by Tyler Hatch
If Blaine died at Clem Hardesty’s hands – or boots – he, Clint Rendell would be charged with murder, too.
‘Call it quits, Clem,’ he said finally.
‘When I’m good and ready!’ Hardesty growled and he drew back his right foot, nudged the unconscious Blaine’s head around until the right side was uppermost, then he swung the boot brutally into the eye socket, grinding….
He staggered, doubled up, gasping for breath and Clint Rendell felt sick when he saw the bloody, mangled face of the breed.
Hardesty straightened slowly and grinned. ‘Now I’m all through … Let’s go get a few drinks in town to celebrate.’
‘What – what about Blaine?’
Clem shrugged. ‘Cut his hands free and leave him – He’ll find his way to help sooner or later….’
But Rendell was deathly afraid that the man might never move again. Even now he didn’t seem to be breathing.
‘You left him out there?’
Morgan O’Day glowered at the blood-spattered hardcases standing before him in the blazing sun by the corrals. His old heart was hammering as he saw the bits of flesh sticking to the toes of Hardesty’s boots – Blaine’s flesh – and, while his hatred for the breed was still strong, he felt a pang of alarm. He would later admit that he had been hurt by what he saw as Blaine’s betrayal, but now he was simply shaken as his imagination ran riot and tried to picture what these fools had done to the man he had adopted as a son.
Over the years, in moments of introspection, he had admitted to himself that he cared for and admired the young man – told himself quickly that it was only because Blaine had Katy’s blood flowing in his veins: he was a part of her he could still possess, even though he hated Comanche. And at least half of Blaine’s blood was that of the fearsome Yellow Wolf. But he’d had the pleasure of killing that damn Injun himself, driving home the bullets with all the hatred built up over five years’ of anguish, wondering about Katy’s fate.
His word had been given – and to Katy herself – so he would honour it, even when he felt like killing Blaine. Which made him think about his daughter and her betrayal….
But right now he was facing these two hardcases and he allowed his rage to swell within him and saw them blink and cower before it.
‘If that boy’s dead…!’
‘He ain’t dead,’ muttered Clint Rendell but snapped his mouth shut as Morg’s gaze fell on him.
‘He’ll live, Morg,’ Clem Hardesty said, trying to sound confident. ‘You said it was OK to beat on him – long as we left him alive….’
O’Day knew he had used those words. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, couldn’t have been to give these two such latitude. Maybe he’d gone too far … But his mind was in a turmoil, what with Kitty sobbing and screaming up in her room, kicking at the door, and now seeing these two snakes spattered with Blaine’s blood. Lucas seemed to be the only one in any way happy about the situation, and he was sitting astride the top corral post, pretending to write in his tally books, but listening to every word and noting every expression as Morgan tried to decide what to do about these two. He had a terrible feeling they’d killed Blaine….
‘Draw your pay,’ he said abruptly, seeing the shock hit Hardesty and Rendell like a slap in the face with a plate of cold mashed potato. ‘There’ll be a bonus, but you ride out – you’re finished here.’
Rendell frowned, slow to absorb this, but Hardesty’s ugly face hardened. ‘We did what you told us to—’
‘Draw your pay!’
As Morgan started to turn away, Hardesty said, ‘Best be a big bonus, Morgan. We both got runaway tongues when we get a few redeyes under our belts.’
Morgan swung back and his hand dropped to his six gun butt, causing both men to stiffen and Lucas to sit up straight on the fence rail, eyes widening. But O’Day didn’t draw the weapon.
‘Fifty dollars apiece,’ he growled, snapping at his son, ‘See to it, Lucas – but first, have Alamo or someone go out and pick up Blaine. If he looks real bad – best take him into town to the doctor.’
‘Marsh Kilgour’s gonna want to know what happened,’ Lucas said, voice shaky.
‘You tell Marsh to come see me – I’ll tell him what I want him to know.…’
Lucas sighed, relieved, and clambered down from the fence. Hardesty and Rendell were already making for the washbench, muttering angrily. Morgan looked up at the window of Kitty’s room.
He’d had planks nailed across and the room would be dark, adding to her discomfort and misery. Good! She’d know plenty more before he was through with her. …
He was in his office, tossing down his fifth stiff whiskey when he heard the buckboard clatter into the yard. Slowly, frowning, knowing they couldn’t have been to town and back yet, Morgan went to the window. His frown deepened, though it was lost amongst the weathered seams and wrinkles.
Alamo and Fernando were in the vehicle, the Mexican driving, but there was no one in the back. A thrill of fear ran through Morgan as he dropped the empty whiskey glass and hurried to the side door, wrenching it open and striding across the yard towards the skidding buckboard.
Alamo Ames was hurrying towards him, his small, muscular figure looking tense.
‘He’s gone, Morg!’ he called while still five yards away. ‘Blood and trampled grass everywhere but he’s gone.…’
CHAPTER 4
VANISHED
They searched the river and the banks far up – and – downstream. They looked for tracks but the grass was too trampled to pick out anything in particular.
What they didn’t find was any sign that Blaine had dragged himself to his horse and somehow managed to get into the saddle. There was enough blood staining the grass and ground for them to realise Blaine must be in a mighty bad way – lucky to be alive. His horse was missing, too, no tracks showing.
In desperation they even searched the far side of the river but although there was a suspect place where someone or something – a horse, maybe – had quit the fast flowing waters, it was not conclusive. No other tracks were found in amongst the brush or trees there so it was dismissed.
Alamo Ames, a man with a touch of Apache in him from way back down the line of his ancestors, had been in charge of the tracking and after three hard days, rode back and reported failure to Morgan O’Day.
The rancher had changed in those three days. A man whose jet black hair had turned to silver during his late twenties – and was totally silvery-white by his early thirties – had still always managed to look fit and powerful enough for a man ten years his junior. But now his face was gaunted and he was red-eyed and Alamo smelled whiskey on his breath. His hands were even shaking a little as he packed a pipe and lit it, trying to seem casual.
‘So – he’s somehow beaten me. Gotten away, run with his tail between his legs.’
Alamo, medium tall and medium build, slitted his dark eyes. His face was narrow and sharp at times, at others it seemed broader, depending on his mood. Right now he was puzzled by Morgan’s reaction – and appearance – but he looked quickly and hard at the rancher.
‘He’d be in no fit state to get far. If he managed to roll off the bank into the river, I’d call that a minor miracle. And he’d likely drown. Those two hardcases would’ve given him the devil of a beatin’ – dunno why you kept ’em around so long – or turned ’em loose on Blaine.’
Morgan paused as he lit his pipe, shook out the match, puffed a cloud of smoke and said, ‘You’ve worked for me a long time, Alamo. It gives you some privileges. Don’t push ’em.’
Ames wasn’t fazed: he liked Blaine. Maybe it was because they both had Indian blood, or maybe it was admiration for the half-breed who had come under Morgan O’Day’s reluctant care – and seemed to still be his own man.
Not like Lucas, weak and subservient to Morgan – but, in Alamo’s opinion, only because he saw that one day Broken Wheel would be his if he played his cards right – and that’s what he was concentrating on doing. Blaine didn�
�t seem to think along those lines, and, without saying so, did his best to make O’Day proud of him, or, at least, feel that he was getting his money’s worth. With Morgan, of course, no one ever knew what his true feelings were – just like Blaine, when you got right down to it.
‘As I savvy it, Kitty said Blaine had done nothin’ – that he’s not – the father of her child….’
‘Shut up, damn you!’ gritted Morgan, shaking badly now, his breathing coming hard and fast, his pipe stem snapping in his sudden convulsive grip. He stood, flung the pipe into a corner, went to the side-boy and splashed whiskey into a glass. He tossed it down, shuddered a little, had another, then, turning, snapped, ‘Help yourself.’
‘Later, Morg – want me to keep lookin’ for Blaine?’
Morgan hesitated. ‘I want you back here.’
‘Well – will I send someone else out? Lucky’s a good tracker….’
‘Don’t you worry about it! I’ll decide – later.’
‘Meantime, what you gonna do about Kitty?’
O’Day looked haunted, and annoyed at Alamo’s prodding. He was about to snap at the man again, then his shoulders slumped and he shook his head slowly as he sat down again. ‘I dunno, Alamo – I don’t believe her. Blaine has to be the father. No one else here has shown any interest in her like Blaine. Goin’ ridin’, walkin’….’
‘He was discreet enough. And I’d say innocent enough too.’
Morgan snorted. ‘He knew I’d never approve! A half-breed courtin’ my daughter! They used to go for long rides every time she came home on vacation. I should’ve figured sooner or later – somethin’ would – happen.’
‘Have you given her a chance to tell you her story?’
‘I’m not interested!’ Goddammit, the girl’s unmarried and pregnant! What the hell else is there to discuss? She’s brought shame on my name and to make it worse, the man I showed compassion and – and kindness to has betrayed me! That’s what I know – and all I need to know.’
‘You’re wrong – You’re not being fair to either of them. If I was you …’
‘Enough!’ O’Day stood again, took a turn round the room, glanced at the whiskey, passed it by, but swung back and downed another stiff drink.
‘That stuff’s cloudin’ your judgement, Morg.’
The rancher rounded swiftly. ‘You’ve said enough – this is my family and I’ll make my judgements about them. You get ready for a long ride. I’ve decided what I’m going to do about the girl….’
‘Her name’s Kitty, isn’t it?’
‘About the girl – Lucky Kinnane can start the drive. You do this chore for me then come back and catch up with him in time to take the herd into railhead and do the dickerin’.’
Alamo frowned again. ‘Where you sendin’ me?’
‘You’ll know before you leave – but take plenty of supplies. So you won’t need to call into any towns along the way….’
Alamo Ames started out slowly. Sounded to him like the Old Man didn’t want anyone to know where Kitty was being sent….
Which likely meant he was banishing her for good from Broken Wheel. It didn’t set easy with Alamo Ames, but he’d been around Morgan O’Day long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut.
But this was sure one helluva thing, what had happened.
Family had always been top-of-the-list with Morg O’Day. Alamo had thought nothing could ever break that stubborn, silver-haired old buffalo.
But, by hell, this just might do it.
Kitty O’Day couldn’t speak.
She had screamed so long and loudly, had hammered on the locked door of her darkened room until she had collapsed against it, half-sitting, sobbing quietly. Her throat was raw and aching from the hours she had kept trying to get her father’s attention so she could explain what had really happened – how Blaine was blameless and – the rest of it.
She knew she could hardly be in any more trouble than she had already made for herself, but she wanted to try to save Blaine – even though she realised by now that Hardesty and Clint Rendell must have done their work.
She decided to write a note to her father but there wasn’t enough light and he had seen to it that all letter-writing equipment was removed anyway. Even the mattress off her bed had been taken. Kitty was devastated. She had sobbed herself dry when the door finally opened and she threw an arm across her eyes as brightness slashed at her vision.
She blinked and recognized the blocky shape of Alamo Ames. He was gentle with her as he helped her to her feet. She tried to speak but only hoarse, unintelligible sounds escaped her.
‘The maid’ll pack a valise for you with some clothes,’ the trail boss said quietly. ‘Don’t make a sound – Just come. Morg won’t see you. You just have to come with me.’
Startled, she mouthed the question: where?
He shook his head. ‘He hasn’t told me yet – but a long way. Don’t make it harder for yourself, Kitty. He’s hurt real bad and he doesn’t really know what he’s doin’. Just come along and I’ll do my best to try and get things straightened out when I come back.’
Her eyes widened and he knew she realised this was going to be a lo-oo-ong journey. She felt the flutter of her weary heart within her, the sickness churning in her stomach. Her dry lips mouthed the word and he understood.
‘I don’t know what’s happened to Blaine, girl – Fernie and me went to pick him up in the buckboard but he was gone. No tracks that I could read – we searched the river over and over. I was afeared he must’ve …’
Then he stopped in mid-word. She was shaking her head vigorously. No, she was telling him. He didn’t go into the river….
How could she know that? he wondered.
But more than that: she was smiling.
After another week of intense searching, even calling out men from town to help, Morgan O’Day ordered the whole thing scaled down. Hardesty and Rendell had left town, too, so no one could shed any light on what had happened to Blaine.
‘He’s pulled some sort of vanishin’ trick, damn him!’ the rancher growled and the men had the notion he was more angry at having been outsmarted than he was worried about Blaine’s welfare. ‘Him an’ his Injun ways! Well, to hell with him! I never want to clap eyes on him again … Nor her!’ he added and the men knew he was still hurting badly, deep and powerful….
At the end of the second week he said they couldn’t delay the trail drive any longer and he ordered Lucky Kinnane to choose his men and to get the herd on the road to the railhead.
‘You drive ’em carefully, don’t run off the fat – I need – want the highest price I can get. If it means waitin’ around a few days for Alamo to turn up, then you wait. He’s the one to do the dickerin’ with the meathouse agents. OK?’
Lucky said it was but he wasn’t all that happy about it. It was plain Morgan didn’t trust him altogether. He was a good cattleman, had worked the big herds in north Texas before heading down here after the War. That was when he had got his nickname – and he had been lucky. For a spell. A run of winning hands in trail camps and saloon back rooms, the cards falling just right. That small spread he often dreamt about looked well within reach when suddenly his luck deserted him.
Foolishly, like the desperate gambler he had become, he began doubling-up, then tripling, his bets in a frantic attempt to recoup his losses. All he did was go broke more quickly.
But the tag of ‘Lucky’ stuck and it had worked for him now and again – like the day he found the job as top hand with Broken Wheel. He loved working with cattle and he liked this place and the men O’Day employed at the time, including Alamo Ames. He’d stayed on and had no real complaints – but this thing about waiting for Alamo to do the haggling over selling price stuck in his craw and took the edge off things a little for him.
Still, he was content here, mostly, and didn’t aim to kick up a fuss.
So the herd of fifteen hundred head and a few hundred steers from smaller spreads in the valley, moved out from B
roken Wheel’s rich canyon country just past sun-up next morning, and within an hour were trailing a dust cloud that made the washerwomen and wives on the ranches spit a few words they normally would never even think, let alone utter.
The long bunched stream of cows caused a traffic jam and a major panic amongst shopkeepers with windows and displays fronting Main in town. Sheriff Marsh Kilgour hobbled out to his office door, rubbing an arthritic hip, and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice across the worn boardwalk.
‘Must have a word with Morg about this,’ he murmured. Though when that would be was anyone’s guess.
Marsh didn’t get around much any more these days.
Which didn’t make him any-the-less tough, but even his past reputation as a smack-’em-down lawman wouldn’t be enough to back up his words forever….
Weeks rolled by and Alamo was back with a big fistful of money from the meat-packing plants’ agents, making sure Morgan savvied that Lucky Kinnane had set the scene for the final dickering long before Ames had gotten back from – wherever he had been.
He never did say where – except to Morgan, of course – and the men knew better than to ply him with liquor and hope it would loosen his tongue. Alamo was one of the old school, loyal to Morgan, and a man who kept his word.
Gradually, speculation about what might have happened to Blaine – and to Kitty O’Day, whose mighty brief visit home this time raised some querying eyebrows in town – died away and all the talk was of the sudden expansion of Broken Wheel.
Beef prices had risen and O’Day had won a contract to supply the Army at Fort Angeles, not only with beef but with horses for the cavalry as well. They were rich contracts and O’Day had squared-away with the Texas First National Bank. On the advice of Banker Hayden – not so bad a man once his mortgage payments had been cleared – had invested in more land. Broken Wheel had now become the O’Day Beef Cattle Company and Morgan’s influence had spread well beyond the valley and down into Mexico and some of the eastern States as well.