Stranger in Thunder Basin (Leisure Historical Fiction)

by John D. Nesbitt

  “It’s happened before. To better men than either of us, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

  “Not at all, especially the way I feel.” Ed shook his head. “I don’t usually drink much. Not because I’m all that pure. I just don’t care much for it.”

  “Some people are like that. Strange, but you see it.” Tyrel winced as he shifted in his seat. “Did you get payday drunk?”

  “I suppose so. I came into town with Herm Cooley and the bunch. I imagine you knew I went to work for them.”

  “I’d heard it.”

  “Well, we got into town in late afternoon, early evenin’, and we all went to the Rimfire. We must have been there till midnight, and then we went to a parlor house. I was so gone I couldn’t even stand up.”

  “That’s too bad. But sometimes a fella just loses control. If it’s any comfort, you probably weren’t the only one.”

  “Oh, no. Just the stupidest.” Ed did not mention that at least at the time, he had hoped that going along with the bunch would help him keep his cover at the King Diamond Ranch. “But you’re right. The others were like swine, too.”

  “Was Bridge there?”

  “He was when we were in the saloon, but he disappeared somewhere along the way.”

  “That’s like him. He’ll slip off and not be in the middle of the big mess. He’ll be clear-eyed in the mornin’, while all the rest of those rannies are sick as dogs.”

  “He seems like a cautious one.”

  “Stays out of the way a good part of the time. Before he took to ridin’ with Cooley, they say he never traveled back the same way he came.”

  “You mean when he came into town?”

  “Anywhere he went. I don’t think he’s changed any. If he goes somewhere by himself now, he probably still has the same moves.”

  “Cagey.”

  “That’s right. You won’t find him gettin’ into a hole where there’s only one way out.” Tyrel laughed. “Cooley, on the other hand, you might find him in any of a variety of holes.”

  Ed’s thoughts drifted. “I was wonderin’. Does Grover Cleveland wear a stovepipe hat?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he does. Probably been known to wear a derby as well. But when they’re formal and presidential, they wear the stovepipes. Why?”

  “Just a thought.”

  “One among many.” Tyrel took hold of his stick and pushed himself up from his chair. “Let me get us some coffee.”

  Ed noticed the old man’s sagging build. Tyrel wasn’t fat, but his belt curved under his gut, and his clothes hung on him like old hand-me-downs.

  “I can get it,” Ed offered.

  “Nah, I will. I need to get up and around once in a while.” The old man set two cups on the table and poured them full. “Do you want anything to eat?”

  “No, thanks. I ate a little while ago. What I really need is to get this poison out of my system.”

  Tyrel let out a heavy sigh as he sank into his chair. “Yesterday’s wine,” he said. Then pointing at the hambone, he added, “Today’s meat. All gone but the residue and scraps. Who knows what tomorrow’s bread will be like?” His old brown eyes played over Ed. “Here I am, talkin’ in runes, and all you wish is your head would clear up. Don’t worry. You’re young. You’ll feel a hell of a lot better tomorrow.”

  After two cups of coffee and a fair sampling of Tyrel’s philosophy, Ed felt the need to get off on his own and see if he could clear his head any better. He didn’t have to leave for the ranch until the following morning, so he had time to visit Ravenna later on. Meanwhile, he still wanted to avoid anyone from the King Diamond.

  He decided to take his horse from the stable and go for a ride. The air and the sun and the exertion might wear off some of the ragged edges. The ride would take him out of town, and as long as he didn’t go north, he should be all right.

  The sun had climbed halfway up in the sky when he rode east out of Litch. He figured he would ride until the sun was straight up, and then he would turn around and come back. If he kept to the road, he wouldn’t attract any special attention.

  The ride out was uneventful enough. Before turning back, he dismounted to check his cinch and stretch his legs. After mounting up again and setting out on the return, he saw two riders and four horses coming his way. A couple of minutes later, he saw that the horse men were Jory Stoner and Homer Dug-dale, and each had an unsaddled horse on the end of his rope.

  Ed reined his horse and drew him off to the side of the trail as Jory and Homer came up to him.

  “Howdy, pal,” Jory sang out. “Where you comin’ from?”

  “Just out for a ride and on my way back.” Ed shook his head. “Had too much to drink last night.”

  “Had some fun, huh?” Jory’s teeth flashed as he smiled.

  “Too much. Or the wrong kind. Must be the company I’ve fallen into. Not the good influence I had with you two.”

  Homer smiled at the compliment. “We heard you went to work for the King Diamond. I hope it’s been all right for you.”

  “Oh, it’ll do. I don’t think I’ll stay there forever.”

  “What ever suits.” Homer gave a little shrug.

  Ed felt a brief pang of guilt, then thought of an easier topic. “Say, I’ll tell you who I ran into. That fella Jeff who worked with us last year.”

  Homer nodded. “He’s workin’ for an outfit over your way.”

  “Talks like he’s a foreman. As far as that goes, he let on that I worked for him last year.”

  “Maybe he thinks you did.” A shine came to Homer’s faraway blue eyes. “He wanted to be foreman for Cal, and when he didn’t get it, he went off in a huff. You remember that.”

  “I didn’t know why he left so quick. Reuben said his money was burnin’ a hole in his pocket.”

  “Oh, some of it was impatience, and some of it was from Cal turnin’ him down.”

  “Huh. So do you know if he’s a foreman now?”

  “I don’t believe he is, but he’s still mindin’ the main chance.”

  “Well, he was friendlier to me than I would have expected, and I don’t have a job for him.”

  “Sometimes they’re that way just for the practice. But I’ve probably said more than I need to.”

  Now Jory spoke. “How about—?” With raised eyebrows and a close mouthed smile, he waved his head and the broad brim of his hat backward.

  “Oh, it’s goin’ along.”

  “Haven’t rode off with her yet? That’s what you ought to do. Get out of the bad company, too, all at once. Then they won’t be keepin’ you out till all hours and makin’ your head hurt.”

  “Well, it’s not their fault. And besides, like I said, I don’t expect to be a permanent fixture there anyway. I’m puttin’ in my time until I move on to the next thing.”

  “If you’ve got half a plan, that’s better than most.” “I hope I do.” Ed looked from one rider to another. “Well, it’s been good seein’ you boys. Does me good. But I probably need to be gettin’ back.”

  Jory smiled and wagged his hat again.

  “So long,” said Homer. “It’s good to see you, too. If you get out our way, drop in. Meanwhile, take care of yourself, and look out for them other fellas.”

  “I will.”

  By the time he got his horse put away and walked to the boarding house, Ed was too late to talk to Ravenna. She was already at work on the evening meal. Now at loose ends, he went back to the stable and dozed for an hour. Then he washed up, ate supper at the café, and returned to the boarding house to wait for Ravenna.

  It was well after dark when she finished her work, and the house was still hot inside, so she suggested that they sit on the back porch. They sat on the back steps for a couple of minutes without saying anything until she spoke.

  “You didn’t just get into town this afternoon, did you?”

  “No. I came in yesterday with a bunch of the other boys.”

  “That’s what I thought I heard, that some men from your ra
nch had come in.”

  “We did. I stayed with them and went to the saloon, and then I got stuck there. I drank too much, and I was sick like a dog this morning, so I thought I’d wait until I was more presentable.”

  “You don’t usually do that, do you?”

  “No, and I don’t enjoy it either. If I’d gotten to town a little sooner or a little later I could have come over here, but it was in the later afternoon, and then I got stuck. By the way, who did you hear it from that we’d come in?”

  “A man who stays here once in a while. He mentioned it at breakfast.”

  “Not the fella who sells windmills?”

  “No, it was a man who works at one of the ranches. His name is Jeff.”

  Ed felt a wave of dread. “He didn’t mention my name, did he?”

  “No. Do you know him?”

  “If he’s the fella I think he is. A few years older than me, a little heavier build. Acts like he’s a foreman. Comes from Arkansas.”

  “That’s him.”

  “I worked with him last year, and now he’s over here. I saw him in the winter, but I don’t think he ever stayed here then, did he?”

  “No, I think it’s been the last month or six weeks.”

  “Just don’t pay him any mind, is the best.”

  “I try not to, but it seems he’s there every time I turn around.”

  Ed felt an uneasiness spreading through him. “You mean he hangs around?”

  “Yes. And his eyes go everywhere. I think he might even peep.”

  “Have you seen him at it?”

  “No, but I’ve heard noises, right outside.”

  “That’s not good. But you can’t very well ask Mrs. Porter not to let him stay here. Not till you have more.”

  “I know. But I don’t like it. He reminds me of Mr. Gregory. You know I mentioned him.”

  Ed felt his pressure going up inside. “The farmer back in Crete.”

  “Yes. I wish he would just go away.”

  “I know what you mean, but it doesn’t always work out the way you want.”

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes until she spoke again. “So, have things gone well for you in your work?”

  “You mean punchin’ cows?”

  “Well, that.”

  “Oh, it’s been all right, I suppose. I liked it better at the ranch where I worked last year, but I’m workin’ on a plan, so I can put up with a lot of little things.”

  “That’s good.” After a few seconds she added, “And the plan? Have you found out anything?”

  “Not to speak of. The first fella I mentioned plays everything real close to his chest, and I get the feeling I could wait a thousand years before someone dropped a comment I was hopin’ for. But at least I’m gettin’ to know him a little better, just by seein’ his habits.”

  “And the other one?”

  “Oh, the big boss. Mort Ramsey. No, I haven’t gotten to know much about him at all. I need to learn more, and I’m not sure how to get close enough to do it.”

  “Well, I hope you find out. If he did something that wasn’t right—”

  He found her hand with his. Up until this moment they had both been looking forward into the darkness, and now they turned to each other.

  “I know,” he said, and their lips met in a kiss. For a moment he lost himself, as if he were floating with her in the night sky, and then he came back to the here and now. He held his lips close to her ear and said, “I know. And as soon as I’m done with all of it, we can do more of this.”

  Then their lips met again as they put their arms around each other, two orphans under a dark sky, on the back steps of a boarding house.

  Chapter Nine

  Ed sat in the dark in back of Mrs. Porter’s establishment, wondering when the moon was going to rise. When it did, he was going to have to find shadow, but it would help him see if anyone came lurking to-night. He didn’t like the idea that Jeff came around to peep, and even though the man had not kept his room for this night, he still might be in town.

  The darkness began to thin before he saw the moon itself, a pale, three-quarters disc beginning to show above the roof of the building across the alley. Unless he sat right in front of the out house, this clump of hollyhocks would give as good a shadow as anything on Mrs. Porter’s lot. He scooted over a few feet and stayed sitting, Indian fashion, as he watched the boardinghouse.

  He was beginning to tire of his position and was thinking of shifting when a movement at the right side of the building caught his eye. Holding himself motionless, he saw the figure move as if a person had taken a slow step. In less than a minute Ed saw that it indeed was a person, coming from the north side of the house and making stealthy progress toward the steps to the back porch. Ed pushed himself forward to his knees, and when the intruder was halfway across the length of the building, Ed rose and spoke.

  “Hold it right there,” he said.

  The person stopped.

  As Ed covered the few remaining yards, he could see it was Jeff. “I’m not surprised,” he said.

  “Neither am I,” came the answer. Jeff spoke in his sarcastic drawl. “I come out here to look for prowlers, and see what I get.”

  “I think you’ve got it backward. I was on the lookout, and you’re the one sneakin’ around.”

  Jeff’s voice took on a more menacing tone. “Be careful what you say, boy. Words can get you in trouble.”

  “So can actions.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, it’s clear as day that you’re trespassin’ at night in a place where—”

  A smashing fist on the left side of his face kept Ed from finishing the sentence. As he staggered back a step and tried to keep his balance, a second punch connected on his right side. He was trying to bring his fists up when a third punch knocked him to the ground. He fell on his right hip and shoulder, and as he tried to push himself up, the toe of a boot stabbed pain into the upper part of his left arm. Then he heard a revolver click.

  “Just stay where you are, boy, and you won’t get hurt any more. But let this be a lesson. You need to be careful about what you say. Here I am, tryin’ to look out for a poor widda lady, and some boy prowlin’ in the night pulls a gun on me.”

  “I didn’t pull a gun. You did.”

  “I do what I have to, to protect myself. Take it to her if you want to, and it’s your word against mine. I’ll tell her how it happened, including how I knocked you flat on your ass.” This last word he pronounced “aiss,” with a note of emphasis. Then he turned and walked away in the night.

  Ed sat up and felt both sides of his face. He didn’t feel anything out of order, but he didn’t like the turn things had taken. He remembered the adage that the first liar didn’t have a chance, and even though he wouldn’t be lying, Jeff would do his best to make it out that way. Ed could see that nothing good would come from bringing up this incident with Mrs. Porter, but now that it had happened, Jeff might lay off his peeping.

  Then there was Ravenna. Embarrassing as it might be, Ed was going to have to tell her about it so she would know. Furthermore, if Jeff did bring it up later and try to distort it, at least Ed would have gotten in the first version with someone. As he pushed himself to his feet, he told himself he was going to have to do better than this in the future.

  Ed left for Thunder Basin early the next morning and did not waste time, arriving at the valley of ancient dead cottonwoods in early afternoon. He watered the buckskin and then crossed the creek bottom to find a pine tree big enough to give shade. He loosened the cinch on the horse and sat on the hillside to rest.

  This valley seemed never to change. The hill he sat on would change color from evening to morning, but it would look just as it did a year ago. The tops of the dead cottonwoods looked the same, as did the vast colony of abandoned prairie dog holes. Maybe a tree had fallen, or tumbleweeds had blown in or out of the mouths of some of the burrows, but to Ed the place seemed timeless. He could believe
that it had looked just like this before his name was Dawes.

  The buckskin was stamping, moving his head to one shoulder and the other, swishing his tail. The flies hadn’t taken long to find him, and there wasn’t much rest for a horse being nettled. Left to themselves, horses would run from one end of a pasture to another, just to escape the flies for a little while. When the bugs weren’t quite that thick, two horses would stand head to tail and swish the bugs off one another. But the buckskin didn’t have those options at the moment, and Ed figured it was time to move on.

  He got up, coiled the rope, and slipped it off the horse’s neck and over the head. He could see the flies, little white ones that gathered around the ears and eyes and on the upper chest. After tying the rope onto the saddle, he brushed at the flies, trying to dislodge them where they had already dug in. Blood smeared in his fingers, but he got rid of a few. Leading the buckskin out into the sunlight and onto a level spot, he tightened the cinch and swung aboard. With a touch of the spurs, he put the valley behind him.

  At the bunk house, Pat the cook told him that Cooley and a couple of the other hands hadn’t come back from town, but Bridge had the rest of them out cutting hay and probably wouldn’t get in till dark. Ed put his horse away, thinking that everyone was supposed to have this day off as well. The sun was slipping into the latter part of the afternoon, and the shadows were starting to stretch, so he went to the front door of the bunk house and sat on the wide, flat rock that served as the doorstep. The door was open, as the bunk house heated up at this time of day, and Ed could hear the cook rummaging around. No matter, Ed thought. He had made good time so as not to get back late, and he was going to rest while he could.

  Before long, however, he saw George the brute go up the front steps of the ranch house, and a few minutes later Mort Ramsey came out. He crossed the area of bare dirt and stood about five feet from where Ed sat.

  The boss of the King Diamond Ranch was dressed as he usually was when he went out to order his men around. He wore his hat, his brown vest, a clean white shirt with full buttons, his silver watch chain, and his silver inlaid gunbelt with the ivory-handled six-gun. Squeezed into this outfit, and in places bulging out of it, was the boss himself. He was not fat like a storekeeper or a German farmer but rather like a person who was swollen up all over.