The Second Western Novel

by Matt Rand

  “Yeah,” McKeon scoffed. “Now, wait’ll you hear the way he tells this part of it”

  Dobie paid no attention to McKeon.

  “It’s a wagon train o’ women, all women, too, ’cept maybe for the men drivers an’ the guides. I never saw so many women in one place an’ all at the same time in my life. There musta been thirty or maybe forty o’ them.”

  “But what were they doing there?” Janey wanted to know.

  “Headin’ for California,” Dobie answered. “Goin’ out there to get married.”

  “Oh, I see!”

  “Whole trainloads o’ th’m used to go out that way. The men would get themselves set out there, then they’d write home an’ say they’re lookin’ for wives an’ send money for ’em to come out. Y’see? Anyway, this bunch o’ women is standin’ outside the window, an’ they’re gigglin’ their heads off. Your ol’ man was too long for the bed, so he’s got his feet stickin’ out through the bars, an’ one girl, a kinda cute lookin’ one as I remember her, managed to get her hand inside the busted window, an’ she’s ticklin’ Pop’s feet, an’ he’s squirmin’ around in his sleep.”

  “Oh, no, Dobie! Not Dad!”

  “I’m tellin’ you,” Dobie insisted. “Anyway, they don’t see me, an’ to be sure they don’t, I roll under the bed. Then I work my way backward till I’m free o’ the bed an’ outta sight. I never got into my clothes faster’n I did that time. I wake your father, an’ he gets so blamed flustered an’ excited, I have one heckuva time gettin’ him untangled. Between his long drawers an’ the bed clothes, I dunno which is which. He makes one leap outta the place through the back door. We didn’t stop runnin’ for at least a mile, an’ chances are we wouldn’t’ve stopped even then, only I was laughin’ so much I fell on my face.

  “Afterwards, when we figgered the wagon train musta gone on, an’ it was safe for us to go back an’ get our gear an’ horses, we sneaked back in, got our stuff an’ hightailed it.”

  “That’s the damnedest cock-an’-bull story I ever heard!” McKeon said grumpily. “Janey, it’s late. If you’re gonna get up early tomorrow mornin’, I think maybe you oughta be—”

  “Wait a minute, John,” Dobie interrupted. “Janey, how ’bout you ridin’ up with me to the Cox place tomorrow morning, huh? Maybe they need a hand, y’know? What do you say? Awright?”

  “She’s going with me!” McKeon hollered.

  Dobie turned his head and looked up at John. “That so? I’ll betcha anything you like she’d a heap rather go with me.”

  “Why, you mangy old goat—!” McKeon sputtered. The old man came bounding up out of his chair, but Dobie, moving with surprising alertness, was down the veranda steps and out of reach before John realized it. McKeon glowered at him.

  Dobie hitched up his levis. “Too bad, Janey,” he said. “I know you won’t enjoy yourself with him along the way you woulda with me. But he’s your old man, so I don’t suppose you can do anything about it ’cept go with him.”

  Janey arose. “I’m going to bed, boys,” she announced. “You two behave yourselves. Good night, Dobie.”

  “’Night, Janey,” the foreman responded.

  “Good night, Dad,” Janey said. She turned to him, kissed his cheek and went into the house.

  Dobie sauntered off toward the gate.

  “You turnin’ in so early?” McKeon asked.

  “Nope. I thought you were,” Dobie answered, stopping and turning to him. “You’ve got a long ride ahead o’ you, so maybe you oughta be gettin’ yourself some rest.”

  “I’m not sleepy yet,” McKeon said.

  Dobie came sauntering back to the veranda. “I think she got a laugh outta that story,” he said. “I kinda thought it might do her good. Y’know?”

  McKeon grunted but said nothing. “Oh, I forgot to tell you this before,” Dobie said. “Lenny Hammis came around lookin’ for twenty head. I cut th’m out’ve that stock we bought at auction, an’ I let him have them. Got a pretty good price for th’m. Lenny’ll pay the bank, an’ they’ll let you know it’s been credited to your account. When you figgerin’ on goin’ tomorrow, John?”

  “Right after breakfast. Shouldn’t oughta be so hot that early in the day.”

  “Uh-huh. Get you to Cox’ place somewhere’s around noon.”

  “That’s about when I figger. Janey an’ I’ll take the buckboard. You’ll hafta ride your horse.”

  “Y’ mean you want me to go along, too?”

  “What in blazes d’you think I mean? Just see to it that we don’t hafta wait breakfast f’r you like we did this morning. Y’hear?”

  Dobie looked up at McKeon and smiled. “I’ll be waitin’ for you to come downstairs tomorrow morning,” he replied. “G’night, John.”

  “G’night, Dobie.”

  The two men parted then, McKeon turning toward the door and Dobie toward the gate, but Dobie stopped again, abruptly, and looked back over his shoulder. “Hey, John!”

  “Yeah?” McKeon stopped a stride from the door.

  “We sure had some times f’r ourselves, didn’t we, when we were young?”

  “We did, awright,” McKeon answered.

  “Somehow, the young fellers don’t seem to get anywheres today, y’know?”

  “I know.”

  ‘They don’t seem to have any o’ the old get-up-an’-go we used to have.”

  “Must be the soft livin’ that’s spoilin’ them.”

  “Must be,” Dobie agreed. “Well, go ’head. G’night.”

  “G’night, Dobie. An’ remember what I said.”

  Dobie didn’t answer. He laughed softly to himself, pushed out through the gate and trudged away.

  The foreman slowed his stride when he came abreast of the corral and looked up at the men who were still idling in front of the enclosure. “What d’you say, you fellers?” he called. “Gettin’ late, y’know. Time to be turnin’ in. Tomorrow morning’ll be around before you know it, an’ we’ve got work to do, same as always.”

  “We’ll be along in a minute, Dobie!” someone answered. Dobie grunted and went on to the bunkhouse.

  * * * *

  The miles dropped away as the swift-running horse maintained his pace. Millie Cox, riding behind Moore, with her arms around his waist, had been completely silent.

  “Still with me?” Dave asked. “Haven’t heard a peep out’ve you since we got started.”

  “I’m sorry,” Millie said. “I guess I haven’t felt very talkative.”

  “You’re all right though, huh?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “About these friends o’ yours,” Dave said. “The ones we’re headin’ for now. Think you’ll be all right with them, huh?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “What’s their name?” he asked.

  “It’s a her, Janey Fowler. She was married to Lee Fowler. They separated some time ago. Janey’s a grand person, and I know I’ll be welcome in her home.”

  “Wait a minute now! Y’mean it’ll be just you an’ her alone?”

  “Oh, no!” Millie said quickly. “Janey doesn’t live alone. She lives with her family; her father and her four brothers.”

  “Oh,” Dave said, obviously relieved.

  “They have a big place,” Millie went on. “The Box-Dot it’s called. It’s the biggest ranch in the county.”

  “You don’t say!”

  “They employ a lot of help, twenty or maybe twenty-five people in all.”

  “That’s a lot o’ people to hafta pay when the first o’ the month rolls around,” Dave observed.

  “Yes, I suppose so. Nobody would dare come after me there.”

  “That’s good. Wouldn’t wanna be leavin’ you where that Fowler outfit could get their hands on you.”

  “They keep their distance from the McKeons, believe me.”

  “The McKeons?” he repeated. “Oh, they the ones who own that—that Box-Dot?”

  “Yes. That is, John McKeon owns it. He’s Janey’s father.
” The two rode on again in silence.

  “What are you planning to do?” Millie asked after a while.

  “Me?” Dave’s shoulders lifted. “Dunno yet.”

  “Didn’t I hear someone say you come from Colorado?”

  “That’s right. I do.”

  “Well, you can go back there, can’t you?”

  “Haven’t got anything there to go back to,” Dave said simply.

  “What about your family?”

  “Haven’t any.”

  “Oh!” Millie said. “I didn’t understand. I’m sorry”

  “Nothing for you to be sorry for. You didn’t have anything to do with it. Y’see, my folks died when I was about twelve. First my mother and then my father, about three months apart. There was some talk about me goin’ back to my father’s people in Illinois, but they had all they could do to take care of themselves without havin’ another mouth to feed. So I stayed put. I worked wherever I could, an’ kept on with school whenever I could get to it. It—it was pretty rough going for a while. I c’n still remember a lot o’ times when I didn’t have any place to sleep and not too much to eat, either. But I managed, somehow, an’ I got along.”

  “It must have been awful for you, particularly in the beginning.”

  “It was,” Dave said grimly. “I wouldn’t recommend it for anybody. I’ve been workin’ on ranches since I was fourteen,” he continued. “An’ I had to do a man’s work in order to keep the job, even though I didn’t always get a man’s pay. But I never stayed on those jobs very long. A year on this one; six months or maybe nine months on the next, and so on. Then after a while, when I was about twenty, I guess, it began to worry me. I don’t like being a drifter. A man should find himself a place an’ stay put there. He should take root somewhere and grow.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-two,” Dave replied. “Why?”

  “That really isn’t very old, is it? I think there’s still time for you to find a place and grow in it.”

  “I hope I do one o’ these days. That is, I hope I find a place I’ll really like to be part of. When I find that kind o’ place, they’ll have to use dynamite to uproot me.”

  Millie didn’t say anything, but she was deeply moved. “Had an idea I’d like to see what it’s like in California, or maybe Texas,” Dave told the girl. “Then after thinkin’ about it, I kinda decided I’d forget about California an’ head for Texas. It’s big down there, got lots an’ lots o’ room, an’ the ranches, accordin’ to what I’ve been told, are big ones so they must be able to pay good wages. That’s for me, all right. I’m willing to work hard if I get paid right. So it’ll be Texas, an’ maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for down there. I sure hope so.”

  “How soon do you plan to go there?”

  “I’d like to leave here right this minute,” Dave responded. “But I can’t. I gotta see this killing business through.”

  “Isn’t that being rather foolish? You had nothing to do with it. Why look for trouble?”

  “I’m funny that way, I guess. When I get into something, on my own, or however I get into it, I don’t like to pull out till I know everything’s been straightened out, an’ nobody c’n ever point a finger at me or even look at me funny-like an’ wonder. What about you, Millie? After this thing is over, I mean.”

  “Oh, I’ll be all right.”

  “That isn’t what I mean. You’ve got a ranch. What are you gonna do about it? You’re not just gonna leave it lay, are you?”

  “No,” Millie said. “Of course not!”

  “Then what’ll you do, sell it?”

  “I wouldn’t want to do that,” Millie said quickly.

  “All right, but you’ll have to do something about it.”

  “I know,” the girl said wearily, “but I don’t want to have to think about it right now. I don’t want to have to think about anything.”

  “I didn’t mean that you had to make up your mind right this minute,” Dave said hastily.

  “I was born on the ranch,” Millie said. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known or ever had. Then, too, my parents are buried on the place.”

  “You could get somebody to run it for you, y’know. That’d probably be the best way. Only trouble with that would be you’d hafta find a place to live.”

  “Yes,” Millie conceded. “But first I’d have to find a couple of good, reliable men. Most of the men I’ve seen around here recently, those looking for work, well, they didn’t look like the kind you’d trust with anything. They were just drifters.”

  “Like me,” Dave said bitterly.

  “I didn’t mean that. Besides, I don’t think you’re a drifter at all,” Millie said severely. “You simply haven’t found anything worthwhile yet; that doesn’t make you a drifter. I’m sure that one of these days you’ll tie up with a good outfit, and you’ll be happier than you’ve ever been.”

  “I hope so. Least, I’ll keep tryin’ to find that kind o’ place. By the way, we getting near that—that Box-Dot?”

  “We’re getting nearer to it,” Millie answered, “but we’ve still got quite a long way to go.”

  Dave suddenly became aware of the fact that the horse had slowed his pace, and that now he was merely trotting rather than running. “How do you like that?” Dave asked, over his shoulder.

  “What is it?” Millie asked quickly.

  “Oh, then you didn’t notice it either!”

  “What?”

  “We got talking, an’ we forgot about everything else, an’ I just realized what was going on.”

  “Realized what?”

  “Notice how slow we’re going now?”

  “Oh!” Millie said. “Well, you’ve got to expect that. A horse gets tired, too, ’specially when he’s carrying two people on his back instead of one.”

  “I won’t push him. I’ll give him a chance to get his wind.”

  “Moore—”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I’d be lots more comfortable if I could sit in front of you. Would you mind?”

  “Nope.”

  Dave pulled the horse to a stop and helped Millie down. Then he lifted her again and settled her in front of him. “There y’are,” Dave said. “That better?”

  “Oh, yes, much better, thank you.”

  Dave jerked the reins, and the horse went on again. He made no attempt to urge the animal to go faster than he was inclined to go. When he felt better, he would quicken his pace of his own accord.

  “What’s your first name?” Millie asked.

  “Huh? It’s Dave.”

  “Do you mind if I call you that instead of Moore?”

  “I wish you would,” Dave replied. “I call you Millie, don’t I? Tom said that was your name, an’ I took it for granted I was to call you that, an’ I did. Mind tellin’ me how old you are, Millie?”

  “I’m nineteen.”

  “I used to know another girl named Millie, an’ I think she was about nineteen, too.”

  “What was the rest of her name?”

  “Lemme see now, Oh, yeah! Courtney.”

  “Millie Courtney,” she repeated. “That has a nice sound to it. Did you—know her well?”

  “Oh, pretty well,” Dave replied. “I used to see her most every time I got to town. She looked something like you, y’know?”

  “Really?”

  “’Cept that she was blonde.”

  “Most men like blondes, don’t they?”

  “I dunno. I like some other kinds, too. F’r instance, brown hair is nice; it has a nice, soft look about it. Like yours.”

  “What did she do in town? Did she live there, or did she work?”

  “Both. She worked in a dance hall, an’ she lived upstairs.”

  “I see.”

  “But something happened to her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when she first started workin’ there, she was nice an’ fresh looking, and then all uva sudden, she seemed to get aw
f’lly hard looking.”

  “I imagine the kind of life those girls have to live has a lot to do with that.”

  “Oh, sure!” Dave said. “They drink a lot, an’ that can’t do th’m any good. No more good than it does a man.”

  “Dave, what are you going to do?” Millie asked. “I mean, after you drop me off at Janey’s place.”

  “Guess the only thing I can do is head for town.”

  “But do you think you’ll be all right there!?”

  Dave’s shoulders lifted again. “Dunno till I see what’s doing there,” he answered.

  “Will I see you again?”

  “If you want to.”

  “I’ll want to know that you’re all right. Will you come and see me at Janey’s?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “Why, whenever you want to,” Millie said.

  “Swell,” Dave said. “Sure I’ll come.”

  “Have you any money, Dave?”

  “Got a couple o’ months pay on me. Say, maybe I oughta give you part of it? You oughta have something with you, just in case. Y’know?”

  Millie turned around to him. “In case of what?” she asked.

  “I dunno. In case you need some. That’s all.”

  “I won’t need any money while I’m with Janey.”

  “Well, suppose you wanna buy something? Say, maybe some stuff to make a dress?”

  “It’s awf’lly sweet of you to offer me your money, Dave.”

  “Heck,” Dave said. “Look, I’ll be better off with only part of it. You keep the rest for me. If I need any of it, I’ll come and get it, and if you need any, you’ll have it. All right?”

  “Suppose I spend it all?”

  “Then I’ll have to go get me a job an’ make some more.”

  “Do you always trust everyone like that, Dave?”

  “Nope. Not everyone.”

  “Yet you’re willing to trust me, and you never saw me before this morning. How do you know I won’t—?”

  “You won’t,” Dave said simply. “You aren’t the kind. Look, Millie, I’ve been thinking of something else while we were talking. When everything’s straightened out, an’ if you decide to keep the place, how’s chances of me working for you?”