by Jake Logan
“Hey,” said Butcher, “what about some whiskey?”
Hump considered for a moment. “Why not?” he said, and they rode down a little ways to the back of the Hogneck. The place was closed up. Hump knew, though, that some people lived upstairs. No one stayed downstairs to watch the place though after it was closed. He did the same trick on the back door of the Hogneck as he had done on the hardware store, and again, he took Butcher inside. They packed out several bottles of whiskey, stuffed them into their saddlebags, mounted up, and headed out of town. They moved slowly and quietly until they had reached the edge of town. Then they rode hard for a couple of miles before Hump slowed them down again.
“Well, boys,” he said, “what do you say to that?”
“I’d say that was pretty damn good,” said Butcher.
“Yes, sir,” said Jefferson Davis.
“A man couldn’t hardly do no better,” said Skinny.
“Say,” said Butcher, “let’s open up one of them bottles.”
Hump pulled a bottle out and popped the cork. He took a long swig and handed the bottle to Butcher. Soon it had been passed all the way around and was back in Hump’s hands. He corked it and put it away.
“Say,” said Butcher, “what’d you do that for?”
“On account of I don’t want no one getting drunk till we get back to the cabin,” said Hump. “Hell, boys, we’re toting explosives.”
Brace was sitting on the ground leaning back against a tree. He felt satisfied. Not far away the partially slaughtered body of a calf lay. Flies buzzed over it. Crows had descended on it. Only the buzzards were driven away by Brace. He had developed a taste for raw beef. He decided that it wasn’t nearly as bad as he had imagined it would be. And there was a fresh stream not far away, so he had plenty of water. But he had decided that he couldn’t stay there forever eating raw meat and drinking water. A good meal would really hit the spot, and it had been a while since he’d had a glass of whiskey. He had managed to kill the calf without too much trouble, but he had not seen any of the horses. He really wanted to catch a horse so he wouldn’t have to walk anymore, but he just had not had such luck. His feet still hurt and his whole body still ached, but he had rested up some. And the nights were cold with no shelter and no fire. He decided that he would walk out under the cover of darkness.
He stood up, took a deep breath, and started to walk. The straightest way back to the road would take him once again right by the charred ruins of his old home, but in the darkness he would hardly see it. He thought about the ghastly remains that were there, and he wondered if the carrion minded that they were so badly cooked. He wasn’t halfway to the remains of the house when he started aching again pretty badly, but it was in the middle of the night and in the middle of nowhere. There was no way that he was going to stop. He recalled the buzzards that had come down to sit on him when he had fallen asleep. At night it would likely be wolves. He did not want that. He did not want to fight wolves in the dark. He kept walking.
When he reached his former house site, he paused for a while to rest. It was an uncomfortable and eerie feeling, sitting there so near the ashes of the house and of his mother and brothers. He could not really see any of it, but he knew it was there. He looked around in the darkness hoping to see a horse, but he did not. At last, he got up and started walking again. He made it to the road, and then he turned toward town. He was not sure why he had done that. He knew that he could not go into Breakneck. But he had no intention of doing that. He was just going in that direction. Hell, he thought, he couldn’t walk that far if he wanted to.
He did not know how far he had walked, but he knew that he was walking alongside a part of the Tipton spread when he heard the sound of approaching horses. He ducked into the thicket along the side of the road. He was breathing heavily, and he was afraid that they people riding by might even be able to hear him. He wished that it was only one rider, so that he might have a chance to kill the man and steal his horse. They came closer. He could now see that there were four of them, all men. He heard them talking. They came closer, and his eyes opened wide. He was almost afraid to believe his eyes. He recognized his brother, Hump, and then Butcher, and Jefferson Davis and, ole Skinny. He sprang out from the brush, frightening the horses and shouting, “Hump. Butcher. Jeff. Skinny. God, I thought I’d never see you guys again.”
16
Hump handed Brace the opened whiskey bottle, and Brace gratefully and greedily took a long drink. When he lowered the bottle, he felt woozy. “Goddamn,” he said. “I sure needed that. Hey, have you guys seen the house since—”
“We seen it, Brace,” said Hump.
“Hell,” said Butcher. “I reckon it was us what set the damn fire.”
“You set it?”
“We intended to burn off a bunch of Tipton’s range,” said Hump, “but the damn wind changed on us. What happened back at the house before that?”
“Slocum come with some men,” Brace said. “They shot us all up. I’m the only one what got away from it. I was on foot all this time, and I been living on raw beef and water. That’s all.”
“Damn,” said Butcher. “Didn’t it make you sick?”
“It did at first, but I guess I got used to it all right. You can learn to eat raw meat if you have to.”
“Hell, I didn’t mean the meat,” Butcher said. “I meant drinking water.”
Everyone laughed.
“Well,” said Brace, “someone give me a hand and let me climb up behind you.”
“Jeff,” said Hump, “take Brace up on the back of your horse.”
Jefferson Davis reached a hand down, and Brace took hold of it and swung up behind his younger brother. “Say,” he said, “where the hell are we going?”
“We got us a new house, brother,” said Hump, and he kicked his horse in the flanks and took off leading the pack.
“Slocum,” said Randy Self, the next day back at the Tipton spread, “do you think we still need to keep all them guards out? Hell, there ain’t nothing happened since we hit that Beamer house. We’re getting behind in the ranch work here.”
“Well,” said Slocum, “I don’t think the business with the Beamers is over with, Randy, but I suppose it would be all right if you wanted to cut the guards in half. I’d still send the boys out in twos, but maybe you could cut down on the fence riders, and maybe on the number of guards around the house.”
“Okay,” said Randy. “How long do you figure we have to keep our watch up like this?”
“I don’t know. Till it’s over with for good. I got a feeling, though, that it won’t be all that much longer.”
Randy headed off toward the corral, and Tipton came out of the house. Slocum turned to face him.
“Good morning, Slocum,” the old man said.
“Morning, Carl,” said Slocum. “You feeling all right?”
“Pretty damn good,” Tipton said. “Myrtle says breakfast will be ready in a wink. You want to go on in and get a cup of coffee?”
Slocum took another pull on his cigar and threw the butt away off the porch. Then he followed Tipton inside. He knew why the old fart was feeling so good, knew what the devious bastard had been up to overnight in town, deceiving his good wife. Slocum did not like that about Tipton. Myrtle was a good woman, and she deserved better at the hands of her husband. When they walked in, Myrtle appeared bringing fresh poured cups of coffee. She had a bright smile on her face and greeted her husband and Slocum cheerfully. Slocum tried to be especially nice to her until he realized that what he was doing was probably pretty obvious, so he eased off it some. When the table was set and both Tipton ladies were seated, Slocum shifted his main attention to Jamie. That was easy enough to do, but soon that worried him, too. Jamie seemed to him to be acting much too familiar with him. She was saying things and giving him looks that he figured anyone could interpret as telling them all that she and Slocum shared some secrets with one another, and the secrets could be only of one kind. If she kept it up much longe
r, they damn sure would not be secrets any longer. He ate as fast as he could and took his refilled coffee cup out on the porch. In another moment, Jamie came out and joined him there.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked him.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with me,” Slocum said. “I just thought that you was coming dangerous close to exposing our little secret. That’s all.”
“Oh, you’re just being a worrywart.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“You don’t think that your ma or your pa noticed the kind of looks you was giving me? Or the tone of your voice? Some of the things you was saying?”
“I don’t think they thought anything about it, one way or the other. Would you rather I turned on you again? The way I was when you first came out here?”
“Well, by God,” he said, “it might be safer.”
“I think you’re just a nervous Nellie,” she said. She finished the coffee in her cup and stood up. “I’m going to get some more coffee. Want some?”
“No,” Slocum said. “I’m good.”
Jamie went inside and Slocum set his cup down and left the porch walking toward the corral. He was really beginning to wish that this whole damn Beamer mess was over with and done.
Out at the old hermit’s cabin, the Beamers laid out a spread. They had lots of goat meat, well cooked, bread, and whiskey. Brace ate until his brothers thought he would eat himself to death. “Anyone would think you been on a desert island by yourself for a whole fucking month,” Butcher said.
“By God,” said Brace, his mouth full of food, “that’s just where I feel like I been.”
“Hell, Butcher,” Hump said, “leave him be. He’ll need his strength tonight when we go out.”
Brace looked up at Hump with curiosity in his eyes. He still kept chewing.
“I reckon you’re right about that,” Butcher said.
Brace’s glance shot over to Butcher.
“What?” he said.
“What do you mean ‘what’?” said Hump.
“You know what I mean. What you got planned for tonight?”
“Oh that,” said Hump. “Hell, Butcher, go on ahead and tell him.”
“I don’t want to tell him, Hump,” said Butcher. “I think that you had ought to tell him. It really ain’t my place to do it. You’re the oldest.”
“Well, shit, I guess I can do it.”
“I wish to God that someone would tell me something,” said Brace.
“We’re just going to take us a ride over to Tipton’s place tonight,” Hump said. “See if we can’t kill us a Tipton and a Slocum.”
“Maybe some others, too,” said Butcher.
“Maybe steal a couple of Tipton women,” said Jeff Davis.
Brace looked real solemn and sat quiet for a moment. “Have you thought this thing through real careful, Hump?” he asked.
“I’ve given it some thought,” Hump said.
“On account a, you know, we tried it before. All we got was we got our family whittled down real good. There ain’t that many of us anymore, and Tipton has still got that fucking gunman and his whole army of ranch hands.”
“You’re right about all a that, Brace,” Hump said.
“Well then what—”
“Show him the stuff, Jeff,” Hump said. Jefferson Davis reached into one of the saddlebags and pulled out sticks of dynamite, holding them out toward Brace and grinning.
“That shit’ll narrow down the odds, don’t you think?” Hump said.
Brace looked at them with wide eyes. “I reckon it just might,” he said. “What’s your plan?”
“We’ll wait till late. We’ll divide them blow sticks up even amongst us. We’ll ride over to Tipton’s and we’ll cut the fence so his guards at the gate don’t see us coming and give a warning. We’ll each have a cigar, and we’ll all light up. Then we’ll ride in close enough to the house to toss these sticks with some degree of accuracy. We’ll blow the damn house and anyone in it all to hell and gone.”
Brace grinned wide at the thought, and then he took another big bite of the goat meat.
Slocum stayed up on guard that night. He and Charlie Hope were stationed at the house. In spite of his own cautions to Randy, things had been so quiet for a spell that he was beginning to relax. He was about to light a cigar when he thought that he heard a suspicious noise. He stood still and quiet. He had heard it. It was the soft sound of several riders approaching slowly, trying not to make too much noise. He wondered how they might have gotten past the guard at the gate, but he didn’t really have time to consider that problem. He lifted his Winchester and chambered a bullet. Then he eased around the corner of the house.
“Charlie,” he whispered. In another moment, Charlie Hope came hurrying over.
“What is it?”
“Listen.”
They listened quietly as the riders drew closer.
“Half a dozen or so,” Charlie said.
“Get over to the bunkhouse and get Randy up,” said Slocum.
“Yes, sir.” Charlie took off, keeping as quiet as he could and moving as fast as possible in dark shadows. Slocum leaned against the wall at a corner of the house and looked in the direction from which the sounds were coming. At last the riders came into view. He waited a little longer. Then he raised the rifle to his shoulder.
“Hold it right there,” he called out. The riders stopped. Slocum noticed something peculiar. He could see small lights. One from each rider. They were all smoking.
“Now,” someone called.
Slocum could not see well enough to tell what they were doing, but no shots sounded. Then he saw the first fuse catch and fizz and spew out sparks and then another and another and then one blew up a few feet away from him. The impact knocked him back and threw him flat on the ground. Other blasts sounded one right after the other. He had not heard anything quite like it since the war. It was deafening and it was frightening. One of the tosses carried to the front porch, and it took off a corner of the porch causing the roof to collapse in that same area. Slocum felt around for his Winchester. He had dropped it when the first blast had thrown him through the air. He couldn’t find it. He pulled out his Colt.
Scurrying around in the darkness through the thick smoke and the dust and debris flying, he looked for a target. He could not find one. There were more explosions. He was afraid for the people inside the house. He hoped that they had the presence of mind to get out the back door. He heard some gunshots. The boys from the bunkhouse were coming. Then there was a blast over that way. One of the attackers had tossed a stick of dynamite at the ones coming from the bunkhouse. About that time, Slocum caught a glimpse of one of the mounted men through the hazy air, and he raised his Colt and fired. The rider had just lit a stick, and he jerked in the saddle, slumped and fell to the ground, the sizzling stick falling with him.
“Hey,” Slocum heard someone cry out. “Get back.”
A loud and lone explosion followed, and the attacking riders had ridden out beyond the range of their throwing arms in an attempt to escape the blast. Slocum looked around again, this time locating his fallen rifle. He ran over and picked it up. Raising it to his shoulder, he took quick aim and fired. He could tell that he knocked another one out of the saddle. Then they took off, tossing lit sticks of dynamite over their shoulders as they ran. The blasts were now nothing but an annoyance, for they too far away from the house to do any real damage, and they were getting farther and farther away all the time.
Randy Self came running up to Slocum’s side. “Should we chase after them?” he asked.
“No,” Slocum said. “We’d never catch them, and we can’t track them in the dark. We’ll try tracking come daylight.”
“We had a man killed over there when they throwed that first dynamite at us,” Randy said.
“Is that all?”
“I think so.”
“I’d better check up on the Tiptons,” Slocum said, but just as he turned to go a
round to the back of the house, they came walking toward him, all three of them. “I’m glad to see you’re all right,” he said.
“They didn’t do no real damage to us, nor to the house,” said Tipton. “Looks like they just blowed a corner off the porch is all.”
“Sure tore up the yard,” said Jamie.
“Killed one cowboy,” Slocum said.
“Oh no,” said Myrtle.
“Who was he?” Jamie asked.
Slocum looked over at Randy. “It was Tommy Gritts,” Randy said. “He was killed by one of them blasts.”
“That’s a hell of a way to go,” said Tipton. “We’d best take care of him.”
“I’ve already got some of the boys doing that, Mr. Tipton,” said Randy. Then he turned to Slocum. “This is all my fault,” he said. “It was me asked you to cut down on the guard.”
“I agreed with you,” Slocum said. “It’s no one’s fault. If we’d had four here at the house instead of just the two of us, we wouldn’t have heard them coming no sooner. I don’t know how they got past our gate guards, but—”
“Someone’s coming,” Jamie said.
They all looked toward the main gate to see the two cowboys that had been stationed there running toward the house. “What happened?” one of them shouted.
“It’s obvious they didn’t come through the gate,” Slocum said. “Likely they cut the fence somewhere along the way. No, Randy, it ain’t your fault any more than it’s mine or Carl’s. But in view of what’s happened here, go on ahead and put the guard back the way it was.”
The Beamers rode hard for a couple of miles and then slowed down.
“Is anyone follering us?” Hump said.