Revenge at the Rodeo

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Biscuit—don’t die! You can’t die!”

  But he was dying. As Dani held on to his head, he gave one surge of his head, seeming to respond to her voice. For one moment she thought he was going to lick her hand, as he had a thousand times, but he was too weak. Even as she watched, his eyes glazed over, and his head drooped with a grim finality. His body shuddered once—and then was utterly still.

  Dani could not hold back the flood of tears. She cuddled his head in her arms, weeping over the horse as if he were a human child.

  The grief that welled up inside her was like nothing she had ever known. None of her close family had ever died, and the death of a distant aunt had meant little more than formal sorrow.

  But this was hell. It was a helpless rage at the one who had done it, and the tearing wound in her spirit was worse than any cut made by a knife.

  Never again to hear his whicker when she came laughing to give him sugar cubes.

  Never again to have him nip at her arm playfully as she passed by.

  Never again to feel his muscular body as he careened around a barrel, or to slap his heaving flanks, laughing with delight when he brought her back with a winning time.

  Never again.

  The quietness of the stables was broken now by her deep sobs. A huge brindle bull lifted his head from a stall down the way, peering curiously at the figure in the obscure darkness. He failed to identify the sound and dropped his head, ignoring the weeping that continued for a long time.

  13

  Feeding the Ducks

  * * *

  Clint and Ruth drifted into the snack bar a little after nine on Wednesday morning. Stopping abruptly, Clint stared at the crowd, then remarked to Ruth, “Never saw so many people here at this time of the day. Wonder what’s up?”

  Ruth shook her head, but before she could answer, Clyde Lockyear came over, wringing his hands. His mouth was formed into a large O as he said, “Oh, my! What a terrible thing!”

  “What’s wrong Clyde?” Ruth asked in alarm.

  “You didn’t hear? It’s Dani’s horse—someone came in and killed him last night. Looks like poison! What a terrible thing!”

  Ruth and Clint stared at him in shock, then Clint asked, “Who did it?”

  “Nobody knows, Clint,” Clyde replied. “Dani came in and found him by herself.”

  “Oh, no!” Ruth exclaimed, biting her lip. “She loved that horse so much!”

  Several others gravitated toward Clint, all nervously trying to talk, as people do after a bad accident. After listening for a few minutes, Clint raised his hand, protesting, “Wait a minute! One at a time!” He turned to Hank Lowe. “Let’s have it, Hank.”

  Lowe gave him a summary of what had happened and ended, “Dani’s in pretty bad shape. She loved that animal.”

  “Where is she?” Ruth wanted to know. “Maybe I can help.”

  Fran Lockyear responded with a shrug. “I don’t think anyone can help—not unless she can bring that horse back to life. Anyway, Dani’s with the law now. Same cop who came when your horse was ruined, Clint.”

  “He couldn’t find his nose with both hands!” Clint snapped. Then he forced himself to speak more calmly, “You better stick close to her, Ruth. She’s not hard-nosed enough to take a thing like this.” He turned and walked off abruptly, but Ruth remained.

  Megan had stood on the outskirts of the group, feeling like an outsider. She noticed that Boone Hardin had done the same and she moved to stand beside him.

  He looked up, his eyes hard. “Anybody that’d do a thing like that ought to be shot! I’d be glad to do the job myself.” He gave an angry look at Clint Thomas as he disappeared. “He don’t care nothing about nobody, does he? Nobody but himself.”

  Megan pointed out, “He may feel more than he shows, Boone. Men are like that sometimes—afraid to cry.”

  “Cry! Him?” Boone moved his hand in a vicious chopping movement and uttered a harsh laugh. “He wouldn’t cry if he saw his own mother drop dead in the street!”

  Megan made herself look over the crowd. As if only half-interested she wondered, “Why do you dislike Clint so much, Boone? Is it just because he’s made it to the top?”

  Boone hesitated, glancing at her sharply. But when he saw that her attention was on the crowd, he answered, “Yeah, that’s it. All of us feel like that about him.”

  He got up and left the room, and Megan studied him as he vanished through the door. She was a close student of human behavior and recognized raw hatred when she saw it—and she had seen it in young Hardin more than once—always directed at Clint Thomas. She tried to solve the puzzle of what lay behind his resentment, as she listened to the talk that ran around the small group. Could one of them be behind the killing?

  Clay Dixon was farthest away, but she heard him say to Rocky James, “Now maybe she won’t be so stuck-up. She always thought she was too good for us.”

  Wash Foster twisted his head to stare at the big cowboy. “She tied a can to your tail, didn’t she, Clay? Maybe you killed the horse just to get even.”

  “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you, Foster!” Dixon doubled up his huge fists and glared at the smaller man. He was a formidable figure, and Foster drew back at once, turning to talk to Fighting Bill Baker.

  Ruby said, “I guess this will end Dani’s barrel racing. She doesn’t have another horse, does she?”

  “She can use mine,” Fran Lockyear offered abruptly. Noting the look of surprise on several faces, she snapped angrily, “Well, what are you all staring at?”

  “Never knew you to be so generous, Fran,” Bake responded evenly.

  “It won’t cost me anything.” Fran shrugged and then looked at Clyde with a sullen expression. “It ought to make you happy—keeping that little religion nut around.”

  She whirled, and when she had stalked out of the room, Bake gave Lockyear an odd glance. “What did she mean by that, Clyde? You been putting the moves on Dani?”

  Lockyear flushed, his small eyes blinking. “You got a mind like a sewer, Bake! I like the girl, that’s all. But skirt chasers like you and Clint wouldn’t understand that. You always got to have another scalp to hang on your belts!”

  Dempsey blinked at the unexpected attack. “Whoa up, Clyde!” he cried. “No reason to fly off the handle.”

  But Lockyear gave him an unforgiving look and left the snack shop without a word.

  “Plumb touchy,” Rocky James said. He was a powerful man, though short, and a look of speculation entered his hazel eyes as he added, “Funny thing, when you throw a rock at a pack of dogs, the only one who’ll holler is the one you hit.”

  Ruth Cantrell gave James a look of disgust. “Is this all you’ve got to do, Rocky? Stand around and bad-mouth people?” She was pale, and spoke nervously. “Well, I guess this settles it.”

  “Settles what, Ruth?” Ruby asked.

  “Why, nobody else will refuse to pay up to this criminal! I can’t risk my horse, and neither can you, Ruby.”

  Ruby nodded slowly. “I guess that’s right. We can’t stay with our animals all the time.” A thought came to her, and she proposed, “Say, why couldn’t we keep our stock together and hire a guard?”

  “That’s about what Clint tried, and look what it got him.” Bake Dempsey shook his head doubtfully. “We’re all scattered out, Ruby. Maybe we could do it at night. But we’d have to pay high for a good man.”

  An argument ensued, so Megan got up and left the room. Ruth joined her outside. “Megan, have you talked to Dani?” she asked.

  “Just for a few minutes.” Megan nodded. “Luke Sixkiller called me and told me about it. He thought some woman should be with Dani. And Hank’s right. She’s really hurting.” Grief touched Megan’s eyes, and she quietly suggested, “She’s going to need us, Ruth.”

  “It’s all my fault!” Ruth uttered in despair.

  “Your fault? How is it your fault?”

  Ruth wanted to tell the story of Dani’s identity, but felt bound
by her promise. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying, Megan! Where is she?”

  “In Lockyear’s office. Let’s go wait for Stark to finish. I don’t want her to be alone.”

  While the impromptu conference in the snack bar was going on, Luke Sixkiller stuck close to the body of Biscuit. He had been awakened before dawn by Dani’s call. She had woodenly told him the bare facts, and he had dressed and gotten to the Dome in twenty minutes. Lieutenant Stark had looked up with irritation, through his rimless glasses, as Luke had barreled through the door to Lockyear’s office. “Wait outside,” he’d ordered sharply.

  “You all right, Dani?” Luke had asked.

  “I’m all right, Luke,” Dani had spoken mechanically, and the set of her face told him at once that she was in shock. She had tried to smile, but failed. “Wait for me outside until the lieutenant is finished,” she had requested.

  Sixkiller had felt inclined to stay, to let Stark know what was going on, but it was not his decision. He had left the office and gone at once to where two men crouched over the body of the dead animal. One of them was Clyde Lockyear, and the other was a tall, rawboned man with salt-and-pepper hair. The second man was drawing a sample from a large vein.

  “What happened, Clyde?” Sixkiller asked.

  Lockyear briefly explained, “Looks like it might be another case of horse killing. Luke, this is Mr. Venable from the police lab.”

  Sixkiller sat on his heels, watching the tall man as he carefully stored the sample in a metal container, then began inspecting the body. “Maybe it was his heart,” the Indian suggested. “I had a horse go like that once.”

  “Maybe.” Venable’s brief word was typical of a police reaction, and Sixkiller knew it would be pointless to question him further. He waited until the examination was over, then stood up as the other two rose to their feet.

  “That’s all I’ll need,” Venable commented. He packed his kit, and when Lockyear asked him what he thought, he said, “You can get the report from the officer in charge tomorrow.”

  “Talky bird, ain’t he?” Lockyear muttered angrily. Then he looked down at the horse, shaking his head. “Too bad! Too bad!”

  “Anybody see anything this time, Clyde?” Sixkiller asked. Lockyear explained how the pens had been almost empty. As the stock dealer nervously went over the thing, Sixkiller’s eyes were moving over the area. “I guess they looked around for clues.”

  “Sure, but there wasn’t nothing. But I don’t think it was a heart problem,” Lockyear declared positively. “Dani would have noticed something. It was too sudden.” He ran one hand over his thinning crop of hair. “It had to be some kind of poison to work so fast. A shot, probably.”

  Sixkiller got what he could out of Lockyear, which wasn’t much. Then he asserted, “We have to get this horse buried. I don’t want Dani to see him again.”

  Lockyear gave the burly Sixkiller a sudden sharp glance, but only offered, “I’ll take care of it, Luke.” He glanced down at Biscuit’s body, adding quietly, “Lost a few myself. Ain’t never easy to say good-bye to a good horse or dog.” After pondering that, he exclaimed, “Hey, I’ve got a little place about ten miles out of town. Just twenty acres and a shack. But there’s a little creek with some Cottonwood trees lining the banks. How about if I have the horse buried there? Got to move him, and it wouldn’t cost much to get a backhoe in there.” His round face looked worried, and he nodded. “Might make her feel better.”

  Sixkiller put a hand on the small man’s shoulder. “That’s a kind thought you got there, Clyde. You do it.”

  Clyde had brightened up and scurried off to take care of the details, and Sixkiller had gone over the area carefully. He didn’t expect to find anything, and he didn’t. Finally he walked back to the office, finding Ruth and Megan there. The three of them talked quietly. Ten minutes later the door opened, and Dani came out, followed by Lieutenant Stark. Dani looked exhausted, her face wan and pale. “Come along, Dani. Ruth and I will take you to your room,” Megan ordered.

  “All right.”

  The curious deadness in Dani’s voice caught at Sixkiller, and he told her, “I’ll be along after a while.” He watched the women disappear down the hall, then inquired, “What’s it look like?”

  Stark took off his glasses, wiped them with a white handkerchief, then replaced them. He stared at Sixkiller, trying to decide whether or not to answer. Finally he shrugged. “I don’t know what it looks like. Let’s see—you’re Sixkiller?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you can do your own guessing. You had enough practice in New Orleans.” Stark allowed himself to smile briefly. “I caught you on TV when you nailed the Marconi brothers. Thought I recognized you when I was here about Thomas’s horse, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “So you checked with the department?” Sixkiller prompted. “Well, I was a bad boy, Lieutenant. Got a three-month suspension.”

  “Funny way to spend your time—getting stomped by those crazy bulls,” Stark remarked dryly. “But as to what I’ve got, the answer is nothing. My guess is somebody came in and gave the horse a shot of some kind of deadly poison. Wouldn’t be too hard, I guess. Place was almost deserted. All he had to do was walk up and give the shot.”

  “Wouldn’t whoever did it have to know something about horses? I mean, wouldn’t he have to hit a big vein or something?”

  “Maybe. I’ll talk to some people and find out.” Stark jammed his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “I don’t like this thing. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to get bad.”

  “Yeah, me, too. If Dani had walked into the guy killing her horse, he could have nailed her.” Luke hesitated, aware of an urge to let the policeman in on what they were doing, but decided to talk Dani into telling him.

  “The guy ever ask you for money?” Stark inquired.

  “No. I’ve only been here a little while and haven’t made any money. I wish he would. It’d give me a way to get to him.”

  “Nobody is giving me anything,” Stark noted moodily. “I can’t find out who’s paying off, and the ones I do know won’t trust me. If he gets to you, Sixkiller, no heroics and no private stuff. You come running to me, all right?”

  “Don’t worry, Stark. I’d like to drop the whole thing in your lap.” Sixkiller and the officer parted, and on his way to the parking lot, Luke felt about as helpless as he’d been in a long time. Got to be some way to nail this guy! he thought, anger making him drive recklessly.

  He went directly to his own room, called Savage, and gave him a quick report. “She’s hurting, Ben. Don’t know what will happen.”

  “Stay close to her, Luke,” Savage responded at once. “She’s going to have to face up to this thing. Wish I was there,” he grumbled.

  “She may call it off.”

  “I hope not.” Savage pointed out, “She’s already in a spin over shooting that guy. Can’t handle it. Now if she folds over this, she’ll never be able to face things.”

  Sixkiller paused, thinking it over. “Right. I’ll keep you posted, Ben,” he promised.

  He put down the receiver and made his way to Dani’s room. Ruth answered the door at once, and he entered to find Dani sitting on one chair, Megan on the other. Megan caught his eye and made a hopeless gesture with her shoulders.

  Dani looked up at Sixkiller, her eyes dry. “I think I’d like to rest a while,” she told them.

  Ruth said, “Sure, Dani. Call when you wake up.”

  The two women left, and Sixkiller sat down in the chair across the room from Dani. He relaxed and began to speak in an ordinary voice, as if nothing had happened. “I talked to Stark a little. He’s a pretty good guy. I guess we better let him know what’s going on.” When Dani didn’t respond, he sat there, his legs stretched out in front of him, his Stetson pushed back on his head. “You want to tell me about it?”

  “No, Luke.”

  Dani sat there silently for so long he thought she’d never speak. Finally, she whispered, “Clyde told me I
could keep Biscuit in one of his stalls. . . .”

  Sixkiller sat there as she recited the events, sounding like a schoolgirl reeling off a rather boring lesson she’d committed to heart. Her only bobble was when she had to say the horse’s name—which she could not do. Instead of saying “Biscuit” she would say “my horse,” and then it was with a slight hesitation. But as she finished, Sixkiller was aware that she was hurt worse than she showed. He’d seen it before in men who learned to carry on, talking and going about their business when they were nursing a terrible emotional wound. And it worried him to think that most of them had cracked sooner or later.

  When she finished, he wondered aloud, “What now?” When she lifted her eyes with a puzzled look on her face, he sat up, asking, “Do we hang in here?”

  Dani suddenly got to her feet and began pacing the floor, her hands clasped tightly. She finally stopped and cried, “Yes!”

  Sixkiller rose and went to stand in front of her. He sought to comfort her, “Dani, I’m sorry about Biscuit.”

  The name made her blink her eyes, and she stood there, struggling against the tears. Suddenly the memories came back, tumbling over one another, and she swayed slightly.

  “I’ve had him—since I was a girl,” she faltered. Then she could not go on. The tears refused to obey her will, filling her eyes so that she could not see. She held her shoulders stiffly in place, but they, too, betrayed her as they began to shake. She cried out, “Biscuit!” and the tone was one of heartbreak, of something forever lost. He saw that her feelings were deadlocked, leaving her wholly powerless.

  Once Sixkiller had known something distinctly similar, when struck in the stomach, he could not breathe, speak, or move. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “I can help.” Reaching out, he took her shoulders and pulled her against his chest.

  He felt the quick loosening of her body, and he was listening to the sudden onset of her weeping. He said nothing, but stood there holding her. Her hair was a rich lustrous auburn, with a sweet, flower-tinged smell. She was tall for a woman, with square, strong shoulders. There was a substance to her body; it was warm and firm in his arms. She pulled her head back and looked at him strangely, and he noticed her skin, lightly browned by the sun, and her lips, broad and on the edge of being full—the lips of a giving woman.