TAKEDOWN

by Anna Murray

  As they neared town a sun-baked breeze billowed from the east. Cal lazily raised his right arm above his head to stretch. He reached to unbutton his shirt, just enough to feel the fresh air slide across his broad chest, whilst being careful to keep his injured arm hanging in the sling at his left side.

  Today he was grateful. The pain had quit him, and the cause of his injury -- the Malger gang -- wouldn't be coming back. Darn few men were fool enough to go looking for trouble with Cal and Roy Easton, and those who dared suffered deadly consequences.

  But where did it get a man to be thirty and still a target for lowlifes? They seemed to cluster like dark clouds over the territory; barely two weeks had passed since the outlaw Malger clan had run amok.

  Gangs like the Malgers were part of a new breed of confused drifters – mostly aimless young men who'd fought for the confederacy during the war. Their soft southern drawls and fancy manners with the ladies concealed a gnawing bitterness, and they took their revenge by roaming the prairie, rustling cattle, stealing horses, and running scams in the boomtowns. A few even robbed banks and stage lines, and the worst of the lot killed innocent law-abiding people.

  Some said the Malgers were drunk up on the Copper Strike's watered-down liquor that afternoon. Others speculated they were paid up to do it. The motive remained unclear, but three members of the bushwhacking clan were hell-bent on making trouble with the Eastons as they headed out of town that day.

  Fortunately for Cal and Roy, the Malgers squandered their surprise advantage. Roy, riding shotgun behind Cal, read the outlaw's fresh tracks, and out of the corner of one eye he'd caught the flash of late afternoon sun reflecting off a shiny spur or rifle barrel. Both men heard them.

  The quick nod from Cal had set their guns to talking. Pete Malger scrambled around the side of a rock not twenty yards ahead, and he took aim at Roy with his pistol. Cal grabbed his gun so fast Pete later recounted seeing it as a blur. And Pete was lucky, because the rock he chose provided good cover. Cal's sharp eye, steady hand, and iron determination aimed up and fired a shot to the hip, the only exposed part of Pete's body. The outlaw yelped, and he got off a miss wide just as Cal's bullet struck.

  Cal's gelding pranced restlessly, and he leaned forward in his saddle to maintain balance. Alvin Malger, hidden in a clump of scrub pine behind, sighted to cover his brother. He made his shot, hitting Cal in the left shoulder. But the flash from Alvin's muzzle gave him away, and Roy took full advantage, leveled his rifle at the bushes, sucked in his breath, and squeezed the trigger. Alvin fell to the dirt, writhing from a gut-shot, a surprised expression etched on his face for all eternity.

  Within moments, the Eastons spied a third man running for the shadow of a cottonwood, where he mounted a bay and galloped off, out and away from the ill conceived and poorly executed ambush.

  Cal didn't feel guilt when it came to shooting at men who foolishly gunned for his life or rustled his cattle. A man had to be his own lookout. He'd known ranchers who'd hesitated when it came to shooting, and they ended up dead men. In a lawless territory the quick ending of conflicts came naturally to a good rancher like Cal Easton. It was just another -- albeit less desirable -- part of the job.

  Cal glanced at his younger brother. Roy was focused on driving the wagon.

  "Right nice of Nettie to stay with Mama," Cal muttered.

  "Yup, fine woman," Roy agreed. "George is one lucky husband."

  The men counted themselves fortunate. Their ranch neighbor, Nettie Newman, had offered a "friendly turn". She was caretaking Mama so they could make the supply run to town.

  "Yup," added Roy, "it was tough to lose Dora."

  Cal's lips pursed as he thought about the stout young woman who'd nursed their Mama. He shifted on the seat. "That gal would chase any gamblin' gold sniffer. Some women'll take a chance on any fool."

  "Ain't it the truth! It's damn hard to scare up womanly help." Roy moved the reins from right hand to left.

  Cal's brown eyes slanted and pierced his brother. "You still fixin' to go up river to the mining camp tomorrow?"

  "I 'spect so." Roy feebly attempted to stretch his long legs. "Still got eight mules to sell, and they're always needin' pack animals up there. Reckon I'll fetch a price." He tossed a sideways glance at Cal and couldn't help noticing the frown pulling at the corners of his brother's mouth. Cal did all the worrying for the family, and that's precisely why Roy didn't. "I never thought I'd go back after the accident," he added as afterthought.

  Cal settled back against the seat and decided to change the topic.

  "You visiting the bank today?" Roy was eager to get to town, and Cal knew it had darn little to do with helping to haul supplies home.

  "Yup." Roy grinned "Just wouldn't be proper not to pay Ella a visit, to thank her for the pie she sent out with Bailey."

  Cal grunted. "Dang. Tasted like sawdust to me." The corners of his mouth turned up when he saw Roy's back stiffen.

  "Ella has other fine qualities that make up for her lackin' in the kitchen, if you catch my meaning," retorted Roy.

  Cal cleared his throat. "That so? As I recollect you said the same thing about Jane Parsons just last month. Brother, when you gonna catch a gal who can cook? I could use a holiday from the chuck wagon."

  Roy cursed. "That's a low pitch." Jane Parsons had run off with Ed Summers, a starchy fast-talking peddler. Summers plied her with honeyed words and promises of the good life back east. "Fool woman! She don't count none."

  Roy restlessly tugged at his hat. "Hell Cal, you're the one who prefers home and family. Get your own woman, and quit waitin' on me." The younger Easton grimaced, regretting these last words as soon as they slipped past his lips.

  "I'm not lucky at getting down that trail." Cal replied tightly.

  The two men fell silent. Roy mulled over his brother's style when it came to wooing women. Cal wasn't given to a good dallying. The man downright dove in and took it all serious-like. And whenever Cal's heart was captured, a streak of bad luck was sure to follow. But that's all it was, really, thought Roy -- just plain dumb luck.

  Cal had been crazy over pretty Grace Farrel, the blacksmith's sister. And she was over the moon for him too. But not long after the engagement was announced Grace died in an accident. Cal was heartbroken, and, although four years had gone by, he never seemed to get past the tragedy. He withdrew to his work on the ranch, where solace had come in laboring alongside his father.

  Roy had moved to the side and watched his brother and father bond tighter. He drifted into a devil-may-care attitude. But now their father was dead too, and lately Roy tried, on occasion, to get his brother to loosen up on the hard-driving monastic life he wore like a prison sentence.

  Two years after Grace died there was Betsy Simon. A beefy woman, she'd allowed Cal to court her, and now, in hindsight, Roy was convinced she deliberately played Cal for a fool. After a good month of squiring her around, Cal went off on a cattle drive. Barry Hanson, who'd been patiently waiting his turn, asked Betsy to step out. And the two-faced woman did exactly that -- right out and into Barry's waiting arms. Why was it that women fawned over a scrub like Hanson? The pair left town less than a week later, and Roy was the one to break the bad news when Cal returned. .

  Poor, poor Cal! Stoic to the end, he hid his disappointment well, but the way Roy figured it, the woman as good as stomped on his heart and slung it onto the prairie, like carrion to rot in the sun.

  No lady had captured Cal's attention since, and Roy suspected that his brother's bruised heart had given up on women altogether.

  Oh, he'd concede that Cal was the fastest draw and steadiest shot in the territory. But Roy knew with absolute certainty he was smarter than his older brother when it came to women, never mind that there weren't many around to be smart about.

 

 

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