by Will DuRey
Those thoughts were in Ben’s mind but, when he failed to express them aloud instantly, Mrs Tippett spoke again. ‘Is the Long-R the closest ranch to the settler families?’
‘No. Mr Remarque’s domain is south of Pecos, which is currently free of newcomers, but that’s likely to alter if more people are attracted to this part of Texas. It’s the cattlemen’s opinion that there isn’t a blade more grass here than is needed to feed their herds.’
Mrs Tippett didn’t answer and didn’t utter another word until they reached town.
After crossing the bridge, both Ben and Elsa Tippett became aware of the unusual atmosphere in which the main street seemed to be swathed. There seemed to be little humour shared among the people who had stopped to gossip along the sidewalks. Those men and women who bothered to turn their heads at the passing buggy all wore grim expressions, the recipients, perhaps, of unwelcome news. The focus of their attention was the congregation of men around a wagon further up the street. Ben estimated that it had come to a halt outside the sheriff’s office, which they would have to pass on their way to the Alamo Hotel.
Across the street from the wagon a man was climbing onto a horse, and soon he had it running along the street towards the bridge. When he was level with the buggy he hauled his mount to a halt suddenly. Ben had recognized him moments earlier and had stopped his own vehicle in order to speak to the older man.
‘Thought you had gone east,’ Marty Levin said.
‘Got caught up in a job bringing Mrs Tippett to Pecos.’ Ben introduced Elsa Tippett to his former ranch companion.
Marty tipped his hat but his words were spoken to Ben. ‘Got to get back to the Long-R,’ he said. ‘Mr Remarque will want to know that somebody killed Col Brodie.’
‘’That’s the man who killed the Dutchman,’ Ben said softly, feigning ignorance of the gunman’s death and disassembling any suspicion of involvement that might have been triggered by his arrival in town so hot on the heels of the body.
‘Yeah, well I suppose you had foresight of the way things would turn out.’
A spark of annoyance flashed in Ben. He didn’t congratulate himself for being right; his prediction of the violence that had erupted on the streets of Pecos wasn’t a cause for celebration. But Marty had sat up in the saddle, eager to put spurs to his horse. He cast another look at Elsa Tippett as though unwilling to say anything more while she was within earshot. ‘We need to talk,’ he told Ben, ‘perhaps I’ll see you later.’
‘I’m busy tonight,’ Ben told him. ‘I’ll find you tomorrow.’
Marty looked as though he was preparing an argument but, instead, gave a curt nod then rode away.
Ben Joyner ate a steak meal in a restaurant then saddled the chestnut and rode back to the Skivver homestead before darkness had fallen and the moon had risen. As he suspected, there was no attack on the house that night: crops and livestock remained untroubled. Hay in the loft provided warm and comfortable bedding for Ben and he took advantage of it when the position of the Big Dipper told him it was two hours gone midnight and too late for Long-R night-callers.
Before taking up his post in the barn, he had tried once more to persuade Drew Skivver to quit his home temporarily, recommending that he join forces with one of his neighbours. However, even stressing the need to protect his women-folk didn’t prove argument enough to sway Drew from his determination to stay on the patch of land he called his own.
‘I appreciate you coming out here tonight,’ Drew told Ben. ‘It puts you in opposition to men you’ve ridden beside.’
Ben hadn’t ridden with men like Col Brodie and had no wish to share a bunkhouse with men who were prepared to emulate the brutal behaviour of that gunslinger. Despite his action earlier in the day, Ben was reluctant to use guns. When facing Col Brodie, however, there had been no alternative. ‘I’ll come out while you need me,’ he said. His major worry was that Gus Remarque’s men would come raiding when he wasn’t here. His second worry was that he would be ineffectual against a determined attack if he were here.
He was halfway between the house and barn when Lottie followed him outside with a blanket folded over her arm. The night hadn’t yet lost all of the heat of the day and the neck-high, blue wool dress she wore ensured that she wasn’t chilled by the slight breeze that came from across the river. Yet Ben detected a tiny tremble as she passed the blanket to him. Her eyes were big when she looked into his face, and it seemed that there were questions she wanted to ask that hung unspoken on her lips.
‘Are you cold?’ asked Ben.
She shook her head.
He wondered if she was affected by the tension of the situation, a reaction perhaps to the shooting she’d witnessed earlier and the possibility of an attack on her home by violent men. Ben tried to reassure her. ‘I don’t expect there’ll be any trouble tonight.’
‘Why are you here?’ she asked, the question almost blurted out, eager for an answer as though it held the key to her future. But the words ended abruptly, conveying regret that they had been released into the night, almost fearing the answer she might receive.
‘I was obliged to bring Mrs Tippett through the brush country,’ Ben told her, the intonation expressing surprise; he’d explained earlier the events that had brought him back to Pecos.
A glint of moonlight flashed in Lottie’s eyes. ‘I meant here, tonight. Why have you come back to our home?’ She knew it was a question she shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t try to trap him into giving an answer that would commit him to a decision that he might not make freely. More worryingly, it might persuade him to ride away in the morning and never return.
‘I don’t mean to belittle your pa, Lottie, but with a busted arm he isn’t able to put up much resistance against a bunch of raiders.’
‘You’ve made it clear it’s not your fight,’ she said.
‘I think the events earlier in the day altered that. Can’t let you and your family be called to account for my actions.’
Ben had spoken the truth: he fought his own fights and this one had become his the moment Col Brodie had ridden up to threaten Drew Skivver and his family. Ben admired Drew Skivver and wasn’t prepared to stand aside while his home and everything he’d worked for was destroyed. Of course, the safety of Lottie Skivver had figured large in the cause of Ben’s intervention. Two weeks earlier he’d quit Pecos when there had been little more than a suggestion that Gus Remarque’s antagonism would escalate into violence. It was possible that the Skivvers and everyone else who had staked out land along the river might have prospered without any conflict developing with the cattlemen. Now it was different. Blood had been spilt and more would soak the ground before the matter was settled. When the killing began it was difficult to stop, and if the boss of the Long-R wanted retribution for the slaying of his hired gun then he would find Ben Joyner ready for combat.
Although he’d left Pecos once, and it was clear that Lottie suspected he would do so again, Ben knew he couldn’t go while she was in jeopardy. He couldn’t go until her father was once again able to bear arms. Perhaps not even then.
Lottie raised her head, a gesture like her father’s when he had a point to make. ‘You don’t need to feel compelled to fight on our behalf. Mr Remarque is not going to run us off land we rightly own. If you go away again, we’ll understand.’
‘Is that what you want, Lottie? Do you want me to ride away and forget you?’
Lottie opened her mouth. Words were waiting to spill out, a declaration that she doubted that her wishes had any influence over his decisions, but they were never uttered. Her head drooped slightly so that she was no longer looking into his eyes.
‘I mean to stay here and help,’ Ben said, ‘and I won’t leave until you tell me to go.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Next morning, while Ben Joyner shared breakfast with the Skivver family, Jarvis Wilson and Gatt Stone were meeting with Gus Remarque, who had summoned them to the Lazy-R. Gatt’s left arm was no longer in a sling; he wanted the mon
ey he’d been promised and was prepared to suffer the ache in his shoulder to convince the rancher that he was capable of earning it.
Gus Remarque noted how Gatt favoured his left arm as he climbed down from his saddle but didn’t comment. Col Brodie’s death had, for the moment, left him with little choice other than to use these two men to complete the job of hassling the settlers away from the northern grassland. His foreman, Davey Pursur, had hinted that the recent increase of violence might have weakened any lingering thoughts of resistance among the settlers and that already they might be preparing to leave the territory. If that were so, then recruiting more people to enforce his views would serve no purpose. By the time they got here there might be no problem to solve.
‘What news from Pecos?’ the rancher wanted to know. ‘Who was celebrating Brodie’s death last night?’
‘Nobody, Mr Remarque,’ Jarvis Wilson replied.
The rancher was doubtful that that was the truth of the matter. ‘No one bragging that they were responsible for clipping him? No glasses raised among the settler people?’
‘None of them came to town last night. If they were celebrating they were doing it in their own homes.’
‘None!’ Gus Remarque assessed that information, muttering the thoughts that arose from his musing. ‘Either they’ve figured out some scheme to keep clear of Pecos in the hope of avoiding trouble or they’ve had enough and are busy packing their belongings.’ He looked at the two men who stood before him, judging their competence before assigning a task. ‘I assume you are capable of riding and using your eyes.’ His stare was fixed on Gatt Stone, leaving that man in no doubt that he wasn’t fooled by the discarded arm-sling. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you can get into trouble just watching the activities of the settlers,’ he said.
‘What do you want us to do?’ asked Jarvis Wilson.
‘Find out what the settlers are doing. If they’re sensible they’ll be loading their wagons, but I need to know for sure. Visit every homestead but don’t get embroiled with the people. Observe, then report back here tonight.’
‘You want us to spend time in Pecos, too, pick up the gossip on who killed Brodie?’
‘No need,’ Gus Remarque told him, ‘I’ll go and speak to Sheriff Vasey myself.’
Gus Remarque watched the gunmen ride away then ordered Davey Pursur to saddle his horse. ‘I’m going into Pecos.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Yes, and another man. Whoever was lucky enough to get the better of Col Brodie might have garnered the confidence to make a play against me.’
The frustration generated by his injuries was a greater source of annoyance to Drew Skivver than the pain they occasioned, and more difficult to hide. Inactivity was a stranger to him and one that would never become his boon companion. Even breakfast had been a trial to him, and the fussing by his wife and daughter had blunted his appetite rather than encouraged him to eat it.
‘I can’t do anything,’ he grumbled to Ben Joyner as the latter threw his saddle over the chestnut.
‘Face it, Drew: it’ll take a few weeks before you can use both hands again, but don’t let it defeat you. I’ve seen ranch hands overcome unbelievable injuries and adapt their working practices to take on tasks they didn’t think possible. Over time, you’ll do it, too.’
‘That’s the problem,’ his friend said, ‘I’m not blessed with patience and I can’t leave all the work to Sarah and Lottie. I’m already asking too much of them, risking their lives by staying here when so much danger threatens. I talk big, Ben, but I know I can’t protect my family the way I ought to. I suspect you’re right: I should abandon this place and move in with Jonas until this matter is settled.’
Ben Joyner almost permitted himself a grin. Overnight, they had both reversed their thinking. His family’s safety had forced Drew to reconsider the firm stand he’d made to hang on to his home while, at the same time, Ben had been convinced by Lottie’s impassioned loyalty to her father that any weakness shown would surely lead to the loss of the land that was legally theirs.
‘I told Lottie I would stay to help as long as you need me,’ he said.
‘Lottie,’ repeated Drew. Something in the way Ben had spoken his daughter’s name informed him that there was greater meaning behind the young man’s words. ‘Well, that’s good. That’s good.’
Ben led the chestnut outside and climbed into the saddle. ‘I’ll be back before nightfall,’ he said. He saw Lottie near the house and touched the brim of his hat. She didn’t answer with any extravagant gesture but her facial muscles which, the previous day, had been tight with concern, were now eased and her eyes were open wider to flash their blueness at him. Words weren’t necessary. An understanding existed that would be voiced when the trouble that currently hung over them had been resolved.
At first, Ben followed the river, but veered from the trail when he was yet two miles from the bridge that crossed into Pecos. He rode at a steady pace, allowing the chestnut to eat up the ground as he made his way towards the pastures that were used by the Long-R herds. The look he’d seen in Marty Levin’s eyes when they’d met in Pecos had held a message and a need to deliver it urgently. So Ben had determined to seek out his old friend by riding those sections of the range where cattle were most likely grazing.
It had only been two weeks since he’d been a member of the Long-R crew so had no reason to believe that any herders he came across would be hostile towards him, yet the situation had changed while he’d been away, and if it was known that he’d spent time at the home of the Skivver family then his loyalty to the cattlemen’s cause would surely be questioned. Accordingly, those working groups he encountered during the morning he observed from a distance, and when he was sure that Marty Levin was not among the riders he rode on without approaching the others.
He was several miles south of Pecos, nearing the Long-R ranch itself, when he had the first inkling that perhaps he was under observation from someone riding the ridge to his right. Stones had rolled and, when he’d looked up, unidentifiable shadows had flitted across the ground but there had been no substantial evidence to back-up his unease. Unsure if his suspicion was merely a trick of the mind, he’d ridden on. He was travelling at walking pace, his eyes at one moment fixed on the ridge to his right then, at the next, sweeping the flat terrain to his left that led to the Long-R ranch house.
It was riders coming across the grassland that he spotted first, two quick-moving, distant and unidentifiable dots. Ben reined to a halt to watch their approach, wondering once more what reception he might receive from men with whom he’d recently shared a bunkhouse, grub and duties. But at that moment, a movement to his right caught his attention, a flash as sunlight reflected off bright metal and, although he couldn’t see him, Ben knew that a horseman had stopped on the ridge above. Reacting instantly, he turned the chestnut and retraced his own tracks for a dozen yards to seek out a path that climbed the short, steep hillside. Instinct told him that discovering the identity of the person who had stalked him for almost a mile was more important than an encounter with former ranch-hands.
Winding through the trees, he reached the rim of the high ground at a point behind the place he expected to find the rider. A horse, reins trailing the ground, stood peacefully thirty yards away. Its saddle was empty. Ben dismounted and moved forward cautiously. Carefully, avoiding putting his feet down where they might disturb stones or crack twigs, he advanced towards the horse, letting his gaze wander in search of its owner. At the edge of the rim a figure was using the trunk of a willow that leant out from the hillside, thereby providing an unobstructed view across the grasslands below. Whoever it was, if they were trying to catch a glimpse of him, they were looking in the wrong direction.
There was something familiar about the flat-crowned hat that had been pushed up from the brow to sit on the back of the head. Ben noted the neatness of shirt and trousers, too clean for a cattle-herder, which dismissed the notion that his tracker was a curious
member of one of the groups he’d passed earlier. It was only when the watcher moved, shifted and began to walk around the tree that he realized that the person under his gaze was a woman.
‘Are you looking for me, Mrs Tippett?’ he asked.
Startled, Elsa Tippett swung around to face him. ‘No.’
‘You were following me.’
Elsa Tippett denied it.
‘You’ve been riding the ridge, keeping pace with me.’
‘I was not following you,’ she insisted.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Getting to know the territory. Is that so strange?’
‘South of Pecos you’re likely to stray on to Mr Remarque’s land. He doesn’t welcome trespassers at any time and it could be dangerous to fall foul of him while a war is brewing with the settlers.’
‘Are you saying he would do me harm?’
Ben wasn’t sure what Gus Remarque would do. He had little reason, however, to believe that punishment meted out to those he considered a threat would be mitigated by sex. He hired gunfighters to achieve his ambitions. He was ruthless.
‘I mean to have a look around,’ Elsa Tippett continued. ‘Mr Skivver told me that my son had earmarked a section of land in this vicinity. I want to see it.’
Ben shook his head, exasperated. ‘Go back to Pecos, Mrs Tippett,’ he said. He figured his words were a waste of breath; the woman hadn’t complied with anything he’d said in the past and it was unlikely she would do so in the future, even though he was trying to be helpful.
She didn’t answer. Instead, the look in her eyes hardened but Ben didn’t believe her change of demeanour was caused by his instruction. Her gaze was focused on something beyond his left shoulder, and the rattle of bridle fixings prompted him to turn around to investigate. Ben guessed that the two men who were now before him were the pair he had seen crossing the grasslands when he’d begun the climb up to the ridge. Also, they were the pair he had hoped to avoid during his stay in Pecos.