by Elmer Kelton
The old banker was smiling. “It was worth losing the bet. I just wish we could collect what Finch owes us.” He glanced at Monahan’s right hand. Doug was suddenly conscious of the skinned knuckles. Brown chuckled. “Perhaps we could, if we were a little younger and had your method.”
The teller grinned. “You could always sit on him, Albert.”
“One of these days I’m going to sit on you,” Brown grunted.
Monahan took out enough cash to pay off his men. Then he waited on the boardwalk outside while Dundee cashed his check.
Twin Wells was pretty much an average for a West Texas cowtown, he thought. It had the essentials. From the bank’s front walk he could count two mercantile stores, five saloons, a church and a school. Scattered around haphazardly were one good hotel, one cheap one, a big livery barn at the head of the street, and a smaller one at the far end to keep the big one honest. There was a blacksmith shop and a little chili joint.
Dominating the town was the courthouse, an imposing two-story rock building squarely in the center of a large block of fenced-in ground that probably was as big as the rest of the business section put together. In the summertime, cowboys would ride into town and tie their horses along this stake fence in the shade of the big live oaks instead of in the sun at the hitchracks that stood in front of most of the business houses. Behind the courthouse stood a smaller structure, built of the same stone, looking very much like the courthouse except that its windows were barred.
When Dundee came out, Monahan told him, “I’m going over and talk to the sheriff.”
“I’ll string along with you, if it’s all the same. I’m curious what Luke McKelvie’s goin’ to say.”
“It’s up to you.”
They strode across the hoof-scarred street, pausing to let a cowboy ride past them and a loaded wagon roll by. The live oaks had held their leaves all winter, and now they were a muddy green, almost ready to fall and give way to the fresh leaves that spring would bring. A thick mulch of old leaves and acorns crunched beneath the men’s feet as they passed under the big trees and through the open gate toward the jail.
The sheriff sat at his desk, frowning over a fresh batch of reward dodgers. Luke McKelvie was fifty or so. He had a lawman look about him but somewhere back yonder he’d been a cowboy before he strayed off into the devious trails of politics, Doug Monahan judged. He still retained a little of the cowboy, but years in town, with easy work and not much heavy riding, had left him a shade soft around the middle, a little broad across the hips.
“I’m Doug Monahan.”
The sheriff looked up with tired gray eyes. He stood and extended his hand. “Evening. Figured you’d be in, sooner or later. Sit down. You too, Dundee.”
The two men dragged cane-bottomed chairs away from the bare wall.
“You’ve heard about yesterday?” Monahan asked.
McKelvie nodded. “The captain was in with Spann. They told me.”
“You could’ve come out and investigated.”
The sheriff’s eyes were steady. “I did. Rode all the way out there, and all I could find was a grave.”
Monahan felt a touch of guilt for the way he had spoken. He had taken it for granted that the sheriff had done nothing.
McKelvie said, “You should’ve waited for me. Not just buried the old man and rid off like that.”
“Didn’t seem to be much else we could do. We had no food left, or bedding or anything.”
The sheriff shrugged. “I don’t reckon it matters now anyway.”
“One thing matters to me. What’re you going to do?”
McKelvie frowned. “What should I do?”
“A man was killed out there. We all know who killed him. You do anything about murder around here?”
The sheriff pointed his finger at Monahan. “About murder, yes, but was it murder? Look at it the way I have to. In the first place, you were trespassing. You had no business out there.”
“I took the job in good faith. I didn’t know I was trespassing.”
“Whether you knew it or not, you were. Take it to court and they’d find the captain was only protecting his property. In the second place, your man had a pothook in his hand, and he could’ve brained Archer Spann with it. I’ll grant you Spann maybe didn’t have to kill him. But he did it, and I expect any jury would acquit him on the grounds of self-defense.
“We got to look at it for what it is, Monahan. Whatever he was to you, to folks around here he was just an old Mexican that nobody knew, in a place where he shouldn’t have been.”
“Is that the way you feel, McKelvie?”
McKelvie’s eyes sharpened as Monahan’s pent-up anger reached across to him. “No, it isn’t. I hate to see any man die. But I’ve got to be practical. There’s no use putting the county to the expense of arrest and trial of a man the jury’s bound to turn loose anyhow. There’s nothing you or me can do. You’d just best forget it.”
Monahan’s hands were tight on the edge of the chair. “Just like that! They kill the old man who brought me up and I’m supposed to forget it.”
McKelvie leaned forward, his eyes level and serious. “That and a little more. I’m advising you to gather up whatever loose ends you got around here and leave, Monahan. It’s my job to keep the peace, and I got an uneasy feeling it won’t be peaceful as long as you stay.”
“Is that an order, McKelvie?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Just good advice.”
Monahan stood up stiffly. “I’m not ready to go yet. Maybe, like you say, there’s nothing I can do about the men who killed Paco. But I’ll guarantee you this, I’m not leaving till I try.” He turned to go.
“Wait a minute, Monahan,” the sheriff said. Monahan looked back at him and saw a coldness in McKelvie’s face. “I don’t blame you for the way you feel. But I’m not going to let you stir up a lot of trouble. First time you step over the line, I’ll bring you in.”
“We’ll see,” Monahan replied thinly.
4
Walking back across the dusty street, Doug Monahan managed to get a tight rein on his anger. He asked Dundee, “What about the sheriff?”
Dundee shrugged. “He didn’t say anything that wasn’t the truth. McKelvie’s a pretty good kind of a man. Punched cattle for the captain a long time ago, till the captain got him made sheriff. It was about like staying on the R Cross payroll. But things have changed here lately. New people comin’ in, people that don’t figure Rinehart’s got any claim on them. Been tough on McKelvie sometimes, I expect, bein’ sheriff for them and the captain, too. He wants to be fair, and he’s havin’ a hard time figuring out what fair is.”
They stepped up onto the plank sidewalk that fronted the little saloon where Stub Bailey had gone. The small sign said, TEXAS TOWN, CHRISTOPHER HADLEY, PROP. Two men sat on the edge of the porch, whittling and spitting and soaking up the fleeting sunshine. They stared curiously at Monahan. Doug knew the story had gone all over town, probably all over the county.
It was a shotgun-shaped saloon, narrow in front but somehow longer than it had looked outside. Stub Bailey sat at a table toward the back. The rest of the fencing crew was there with him. The proprietor brought two fresh glasses. Bailey poured the two full from a bottle he had sitting in front of him. He hurriedly drank what was left in his own glass and refilled it too.
“I always like an even start with the crowd,” he said.
Monahan took a quick swallow of the whisky and grimaced at its fiery passage. He hadn’t really wanted it.
For Bailey, it went down smoother. His glass was half empty when he set it back on the table. “You’re all the talk around here today, Doug. Some of the captain’s cowboys was in here talking about you when I came in. They finally recognized me and shut up. They were betting on how quick you’d be out of the country.”
Doug said dryly, “You ought to’ve taken a little of their money.”
The proprietor had been watching Monahan until he figured out for sure who he was
. Now he came back smiling, bringing a bottle.
“Welcome, Mr. Monahan,” he said. “My name’s Chris Hadley. This is my place.” He picked up the bottle Stub had been using and put the other one down in its place. “This is on the house. It’s a pleasure to serve someone that’s had the nerve to stomp the captain’s toes.”
Monahan eyed him noncommittally. “I’m afraid you got it backwards, friend. He did all the stomping.”
“You’re still in town, aren’t you?” Hadley replied. He was a shortish man, growing heavy now in his late forties, his hair receding to a light stand far back on his head. There was something about him that made him a little out of place as a saloonkeeper. He bore himself with a dignity which hinted of a better background than this.
Presently Doug heard a stir out in front of the saloon. A couple of cowboys pushed through the door and stood looking over the thin scattering of customers. The pair wore woolen coats, unbuttoned now because the day was not unpleasant. They had on chaps and spurs, and one wore leather gloves. They spotted Monahan and moved toward him.
Monahan stiffened, an angry red ridge running along his cheekbone. The tall one in the lead was Archer Spann.
Spann stopped and stared at Monahan, a vague contempt in his black eyes. “Monahan,” he said sharply, “the captain’s outside. He wants to see you.”
Monahan stood up angrily, changed his mind and sat down again. “Tell him if he wants to see me, he knows where I’m at.”
Spann said, “When the captain says come, you come.”
“I don’t.” Monahan sat there with a deep anger smoldering in him. He was hoping this grim man would make a move toward him, hoping for an excuse to lay his gunbarrel against that hard jaw and watch those black eyes roll back.
Spann shifted his weight uncertainly from one foot to the other. It was plain enough he wasn’t used to running up against a situation like this. But he could not miss the dangerous smoulder in the fence-builder’s eyes. Suddenly, he turned and walked out again.
The proprietor moved to the front window and looked outside. “It’s Captain Rinehart, all right. He’s out front there on that big gray horse of his.”
Chris Hadley nervously wiped his dry hands on his apron. “Four years I’ve had this place, and the captain’s never set foot in it. Folks used to ask him permission to do this or do that. I never did. I put this place up, and I never asked him anything. Couple of years, no R Cross cowboy ever came in, either. But they’ve been starting to drift in. The old man’s word doesn’t carry as strongly as it used to.”
Spann came in first and held the door open. Captain Andrew Rinehart strode in with stiff dignity. He paused a moment, letting his eyes accustom themselves to the room light.
“He’s back here, Captain,” Spann spoke, waving his hand toward Monahan.
It took the captain a moment to pick Monahan out. Monahan stood up slowly and pushed his chair back. The captain stopped a full pace in front of the table.
“I thought you’d be gone,” the old man said.
Monahan’s voice was calmly defiant. “I’m still here.”
The cowman’s piercing eyes had a way of seeing right through a man without revealing much of what went on behind them. “Maybe you’re broke,” he said. “I understand you’ve got some barbed wire stored over at Tracey’s Mercantile. I’ll buy it from you. That’ll give you enough money to be on your way.”
Monahan said, “I’m not broke. The point is, I’m not running. I’ll leave when I get ready, and I’m not ready.”
A sharp edge worked into the captain’s voice. “I’m trying to be fair about this, Monahan.”
“Like you were yesterday?”
“What happened yesterday wasn’t all planned. Sometimes things just happen that weren’t figured on atall. You’d better forget it.”
Forget it. Twice now Monahan had heard that.
“You burned up my wagons, destroyed my supplies and killed a harmless old man. How do you think I could forget that?”
“Sometimes it’s best for a man to make himself forget, Monahan.”
“I’ll bet you never did, Captain. I’ll bet you never in your life let a man get away with anything.”
A tinge of red worked up the old rancher’s ears. “Monahan, I was in this country when you were just a little boy. I came out here when everybody else was afraid to. There were Indians here, but I took the country, and I held it.” His beard quivered with emotion. “Other people have come in, sure, but only because I let them. It’s still my country. It goes by my rules. They’ve been fair rules, and one way or another, I’ve seen that they’ve been kept.
“People may say I’ve been a hard man. Well, it took a hard man to run the Indians out. It took a hard man to get rid of the cow thieves. Even yet, there’s all kinds of land grabbers and leeches, waiting to move in here the minute I soften up. They’d love to see Kiowa County split apart. And you know how barbed wire can split people apart. It’s done it other places, and it would do it here. I’ll not allow you to come in and stir up dissension. I’ve told you to leave. I’ll not tell you again!”
Doug Monahan had been standing out of his habitual deference for men older than himself. He realized suddenly what he was doing, and he sat down. He said nothing, but the defiance in his eyes gave his answer. The captain stood there stiff-backed, his old fists doubled.
Spann moved up to the captain’s side. “I’ll take care of this for you, sir.”
“No,” said the captain, “no saloon brawl.” He had too much pride for that. “You’re feeling ringy, Monahan, because one of your men was killed. I’ll take that into account for now, but don’t crowd your luck.” He turned on his heel and strode stiffly out the door.
Spann hung back, watching Monahan. “You won’t find me as easy to talk down as the old man.”
Monahan replied tightly, “And you won’t find me as easy to kill as a poor old Mexican with a pothook in his hand.”
The saloonkeeper, Chris Hadley, stood at the window, wiping his hands on his apron as he watched the riders pull away. He came back, a little of nervousness still hanging on him.
“Well, Monahan,” he said, “you’ve made the history books. But what are you going to do now?”
“Build fence, if I can. I’m not running away.”
Chris Hadley was more than just a barkeeper. He was a man given to quiet contemplation. He said, “Maybe you’re the one, Monahan, I don’t know. For a long time we’ve needed somebody to wake people up and make them stand for their rights. The captain was a great man for his time. He came here when it was a raw, wild land. He tamed it and he built it up. But he got it to a point where it suits him, and now he wants it to stay there. In the old countries, he’s what you’d call a benevolent despot.”
Monahan said, “What’s benevolent about him?”
Hadley shrugged. “There are some good things about him, believe it or not. But he’s still a despot, and we’ve outgrown that kind of man, Monahan. We’ve outgrown him, but were too weak to do anything about it.”
Presently two men came in and walked up to the bar. “Hey, Chris,” one said, “wasn’t that the captain we saw walking out of here?”
Hadley nodded, and the man whistled softly. “We must be comin’ to the end of the world.”
The other man said, “I saw the captain ridin’ out of town like he was on his way to a lynching. A big bunch of R Cross cowboys was with him. I guess they all left.”
“All but one,” the first man corrected him. “That Wheeler boy stayed in town.”
“Wheeler? Vern Wheeler?” Worry crept into Chris Hadley’s voice. “Where did he go?”
“Last I seen he was headed in the direction of your house,” the man said, grinning slyly.
Chris Hadley lost interest in his customers. He absently wiped the bar, his troubled gaze pinned on the side window of the saloon. His house lay in that direction.
* * *
VERN WHEELER LACKED three months of turning twenty-o
ne. He was a large young man, as husky as his father, old Noah Wheeler. He had a squarish, handsome face with bold, honest features, a picture of what his father must have been thirty years before.
He carried a brashness and a recklessness, though, that were strictly his own. He walked right up to the Hadley house and knocked on the door, standing there on the front porch for all to see him.
Paula Hadley opened the door. Her brown eyes lighted with joy at the sight of him. “Vern Wheeler! What are you doing here?”
“What do you think? I came to see you. You going to make me stand out here in the chill all day?”
She hesitated. “Vern, you know Papa.…” Then she opened the door wide. “I guess you might as well come on in. They’ll all talk, either way.”
He walked in and she closed the door, leaning back against it. She studied him with a happy glow in her brown eyes. Paula Hadley was a slender, small girl who looked even tinier beside big Vern Wheeler. She dressed plainly because her father disapproved of anything else. As she was a saloonkeeper’s daughter, austerity was a penalty she had to suffer to keep her beyond suspicion. But nothing could hide the quiet beauty of her face, a beauty enhanced by her happiness now as she looked at Vern Wheeler.
“Gosh, Vern, it’s been a long time. Can’t you come around more often?”
“You know I’m working, Paula. Captain Rinehart’s got me and another feller staked out in a line shack way over on the north end of the ranch.”
“You weren’t in that incident at that fencing camp, were you?”
“No, I didn’t even know about it till it was over.”
That brought her relief. “Gosh, Vern,” she said again, “it’s been a long time. Two months.”
“Costs money to come to town, Paula. I’m saving mine. You know why.”
She nodded. “I know why. Vern, who’s with you in the line camp?”
“Fellow named Lefty Jones. I don’t expect you know him.”
She shook her head. “I’m glad it’s not that redheaded Rooster Preech you used to run around with. I was afraid he’d get you in trouble someday.”