by Matt Rand
Millie smoothed back her hair with her hands. “I’m so glad Dobie found Tom and Jed,” she said, “and that he took care of them.”
Janey nodded and wiped away a tear. She turned and parted the curtains and peered out. There was a tall figure idling in front of the corral. He glanced towards the house, then he backed a couple of steps. He turned and perched himself on the top rail, hooking his boot toes behind the middle rail.
“Dave’s up, too,” Janey announced over her shoulder. “Want to see him?”
Millie kicked off the sheet, jumped out of bed and came scampering across the room in her bare feet.
“Sitting on the corral rail,” Janey said. She moved a bit in order to give Millie a clearer view. “See him?”
“Oh, yes, I see him!” Millie answered. “Wait a minute. It looks like Dave, but now I’m wondering.”
“It’s the clothes he’s wearing. They’re Bud’s. Dad decided Dave could do with a change, and Bud provided the outfit. Why don’t you get dressed and join him. Give you a chance to get some air.”
Millie thought over the suggestion, and it pleased her. “I think I will,” she said.
“And I’ll see you later,” Janey said. With that she turned away from the window and went out of the room.
It was fifteen minutes later when Millie came down the path from the house. She emerged in the open, and Dave, spotting her, quickly jumped down and strode over to meet her. “Hi,” he said when they came together about a dozen feet from the gate.
“My!” Millie said. “You look positively scrumptious.”
Dave grinned at her. “I kinda feel scrumptious, too.” He looked down at himself and fingered the shirt he was wearing. “I dunno what this stuff is, but I’m willing to bet it costs plenty o’ dough. Bet it costs more’n what I pay for a whole outfit; boots, pants an’ shirt all put together. An’ lookit the buttons. Pearl, no less. An’ trick pockets. Little ones inside the big ones. An’ how d’you like the pants, huh?” He twirled to show them off.
“Very nice, Dave. Looks very nice on you.”
“Who’s this stuff belong to? Got any idea? Can’t be the ol’ man’s. He wouldn’t go in for anything like this.”
“They’re Bud’s.”
“Oh! One o’ the sons, huh? S’nice to be rich, y’know?”
Millie smiled fleetingly.
“You all right, Millie?” Dave asked. “You have a good sleep for y’self?”
“Oh, yes! And you?”
“I did a pretty good job for myself. Had some trouble droppin’ off, but once I got started, there wasn’t any stoppin’ me. They could’ve moved the barn, an’ I wouldn’t’ve known it. Look, I’ll be leaving in the morning. For a while there, I was afraid I wasn’t gonna get to see you before I left. But then I saw you comin’ down the path, and…” Dave’s voice trailed away into nothingness.
“Still determined to go back to town, Dave?” Millie asked, her troubled eyes probing his face.
“Where else can I go?”
“You can stay here, you know.”
Dave shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t work out. I’m indebted to the McKeons as it is,” he said, and he looked down at himself again. “I don’t want to pile it on. ’Course I’d forget everything an’ do just about anything to be near you an’ be able to see you, but like I said before, it wouldn’t work out. First thing I know, I’d be havin’ a run-in with McKeon, and I wouldn’t want that. I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you or make things unpleasant for you. So it’ll be better all around if I just clear out. You understand, don’t you Millie?”
“If I just knew you’d be all right,” Millie told him. “I’m afraid because of those Fowlers.”
As Dave looked down into the girl’s earnest young face, he could see the troubled look in her eyes, the same look he had seen in them the morning the Fowlers had attacked the house.
“Don’t worry,” Dave told her. “I’m not goin’ out of my way to find trouble, an’ I don’t aim to go lookin’ for the Fowlers. I’m not afraid of them, but I’m not fool enough to think I can take ’em all on.”
There was no comment from Millie.
“I’ll be out to see you regular,” Dave added. “That’s a promise. I don’t usually make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
“I’ll look for you, Dave.”
The young man nodded, turned with Millie and walked at her side to the corral. They stopped again in front of it. They stood there, looking at each other, each with so much to say to the other, he particularly, yet saying nothing. Then there were approaching footsteps, and they moved apart. Millie turned her head. Sing, smiling pleasantly as usual, came up to them.
“Mister Moore,” he said, “Mister McKeon said supper is ready. Will you come, please?”
“All right,” Dave answered. “An’ thanks.”
Sing left and Dave turned to Millie. “Waddaya know!” he said. “Special invitation.”
“Shall we go in?”
“Yeah. I think we’d better,” Dave said with a grin. “Before McKeon changes his mind.”
Millie and Dave were about halfway up the path when Dobie overtook them. “H’llo, young un,” he said to Millie and gave her a playful chuck under the chin. He turned to Dave and held out his hand. “I’m Dobie Cantwell, foreman of this outfit.”
“I’m Dave Moore.”
“I know,” Dobie said with a grin.
They gripped hands.
“I saw Sing come out to you folks,” Dobie told them. “That’s how I knew it was time for supper. S’matter, Moore? Think it’s strange, huh, for the foreman to take his meals with the boss’ family?”
“Why, no,” Dave said hastily. “’Course not.”
“I’ve been with John McKeon for forty years now.”
“That’s a long time.”
“You c’n say that again.”
“You must know him pretty well by now.”
“I do,” Dobie said calmly. “They don’t come any better or any fairer’n ol’ John McKeon. Oh, I know he likes to holler, an’ he always puts on that mad face, but he don’t mean either one. He’s got a heart as big as this whole spread. An’ let me tell you something else about him, son. If he thinks you’re all right, an’ he takes a shine to you, you c’n have anything he’s got. An’ in case you don’t know it, he’s got a-plenty!”
“That’s saying a lot for any man,” Dave said.
“I could say a lot more than that for John McKeon. But something tells me we’d better stop the gab an’ get inside. When supper’s ready, John’s the first one at the table, an’ he kinda expects everybody else to be right behind him. So because he don’t like to be kept waitin’, we’d better get goin’ before he starts hollerin’. Come on, you two.” All three trooped around the house to the rear. Dobie stepped ahead of them to the back door, opened it and held it wide. Millie went in, and when Dobie gestured, Dave followed her, hat in hand. Dobie himself came in behind him.
John McKeon was in his usual place at the head of the table. His head jerked around. He was frowning. “Gettin’ so, the first thing I know I’ll be havin’ my supper by myself,” he grumbled. “Where’s Janey, Millie?”
“Why, upstairs, I suppose,” Millie answered. “Shall I call her?”
“No. If she don’t know when to come down, she’d better find out f’r herself. An’ what’n thunder is keepin’ the boys, do you suppose?”
Before Millie could attempt an answer, there were voices and heavy footsteps from the direction of the stairs. Then there was a trooping into the kitchen, Janey leading the procession and her four stalwart brothers following her. Janey seated herself on her father’s right and Millie sat on his left When Janey motioned, Dave seated himself next to Millie, and she turned her head and smiled at him. The McKeon boys apparently had no assigned seats. Two of them simply sauntered around Dobie who was sitting at the far end opposite McKeon, rumpled his hair as they passed him and sat down on Dave’s side of the table; the o
ther two seated themselves on Janey’s side.
“Bud,” Janey said, and the husky young man who was sitting next to Dave, looked up. “Bud, I want you to meet Dave Moore.”
Bud and Dave turned to each other and shook hands.
“Thanks for the outfit,” Dave said.
“That’s all right,” Bud said. “Glad to be able to help out.”
“Charley,” Janey said.
The McKeon sitting next to Bud half got up, reached out and shook hands with Dave.
“Jim,” Janey said.
The third son was seated next to his sister. He thrust out his hand to Dave and gave him a smile.
“Nice to know you, Moore,” Jim said and nodded toward his brother who was sitting between Dobie and himself. “Denny, shake hands with Dave Moore.”
“Right,” Denny said, and he leaned across the table to grip hands with Dave.
“Well, now that we know each other,” Janey said.
“Yeah, let’s eat,” Bud concluded.
“What d’you say, Sing?” Denny called. “I’ve got something to do, so let’s get started, huh?”
“Hey, Bud,” Charley McKeon said. “You started to tell me about something that happened to you over to Dugas when you went there to get y’self a pair o’ boots.”
“Aw, it wasn’t anything worth bringin’ up now,” Bud answered, and Dave, glancing at him, thought he saw Bud wink.
“Come on,” Denny urged. “What are you holdin’ back for?”
“Sure,” Jim McKeon added. “What’s the story?”
John McKeon looked up. His eyes shuttled from one to the other. Only Dobie, as though he were suspecting something, offered nothing. He kept his eyes averted too.
“Well, all right,” Bud said, and he stole a sidelong glance at Dobie. Then he looked across the table at his brothers and grinned fleetingly. “After I got me the boots, I dropped in at the ‘Palace Bar’ for a glass o’ beer. I’m about halfway through with it when someone comes sidlin’ up to me. I look at her. It’s that redheaded one from the dance hall.”
“Hah,” Charley said. “This sounds promising. Go on, Bud.” Sing had even stopped serving. He was standing behind Janey, and he was listening attentively with a smile on his half-parted lips.
“You’ve all seen ’er,” Bud went on. “Made up like an Apache. Anyway, like I said, she sidles up to me and leans on the bar and says: ‘You’re one of the McKeons, aren’t you? Where’s your old man? How come all uva sudden he don’t come around any more?’”
Charley McKeon suddenly coughed. He coughed so hard, he nearly choked, and his brother Jim had to turn to him and whack him on the back till the spasm passed. Only Dave dared steal a look at John McKeon; he was wide-eyed, and he was reddening. Everyone else looked away.
“‘My old man?’” Bud repeated. “‘Lady, you’ve got the wrong party. Somebody’s been pullin’ your leg.’ The face under the war paint gets hard as nails. ‘Nobody pulls my leg, Sonny,’ she snaps at me. ‘Now get this, and get it right so you can tell your old man. Tell him Florabelle Riley says for him to get the lead out of his boots, an’ hustle himself over to Mama an’ do the right thing by her, or by God, I’ll go after him! He gave Mama a lot o’ sweet talk one night over at the Winton’s, at that party they threw in their new barn, an’ ever since Mama’s been ridin’ high up in the clouds. I want your old man to come get her down, and do what he said he was gonna do for her. Now, Mister, you gonna tell him, or will I hafta?’”
Bud took a look around the table to see the effect his story was having.
Charley got up from the table. He was choking. He stood with his back to the table and rocked with inward laughter.
“‘Oh, I’ll tell him,’” Bud related. “‘But I still think you’ve got the wrong party.’ She gave me a hard look ‘Sonny, your old man in the sixties? Has he got a droopy mustache?’”
“Why, you double-talkin’, double-dealin’ mangy ol’ coot!” John McKeon hollered as he got up on his feet. He was red-faced. He shook a thick finger at Dobie Cantwell. “Goin’ around sweet-talkin’ to widows an’ usin’ my name! Doggone you, Dobie Cantwell, I’ll peel the hide offa you!”
Dobie was flame-faced. He gulped and swallowed a couple of times.
“Now wait a minute, doggone it!” Dobie pleaded. “Give a feller a chance. It wasn’t my fault or even my doin’s. It was the Wintons who did it. It was Steve an’ his boys, Gil an’ Pete. This woman, this Florabelle’s mama, well, she’s new in Dugas, an’ when somebody told her some kind o’ cock-an’-bull story about me bein’ loaded with dough an’ on the lookout for a wife, she just about swarmed over me. That punch the Wintons had musta been awful strong stuff because you fellers know I don’t go ’round sweet-talkin’ anybody, an’ I don’t try passin’ myself off f’r somebody else. The Wintons musta told Mamie—”
“Mamie?” Bud repeated. “Who’s she?”
“Yeah,” Jim added. “She another one you sweet-talked that night?”
“Mamie is Florabelle’s mama,” Dobie said stiffly. “Like I started to say, the Wintons, playin’ the joke all the way up to the hilt, musta told her my name was John McKeon because all uva sudden everybody, includin’ Mamie, was callin’ me John an’ laughin’ it off when I asked th’m what was wrong with th’m.
“I tried to tell Mamie they were just pullin’ her leg, that I wasn’t John McKeon, that I didn’t own anything ’cept what I had on my back, an’ that the last thing I wanted was a wife,” Dobie sputtered. “She wouldn’t pay any attention to what I was sayin’. She kept insistin’ she was on to me. I was the shy kind, she said. So there y’are.”
“I dunno, Dobie,” Jim said gravely. “I wanna believe you, but your story don’t hang together.”
“The next time you’re in Dugas, Dobie,” Denny said, “you go see that lawyer feller, that Ed Farrell, an’ tell him what happened. But I’ll betcha I can tell you right now what he’ll say.”
“Yeah?” Dobie retorted. “What?”
“He’ll tell you a promise is a promise, ’specially when it’s a promise to a woman, and that you’ll hafta marry Mamie or else.”
“That Florabelle,” Bud said, and he shook his head. “She’s bad medicine, I’ll bet. I could see it in her eyes. Real meanness. I’ll bet she’s the kind that when she sets out to get something, she gets it. Seems to me, Dobie, she’s set on gettin’ you for a papa.”
“Somebody told me,” Charley said, turning around, “that when she was down in Texas, she had a run-in with the feller she was workin’ for, and that one day she came up to him, didn’t say anything, but she pulled out a gun and blasted him to bits.”
“That’s the part that bothers me,” Jim said gravely.
“How d’you mean?” Bud wanted to know.
“Well, I’m afraid that one fine day, out of a clear sky, too,” Jim replied, “she’ll come ridin’ up this way, pull a gun on Dobie an’ fill him full o’ lead.”
“Well, if that don’t teach him to watch his tongue,” Denny said, “then nothing will!”
There was a striding step outside on the gravel path, then there was a quick knock on the door. Everyone looked up, and almost everyone shot a quick look at Dobie who was flushed again.
“I’ll go,” Janey said. She got up and went forward to the door and opened it. A puncher stood outside.
“Excuse me, Miss Janey,” the fellow said, “but there’s a lady here to see Dobie.”
There was a momentary silence.
“A lady?” Janey faltered.
“That’s right, ma’am. Redheaded, an’ I think she looks kinda mad about something.”
“Th—thank you.”
The man wheeled away.
“Oho,” Bud said. “Florabelle!”
“Yeah,” Denny said, “and she’s mad.”
“I’m doggoned glad she didn’t come here to see me,” Charley said.
“That goes for me, too!” Jim said.
Everyone was looking at Dobie. The col
or had drained out of his face. Slowly he got up on his feet and made his way around the table toward the door. Janey, moving with it, opened it wide. Suddenly, Dobie bolted out, but instead of wheeling around the house and going down the gravel path, he ran northward. He was out of sight in a matter of moments.
“I guess I’d better go see what she wants,” Janey said.
“I’ll go with you,” Bud said and started to get up.
“No,” Janey said, stopping her brother. “I think I’d better see her alone.”
“Yeah, that might be best,” Charley said.
Bud shrugged and sat down again as Janey went out, closing the door behind her. A heavy silence filled the big room. The minutes passed slowly, tediously and almost reluctantly, and then they heard Janey coming up the path. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the door as it opened, and Janey came in. She closed the door, turned around, sank back against it and began to laugh uncontrollably.
“For Pete’s sake, sis,” Bud said impatiently. “What is it? What happened?”
“Yeah,” Charley said. “If it’s so funny, let us in on it, too.”
“Just a minute,” Janey managed to say. She dug in her pocket for her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Finally, composed, even though a little wilted from her laughter, she straightened up. “Walt till you boys hear this. It’s really the best ever.”
“Well, take your time,” Denny said. “’Most any time you feel like tellin’ us will do. Tonight, tomorrow or even next week.”
“It wasn’t Florabelle,” Janey announced.
“It wasn’t?” someone asked. “Aw, heck!”
“Who was it then?” Charley wanted to know.
“It was Mrs. Winton.”
“Oh,” Jim said, and his voice reflected the letdown feeling of the others as well as himself.
“What’d she want of Dobie?” Denny asked.
“It seems,” Janey began, and she began to laugh again. She checked herself and went on. “It seems Mrs. Winton is going to be in the market shortly for another husband.”
“Huh?” Bud asked a little blankly. “What’s the matter with the one she’s got?”