Friends

by Charles Hackenberry

  "It's a long story, and Til tell you some time, best I understand it. But right now I got something better to tell you. The man we're after is Whitey DuShane's brother."

  He stopped assaying his new horse and turned them wolfish eyes on me. "How do you know that?" he ask.

  While he was getting the extra saddle off the stallion and putting his own on it, I told him about Captain Jack Crawford and what he told me. He wanted the details, too.

  "We could stand here all night 'til I told you all this," I said. "How about we get on that sonofabitch and I'll fill you in later."

  He pushed his hat back. "What the hell has set you on fire?" he ask.

  "Nothin' at all. I just want to catch him and end this."

  "Me too," he said, putting the spare saddle on the roan and then starting to load it with some of our trap. "Only I lost his trail downstream about three miles, so I was heading back to Marsh's camp to look for you. Hell, I've just been going in circles anyway."

  "That's because he's backtracked upstream through the river on you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Aw, it's an old trick," I told him. "Only works alongside a muddy river, but then, I ain't seen one hauling any more dirt than that one."

  He turned and looked. The White was muddy, all right, only it was the same light gray color as the hills around there, probly why they called it the White, though it wasn't white, entirely. Not brown or red, either, the way a muddy river ought to look.

  "He found a hard place down there, Til bet, rocks or gravel will do, and wiped his tracks out a ways, sort of like he done back at that creek. He's careful, this old boy. He ain't forgot you fired at him yesterday."

  "Yeah, there's a rock ledge down where I lost him," Clete said.

  "It would take some time to go upriver very far, wading your horse against the current, like he done. I bet we could pick up his sign not too far in that direction. And not too far up beyond where we struck the river, either. May be on the far side, though. Since I seem to be the brains of this outfit now, why don't you do the dirty work and see whether that gray can swim. Hell, you're wet anyway."

  He mounted the stallion and that horse danced around some, doing a few crow-hops and looking like he thought about bucking some more, but he give that up after Clete pulled his head sideways and spun him in a tight circle. "At least I got some clothes on to get wet," he said.

  I didn't know whether he was talking about catching me with Mandy or coming down that hill with just a blanket on. But before I had a chance to ask, he had the stallion down the bank and swimming for the far shore.

  I led the pack horse and headed back up the way I'd come down a few minutes before. Wasn't very long before my pardner saw his tracks and called to me from the other side.

  "Good, keep your eye on them sign pretty sharp," I warned him.

  "Aren't you coming over?" he ask.

  "No, not yet. My guess is hell cross back over here." And half a mile up from where we struck the river, his sign come out of the water on my side and continued upstream.

  Clete swum the gray back over to the east bank. "'ld Whatever here takes to water like a regular fish," Clete said, and then cocked his head at me. "How'd you know he'd do that, cross back over here?"

  "From Marsh's map. Steep banks up ahead on that side. Bluffs come right down to the water, almost, and it'd make the going slower. More important, some streams come in from that side too, between the hills, and he'd probly like to get dry before he beds down. Wouldn't you?"

  Clete laughed at that. "Damn you, Willie. Looks like I'm bound to learn something if I'm around you long enough."

  "Well, I got me an education today, I can tell you, talking to Professor Marsh and them Yale boys. No reason you shouldn't oil your mind a little too."

  We moved pretty quick then, the sign clear and Clete's horse fresh and strong. The bay didn't lag none either, and with the lighter load, even the roan kept up. The sun set in a blaze of yeller and orange ahead and to our right, behind some flat buttes. Those badlands was finally petering out, though they took their own sweet time doing it.

  We slowed to a trot to save the horses.

  "Why do you figure the Good Lord made this damn cut-up country?" I ask Clete.

  "Beats me," he answered. "How about you?"

  "It beats me too. Wouldn't be so bad a place if it wasn't for all this damned geology the professor talks so highly of."

  He just looked at me after I said that. We rode silent for quite a stretch along the river, but it was getting darker by the minute and the moon not up yet.

  "Can you still see the sign?" Clete ask. "Because I sure as hell don't."

  "No, I can't see it anymore."

  "Don't you want to stop, then? You wanted to stop when it was lighter than this over along the Bad, when you couldn't see the sign. Or was that just the girl being along then?"

  I shook my head. "No, not entirely. We was still pretty green on the trail then. Didn't know what he had up his sleeve, either. Besides, he probly thinks he's slipped us. At least bought himself a bushel of time. No doubt he believes we'll have to wait for morning to figure out what he done back there, backtrackin' through the river. No, I'd like to gain some on him."

  "Suits me," Clete said, and we spurred the horses to a lope. Of course, it was pitch dark before long and the stars out full.

  We kept that pace for nearly an hour, too, 'til the banks started to change from a broad smooth path to a patch of deep mud. We climbed up higher on the shore to get out of the muck, and we was stopped, about to get off and walk the horses for a stretch, when we saw a low fire about a half mile ahead, on the far side.

  "How you want to do this?" I ask Clete.

  He studied the the lay of the land a minute before answering. "You cross here and I'll circle away from the river and cross up above. Tie your horse and the roan well back. Walk in close and wait for me. Give me plenty of time and then fire that goddamn shotgun and keep firing it toward him, fast as you can. I'll rush him. Just ride in and shoot the bastard."

  "I'll start it and you'll finish it, is that the way of things?"

  "That's it," Clete said. "Just wait twice as long as you think you should. You ready?"

  "Ready as I'm gonna be for this. Don't count on me for nothing fancy, my friend."

  "No danger of that. I've seen you shoot, remember?" He slapped me on the back and headed the gray away from the river. "C'mon, Whatever," I heard him say quiet to that stallion.

  I walked the bay and the roan into the water, and the coldness of it took my breath away for a second when it reached my manly parts. The bay didn't need to swim more than ten yards, so I just kept my seat, though I didn't keep it dry. We come out slow on the other side, for the mud was even deeper over there.

  I found a pretty stout sagebrush to tie the horses to, and hoped they wouldn't nicker and give us away. Nothing to do about it if they did, though. After I dumped the water out of my boots, I checked the shells in the shotgun and started to walk in slow. When I could see the fire, I got down and crawled, though I thought about snakes once or twice.

  I got to a patch of ass-high grass and from there I could see him sitting beside the fire, his back mostly toward me. That's where I stopped. Out of range for the shotgun. Beyond killing range, anyway, though it would sting him good. I waited. The night wind blowed through that high grass along the river, making it wave and whistle some. Young frogs down below was noisy, too. Don't know how long I waited, but it seemed a long time. After I was sure I'd waited long enough for Clete to get ready, I cut loose with the one barrel and then right away the other. While I was reloading, I heard a wild scream and a horse galloping in toward the fire and three quick pistol shots. Then silence.

  "Stand up, you sonofabitch!" I heard Clete yell. "You're not hit!"

  I run in fast as I could. Clete was still on his horse, pointing his Remington at two men who was stretched out on the ground.

  I poked the one hard in the ribs with the mu
zzle of the shotgun and rolled him over with it. He let out a howl and started bawling. Wasn't 'til then I saw he was just a boy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I sat the boy up on his blankets while Clete looked at the man who was still stretched out.

  "Stop cryin', son. You're all right now," I told him. "We thought you was someone else. We didn't mean you no harm. Are you hurt?" He rubbed above his ear. I took his hand away and found a big lump there. I put my arm around his shoulder and give him what comfort I could.

  He wouldn't stop bawling, though. Big deep sobs that shook his shoulders.

  "Let him alone a while," Clete said. "He'll quiet down in a spell. This one's been shot. Doesn't look like he'll make it, either. Lost a lot of blood and's been gut-shot."

  I sat with the boy and Clete tossed the last of their few sticks into the fire. After it caught up good, I saw the white canvas top of a wagon up on the high bank.

  "Did you notice the wagon?" I ask Clete.

  "Just before you set off that scattergun. I'll go have a look."

  "No!" the boy yelled, and then jumped at me, punching and kicking. I wrapped up his arms good and just waited 'til he stopped. He couldn't a been more than ten or twelve, and not very big for his age either. Didn't take him long to tire out and give it up, and when he went back to crying hard again, I let him go. He flopped face down on his blankets and let her out full.

  "You suppose there's someone up there?" I ask.

  "That'd be my guess," Clete said, taking a gander that way, but making no move. He bent down and looked at the man's face and then turned the boy over enough so's he could see his face too. "Boy's about the right age to be this man's son, and they sort of look alike." He took a pair of burning sticks from the fire and walked up to the wagon. I heard mules nickering, the way they do, and they moved the wagon a few feet when he got close.

  "Anyone in there?" Clete hollered, but no one answered. "I'm a law officer and I'm coming in. Hold your fire." He walked up to the back end, raising his sticks high in one hand and laying back the flap with the other when he got there.

  The blast from a gun lit up the canvas from the inside at the same time I heard the shot. I grabbed the shotgun quick and scrambled up to the high bank, though it was dark as hell without no light. The glowing sticks were on the ground, their flames out, just back of the wagon.

  "You hit, Clete?" I called over there.

  He startled the hell out of me, for he was right beside me when he answered. "I'm all right, but whoever's in there ain't gonna be when I get through with him. Gimme that shotgun!" He more grabbed it out of my hands than me giving it to him, and he blasted both barrels into that wagon.

  A scream come out of there, one I hope to forget the sound of some day. High and screechy and sounding like someone being branded by devils.

  "Jesus, it's a woman," Clete said. He jumped up and ran over while the scream kept up. Clete climbed into the front, over the seat, and the screaming stopped.

  It was quiet a long minute after that. Only thing I could hear was the peepers down by the river. "Willie, fetch a light!" Clete hollered, finally.

  I run down to the fire and grabbed the biggest stick left, though it wasn't much. The boy and the man was just where they was before, so I went right back toward Clete.

  "Everthing all right in there?" I ask when I got close to the back of the wagon.

  "Yeah, bring that damned light," Clete said.

  When I stuck my head inside and held my burning branch up, there was a woman huddled in a blanket under a big old drop-leaf table. Other furniture was piled around her, too, a rocking chair and such. She was all rolled up in a ball with only her head sticking out. The lady was clutching something and kept rocking her body back and forth and talking low, almost like she was singing.

  Clete sat up at the other end on the seat, but with his legs inside. The old muzzle loader she'd shot at him with was in his hands, and his face looked whiter than the wagon cover. After a minute he put the long gun aside and climbed in to where she was, but she still didn't look up. He lifted the blanket from her a little and it was plain she had no clothes on, nothin' at all. The woman held a little baby to her breast, but even from where I stood, you could see that its head was smashed in, and it dead a good while. Blood all over the baby and her and the wagon floor and everything.

  Clete dropped the blanket and crawled out the front. I took a lantern that hung just inside the back and lit it with my branch. Pretty soon he come around the back end of the wagon.

  "I didn't know there was a baby in there, or a woman either," he said. All of a sudden he turned and walked away from me, back toward the fire.

  After a minute, I went around to the front and crawled up over the tongue and the seat. I set the lantern on a little cleared space on the floor and looked at that poor woman. She was rocking and singing low to that little child who would never hear her songs no more. Holding the lantern up high, I saw where the shot from the shotgun had tore through, and it was like I thought before. That baby was dead long before Clete and me come upon this sad camp. I lifted the blanket like Clete'd done, and saw that the blood on her body and her hands was all dried, and still she didn't look up, despite that she was naked and me taken her cover off. I dropped the corner of the blanket and went back outside. She was still singing soft when I started down with the lantern.

  Clete sat by the fire, across from the boy, who was awake, but looked dazed. The man was still out. When first I felt for his heartbeat at his wrist, I thought he'd died. But a heartbeat was still there, real faint and slow.

  Clete had his knees drawed up and his arms around his legs, hugging them in. I told him where the shot'd gone through the wagon cover, well above where the woman and child was. Then I said about the dried blood, about how the little one would of had to been dead for hours for all that blood to dry. I was telling the truth, too, not just trying to make him feel better, and I think him hearing that in my voice is what calmed him.

  He looked at me a second, looked back into the fire, and then nodded slow. "Then DuShane shot this man and knocked the boy alongside his head. God knows what he did to that woman, but it's clear what he did to the child." His eyes bore into the flames.

  I started talking to the boy then, telling him who we was and what we was doing there. I asked him a bunch of questions-his name and where he was from and the like-but he wouldn't answer me. Except, when I asked if the man lying beside us was his pa, he nodded his head. Other than that, he just stared into the fire like my pardner was doing. After a while Clete stood up and walked out to where my horse and the roan was. He led them back in and started getting the gear spread out. After hobbling the horses, he took the lantern and gathered a big pile of chips. All the while I kept talking to the boy, but he still hadn't spoke.

  Clete went down to the river and come back with a potful of that chalky water. Once he got a good look at it, though, he tossed it away and went up to the wagon and got some from their side barrel. Before long he had peeled a pile of potatoes and set them to boil with bacon frying in the skillet and a pot of coffee going, too. Smelled damn good, I can tell you.

  "What about the woman?" Clete ask when we started to eat.

  "I don't know," I said. "She'll be all right 'til morning, I suspect. Maybe something'll occur to us by then. I don't know." I dished the boy some of what we had, but he didn't touch it. He laid on his belly beside his pa and stared into the flames.

  "It's good food, son, and you're welcome to it," I told him. "I'll bet you're hungry, ain't you? When was the last time you ate?" I guessed that was the wrong thing to ask him, for he begun to whimper again.

  About that time we heard a yowl out beyond the edge of the firelight, and Clete stood up and drew his pistol. It was supposed to sound like a coyote, I guess, but any fool could tell it was a man tryin' to sound like a coyote-and doin' the worst job of it.

  "Shit," Clete said, bolstering his Remington and then sitting back down.

&nb
sp; "I'm coming in, now," a voice called to us. "Don't you go shootin' at me again, Sheriff."

  Well, of course it was Banty Foote. He marched in on them short little bowed legs and stood beside the fire with his arms crossed. "Pretty chilly night," he said in that real quick way of his. "Fire feels good. Who's this boy?"

  I waited for Clete to tell him, but he looked like he was pretending Banty wasn't there, so I told him myself what'd happened.

  "I'll be dogged!" he said when I finished, and sat right down in the dirt. "Are we goin' after him now, the man what done this?"

  "You're not going anywhere!" Clete yelled, causing the boy to fidget and sniffle again. "Not with us, you're not."

  Clete looked at me and I tilted my head toward the boy. My pardner lowered his voice after that. "Why don't you git the hell out of here?" he ask Foote.

  Banty dug in the dirt with his finger and looked downhearted. "Just wanted to help is all," he said. I thought for a while we was going to have two fellows crying on us. Clete went back to his food, and I offered Banty the plateful I had put out for the boy, for it was plain he wasn't interested in it.

  Banty Foote spooned potatoes into his face and kept his eyes on Clete. That little man smacked his mouth louder while eatin' than Stalking Bear ever did, and that's saying something.

  I told them the rest of what Crawford told me. What the Captain guessed of where DuShane was from and all. "He told Marsh's scout that you'd killed his brother and that he set out to get you back for it."

  Clete thought on that for a minute. "The girl mentioned something like that too. But didn't she say he'd told her it was his son I had shot?"

  "Yes, I think she did," I told him.