Thunder Valley

by David Robbins

  “You’d better be,” Martha said.

  Roy nodded at Rondo and jabbed his heels. It wasn’t until they were on the road, heading west, that either of them spoke.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Rondo James said.

  “You sound like my wife. But I do. This is our home. It was our neighbors who were shot. If I don’t have to do this, who does?”

  Rondo made no reply.

  Roy wondered, though, if that was his real reason. He had to admit, it was exciting riding with one of the most famous shootists in the West.

  As if the Southerner were privy to his thoughts, Rondo said, “A man has to know when not to bite off more than he can chew.”

  “I’ll hold up my end,” Roy said, even though he wasn’t exactly sure what that would entail.

  Tom and Moses were digging when they got to the McWhirtle farm. One grave was done and they were working on the second. Both had stripped off their shirts and were sweating profusely.

  “As soon as you’re done, head for your own places,” Roy advised.

  Tom nodded and wiped his forehead with his forearm. “We aim to. The dead animals will have to wait until we call a meeting of every last man in the valley.”

  “We can’t bury all of them,” Moses said. “It would take a week.”

  “Think of the stink if we don’t,” Tom said.

  “We’ll deal with it when I get back,” Roy said. “First we catch the culprits.”

  “We don’t have time for all this gab,” Rondo James said.

  Roy wasn’t done. “If by some chance I don’t make it back, look after Martha and my family, will you?”

  “You can count on it,” Tom assured him.

  Moses nodded.

  Rondo wheeled his mount and used his spurs.

  Smiling grimly at his friends, Roy rode to catch up. Now that they were starting out, the risk he was about to take hit him with the force of a blow. They could be killed. Even the great Rondo James.

  “Are you all right?” the Southerner asked. “You’re lookin’ peaked.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  The tracks were plain enough that even Roy could follow them but he let the pistoleer do the honors. Whenever Rondo bent to examine the sign, Roy scanned the horizon for a glimpse of the killers.

  The four had struck off due west until they were past the last of the farms and then veered to the road and taken it toward Teton.

  “The nerve,” Roy said. “Riding right out in the open.”

  “No one knows what they did,” Rondo said. “We do, but we don’t know what they look like.”

  “You’re saying that if they reach Teton ahead of us, we’ll never find them.”

  “I’m saying we should ride like hell.”

  They did, and since Roy wasn’t the best rider in the world and had to concentrate to keep up, he didn’t notice a bank of dark clouds until Rondo pointed them out.

  Leagues to the west was a thunderhead; a storm front was sweeping down on Thunder Valley. In the spring storms were so common that ordinarily Roy didn’t give them a second thought. “That’s not good.”

  “It sure ain’t,” Rondo agreed.

  As if it were an omen, thunder rumbled.

  17

  Axel peered through his spyglass. He lowered it and raised it to his eye again and said, “I’ll be damned.”

  “What?” One Eye said.

  They had stopped on a low grade so Brule could tighten his cinch. Brule was always doing that. He claimed he could feel when it was loose but others suspected it had more to do with the time years ago when a cinch came loose and he took a spill and broke his left arm in two places.

  “Two riders are after us.”

  Brule looked up from his saddle. “The hell you say.”

  “Are you sure it’s us they’re chasin’?”

  “They’re ridin’ hell-bent for leather.”

  One Eye swore. “I told you we shouldn’t be takin’ our sweet time. But would any of you listen?”

  “I don’t run from farmers,” Ritlin said. He was leaning on his saddle horn and had that rare contented look he always had after he’d indulged in what he called his “fun.”

  “One of them might not be,” Axel said, his eye still to the glass. “They’re a long way off yet and it’s hard to be sure but I think one is wearin’ a slicker.”

  “Maybe a rancher,” Brule said, “or a cowhand who works for one of the ranchers.”

  “We should fan the breeze,” One Eye suggested.

  “Like hell,” Ritlin said. “We pick a spot and wait for them and shoot them to ribbons.”

  “Why do I have to keep remindin’ you that we’re not supposed to kill any of them yet?” Brule said.

  “A little late for that.”

  “Mr. Rank isn’t goin’ to like it,” Brule said. “He was plain as could be on how he wanted us to handle this.”

  Ritlin shrugged. “Rank’s not here.”

  “How long do you reckon we have?” One Eye asked Axel.

  “Half an hour, about.”

  Brule climbed on his mount and they rode until they came to where woodland brushed the road.

  “This should do,” Ritlin said. “Brule and me will take the right side, you two take the other.”

  Axel reined left into the trees and One Eye followed, muttering. They concealed their horses and sought cover close to the road. Finding suitable trees to crouch behind, they squatted with their rifles at hand.

  One Eye did more muttering.

  “What’s in your craw?” Axel asked.

  “I’m tired of those two lordin’ it over us,” One Eye said grumpily. “If one ain’t givin’ us orders, the other is.”

  “It’s Brule mostly,” Axel said. “And it’s not as if we have to go along with what he says.”

  “We don’t and Brule wouldn’t like it one bit. He reckons as how he’s the boss.”

  “You’re makin’ a mountain out of a molehill, like you always do.”

  “You think so? Buck them, then. I dare you to buck Brule or Ritlin and watch what happens.”

  “I’m not afraid of them.”

  “Me either,” One Eye said. “Well, maybe Ritlin, a little. He’s plumb loco.”

  “He can die the same as anyone.”

  “Will you listen to yourself? He’s loco but he’s also the quickest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen.”

  “There are quicker,” Axel said, his spyglass fixed on the road.

  “Not many. And that’s beside the point. The point is that the two of them are too damn bossy. If you don’t agree, fine. If you do, maybe we should start standin’ up for ourselves more.”

  “I stand up for myself when I have to,” Axel said.

  “Hardly ever, as I recollect,” One Eye said. “Come to think of it, of the three of you, I know less about you than I do Ritlin and Brule.”

  Axel looked at him. “How did that come up?”

  “You hardly ever talk. This is the most I can remember in all the time we’ve ridden together.”

  “You can shut up now,” Axel said.

  One Eye’s good eye narrowed and his face twisted with resentment but he didn’t say anything. He leaned against the pine and looked the other way.

  Across the road, Brule hollered, “Any sign of them?”

  “I can see them,” Axel answered, his eye to the spyglass. “They’ll be in range in a couple of minutes.”

  “Brule will pick ’em off with his Winchester as slick as can be,” One Eye predicted. “He’s the best rifle shot of any of us.”

  “There’s one better,” Axel said.

  “Who?”

  Axel didn’t answer.

  “You don’t mean you, do you?” One Eye scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, I ain’t ever seen you shoot a rifle. Our killin’s has mostly been done with six-shooters and knives, and that time I strangled that gal with a rope.”

  Axel was using his spyglass
again.

  “Damn,” One Eye said. “Now that I think about it, I ain’t ever seen you draw, either.”

  “They’re comin’ fast,” Axel said.

  “I remember you shootin’ folks but I don’t remember you drawin’. How can that be?”

  “You spend too much time in your head.”

  “What the hell kind of thing is that to say? What does it even mean?”

  “You don’t pay attention to what’s goin’ on around you,” Axel said.

  “Like hell I don’t. I pay as much attention as you do.”

  “No,” Axel said. “You don’t.”

  “You know, maybe it’s better when you don’t gab. You say strange shit.”

  A calm came over the woods. The trees were still, the birds and insects quiet. It was as if the wild things were holding their collective breath. But it didn’t last. There was a great sigh, as of air escaping from a bellows, and the tops of the trees swayed. Then it was the lower branches as the wind gradually increased in intensity. Overhead, the sky darkened by degrees. Black clouds scuttled in, replacing the fluffy white cumulus.

  “There’s a storm comin’,” One Eye said.

  “Didn’t you see it earlier?”

  “I was watchin’ behind us.”

  “I told you,” Axel said. “You don’t observe much.”

  “Go to hell.”

  The wind became a shriek.

  “I hate gettin’ wet,” One Eye said. “It’s why I don’t take baths.”

  “I hate sittin’ near you,” Axel said. “It’s why I don’t breathe deep when I do.”

  “Hell to you twice over,” One Eye said. “I never could stand it when my ma would shove me in a washbasin and scrub me until I was raw. She did a lot of things that riled me. It’s why I killed her.”

  A limb broke with a loud crack and tumbled from on high.

  “You should have seen the look on her face,” One Eye reminisced, and chuckled. “She could hardly believe it.”

  “They usually don’t. Most folks hope to live to a ripe old age.”

  “Not me. I don’t care when I die. Just so I don’t go lyin’ in bed.”

  “Oh?” Axel said, and set down his telescope and wedged his rifle to his shoulder.

  “I don’t want it to be slow,” One Eye said. “I’d like so there’s no pain.”

  “We don’t always get to choose.”

  “I know that, damn you. I’m not stupid.”

  “No one thinks they are.” Axel put his cheek to his Winchester. “Hush now. They’re almost on us.”

  One Eye peered through the trees.

  A pair of riders were approaching at a gallop. The wind was buffeting them so hard, they had to hold on to their hats.

  One wore a slicker and it was flapping like the wings of a bird trying to take flight.

  “They’ll ride right into our lead,” One Eye gloated.

  Axel gestured sharply and then became rigid. His trigger finger curled.

  One Eye sensed that he was about to fire and he tittered in anticipation.

  With a nigh-deafening crash of thunder and a blazing bolt of lightning, the deluge was unleashed. The rain fell in sheets, a seemingly solid wall of wet that cascaded like a waterfall.

  In a span of seconds One Eye couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. “Hell,” he said, and couldn’t hear his voice for the keening of the wind.

  Axel was suddenly at his side. He put his mouth to One Eye’s ear. “The rain ruined my shot. I’m goin’ to the road. Stay with the horses.”

  One Eye frowned. Once again someone was telling him what to do. He was about to say he’d go to the road too when he thought he heard a shrill whinny. He swore and got up and ran to his sorrel. It was skittish about thunderstorms, and it was stamping and pulling on the reins. Grabbing the bridle, he kept it from running off.

  The trees were having fits. Not far off there was the crash of one falling. Limbs snapped and crackled.

  One Eye was soaked, and hated it. He held on to the sorrel and cursed thunderstorms and skittish horses and stupid dirt farmers and Brule and Ritlin and Axel.

  One Eye kept expecting to hear the boom of shots. If not for the damn storm, the farmer and the cowboy would already have been blasted from their saddles.

  The rain was cold, and before long One Eye was shivering. He cursed his goose bumps, and promised himself enough hot coffee to drown an ox once they made it to town. To be followed by a night of whiskey and cards. Maybe he’d treat himself to a dove, too. He wasn’t like Brule, who liked pokes more than anything. Once or twice a month was enough for him. Ritlin didn’t do it that much, either, and when he did—One Eye almost pitied the women. As for Axel, One Eye had to think back. Now that he did, he couldn’t recollect a single instance of Axel ever payin’ for it, or, for that matter, ever lyin’ with a woman. That struck him as peculiar.

  As quickly as it swept down on them, the storm rumbled to the east. The rain went from a downpour to a drizzle. The wind was lessening, too.

  The sorrel’s eyes were wide but it had stopped shaking and stomping.

  One Eye let go of the bridle and ran for the road. He hurried around the last tree and almost collided with Axel, who was staring to the east, his rifle at his side.

  Across the road stood Brule. He, too, was looking back the way they had come.

  “What happened?” One Eye said. “Why didn’t you shoot them?”

  “There wasn’t anyone to shoot,” Axel said.

  Brule crossed over, saying, “I thought for sure we had them until that damn rain commenced.”

  “Maybe you just didn’t see ’em, the rain was so heavy,” One Eye said. “They could have gone right by and you wouldn’t know.”

  “They turned back,” Axel said.

  “That’s my guess,” Brule agreed.

  “Well, hell,” One Eye said. “Leave it to the Almighty to spoil our fun.”

  18

  Roy Sether was feeling glum as he rode up to his house and dismounted. The sun had set and stars were out. His clothes were still damp from the drenching he’d taken and he couldn’t wait to change into dry ones.

  Andy came off the porch carrying his rifle. “Did you catch them, Pa?”

  “We had to turn back because of the storm.”

  Rondo James didn’t climb down. He gigged his mount up next to Roy’s, leaned over, and snagged the reins. “I’ll see to the horses. You go be with your family.”

  “Thanks for trying,” Roy said.

  “It’s a shame,” Rondo said, and rode off.

  “Anything happen here while I was gone?” Roy asked as he tiredly trudged up the steps.

  “It’s been real quiet,” Andy said.

  Martha and Sally were in the parlor. His wife was knitting and his daughter was reading.

  “You’re back!” Martha said in delight. Putting down her needles, she came to him and they embraced. “I was so afraid.”

  “We never got so much as a glimpse,” Roy said. “When the storm struck, we realized we wouldn’t overtake them this side of Teton. Rondo decided we should turn around and here I am.”

  “Thank God,” Martha said.

  “Those murderers are still out there.” Roy refrained from mentioning that the next time it could be their house the killers paid a visit.

  “You’re not a lawman,” Martha said. “You had no call to be traipsing off after those vermin.”

  “We’ve already been through that. This is our valley, our home.”

  “I’d like to keep it that way,” Martha said.

  Roy refused to have her draw him into an argument. “I need to get out of these clothes.” He gave his Winchester to Andy. “Would you put this away for me?”

  “Sure thing, Pa.”

  Roy had forgotten that Matt was to keep watch from upstairs. His youngest was in a chair near the bedroom window, asleep. Carefully picking him up, Roy carried the boy to his own bedroom and gently laid him down. Matt mumbled but didn�
�t waken.

  Donning an old shirt he took from a peg on the closet door, and a clean pair of pants, Roy went back down. The aroma of brewing coffee and food drew him to the kitchen.

  Martha was at the stove, slicing a carrot into a pot. “I’m making stew,” she remarked. “You need something hot in your belly.”

  The coffee would have sufficed but Roy sat at the table. “Where are Andy and Sally?”

  “I sent her up to get ready for bed. It’s late.” Martha finished with the carrot and picked up a potato. “I don’t know where Andy got to.”

  “Tomorrow I’m sending him to the farms and the ranches,” Roy said. “We’ll hold a meeting here tomorrow night.”

  “What do you make of it all?”

  Roy had been pondering that question all the way home. “The Jacksons leaving. Aaron and Maude murdered. Tom’s dead hogs. Plus the other animals that were slaughtered.” Roy paused. “Someone has it in for us.”

  Martha whittled at the potato, leaving the skin on. “By us you mean everyone in Thunder Valley?”

  “Could be.”

  “It’s only been farmers,” Martha noted. “Not the ranchers, Olander or Buchanan. Maybe one of them is behind it.”

  “To what end?” Roy countered. “Olander thinks he’s king of Thunder Valley but he’s never so much as hinted he’d like to drive us out and take it over.”

  “We don’t know much about Buchanan,” Martha said.

  “He keeps to himself. The few times I’ve seen him, he didn’t strike me as the kind who would do this kind of thing.”

  “You never know.”

  No, Roy thought, the devil of it was, they didn’t. “I still don’t think it’s them. Olander has a dozen punchers riding for his brand. Buchanan has eight or nine. No one can get anywhere near their houses without being seen.”

  “So you’re saying whoever is behind it figured farmers are easier pickings?”

  “Something like that.”

  “But why?”

  “It could be outlaws,” Roy speculated. “They are as common as fleas in some parts.”

  “Outlaws would steal money and other valuables. Were Aaron and Maude robbed?”

  Roy was almost ashamed to admit that “I never thought to look to see if anything was taken.”