The Return of Caulfield Blake

by G. Clifton Wisler

  “No,” Caulie agreed. “Could be they’ve turned cautious.”

  Well, we’ve killed a few of ’em, Caulie thought as he grimly watched the approach of the Diamond S riders. These were no gunmen with Simpson this time, just range cowboys. It was hard to find hatred for such men. Henry Simpson, though, was a different matter.

  “Zach, best run down to the barn and bring the Salazars to the house,” Caulie suggested. “Not much cover back that way. Get that wagon out of the way, too.”

  “Sure, Pa,” Zach said, scampering away.

  “Carter, you take the front window,” Caulie instructed. “But first make sure the little ones are out of the way.”

  Carter nodded and set about the task.

  “So, it’s come down to this,” Dix grumbled as he readied himself for the upcoming melee. “Seems as if we’ve done this before.”

  “Once or twice.”

  “Seems strange that so many should’ve died for one man’s greed.”

  Caulie nodded, then grimly waited for Zach to return with the Salazars. Simpson had finally persuaded his cowboys to cross the creek. The riders now closed the distance slowly, cautiously.

  “Zach, they’re cornin’!” Caulie shouted.

  The boy soon appeared, leading the Salazar family along toward the back door. Caulie motioned Dix toward the house, then followed his old friend inside.

  Simpson led his company up the hill not so much intentionally as from the fact that the others seemed reluctant to ride ahead of their boss. Simpson himself was furious. Even as he neared the house, he waved violently toward his crew.

  “I said to ride!” the old man screamed. “There aren’t but a few of them left. They killed my son. Now they’ve killed Matt, too!”

  Simpson himself made no move, though, and the others held back. Caulie stepped to the door as Zach conducted Roberto and Carlos Salazar down the hall to the front room.

  “Watch the side windows,” Dix instructed. “Be ready.”

  “They’re in range already,” Carter pointed out. “Shouldn’t we open up?”

  “Be patient,” Caulie said as he stepped out onto the veranda. “Simpson, hold it right there!”

  “I’ve come for you, Blake!” Simpson responded.

  “You?” Caulie said, laughing. “You old fool, you’re licked. You’ve not got any Olie Swain or Doyle Opley with you now. These are workin’ cowboys. They didn’t ride up here to get killed!”

  “They do as I say!” Simpson said, again gesturing to his companions. One or two started, but Dix fired a shot in front of the first, and Carter fired just short of the second.

  “Go home, boys!” Caulie called. “There’s been enough lollin’.”

  “We mean you no harm, Mr. Blake!” the nearest drover called.

  “Coward!” Simpson yelled, pulling a pistol and firing at the cowboy. The young rider stared in disbelief as a bullet tore into his shoulder.

  “Colonel?” the wounded cowboy called.

  “Now the rest of you get after them!” Simpson yelled. “Go on!”

  “Can’t you see it’s over, Colonel Simpson?” a drover with bright red hair asked.

  Simpson turned to fire again, but the wounded cowboy pulled a pistol and fired first. Henry Simpson rocked in his saddle, then stared wild-eyed at Caulie before falling earthward.

  “Like I said, it’s over!” the redheaded cowboy called down to Caulie. “We’re headed home. We leave you to your range.”

  The cowboys gathered around their wounded comrade and assisted him along. In what seemed an impossibly brief time, the cowboys recrossed Carpenter Creek and vanished into the obscure horizon. Caulie, meanwhile, made his way slowly to where Henry Simpson’s body lay in a pool of blood.

  “Well, old man?” Caulie called. “Have you brought enough death to this land at last?”

  The old rancher’s eyes stared blankly at the sky, but Caulie found no sympathy for his old nemesis. There had been too much pain, too many lost years and interrupted dreams.

  “Leave him!” Dix called. “Leave him for the hawks!”

  “No, it’s best he’s buried in town. We’ll load him in the wagon.”

  “We’ll take him in,” Roberto Salazar spoke up from the porch. “If we can borrow your wagon, Senor Stewart.”

  “Take it,” Dix said, shaking his head. “Come on, Caulie. Let’s go see Charlie.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Caulie sat on one of the small beds in the comer of the boys’ bedroom while Dix Stewart visited with his son. Charlie was still pale as death, but a sparkle of life had returned to his eyes, and somehow Caulie knew the boy would recover. Hannah had said it. The young always seem to mend.

  Caulie knew other wounds would heal as well. The small ones who slept in the two miniature beds would recover in time from the death of their father. Even now little Todd and Wylie began to realize Marsh would not reappear. There were no tears, just a sort of bewildered whimpering that pained Caulie all the more because he could do so little to soothe it.

  It will pass, Caulie assured himself. They’ve got brothers around that can teach them to ride, to rope steers and make river crossings. They’ve got a strong mother who can put steel in their backbones.

  In a way, Caulie even envied them. At least they belonged somewhere. Caulfield Blake already felt himself drifting again.

  “Where will you go now?” Dix asked a half hour later as the two of them prowled the hillside. “Back to the Clear Fork?”

  “I’ve got horses there,” Caulie explained.

  “Hannah will need somebody now.”

  “She’s got Zach and Carter. They’re not boys anymore to have their hands held crossin’ streams or their tails blistered for prankin’ neighbors. They’re men.”

  “They’ll have needs, too,” Dix argued. “Stay. I can read her eyes, Caulie. You’d be welcome.”

  “Maybe in time.”

  “Now! If you don’t feel right livin’ under her roof, take the cabin awhile. Or come to town with us. Lord knows there’s work enough for a dozen Caulfield Blakes there, what with the store a shambles.”

  “You might give thought to hirin’ the Salazars, Dix.”

  “No, they’ve vowed to return to Ox Hollow. Folks want their own fields to tend, you know.”

  “I’d like to stay,” Caulie admitted. “I want to. I need them. But it’s not for me to say.”

  “Do this for me, Caulie. Don’t let that mule stubbornness send you runnin’ away again. Your place is here, on this very land where your folks lie buried.”

  “They’re not the only ones buried here now,” Caulie said, turning away. And the shadow from Marsh’s grave fell clearly across Hannah’s door.

  Dix and Rita prepared to return to town a little after midday. Caulie helped pack Charlie in the bed of a Bar Double B wagon.

  “You’ll come visit?” the boy asked, brightening some as Caulie gripped his small, terribly cold fingers.

  “Be chasin’ you down the creek in a week,” Caulie promised.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Dix declared as he helped Rita into the bed. “The both of you.”

  The wagon then headed off south toward the junction of the market road, and Caulie felt terrifyingly alone. Zach then took his hand and led the way toward the barn.

  “Thought we might give the horses a good brushing,” Zach said. “If you’re up to it.”

  “I am.”

  “Seems like just yesterday you were riding in,” Zach mumbled. “Things have gotten awful quiet. The Salazars have gone, and now the Stewarts leave. Todd and Wylie won’t go down to the creek without Carter or me along. Sally just sits with Ma and holds the knitting yarn. It’s like . . .”

  “Someone died?” Caulie asked. “Someone has.”

  “When Grandma Siler died, we all had a good cry and then got on with things. This time is different.”

  “It’s expected somehow for old people to go. She was sick awhile, too.”

  “Marsh was
n’t. One minute he was walking tall and proud. The next he was dead.”

  “Bullets do a fair job of cuttin’ a man down.”

  “Pa, Carter says you’ll likely leave. You won’t, will you?”

  “It’d seem best. My work’s finished.”

  “Finished? You just got here.” Zach walked away a minute, then returned and leaned against his father’s weary side. “I know you’ve got business up north, but it can wait a bit, can’t it? We’ll ride up there and help you later. We need you.”

  “Simpson’s dead.”

  “You think a father’s just for blowing up dams and killing the likes of Henry Simpson? No. We need you now more’n ever. Ma especially.”

  “People will talk.”

  “They talked before. We never paid ’em much mind.”

  “I won’t have folks think ill of your ma.”

  “Just let ’em try. Besides, a ranch needs a man’s hand. Ma told me that herself.”

  “You and Carter are old enough.”

  “And what about us? We need you, too.”

  “Once. I’m afraid that time flew by while I was away.”

  Zach gripped his father’s arms and trembled. Caulie felt tears drop on his chest as they rolled down the boy’s cheeks.

  “Pa, please,” Zach begged. “Don’t leave us again.”

  Caulie had no answer, though. He drew Zach close, but Caulfield Blake had no pledge to give, no real comfort to offer. They stood together awhile. Then Zach pulled away, and they began brushing the horses’ coats until a shine came.

  Caulie passed the remainder of the afternoon with Carter and the twins, tossing flat stones across Carpenter Creek.

  “I did this the first time with my own father,” Caulie told them. “That was back in the days when you carried a rifle with you on account of Comanche raiders.”

  “We dug arrowheads down the creek once,” little Todd said. “Pa and Zach and us. I still got mine.”

  “Pa was a good digger,” Wylie said sadly. “Think he’ll come back ’fore long, Carter?”

  “Ma told you,” Carter said, his eyes swelling. “He’s gone to be with the angels.”

  “Won’t he even come back for a visit? Like Mr. Blake?” Todd asked.

  Carter stared at Caulie with pleading eyes. Caulie drew the twins to his side, then swallowed.

  “Boys, you ever met an angel?” he asked. The boys shook their heads, and Caulie went on. “They just take certain folks up there with ’em. Just the best, the really good men they can count on. It’s hard goin’ up there in the clouds, and not many can make the trip.”

  “Our pa can,” Wylie boasted.

  “Sure, he can,” Caulie agreed. “But tough as it is to get up there, the angels won’t show a man the path back down. They don’t want to lose the folks they get to help God, you know.”

  “You mean Pa won’t be coming back?” Todd asked, trembling.

  “We won’t see him again?” Wylie added with tearful eyes.

  “No, son,” Caulie said, pulling the children closer. “It’s just fine if you want to cry about that, too, ’cause you’ll miss him. Don’t be sad for your pa, though, ’cause he’s gone to a better place.”

  “Better?” Todd asked.

  “It’s white as snow up there, and there’s fine work to put your hands to. Course he’ll be sad for a time. Bound to miss you and your ma and sister. But if you’re good and work hard and do right by folks, when your time comes, you’ll join him up there. There’ll be some fine times waitin’ then, I’ll bet.”

  Caulie sat beside the creek and let a twin nestle under each arm. It seemed just yesterday that Carter and Zach were doing the same thing. They passed half an hour together, with Carter skipping stones and watching. Then Hannah announced dinner, and the twins scampered up the hillside.

  “I thank you for that,” Carter said as he walked with Caulie to the house. “I would never’ve got it said right.”

  “There’s no right or wrong to it, son.”

  “You’ve had practice, though, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve known death, if that’s what you mean. It’s come often and sometimes early. And never without grief.”

  “I hated you a long time.”

  “It’s easy to hate, especially when you don’t understand. I hope someday you’ll forgive me leavin’ you. It brought you some hard times. I guess my cornin’ back’s been even harder.”

  “No,” Carter said, stopping long enough to face his father. “I know you only did it for us, for Ma and Zach and me. It’s just that when I was little, you were always there to lean on. We had such high times. And then you were gone. I loved you so much, Pa. It would’ve been easier if you’d died even. Knowing you rode off on your own . . . well, it like to kill me.”

  “Me, too,” Caulie said, clasping his son’s hands. “Never was there a colder winter.”

  “Don’t leave again.”

  “I won’t be far. But it’s not proper I should . .

  “Stay? Pa, it’s more’n proper. It’s right. When you left, Marsh Merritt gave us a hand up, was a father to Zach and me. Well, he’s gone now. You owe it to Sally and Todd and Wylie to return the favor.”

  “And to you?”

  “Zach and I could chase mustangs up on the Clear Fork if that was all there was to it. It isn’t. There’s Ma to consider.”

  “Oh?”

  “She needs you more than any of us.”

  Caulie was less sure. But after the dinner plates were washed and put away, Hannah led him outside, and they walked along the hillside as they had a hundred, a thousand times. The sky was clear. The storm had passed, and the evening star was sparkling overhead.

  “Make a wish,” she said, gripping his hand.

  “I wish we could erase seven years,” he whispered. “Start over.”

  “Those were hard years, but they were good, too, in their way,” she said. “I wouldn’t set aside Sally or the twins. Or Marsh.”

  “They were less kind to me.”

  “You came back to us, though. I saw the way Carter looked at you across the dinner table. You’d be welcome if you chose to stay.”

  “Hannah, you know it’s not right. You’ve only just buried a husband.”

  “Would it be better if I buried two? I’ll wear black for six months, Caulie. Marsh deserved no less. But those are your sons in that house, and the little ones . . . well, they could be yours, too. Would’ve been had life turned a different fork in the trail. This is your place.”

  “It was once.”

  “Always. You’ve bled for it more than once. You say what you will, but your heart’s here. What’s more, we need you, and you need us. Stay!”

  She drew him closer, and that sense of belonging that rarely visits life settled over Caulfield Blake. He knew he had finally returned. He was home.