by Tyler Hatch
Blaine was yelling, almost bursting a blood vessel in his neck, as he rode in when his men began shooting at the Indians. He was in danger of being shot for he was now between the cowboys and the redskins. His men cursed, threw their aim, wrenched running mounts aside. Whatever he was yelling was drowned in the general din.
Then an Indian was shot and somersaulted off his horse. Another lurched, dropping his lance, arm dangling. Suddenly, arrows were zipping across the heaving backs of the herd and a cowboy grunted, grabbing at a shaft quivering in his thigh. Another swore when his hat was impaled and torn from his head. A third’s mount reared, arrow in the chest.
‘The herd! The herd!’ Someone at last was able to distinguish Blaine’s words. ‘Save the herd!’
‘Is he loco?’ bawled Waco, glaring at Calico Benedict thundering alongside. ‘We save the cows and the goddam Injuns’ll nail us!’
‘I dunno, Waco,’ Calico called back, starting to haul on his reins. ‘Somethin’ queer about them Injuns – they weren’t shootn’ at us till we nailed a couple of them!’
‘Are you loco, too?’
Waco swung away, Winchester coming up to his shoulder as he started blazing at the redskins who seemed no more than fleeting shadows now, riding here and there, lying along their mustangs’ backs – and shooting into the herd! But not killing the animals, shooting so as to drive them together, forcing them to bunch and actually slow down….
Waco, frowned, holding his fire, but wheeling wildly as he saw one Indian raising his old trade rifle. The Texan triggered and the Indian was blasted off his mount and fell into the edge of the herd.
Blaine was riding everywhere, yelling at his men who blinked at him uncertainly and then it became apparent that the cows were being wheeled in a wide arc that was gradually tightening in the legendary ‘wheel of steers’, a method used by the old-timers in desperation to stop a stampede. It was said to have been first successfully attempted by a man named Shakes Mulvane, a Black Irishman who, inflamed by some of his own poteen – some claimed his horse was drunk, too – turned his herd on the very edge of a cliff by forcing them into a circle, intermingling leaders with stragglers in a gradual milling until they came to rest. He lost no more than two dozen over the edge – out of almost three thousand head.
Someone said later that he had gotten the idea from the old Plains Indians who sometimes used the manoeuvre when hunting buffalo…. Now, these Indians were forming the mill wheel and the stunned and puzzled cowboys reined down slowly as the red men rode in among the bawling cattle, gentling them with nudges from moccasined feet or the horn-tipped end of a bow, the butt of a lance….
‘Now I really got somethin’ to tell my grandkids if I ever have any!’ breathed Lucky Kinnane, looking around for Blaine.
But Blaine was already talking with two of the Indians, one big warrior, the other shorter with a horseface but looking very powerful. There were gestures and signs and finally grins and Blaine and the two Indians slapped each other on the back. He pointed to one corner of the herd and the Indians rode that way with their men following, some warily watching the white men who still held guns.
As the trail crew watched, slack—jawed in surprise, Blaine directed them to cutting out about thirty prime steers.
‘Christ, he’s gone plumb loco!’ growled Waco. He looked around at the bunched white men. ‘The son of a bitch is givin’ ’em all them prime beeves! Our beeves!’
He started to move across, the others hesitatingly following. Blaine reined up, lifting a hand.
‘Easy, boys – just rewarding the Comanche for their help.’
‘Help!’ exclaimed Waco. ‘Help he says! Christ, they were tryin’ to shoot us and steal the goddam cattle! Where the hell’s the help there? Except to themselves!’
Blaine shifted his one eye to Waco and the man let his words drift off. ‘Lucky, take some men and collect the strays and ride herd so they don’t cut loose again. We’ll camp here tonight – not you, Waco. You stay here.’
Waco swung back. ‘You know them Injuns, don’t you? You was happy-talkin’ with them two big sonuvers….’
‘Running Bird and Longhead,’ Blaine cut in. ‘My blood brothers.’
‘Hey, you rannies hear that?’ Waco called. ‘These Injuns are his blood brothers! This was a set-up!’
Lucky Kinnane and the others had stopped now. They were even more surprised when Blaine admitted Waco was right.
‘Sure – sent word to Running Bird to have some men standing by when we entered White Creek country. I had a notion we were going to have trail trouble – and they were to be ready to ride in and help us out. Which they did, and for which I’ve rewarded ’em.’
‘Morg’s gonna love this!’ crowed Waco.
‘It’ll come out of my share,’ Blaine said easily. ‘And, Waco, Fernie says you dragged him out of that burning wagon and slugged him unconscious.’
‘Well – yeah! I seen it was on fire an’ he was asleep in the goddamn drivin’ seat, so I hauled him out before he got burned … I was gonna try an’ drive it from the herd….’ Blaine’s gaze was steady and Waco made his face hard, curling his lips, as he glared back. ‘You can’t prove different!’
‘Guess not – no more’n I can prove you fired the hay wagon, but I know damn well you did. Maybe even on Lucas’ orders….’
‘You’re a goddamn liar!’
The words splashed into the dusty night air like a rock falling into a pool. There was a hushed silence that rippled through the riders and Waco was already aware that he had gone too far: call a man a liar out here and you better have your gun half-way out of leather. He didn’t give Blaine a chance, rammed his horse into the breed’s sorrel, and snatched at his six gun. Blaine was unseated and grabbed at Waco’s gun arm, twisted as he continued to fall, dragging the cursing Texan with him.
They hit hard and Waco lost his grip on his Colt and swung his free hand in a backward blow. It knocked Blaine’s hat off, coming in as it did on his right side, and then Waco’s jaw seemed to explode off his face, leaving him halfblinded as his eyeballs rolled in their sockets and pain shot through his neck and upper spine. A second blow almost tore his head off his shoulders – he said later – and he went over backwards, but kicked out instinctively. Whether by accident or design it came in on Blaine’s eyeless side and took him on the temple, knocking the eyepatch askew and the watching cowpokes glimpsed the mangled socket for the first time. Blaine sat down, started to rise a little groggily, and Waco launched himself bodily, clubbing with his right fist.
Blaine took one blow and went down flat, brought up his knees into Waco’s midriff as the man crowded him. Blaine straightened his legs and Waco groaned as he rolled to one side, scrabbling in his winded efforts to get up. He made it halfway, and then Blaine lunged, right fist striking with the force of a sledgehammer smashing into rock. Waco completely somersaulted, face dragging in gravel as he skidded down the slight slope. He moaned and rolled his head a little, but didn’t get up. Blaine kicked him hard and Lucky Kinnane steadied him as he stood, handed him a canteen. ‘I seen Waco trailin’ that hay wagon for quite a spell, twice had to tell him to get back on point.’
Blaine rinsed his mouth, then drank, panting. He nodded. ‘He’s Lucas’ man.’
Kinnane stiffened. ‘Surely you ain’t sayin’…’
‘Said all I’m gonna for now – let’s get these cows settled for the night. We’ll make the run into San Antone tomorrow.’
‘What about him?’ Kinnane gestured to the unconscious Waco.
‘Leave him – he can follow or not. But far as I’m concerned, he’s all through.’
Waco didn’t join up with the rest of the Broken Wheel men although Lucky Kinnane and Calico saw him in one of the San Antone saloons, drunk and on the prod.
Because of his swollen, crooked jaw, he spoke with a slur and the barkeep changed shift with a new man just as Waco emptied his glass. He ordered another, and while the previous man had learned what Waco was dri
nking, this man asked three times what it was he wanted.
‘You wanna talk with a foot in your mouth, mister, I ain’t got time to listen. Other customers’re waitin’….’
Waco’s left hand darted out, grabbed the man’s fresh, clean shirt and hauled him back. The ’keep swore when the shirt sleeve tore. He reached under the counter for his billy and Waco drew his Colt and laid it across the man’s head – not once, but back and forth three or four times. The barkeep’s face was a torn, bloody mess by the time he sagged to the floor.
Men waiting for bar service growled and turned threateningly towards Waco. He backed up, Colt still in his hand, thumb on the trigger now.
‘U’ll shoot yuh ull!’ he slurred, easing towards the side door. He waved the Colt, hammer back now, and the men stopped.
‘Go on!’ one bearded man growled. ‘Git – before we stomp you into the sawdust!’
Waco slid out of the side door, fired a couple of shots into the air, and the men scattered. He had gone by the time they wrenched open the door.
‘Mean sonuver that Waco, when he’s riled,’ opined Calico.
‘Yeah, ‘Lucky Kinnane said thoughtfully. ‘Reckon Blaine’s gonna have trouble with him yet….’
Kinnane was right – and the trouble was waiting for Blaine when he arrived back at Broken Wheel.
He’d left the crew in town to have a few drinks – on him as promised – before returning to the ranch, and as he dismounted stiffly in the early evening Clay Winton called from the bunkhouse,
‘Where’re the boys, Blaine?’
‘Let ’em stay in town to wash the dust outta their throats – you fellers can go on in if you like – put it on my bill but be back here by midnight.’
The off-duty men needed no second invitation and even the cook banked his fires and rode with them as they whooped and hollered their way towards the town road.
As Blaine mounted the porch steps Lucas stepped out of the shadows. ‘Someone make you ramrod?’
‘No – but I reckon they’ll’ve earned a drink or two, the way you work ’em. Keep ’em happy.’
Lucas grunted. ‘Pa wants to see you right away.’
The Old Man was waiting in his office and Blaine was surprised to find Waco there, too. The man’s face showed signs of his beating, but he managed a crooked grin that warned Blaine he was in for some trouble.
‘How much’d you get for the herd?’ demanded Morgan without preamble. Blaine heard the faint slurring of his words, surprised – Morg was already well on the way to getting drunk: a state he seemed to favour lately. Blaine took some crumpled papers from his vest pocket, smoothed them out and dropped them on to the desk in front of the rancher.
Morgan scanned the figures swiftly, adjusting his wire-framed eye-glasses. He looked up. ‘Work out how much a head that comes to – then multiply it by thirty.’ He took off the glasses and set his granite gaze on Blaine as Lucas entered the office. ‘That’s how much comes out of your share.’
Blaine nodded. ‘Already calculated that – was worth it to save the herd.’
Morgan swivelled his gaze to Waco. ‘That what he was doin’?’
‘He says!’ Waco said, scowling. ‘He had to try and save face some way! – he had them Injuns waitin’ to stampede the herd and rustle all they could before we could round-up the cows again – but the stampede got tangled up and stopped early … He had to do somethin’, so he came up with this hogwash about havin’ the Injuns waitin’ to help out – in case there was trouble.’
‘And that’s your story, uh?’ Morgan grated, boring his gaze into Blaine again. ‘In case there was trouble.’ ‘Figured there could be – after Lucas’ stampede went wrong at El Salto.’
‘Damn you, Blaine! I had nothing to do with that!’
Morgan held up a hand for his son to calm down. ‘You got a fair price in San Antone, but I don’t care for this stuff with the Injuns.’
Blaine waited.
‘Your tribe, weren’t they?’ Blaine nodded and Morgan sat back in his chair. ‘Don’t look good, does it?’
‘Depends what you believe.’
‘I believe it seems mighty strange that he left the crew in town, Pa – like keep ’em outta the way so they can’t tell their side of the stampede story – and tomorrow, after he’s paid for their booze….’ He shrugged. ‘They’ll likely go along with anythin’ he says.’
‘That’s a nice, devious mind you got there, Lucas,’ opined Blaine.
‘Why’d you beat-up on Waco?’ asked Morgan, scowling.
‘For setting fire to the hay wagon.’
‘I never did that!’ Waco snapped, rubbing his aching jaw, looking at Lucas first, then Morgan. ‘Boss, I just happened to be the one saw it burnin’ – and I saved that damn lazy Mex’s hide! Ask me, he coulda started it, tossed a cigarillo butt into it or somethin’.’
‘Fernie doesn’t smoke,’ Blaine said quietly.
‘I’ve seen him smoke!’ Waco said forcefully, turning to Lucas who nodded slowly.
‘Believe I have, too.’
Blaine’s face gave nothing away.
‘Or it coulda been a fire arrow from them damn Injuns you had waitin’,’ Waco allowed, looking pleased with himself at the notion. ‘Hell, there was lightnin’ about – fire arrow coulda dropped right into that hay durin’ a lightnin’ flash – I reckon them Injuns’d be rat-cunnin’ enough to time it just right.’
‘You’re pushing a wagon uphill with the brakes on, Waco,’ Blaine said. ‘Why don’t you get outta here before I throw you out?’
Morgan’s eyes blazed. ‘The hell you think you are, mister! This is my office! I’ll say who stays and who goes – and right now I reckon it’d be better for you to go. I’ll see you in the mornin’ and if you got nothin’ particular to do before you turn in, you might pack your warbag … Just in case….’
Morgan’s face was like the sky before a twister of devastating size swept in: cold, dark, implacable, and deadly dangerous. He was reckless now, as well as mad, prepared to cut his losses by firing Blaine if the moment suited him.
Blaine let his single eye rake across Waco and come to rest on Lucas, who flushed uncomfortably.
‘See you in the morning then, Morg – matter of fact, I think I’ll ride into town and have a few drinks with the boys.’
They watched him go and then Morgan, mouth dry, unable to hold off any longer, stood and went to his cupboard. He poured three stiff drinks, tossed his down and poured another. He jerked his head at Waco who took a glass for himself and handed the other to Lucas.
‘You really thinking of kicking that breed off Broken Wheel at last, Pa?’ Lucas sounded eager for an affirmative.
Morgan drank and sloshed more whiskey into his glass. Waco gestured to Lucas, arched his eyebrows and nodded towards Morgan – who saw him and snarled. ‘What’s that mean? That stupid look you’ve got on your face?’
Waco, taken by surprise, bristled. ‘It ain’t stupid – I ain’t the one gettin’ pie-eyed.’
Morgan ground his teeth. ‘Out! Get him out of here, Lucas! Kick him off the place! I’ve had a bellyful of him!’
Waco glared at Lucas. ‘Wait a minute! I’m owed money here! We had a deal, Luke!’
‘Shut up!’ gritted Lucas but he saw his father stiffen: there was nothing wrong with the Old Man’s hearing,
‘What’s this? What “deal”?’
Lucas grinned crookedly. ‘Not “deal” really, Pa….’
‘Yeah! a goddamn deal!’ Waco snapped. ‘You promised me two hundred bucks, minimum, if I …’
‘Shut up, damn you!’ Lucas squared up to his father, heart pounding. ‘Look – I had a hunch Blaine was gonna try somethin’ with that herd – I knew he was going through White Creek where his Injun friends are so I just told Waco to keep an eye on things … and to report back to me.’
Morgan had even forgotten he was holding an empty glass in one hand and part-bottle of whiskey in the other as he narrowed his eyes. ‘Two hundred
bucks – just for that? You’re lyin’, boy! An’ you know what I think of liars and what I do to ’em!’
That startled Lucas and his heart beat even faster. Christ, the whippings he’d taken when he was growing up – the humiliation of having to drop his trousers and have his butt welted by the Old Man’s belt in front of the men – in front of Blaine!
Never again! He’d sworn it when he turned twenty that never again would the Old Man lay a hand on him that way. He glanced at Waco, saw the man’s stupid look, wondering just what kind of a clash he was going to see between father and son here – something to talk about, to spread all over Texas in his drunken rantings….
‘I ain’t lying!’ Lucas shouted at his father, his face reddening, shocking himself at his temerity. But it was too late now to withdraw the words and his father’s jaw jutted, he hurled his bottle and glass into a corner and turned and reached for a bridle where it hung on the wall.
‘No!’ shouted Lucas. ‘You ain’t gonna whup me, Pa!’
‘Drop your trousers, boy!’
Morgan strode around the desk, bridle raised and Lucas made a whimpering sound, snatching at his gun. Morgan’s eyes widened at first, then narrowed to mocking slits. ‘You don’t have that much guts, boy!’ And he slashed with the bridle. Lucas jumped back and the leather tore the gun from his shaking hand. He threw up his arms, whimpering as the old terror of his youth came flooding back. Until the thunder of three deliberate shots filled the room.
Slowly, he lowered his arm from across his eyes and he saw his father on the floor, blood pooling around his head and crawling from two holes in his back. Lucas, white and trembling, turned and saw the smoking pistol in Waco’s fist.
‘Jesus! You’ve killed him!’
The man smiled crookedly. He stepped forward and dropped something on the floor by Morgan’s body.