to pull his weapons from his pockets.
But Wolf had been watching the boy carefully and as soon as the kid made his move, Wolf closed on him like lightning, his right hand swiping across the kid’s sallow cheek, snapping his head around with brutal suddenness. A second swipe with the back of Wolf’s hand coming from the other direction snapped the kid’s face back the other way—the two slaps sounding like rapid-fire pistol shots in the hushed silence.
The kid’s knees buckled and he spun dizzily to the saloon floor; but even as he dropped his pale slender hands drew forth the two Smith & Wessons, he kept in his coat pockets. Before he could do anything with them, however, Wolf kicked first one and then the other pistol out of the kid’s hands. They spun across the floor and slammed into the wall.
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