Buchanan's Seige

by Jonas Ward

"Trevor," growled Crane. "Kovacs, a damn farmer. The Whelans, a couple bums from no place. Pig farmers. Women."

  "And Buchanan," said Bradbury.

  "Agh, you've turned against us," cried Crane. "Come on, let's get away from this. We got to figure somethin'.

  They went away toward the knoll. Two more wagons came through the woods, plodding along, bringing more gunners. Bradbury shook his head, watching them. Riff-raff, saloon dregs, saddle bums, he thought. They were scraping the bottom of the barrel. The world had gone loco and he sat in the middle of it, helpless.

  He thought of Consuela and their children, of his hacienda and the money in the bank and the cattle roaming the range. He had enough, he had made it all the way. He wondered why he was here with these people formerly his friends and associates. It was a nightmare.

  The fever was on, the people in the stone house had to sacrificed. But for what? Fox and Crane were wealthy enough. Pollard had a fine job at the ranch. What had got into them all that they should strive to own the entire country, that they should hang Adam Day and burn out Trevor and come here to kill?

  His stomach turned over. Now he knew he could not sleep even if he had the opportunity, even if there was not a rifleman watching him every moment.

  The night went away. Badger came in at noon. He simply walked to the back door, the long rifle cradled. The mule was not in sight. Coco saw him first and blinked.

  "Man, you IS a ghost."

  "Y' larn out there," Badger told him." You don't want to be seen, then they don't see you."

  "That's a trick I'd like to learn," said Coco. "They seen me too good." He was still hobbling, still bent to the aches of his ribs.

  Amanda bustled with food for the mountain man. Raven came in and sat close to him. They seemed to be able to communicate without speech.

  "Buchanan asked, "How is it with them?"

  "They still bringin' in men. They got a reg'lar army out there all right."

  "If you got a notion, I'd admire to hear it."

  "None whatsoever. 'Ceptin' you got a place, here, they got to get to it." He unslung a large leather pouch. Raven took it and removed various rootlike plants and leafy herbs. "Can you stay alive long enough, somethin's bound to give."

  "Could you get the women out?" Buchanan asked.

  "Might could after dark tonight."

  Amanda said, "Not me. Not Jenny."

  "Raven could go," said Buchanan. The Indian girl was already at the stove, separating the plants, scrutinizing them closely, working with a sharp paring knife. "She gets her medicine brewed, she can tell the others what to do. I don't see any reason a Crow gal should stick here."

  The Kovacs looked stricken. Raven gave them a loving glance but was silent at her labor.

  "Maybe I'm wrong," said Buchanan. He was already, distraught about Jenny and Pieter. "It's up to her."

  Badger ate. Buchanan was worried far more than he would allow anyone to see. There were Cactus and Sutter, now talking together in one of the bedrooms. True, he had saved Sutter's life, but he knew the way these men thought —it was on his orders that Sutter went to the house and was wounded. Neither of them were reliable. And Badger ... he was unpredictable, a man on his own, with his own philosophy.

  The mountaineer was saying, "The good Lord don't want them people to prevail. Trouble is, sometimes He ain't lookin' down on you all. . . . Got to figure, He's got plenty to worry about all over the world."

  "Never call on strangers when neighbors are near," suggested Buchanan.

  Trevor came into the kitchen for a bite to eat. "Right-o. One does the best he can and accepts the Lord's help with humble gratitude." He looked at Buchanan. "Thome's on the roof. I'll take him something to eat."

  "They're quiet out there," Buchanan replied. "I don't like that any time."

  A bullet sang its way through a window as if to prove him right. He did not like any of it. He went into the big room. Weevil was at a window with a rifle.

  "They'll be comin' again tonight," said Weevil.

  "Every night."

  Cactus called from the bedroom. Buchanan went in and looked at them, Sutter with his leg bound but seemingly able to move around.

  "Buchanan, we don't like this nohow."

  "You forgot the Alamo already?"

  "Maybe we don't have to run. Maybe we can palaver with 'em. Kovacs says they'll let the women go. That's a start of somethin', ain't it?"

  "It might have been. Now your boss is dead and a lot of them are dead. You don't hear them askin' for a parley."

  Sutter said, "We might could all make a run for it after dark."

  "That's been suggested," Buchanan told him. "Anything else on your minds?"

  “We just don't like the odds. Ain't enough fighters in here. Just about everything's wrong."

  "Uh-huh," said Buchanan. "You study on it. Then let me know what you decide."

  "I don't like the way that broke-down wrangler and the nigger look at us," said Sutter.

  "Seems like you're mighty sensitive," said Buchanan. "But I wouldn't mention it to them. They're kinda unhappy about bein' beat up and all."

  He left the discontented pair and went up the ladder and onto the roof. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and he needed action. He waited for a puff of smoke from the trees and took an offhand shot.

  A man came tumbling down. There were savage yells, and a flurry of shots rang off the stone of the house. He emptied his rifle at the spots where they came from and heard howls of pain. The firing from the trees ceased.

  Now they opened up from the knoll, which was far longer range. Still Buchanan persisted, not noticing the hog farmer who stretched alongside him, watching, eyes round. Elevating his sights, Buchanan poured lead atop the knoll. There was enough ammunition for a short siege, and he knew this one could not last long.

  Then suddenly he desisted. There was no way to know if he was doing any damage on that faraway hill. He was taking out his anger and puzzlement by his action, and it was not doing any particular good.

  Sonny Thorne said, "You sure put it to 'em, Mr. Buchanan."

  "Uh-huh."

  "I ain't sure I can hit a one of 'em. Pa shot at people in his time. I never did before now."

  "Comes a time." He knew here was another less than hearty fighter. Yet Sonny had not refused duty at any moment.

  "It keeps comin' back to me that you ain't got any stake here. It's just that you're mad at them for hangin' Adam and beatin' on your friend, the nigra and all."

  "It's enough,"

  "It wouldn't be enough for me," said Thorne frankly.

  The man could be right. Buchanan turned over and stared at the blue Wyoming sky, at the clouds, now white and fluffy, moving gently against the high heavens. "It's the way things are. Or the way they get to be." He tried to explain, then knew it wasn't any use. "We're here. We make a fight."

  "Yessir. You mind now if I go down and get a bite in my belly? Just thinkin' about it all makes me hungry."

  "Send Trevor up if he's ready," said Buchanan. He had to think, he had to work out defenses, a plan, something. Trevor was clever, he thought, maybe the Englishman could help. There were just too many guns out there and too little time to defend the house. He thought again of Durkin and his defiance and his misplaced bravery. It could happen to any of them who was not careful.

  And it could happen from within. He clearly saw the danger there; he knew that people with the best intentions could not withstand the terrific strain of continuous bombardment.

  He turned back to watch the trees and the marksmen who were concealed in them. They were beautiful trees, snd now they were scarred with bullets, with climbing up into them ... and falling down out of them. . ..

  Trevor was speaking with Amanda when Sonny Thorne gave him Buchanan's message. He nodded, listening half to the woman, half to the murmur of voices in the bedroom where Sutter and Cactus spoke together.

  Amanda was saying, "Buchanan seems to see it all clearly. It is the measure o
f the man."

  ""Ah, yes. He has been here and he has been there and he has profited by his coming and going, what?"

  "Yes. He is here. He will be gone."

  ""You divined that. Women! Bless 'em."

  "And damn them. According to their lights." She began to make a sandwich for Thorne.

  “I say," he began, and paused. "I do know how it must have been for you. I mean, Adam burning as he did, up with his ambition."

  He said quietly, "It burned him that Bradbury and the big ranchers looked down upon him. And . . . there were other factors, of course."

  "Yes, quite. It was evident."

  "Not to anyone else in Wyoming, I am sure," she said.

  "When you left. Should have kept goin', you know. Wouldn't be in this mess, now, would you?"

  "There is a principle here," she told him. "The land that was Adam's is now mine."

  "You'll not live on it."

  "No. But I must defend my right to it, to the farm, to everything. Maybe Adam was wrong-headed. He did not deserve to be lynched."

  The rumble of conversation continued in the bedroom. Trevor said, "What one deserves and what one gets . . . ah, well . . ." He gestured. "Those two men. They'll bear watching. And Pieter, what of Pieter?"

  "I agree about Durkin's men. And the Kovacs are not themselves. In shock, perhaps."

  Trevor said, "I really had better speak with Buchanan. Excuse me, please?"

  He smiled at her, then went up the ladder with his rifle. Amanda put the bread and meat in front of Thome, wiped her hands on the apron she had borrowed, and went into the big room. Weevil was at one window. The other was unprotected for the nonce. Coco was reloading a rifle, gingerly but with precision.

  "Guns," he muttered. "All the trouble comes with 'em,"

  "You're right," said Amanda.

  He stared at her. "You the only one believes me."

  "There's one small problem," she said. "If we had guns, and they had all those people out there without guns... they could come and take us."

  "But they couldn't shoot us."

  "No," she said. "They would use rope."

  Coco bowed his head. "Maybe you right, too. It's just, I see so much harm done by the guns."

  "Not the guns. The people who handle them." Then she was ashamed for having taken the tutorial stand with the gentle black giant. She asked, "Aren't you a champion?"

  "I am the champion prizefighter of the entire West.” said Coco. He straightened his back. He popped his eyes. "You know what? This champion couldn't stand straight yesterday. That lil ole Indian gal, she said today it would be different. And it is!"

  "Indians have their ways of healing," said Amanda. "Raven has a reputation in this country. Dan Badger seems to help her whenever he's needed."

  "This here's a queer crowd," Coco said. He looked back into the kitchen where Raven and Badger were attending to the herbs and roots stewing on the stove. Them two, they truly know somethin'. And that pair, the Whelans, they stick together like glue, don't they?"

  "A queer crowd," she repeated. It was, indeed. "I guess it all comes down to Buchanan. Either he pulls us out of it or there'll be no crowd."

  Coco said, "Tom will think of somethin'. He always, does. Thing is...." He paused.

  "Yes?"

  Coco spoke softly, "Ain't no guarantee some of us won't be hurt bad. Includin' Tom Buchanan."

  "Yes. Of course." She went again to the kitchen. Neither Raven nor Badger spoke to her.

  The Kovacses were in their bedroom, now vacated by Coco and Weevil. They sat close together, saying nothing.

  Only the two cowboys talked, and Amanda could not distinguish what they were saying. She was afraid it was something she should overhear and report to Buchanan. She made more sandwiches and asked Sonny Thorne to carrie them out to the Whelans in the barn. Then she went into the big room and stood beside the unguarded window with a rifle in her hands. She did not fire at anything but it made her feel better . . . useful . . . to stand

  8

  Bradbury was watching the sun fall toward the western mountain range, wondering if he would see it rise the next morning. A wagon driven by Toad Tanner and Dab Geer pulled in. There were half a dozen men aboard, singing, drinking and waving bottles. There were two barrels of whiskey in the wagon body.

  Fox said, "Got it, didja?"

  " Twarn't easy." Old Dab Geer scowled. "Them damn saloonkeepers wouldn't sell us none."

  "Not even Noonan?"

  "Not neither of 'em."

  "You didn't cause trouble?"

  "Hell, no." He motioned toward Tanner. "He 'membered the hotel. Just walked in and he'ped ourselves."

  "Got it from ol' Weevil's place, huh?"

  "You betcha. Had good whiskey, Weevil did, better'n the saloons. We watered one barrel some. Too good for them bums over there."

  "Don't give 'em any 'til dark, you hear?" Fox said. "Just enough to stir 'em up for the charge."

  "Be hard to keep 'em from it."

  "Put a guard on it. And don't belt any more of it your own selves, neither."

  "Got enough in us now, Boss."

  The wagon lumbered away with its drunken load. Bradbury looked after it, disgusted.

  "Damn fool mistake," he said. His eyes burned and he felt shaky, but he was awake. "Whiskey and war don't go together, no matter what anyone says."

  Morgan Crane yelled, "You set there and run down every damn thing we do. By God, I don't know about you, Brad. By God, you ain't with us."

  "And haven't been for some time." He was no longer frightened. He expected them to kill him sooner or later. There was always a guard lurking in the trees or sitting nearby. There had been no possible way he could have walked away.

  "Shut up, Morgan," said Fox. "Let's go over and make sure Dab and Toad don't start pourin' rum."

  They walked together through the trees. A rifleman nodded at them and sat watching Bradbury.

  "Looks like he'll have to go," said Crane.

  "Wait and see what happens when we get rid of them people down there."

  "I don't cotton to the way he stares at us. Nemmine what he says, which is bad enough. He could turn on like we said, make a heap of trouble. He ain't fired a shot y' know."

  "He's with us. He's a member of the association," said.| Fox. "He's in it, all right."

  "I still don't like the way he sets there, starin'." "Fret about that later." They walked on to the knoll.

  Bradbury sat on the log. He saw the guard in the woods. He surmised that Fox and Crane were discussing him. He was too weary to care at the moment. His spirits fell to new lows with each hour. He heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, which surprised him because the wagons were all at the scene of the battle now.

  As the last rays of the sun flickered through the trees, he saw the carriage, pulled by a matched team. Miguel Carranza was driving. It was Bradbury's own equipage.