ReadWest

by Elmer Kelton

  ReadWest

  Stories of the American West

  Elmer Kelton

  John D. Nesbitt

  Don Bendell

  Mike Kearby

  Steven Law

  D. B. Jackson

  L. D. Clark

  N A S H V I L L E, T E N N E S S E E

  Goldminds Publishing, Inc.

  1050 Glenbrook Way, Suite 480

  Hendersonville, TN 37075

  “The Last Indian Fight in Kerr County”

  © Estate of Elmer Kelton.

  Published with permission.

  “LeBlanc Station”

  © 2012 John D. Nesbitt

  “Legend”

  © 2012 Mike Kearby

  “Forsake the Wicked”

  © 2012 Steven A. Anderson

  “Last of the Cowboys”

  © 2012 Dale B. Jackson

  “The Handshake”

  Copyright © 2012 Don Bendell

  “Reapers of the Whirlwind”

  © 2012 L. D. Clark

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Printed in the United States of America. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. www.goldmindspub.com

  John D. Nesbitt grabbed the attention of the Western writing community in 2009 and 2010 when he won three back-to-back Spur Awards for his novels and short fiction. Regarded as one of the freshest voices in the industry, Nesbitt is a perfect addition to this story collection, which represents the future of a classic genre. www.johndnesbitt.com.

  LEBLANC STATION

  Del Page rested his horse for a moment on the crest of a small rise. Ahead of him about half a mile, LeBlanc Station was visible in the first grey light of morning. The place didn’t consist of much. The main building was a frame structure where the original trapper post had stood. It faced south, and in back of it sat a stable and a set of corrals. Farther to the left, half a mile due north, a large rock mountain rose almost straight up. Page gave his horse a touch of the heel, and the two of them moved ahead in the stillness.

  The sky lightened above the hills in the east, and the huge slabs of rock on the mountainside took on a dull shine. The lines in the surface looked like blue veins on the fat of a hanging quarter of beef.

  Page slowed the horse as he approached the way station. The main building had an overhang that kept the front doorway in gloom at this time of day. Page caught a whiff of woodsmoke as he stopped the horse and swung down. Out of habit he touched the handle of his six-gun, and he was about to tie the horse to the hitching rail when the thump and scrape of an opening door broke the quiet of the morning.

  A shape appeared in the doorway, and a slender, bearded man in a dark coat and narrow hat stepped into view on the wooden porch. He held a rifle. “Where’d you come from?” he asked.

  “I rode in from the west.”

  “That road’s blocked.”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  The man’s eyes went from Page to the horse, where the dark stock of a rifle stood out against the grey coat of the animal. The man’s eyes came back. “What’s your name?”

  “Page. Del Page. Who were you expecting?”

  “No one.”

  Page let a couple of seconds pass. “I’ve told you my name. Maybe you can tell me yours.”

  “Snell.”

  “Do you run this place?”

  “Callahan does.”

  Page glanced at the rifle. Judging from Snell’s tenseness, he didn’t think the man wanted to use the gun. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said, “I’d like to turn my horse into a corral for a little while, let him rest and have a drink of water.”

  “Out back.”

  Page turned away and flicked the reins. The powdery grey horse backed up.

  “Put him in the first pen,” said Snell.

  Page glanced at the man. “How do you like working for Callahan?”

  “I don’t. That is, I don’t work for him.”

  Page led the horse around back. The sky in the east had turned scarlet, and the high wall of rock beyond the corrals showed a faint glow of pink. Page found the first pen empty, so he unsaddled his horse, left his saddle and scabbard on a hitch rack, and turned the horse into the pen. Two horses from the next corral snuffled and came close, and a lone horse from the last corral raised his head and looked across. Page spoke low to them, backed out, and slid the latch on the gate. A trough ran between the pens, and it had water, so Page left things as they were and went back around to the front door of the station.

  Inside, he found Snell and another man sitting at a small, square table. A longer rectangular table a few feet away had empty chairs around it, so Page took a seat there. In the murky lamplight he made out a counter and a doorway beyond it. Sound came from the area in back—a pan on a stovetop, then a voice. A man came out and stood at the counter.

  He was not wearing a hat, and he did not have an outdoor, weathered look about him. He was of middle height and average build, with straight, light-colored hair and a clean-shaven face. He had a rounded nose, a broad upper lip area, and round cheekbones, all with a light, smooth complexion and a flushed underglow.

  “’Nother pot of coffee comin’ up,” he said.

  Page saw that Snell and the other man had cups in front of them. He wondered if the three men had already finished off a pot of coffee. “Are you the proprietor?” he asked.

  “I’m Callahan.”

  “My name’s Page. I came in from the west. This man here tells me the road’s blocked.”

  “Could be.”

  “Why would they have it blocked?”

  “I guess they want to.”

  “Well, I hope they don’t give me any trouble. I’m travelin’ east, and I’d like to move on in a little while.”

  Snell spoke up. “It’s blocked that way, too.” He motioned at the man sitting across the table from him. “Grady and I got turned back yesterday.”

  Page sniffed. “From the looks of that mountain to the north, that leaves the south. How far is it to the river?”

  “Less than a mile,” Snell answered. “But the bridge is out. And the river’s too high.”

  “I believe that. I crossed it at Meyers yesterday. It was high, but I didn’t think it would wash out a bridge.”

  “It didn’t,” said Grady.

  The man’s surly tone caused Page to look at him. He was a long-faced man with drooping lower eyelids and a three-day stubble across his face. He had reddish-brown hair and a dark hat like Snell’s.

  Page sat back in his chair. “Sounds like I rode into a troublesome situation. I think I might want to move on as soon as I get something to eat.”

  “No hurry,” said Callahan. “Day’s young.”

  At that moment, a dark-haired person came out of the kitchen carrying a coffee pot. In better light, the dusky shape became a woman in a loose-fitting dress and apron. She took a coffee cup from the counter, set it on the table in front of Page, and poured it full. Steam rose from the dark surface and cleared away.

  Her eyes flickered toward Callahan and back to Page. “Don’t listen to him,” she said. “He’ll want you to help, and he’s not worth it.”

  “Shut up, C
laire.”

  She raised her chin, and her dark skin reflected the lamp light. “They’ve got you pinned down like a bug, Billy. Who do you think you can fool?”

  Callahan moved a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other without touching it. “I don’t have to fool anyone,” he said.

  “Well, you don’t.” Claire poured coffee for Snell and Grady, then Callahan, and went back to the kitchen.

  No one spoke for the next several minutes. Clattering sounds came from the kitchen, and the smell of fried food drifted on the air. The prospect of a meal stirred the emptiness in Page’s stomach and picked up his spirits.

  Claire brought out three plates of fried potatoes and bacon. She set one down in front of Page, then took the other two to Snell and Grady. A moment later she came back with a plate for Callahan, who ate standing up at the counter.

  As he caught various glimpses of the woman, Page thought there was something out of the ordinary about her. She was a good-looking woman, as nearly as he could tell with her loose dress and apron, but her posture was a little off. Her complexion didn’t quite fit this part of the country, either. She was dark, but not like Mexican and Indian women Page was used to seeing. He thought she might be Cajun or Creole, a long ways from home.

  After the forks had clacked on the crockery plates for a few minutes, Page spoke. “Mind if I ask a question?”

  “Go ahead,” said Callahan. “As you can see, people talk the way they want around here.”

  Page shifted his glance toward Snell. “Why did they turn you back rather than let you through?”

  “They had us bring a message back to Callahan.”

  “I see.” Page took a drink of coffee. “Are they waiting for an answer?”

  Callahan’s voice came up. “It’s a waiting game.”

  Page directed his attention toward the man at the counter. “If they’ve got men blockin’ the road on both sides of this place, I’d say they’ve got the advantage in numbers.”

  “Claire says there’s six of ’em. That would be three on each end.” Callahan’s voice sounded matter-of-fact as he poked his fork into a slice of fried potato.

  Page looked at his own plate, then back up. “I hope you don’t mind, but it’s in my best interests to know how things stack up.”

  Callahan drew his mouth downward. “Go ahead.”

  Page spoke to Snell again. “If you fellows don’t work here, then I gather you’re travelin’ as well.”

  “We come and go, and sometimes we work out of here. We’re horse buyers.”

  “Not for the Army?”

  “We sell to a man who sells to the British.”

  “I’ve heard of that. They say about three out of ten horses actually make it into service.”

  “That’s not our concern.” Snell took in a forkful and spoke around his food. “They tell us what to look for, and we try to find ’em.”

  “Sure.”

  “They’ve got to be at least fifteen hands high and four years old.”

  “Must be a good business.”

  “About half the time.” Snell leaned toward his plate and shoveled in another mouthful of grub.

  A sound came from the counter as Callahan laid his fork on his plate. “I’m goin’ to go out and feed the stock here. These folks can tell you what they wouldn’t say in front of me. Do you want me to toss some hay to your horse?”

  “That would be fine. Add it to my bill.”

  “I’ll do that.” Callahan put on a brown hat and went out through the kitchen.

  Page turned to Snell and Grady. “Well, who are these men who’ve got the road blocked?”

  Snell shook his head. “I don’t know enough to tell you.”

  “I take it they know Callahan.”

  Grady’s voice rose in a complaining tone. “He used to ride with them.”

  “Oh.”

  Claire came out of the kitchen with the coffee pot. Page assumed she had been listening, and for a second his eyes met hers. She paused at his table.

  “They’re right,” she said. “He used to ride with ’em. But he let ’em get sent up, and he kept the loot. Now they want to settle with him.”

  “And he doesn’t,” said Grady.

  Claire tossed her head. “He likes to do things his way. And he thinks he can keep on doing it.”

  Page frowned. “With six of them?”

  Claire’s dark eyes met his again. “It doesn’t sound like a good idea, but that’s the way he is.”

  “Are they trying to sweat him out, then?”

  “That was their first choice, but he turned it down.”

  Page waved at the other two men. “Does he think we’re going to take his side?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “He doesn’t care who he pulls into it. If it makes things more difficult, that’s his way.”

  “Well, I don’t know if that kind of idea is going to work.”

  Claire pushed out her lower lip and shook her head. “Neither does he.” She poured coffee for Page, then for the other two men.

  Page watched her figure as she went back to the kitchen. He turned to Snell and Grady, who were cleaning up their plates. “So what do you fellows plan to do, just wait?”

  Grady looked up with his drooping eyes. “Might depend on what you do.”

  Page didn’t have an answer, so he finished his meal in silence. As he was halfway through his cup of coffee, he heard the back door open. Callahan said something to Claire and came into the main room.

  “Pretty nice day outside,” he said as he hung his hat on a peg. “Clear sky, no wind.”

  Page addressed his question to the group in general. “Is there any kind of a trail over this mountain to the north?”

  Callahan pushed his lips out and shook his head. “Never heard of anyone takin’ it.”

  “I’ve heard there’s a way,” Snell said. “But you’ve got to be half goat to try it. Game trails, crevices, narrow paths along the face of the rock.”

  “I wonder if a horse could make it.”

  “Not with a man on board.”

  Page took a sip of coffee. “Maybe a man on foot, leadin’ a horse.” He moved his toes inside his boot and thought of how slick the sole was.

  “Lot of trouble,” said Callahan.

  “Just as soon have it there as here.”

  “You might not have to.”

  “Have you got a plan?” said Grady.

  “The day’s early. We’ll see.”

  Page got up from his chair. “I think I’ll go outside for a little while.”

  “You’re not leavin’ already, are you? I just gave your horse some hay.”

  “I need some fresh air and some space to think.” Page laid a silver dollar on the table. “Here’s this. I won’t leave without telling you.”

  He went out the front way and around back. The saddle and scabbard were where he had left them, and the grey horse was eating loose hay on the ground. Page leaned on the top rail of the corral and gazed off to the north where the slickrock mountainside shone in the sun. He wondered how hard the going would be. Snell had said game trails. There were places a deer could go that neither a man nor a horse could make it. And if he got stuck in a place and couldn’t go any farther, it would be a lot harder coming back down than going up, especially with a horse.

  He heard the door from the kitchen open behind him. He turned to see Claire taking a careful step down from the doorway. She wiped her hands on her apron as she walked across the dry, broken grass.

  “If you’re thinkin’ of how to leave,” she said, “it’s a good idea. Any way out of here would be. There’s no need for you to get mixed up in this.”

  Page let his hands rest at his sides. “That’s the way it seems to me. I don’t run from my own troubles, but I don’t like to take part in someone else’s.” He studied her dark eyes. “You seem to know him pretty well.”

  “I was married to a man who used to ride with the whole bunch of ’em.”

&nbs
p; “Did he get sent up, too?”

  “No, he got shot dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So was I. But they all know it can happen that way.”

  “Do you work for Callahan, then?”

  “I’m not his woman.”

  “I wasn’t askin’ anything that specific, as to whether you were or weren’t.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to know how things are.”

  “I suppose that’s true, though I usually don’t care to know any more about other people’s affairs than I have to.”

  “He doesn’t give a damn about me, and I wouldn’t want him to.”

  “That’s between you two. I don’t mind you telling me, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “To answer your question earlier, I do work here.”

  “I did ask that.”

  “I just thought there were a couple of things it would help you to know.”

  Page didn’t follow what seemed like a peculiar kind of repetition she came back to, but he said, “Well, I appreciate it.”

  “I told you the first part. The second part is that one of the men in that gang would like to have me for his own.”

  The comment gave him pause. “And Callahan is protecting you?”

  “Puh. He’d sell me out in a minute if he thought it would save his skin. I think he’s trying to decide the best way to do it.”

  “And I guess it goes without sayin’ that you’re not very fond of this other fellow.”

  “I should say not. Brewer’s a pig. He wanted me all the time Pross was alive, and his intentions haven’t gotten any better. So he’s got two reasons to want Callahan dead. The rest have got only one.”

  “And you’re telling me this so I’ll have a better idea of why I should want to get clear.”

  “That’s pretty much it.”

  “How about these other two, Snell and Grady?”

  “They’ll go whichever way the wind blows.”