Thunder Valley

by David Robbins

  “That’s a rumor started by you females.” One Eye strolled out into the cool night air. To the west reared the inky silhouettes of the Tetons. Stars speckled the dark vault of sky. He breathed deep and chuckled and ambled along Main Street until he came to the Grand Lady.

  Brule and Axel were at the usual corner table.

  “Where’s Ritlin?” One Eye asked as he claimed a chair.

  “Sleepin’,” Brule said.

  “This early?”

  Brule shrugged. “You know how he is. He’ll not get any for three or four days and then sleep the night away.”

  One Eye rubbed his hands together. “I’m so full of vinegar I could bust at the seams. We should head for Thunder Valley and put a scare into more farmers.”

  “There’s no need to hurry,” Brule said. “Rank gave us three months, remember?”

  “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we get the rest of our money,” One Eye said.

  “You rush things, you do it on your own,” Brule said. “I am all for takin’ our sweet time.”

  “As we all should be,” Axel said. “Ritlin has spoiled it. I can’t say I like what he’s done.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that,” One Eye said.

  Brule said, “We’ll give the farmers a few days to stew over the pair we shot. Then we’ll hit them again.”

  “Fine,” One Eye said. He chugged from their bottle and smacked his lips. “I wish this was Denver. There’d be more things to do than we can shake a stick at.”

  “There’s plenty here,” Brule said. “Cards. Whiskey. Women.”

  “It’s not Denver,” One Eye persisted. He liked big cities. They were always so exciting. His favorite was Saint Louis. He’d been there once and had the time of his life.

  “There’s something I want to show you,” Brule unexpectedly announced. Sliding a hand under his brown vest, he pulled out a large folded paper.

  “What the hell is that?” One Eye asked.

  “There’s a surveyor’s office here. I paid it a visit. At first he wouldn’t give me what I wanted but ten dollars changed his mind.”

  “What’s worth that much?”

  Brule unfolded it. “The latest property map of Thunder Valley, with the farms and ranches marked.”

  One Eye leaned on his elbows. The lines and squares and rectangles were so much nonsense to him. “Why do we need it?”

  Brule touched a cluster of squares and a circle. “This here is the Jackson farm. The pair who couldn’t skedaddle fast enough after Ritlin was done with the wife.” He touched a different cluster. “This is the McWhirtle farm. The pair we left for the buzzards.”

  “I get it,” One Eye said. “We can tell who is where.”

  Brule nodded. “We’ll pick who to hit in advance and know exactly where they are.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of it,” One Eye said.

  “Actually, it was Axel’s idea. He comes up with some good ones.”

  “He’s never shared any with me.”

  “You’re not in charge,” Brule said.

  “Neither are you.”

  Brule was examining the map and didn’t notice One Eye’s expression. “I spoke for us with Charlton Rank. I set this job up.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to boss us around.”

  Brule looked up. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? When have I ever bossed any of you? We agreed when we started ridin’ together that each of us is our own man.”

  One Eye glued his mouth to the bottle. It seemed to him that he was being talked down to. “I’m always treated like the least of us.”

  “Are you drunk?” Brule said. “You have an equal say in everything and get an equal share of the money. Now stop your bellyachin’.”

  “There you go again,” One Eye said in disgust. He pushed his chair back. “I need some fresh air.” Sucking on the bug juice, he left the saloon. On an impulse he headed north. Since there was no law and no ordinance against public drunkenness, he went on sucking as he walked. About a third of the bottle was left when he turned west down a side street lined with cabins.

  Windows glowed, and shapes moved across curtains.

  One Eye placed his hand on his Remington. “I have half a mind to break some glass.” He sniggered and drank and was about to turn and go back when his head exploded with pain and he was sucked into a black hole. Dimly, he was aware he had been struck from behind. He struggled to stay conscious and felt something being stuffed into his mouth. He tried to bite the fingers doing the stuffing but the man was too quick for him. He felt his wrists being bound and then his ankles. With a supreme effort he raised his head to try to shout through the gag but another blow sent him spinning into a void.

  One Eye jolted awake. He was lying on his side. His head pounded and his wrists hurt from the tight rope. He tried to sit up and couldn’t. He looked around and was stupefied to find he was no longer in town. He was in a clearing surrounded by woods.

  A campfire crackled. Beside it, hunkered with a tin cup in his hands, was Axel. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was in the air.

  One Eye went to swallow, and froze. The gag was still in his mouth. If he swallowed he might dislodge it and suffocate. He held himself still and uttered a loud grunt.

  Axel looked over. He took a sip of coffee. “I reckon your head must be splittin’ something awful.” He set down the tin cup and came over. “I’m goin’ to pull the gag out. Try to bite me and I’ll cut off your ears and maybe your nose besides.” He hiked his pant leg and slid his fingers into a boot and pulled out a doubled-edged dagger. “Didn’t know I had this, did you?”

  One Eye felt the sharp tip pressed to his throat. He stayed still as Axel pried and pulled a wadded bandanna from his mouth. Axel tossed the bandanna onto the fire, replaced his hideout blade, and returned to his coffee.

  One Eye wet his mouth a few times and swallowed to relieve his dry throat. Finally he croaked, “What the hell is this? Why’d you jump me?”

  “You brought it on yourself.”

  “We’re pards,” One Eye said. “We’ve rode together on how many jobs now?”

  “Eight in four years,” Axel said.

  “So I’m askin’ you again,” One Eye said, controlling his temper. “Why?”

  Axel stared into the darkness and drank.

  “Damn it to hell,” One Eye growled. He tested the rope but it was hopeless. To his considerable surprise, he realized his Remington was in his holster.

  “We’re about a mile up into the mountains,” Axel said quietly. “You can cuss and shout if you want but no one will hear you.”

  “All I want is an answer, damn you, Axel.”

  “That’s not my real name.”

  “What?”

  “Sometimes you try a thing to see if it will work and if it doesn’t you have to get rid of the loose ends, as my cousin would call them.”

  “What?” One Eye said again. He was too confused for words.

  “You wanted to know why. I just explained.”

  Swiveling his legs under him, One Eye managed to make it to his knees. “You didn’t explain nothin’. What does your name have to do with this?”

  “Ask Rondo James. He knows about names. He can’t go anywhere but his gives him away.”

  One Eye wished his head would stop hurting so he could think. “I don’t savvy,” he confessed.

  Axel shrugged. “That’s all right. It’s not important that you do. Give me a minute to finish my coffee and we’ll get to it.”

  “Get to what?”

  “The end of you.”

  One Eye couldn’t stand it anymore. Growing hot with anger, he bellowed, “Why me, you son of a bitch? Why turn on me like this?”

  “You said it yourself at the saloon,” Axel said. “You’re the least.”

  One Eye cursed. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He swore using every cussword he knew, and then some. Axel wasn’t fazed and showed no emotion whatsoever until in his rant One Eye
spat, “Your ma was a whore and your sister, too.”

  “My mother is a sweet churchgoing lady,” Axel said in a completely different voice than he ordinarily used. Gone was the twang and the inflections that marked him as a cowboy. Instead, he used impeccable English, with a hint of an accent. “She thinks I went off to sea with my cousin. I have two sisters and they’re both happily married. I haven’t seen them in years and I doubt I ever will. It would break their hearts to learn what I turned into.”

  “Wait,” One Eye said. “How come you’re talkin’ so different?”

  “I dropped the sham,” Axel said. “It’s part of the act. I know you and the others think I’m from Texas. But I was born and raised in Connecticut.”

  “God. I could sure use a drink.”

  Axel put down the cup and stood and walked around behind One Eye. “Hold still and I’ll untie your hands. You can do your legs yourself. And then we’ll get to it.”

  One Eye inwardly grinned. As soon as his arms were free he rubbed his wrists to restore the circulation. He undid the rope around his ankles and slowly stood and flexed his legs.

  Axel had taken half a dozen steps back and stood watching him. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “go for your six-shooter.”

  “Givin’ me a chance, are you?” One Eye said scornfully.

  “No,” Axel said. “Testing myself.” His right thumb was wedged under his belt close to his holster.

  “I think you’re loco,” One Eye said. “You pretend to be someone you’re not. You turn on your pards. And now you want me to draw on you. Have you forgotten I’m almost as fast as Ritlin?”

  “I told you before,” Axel said. “I’ve seen quicker.” And he smiled.

  One Eye had had enough. Eagerly, he stabbed his hand for his Remington. The last sight he saw was smoke belching from the muzzle of Axel’s Merwin Hulbert revolver and the last sensation he felt was a great searing pain as if he was being ripped asunder.

  21

  Roy started his day the same as he did most any other.

  The crow of the cock woke him. As dependable as the rising and setting of the sun, the rooster always crowed when the first rosy glow tinged the eastern horizon.

  Roy sat up and stretched. Beside him, Martha rolled over but didn’t wake up. Her hair hung loose, and he liked how a bang lay over her eyebrow and part of an eye. She was a lot older than when they met but he could see the young lines in her yet. It transported him back in his memory to that wonderful day when she took him for her husband.

  He’d courted her for more than a year before she accepted his proposal. He’d wanted her so much, sometimes he would hurt inside.

  Her parents had been dubious, saying they weren’t sure he’d amount to much. He won them over by devoting himself to her, heart and soul. He was a hard worker and he’d done his best to provide for her, and now look. Their own farm, a big house, and three kids.

  “What are you staring at?”

  Roy smiled. “Didn’t know you were awake.” He tenderly brushed the hair from her eye.

  “I have to get breakfast started.” Martha slid back so she was braced by the headboard, and sat up. She tossed her head and yawned and said dreamily, “That was nice, last night.”

  Roy kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be glad when they move out so we don’t have to be so quiet.”

  “By then we’ll be too old to do it,” Martha teased.

  “Speak for yourself, woman. I’m a man. A man is never too old.”

  She grinned and kissed him. “All right. Enough lovemaking. They’ll be up soon.”

  Roy dressed and went to the outhouse and then to the barn. He tried not to make too much noise as he lit the lantern and got the stool and the milk pail. He always started at the near end and worked his way down the line. Setting the stool next to the first cow, he perched and slid the pail under her. “Morning, Mary,” he said. He had names for each.

  The cow turned her head and looked at him and flicked an ear.

  Roy bent and gripped a teat in each hand. He had done it so many times that the motion was mechanical. He squeezed and pulled and there was the thrum of the milk hitting the inside of the pail. He was well along when Mary looked past him. “I tried not to wake you.”

  Rondo James was fully dressed except for his slicker. His Colts jutted from his hips. “That’s considerate but there’s no need. I’m always up at the crack of day.”

  “Breakfast will be in about half an hour.”

  Rondo watched the milk spurt. “You sure you don’t mind me eatin’ with your family?”

  “You’re our guest,” Roy said.

  “Some folks would mind.” Rondo walked down the aisle to General Lee’s stall.

  Roy moved to the next cow, and the next. When the pail was full, he emptied it in the milk can. He liked milking. It was one of his easier chores. Occasionally a cow was cranky and gave him trouble but usually they cooperated.

  Rondo James returned, and he was smiling. “Another week or so and General Lee will be his old self.”

  “That’s good,” Roy said, continuing to squeeze and squirt.

  “I don’t want to wait that long to go after the killers,” Rondo said. “I’d be obliged for the loan of a horse.”

  “Whatever you need,” Roy said, and added, “It wasn’t my idea, you know. Buchanan came up with it on his own.”

  “You sound as if you’d rather I didn’t do it.”

  Roy stopped milking. “It’s our problem. We should deal with it ourselves.”

  “You are. You hired me.”

  “You haven’t said why you agreed.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Just so you’re not hurt, or worse, on our account,” Roy said. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  Rondo turned to a pile of straw. A pitchfork was leaning against the wall. He grabbed hold and jabbed the pile several times, then leaned the pitchfork against the wall again. “Don’t worry none about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “That’s the closest to a brag I’ve heard out of you,” Roy said. “Whoever these men are, they’re clever and they’re dangerous. If they find out you’re after them, your life won’t be worth a plugged nickel.”

  “It’s not as if I’ll be shoutin’ it from the rooftops.”

  “How will you find them? Where will you start?”

  “Where else but Teton?”

  “Do you need the money? Is that why?”

  “I don’t appreciate folks pryin’,” Rondo said, “but for you I’ll say this much. Yes, the money is part of it. It will be my nest egg for somethin’ I have in mind.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  “I haven’t done much with my life since the war. Wandered, mostly. I take each day as it comes and try to stay alive. What money I’ve had, I made at playin’ poker and odd jobs. I wouldn’t mind havin’ steady work but there’s not many who will hire me.” Rondo held up a hand when Roy went to interrupt. “Fourteen hundred dollars is more than I’ve ever been paid for anything my whole life. And all I have to do to earn it is the one thing I’m good at.”

  “The four you are after might be good at it, too.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Rondo said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’d be no different than huntin’ a bear or a buck. And my reputation would work for me. Those I go after might be disinclined to get into a shootin’ scrape.”

  “I suppose it makes good sense when you put it that way,” Roy said, “but the hard cases you’ll be after would as soon shoot you in the back as the front.”

  “I’ve had to have eyes in the back of my head for so long, it comes natural.”

  Roy could see there was no talking him out of it. “How soon do you intend to leave?”

  “Right after breakfast.” Rondo touched his hat brim. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to wash up.”

  It took half an hour for Roy to finish milking. As he emerged from the barn he met Sa
lly coming from the chicken coop with an apron full of eggs. She had on a pretty green dress with a matching bonnet. “Morning.”

  “Good morning, Pa.” Sally glanced at the house and bit her lip. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Since when do you need permission?”

  “I asked Ma and she said I was being silly and not to bring it up again.”

  Roy stopped and so did she. “Not bring what up?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. McWhirtle. What are the chances that whoever killed them will pay us a visit? Ma says no chance but I heard Mr. and Mrs. Kline talking and Mrs. Kline was worried it could happen to any of us. Which is it?”

  Roy imagined that Martha was trying to spare Sally from too much worry but he didn’t agree that telling a fib was the way to go about it. “There’s a chance.”

  “I knew it!” Sally exclaimed. “Wait until I tell Andy and Matt I was right.”

  “You’re not to say a word.”

  Her apron was sagging, and Sally firmed her grip. “They have a right to know.”

  “Andy has already figured it out, I suspect,” Roy said. “Matt, well, he’s too young.”

  “Shouldn’t we move into town until the killers are caught?”

  Roy laughed. He didn’t mean to. It just spilled out. “And abandon our home?”

  “At least we’d be alive.”

  “So long as we keep our eyes peeled, we should be all right,” Roy said. “It’s no different than keeping watch for hostiles.”

  “The Indians haven’t killed anybody.”

  “We have two rifles and a shotgun,” Roy reminded her. “I’ll take a rifle with me when I’m out in the fields and your brother will have the other, and your mother will keep the shotgun with her.”

  “I’m scared,” Sally said.

  “That’s natural.” Roy placed his hand on her shoulder. “The important thing is not to let your fear get the better of you.”

  “How? I was hoping Ma would tell me but she won’t even talk about it.”

  How indeed? Roy thought to himself. “The best way I can think of is not to think about it.”

  “How?” Sally said again.

  Roy was at a loss. He was great at showing how to milk or hoe or how to help a new foal into the world, but he’d never been good at personal talks. He liked to leave that to Martha. And while this didn’t exactly qualify as personal, he didn’t know what to say other than, “You say to yourself, ‘I won’t think about it,’ and then you don’t.”