to Tame a Land (1955)

by L'amour, Louis

  But I didn't tell them about what I did to the Indians , or about Jack McGarry.

  He was a pleasant man, easy to talk to, and he wa s friendly. I told him about Logan Pollard, and abou t reading Plutarch.

  "And did you read it five times?"

  "Only four, so far. But I'll get to it."

  "And this place you're going to . . . Mason Crossing?

  Do you intend to stay there for a while?"

  "Prob'ly," I said, "but I might move on."

  After he left us I did some thinking about it. No la w that I knew about was looking for me. Woods was kille d in self-defense, and he was no account, anyway. Thos e days, men like him didn't attract much notice when the y died. Everybody figured the country was saved a hanging.

  Nevertheless, this talk worried me some.

  Tired of hanging around gambling joints, I bough t a dozen books and lay on my bed in my room throug h the long cold days and read. Outside the wind blew a lot , and every other day or so it snowed. All the passes wer e closed and nobody was traveling. The streets sounded wit h the jingle of sleigh bells and the stoves in the saloon s glowed cherry red.

  At night sometimes we sat around a big stove in th e lobby and yarned. I didn't talk much, but I liked t o listen. There were mining men and cattlemen there, gamblers, drifters, and businessmen. There were drummers an d cattle buyers, and men just looking for something to pu t money into. Most of them had been around a lot an d they talked well.

  Up in my room I read a couple of books by an Englis h writer named Dickens, and I read the Scarlet Letter, b y Hawthorne. There was some poetry, too, by an Englis h writer named Byron. This I liked a mighty lot.

  One day when I came back to the hotel that lawye r was waiting for me. Mustang was out somewhere, but thi s fellow was sitting in a big leather chair in the almos t empty lobby.

  He seemed anxious to talk private, so we went upstairs, and when my room door was closed, he turne d on me. "Tyler, I've been hearing some talk. Don't g o back to Mason Crossing."

  This stopped me flat-footed, but I waited a long minute and then said, "Why not?" And I was pretty cool , for I want no stranger butting into my affairs.

  "Burdette will kill you."

  "I doubt it. Anyway," I looked him right in the eye , "I'm going back."

  He said no more about that, walking up and down th e room a couple of times. Then suddenly he stopped an d looked at me. "How many men have you actually killed , Tyler?"

  "None of your business."

  He looked at me for a long time, his eyes sort o f searching my face. Yet there was something friendly abou t it all, and something worried, too. Almost as if he ha d an interest.

  "Of course," he agreed finally, "you're right. It is non e of my business. Only . . . well, no matter."

  He crossed to the door. "Whatever you do, take car e of yourself. And you may hear from me."

  He went out and the next day I heard he had take n the stage for Cheyenne. Nobody in town knew much abou t him except that he had been investigating the titles t o some mining claims, and he had looked over some prospects. At least, looked them over as much as he coul d with the weather what it was.

  Two days later the cold spell broke and I shook Mustang out of a sleep.

  "Pack up, man. We're riding."

  He didn't argue any. I expect town was getting on hi s nerves, too. Anyway, within the hour we were riding ou t of town, headed west.

  The route we had taken swung south by way of Durango , and as the thaw was on, we made good time.

  We reached Durango late at night and the next morning I found a squaw who had been making buckski n breeches, and I bought some. I was beginning to feel a s if I belonged again.

  This was my country. I liked the largeness of it, th e space, the sharp, clear mountain air, and the riding. Whe n I had a ranch it was going to be a home ranch.

  While we rode west I told Mustang about this Denison Mead, and what he had said about staying awa y from Mason Crossing.

  "Mighty good advice," Roberts agreed, "but what's he takin' on so about?"

  "Can't figure that unless he knows Burdette."

  "Ain't that. But he was askin' a lot of questions abou t you."

  We forgot about that during the day, for we were coming up to my old country again, and somewhere ahea d was the ranch, and I'd be seeing Liza again. To sa y nothing of Old Blue. And Mrs. Hetrick was almost lik e my own mother. It had been a long time. Too long. An d Hetrick was dead.

  Those last few miles before we reached the ranch sur e fretted me. Finally I started the gray into a trot, and Mustang, he came right along with me. When the tow n came in sight I cut around back of it toward the ranch. I c ould hardly wait to see the place, and to see Mrs. Hetric k and Liza.

  The gray was almost at a run when I rounded to th e gate. We went through, and then I pulled up.

  Grass grew in the dooryard and there were tumbleweed s against the fence. The porch was sagging and the doo r banged on loose hinges. A low wind moaned among th e pines and around the eaves, and I stood there lookin g around, a big empty feeling inside me.

  I got down from the saddle and walked slowly throug h the house. She was empty. The folks were gone, an d from the look of things, they had been gone for a lon g time.

  Inside I felt as empty as the house, and when a lon g wind with a touch of snow on it came down off the mountain, I shivered. The gate at the garden creaked an d banged, and I stood there, sick and empty. Liza was gon e Chapter 11

  THE CROSSING was built up some. I could see that a s we rounded into the main street. It was built up, an d Mason's Store was bigger. There was a long awning i n front of the rooming house and it had become a two-stor y hotel.

  Thinking suddenly, I turned aside and rode aroun d to the cemetery. Mustang, he trailed along, never leavin g me.

  At the cemetery gate I got down and went in. It wa s like so many of those Westerh cemeteries, a high knoll outside of town with the wind blowing across it and tumbleweeds racked against the fences.

  And I found what I was looking for, and more. Hetrick's grave, and beside it the grave of his wife, who ha d died just four months later.

  Both gone.

  And Liza? She might still be in town, although somehow I was sure she wasn't. -

  "Mustang," I said, "I got to get me a man. But I don't aim to kill him, not unless I have to. I want you t o go down to town. You be careful, because this Burdett e is mighty mean. But you listen around and find out i f he's still there, and where he is. I want to come on hi m unexpected-like. I want to get the jump."

  Sitting under some cedars there by the graveyard, wit h the gray grass alongside me, I waited. Maybe I slep t some. Anyway, lights were coming on in town before Mustang came back.

  The chill had awakened me, and when I sat up I hear d his home. He rode up to the gate and got down, then h e walked over and squatted on his heels and began to buil d a smoke.

  "Burdette's there, all right. Mighty mean, like you say.

  The folks got no use for him, but he's still marshal an d they're scared. Ever' night about this time he makes hi s rounds. Then he goes to the saloon and sits until everybody turns in. He makes another round, then he turns i n himself.

  "Come morning, he goes up to the restaurant for breakfast, and he sits around some. He killed another man abou t two weeks ago, and I got an idea the town would like t o get shut of him."

  "You eat?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "I ain't hungry. I think we'd best bed down right here.

  I want to get him in the morning at breakfast."

  "Good. The restaurant has a back door, too. You wan t I should come in and get the drop?"

  "No. You leave it alone unless somebody tries to but t in. This is my branding. I'll heat my own irons an d make my own mark."

  When we were all rolled up in our blankets and lyin g there listening to the town sounds, he said, all of a sudden, "That girl? Liza Hetrick? She left town six, seve n months ago.
And she only had sixty-three dollars. Too k the stage out. West."

  "You should have been a Pinkerton."

  Mustang drew on his cigarette." "Maybe I will be."

  He chuckled. "But first we find your gal."

  Morning found us with our beds rolled and ready.

  We took the trail down into town and went throug h streets and alleys until Mustang could show me the bac k door to the restaurant. Then we rode past it.

  "We may have to leave fast," I said.

  Mustang chuckled dryly. "You leave. I'll be right behind you, maybe ahead of you."

  We got down and tied our horses and went inside.

  Mustang went through the door first with me right behind him, my head down.

  There were four people in the restaurant: the woma n who ran it, old Mason, who sat at a table alone, and tw o cow hands in from the forks of the creek.

  Four people besides Burdette. He was sitting behin d a table facing the door.

  When we got three steps inside the door Mustang sides tepped and I was looking into those mean, slate-gra y eyes of Ollie Burdette's.

  He was surprised. That was plain. And he never go t a chance to get over it. I walked right up to his tabl e because he didn't like it close up. I walked right up, an d I had only two steps to make to get there, and then I s poke up, loud and clear.

  "Burdette, you murdered Hetrick. That old man neve r packed a gun in his life. And you told it around that yo u had run me out of town. That's why you killed him, because he knew you were a liar. He saw you take water tha t time."

  He hadn't no time to get his mouth open. Me, I jus t kept shoving it at him, and when he started to drop hi s hand, I slammed against the table and smashed him bac k against the wall. And then I slapped him twice across th e mouth, once with each hand.

  Suddenly I was mad. I was mad clean through, bu t not killing mad. I just wanted to destroy everything h e was or thought he was.

  It had been a complete surprise, shocking to Olli e Burdette, and my lunge against the table had pinne d his gun holster.

  But suddenly I jerked the table away and steppe d in. He grabbed for his gun, but I hit him. He staggere d and I swung a boot from the floor and kicked his gu n loose. It fell, and as he grabbed for it, I hit him in th e face.

  He put his hands up and rushed at me, but he wa s a man who had trusted to guns. Big as he was and h e was heavier than me he was no fighter. I hit him i n the belly, then on the side of the face. That last blow cu t deep and knocked him around, smashing his head agains t the edge of the table.

  He got no chance at all from me. No more than h e had given some of the men he killed. I grabbed him b y the collar and back-walked him to the door, slappin g him across the face at every step. Then I shoved him ou t of the door and into the street.

  He fell in the dust, and fell hard. Then he lunge d to his feet, but he didn't know which way to turn. He wa s caught without a gun, and without a gun he was nothing. He started to backup, and I went after him.

  Walkin& him back across the street, I slapped him. He tried to fight back, striking at me, trying to knock m y hands down. A time or two he hit me, but he had bee n sitting around taking it easy while I had been riding , working, roughing it.

  In front of the saloon, with fifty men looking on, I k nocked him down. He got up and rushed me, and I hi t him in the mouth, smashing his lips into his teeth. He backed up, bloody and beaten. I walked up to him an d throwing one from the hip, knocked him down again.

  Then I picked him up and tossed him bodily into th e water trough. Then I fished him out and stood him u p against it.

  "You murdered Hetrick. You might as well have murdered his wife. You bragged around that you run m e out. You're just a two-bit bad man in a four-bit town."

  He couldn't talk. His wind was gone and his mout h was all blood and torn lips.

  "You got a horse?" I looked around at Old Man Mason, who had followed us. "Where's his horse?"

  "I'll get it." The voice was familiar, and I looke d around. It was Kipp.

  Burdette stood there, soaked to the hide and shivering.

  He shook his head like a wounded bear. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't no time to get set for it. Righ t then I don't think he had realized yet what was happening to him. Too long he had lorded it around, doing i t all on the strength of his gun. And now he had no gun.

  When Kipp came up with the horse, I told Burdett e to get into the saddle. "Now ride. And don't stop ridin g until the week is gone."

  "I got property," he protested, able to talk at last "I g ot stuff at the house."

  "You lose it," I said, "like Hetrick lost his ranch."

  He stared at me, and those poison-mean eyes wer e shocked and dull. "Don't I get a gun? Without a gun m y life ain't worth a plugged nickel."

  "No more than the lives of some of those you killed.

  You get no gun."

  He never said anything more. He just walked his hors e off down the street and out of town. Somebody gave a halfhearted cheer, but not much of one. Trouble was , they were shocked, too.

  "Kipp," I said, "Where'd Liza go?"

  "Don't know, Rye. She wouldn't take any help. Afte r her ma died she aimed to take care of herself. She didn't get much out of the ranch. After Hetrick was killed, th e horse thieves stole them blind. All I know is, she bough t a ticket for Alta. She would have had about forty dollar s left when she got there."

  Mustang and me, we mounted up and rode out o f town that night. There was nothing at the Crossing fo r me now, and Mustang, he just seemed to want to sta y along with me. And no man had a better friend.

  We never talked any about being partners. We neve r said much of anything to each other. We just rode together and shared together, and that was the way of it.

  Alta was a boom mining town, half across the state o f Utah. It wasn't a Mormon town, being populated mostl y by gentile miners from Nevada or Colorado. Many ha d been working on the Comstock Lode and some had com e down from Alder Gulch, Montana.

  I'd been hearing about Alta. It was a sure-enoug h mean town, where they killed 'men every night and mostl y every day. The mines were rich and the town was booming. It was wide open and ararin'.

  Never before had I had much of any place to go, o r any purpose in life. Now I had one. I was going to fin d Liza. I was going to make sure she was doing all right.

  It wasn't right for a girl of seventeen to be traipsin g around rough country on her own. No telling what ha d happened to her.

  Right then I thought some mighty fierce thoughts, an d I angered up some, just thinking things that might hav e happened to her.

  It was snowing when we rode into town and stable d our horses. The first thing to do was to find a place t o sleep, but I left that to Mustang and started for a saloon.

  The saloon was the club, the meeting place, the clearing house for information. In a mining camp or a co w town the same rule held true, and often enough th e company would include many who drink little or nothin g at all.

  The snow was falling fast, and except in the street , churned into mud by the passing of men, horses, an d heavy wagons, the ground rapidly grew white. Huge or e wagons dragged by, their shouting drivers bundled u p against the cold, their huge horses or oxen leaning int o the harness as they strained against great loads.

  A music box was going up the street, and in the feebl e light of a lantern behind a saloon a man was splittin g wood.

  When I pushed open the door of the Bucket of Bloo d I was met by a wave of hot air, thick with tobacco smok e and the sour odor of bad whisky. At least a hundred me n crowded the small room, standing three deep at the bar.

  Bearded men loafed along the walls, leaning or squattin g and watching for a favorable moment to grab a chair.

  This was a familiar scene, and I had known it before , in other towns. There were even familiar faces, me n whose names I didn't know, but whom I had seen in Denver, Santa Fe, or Mason Crossing. There was even on e I knew from N
ew Orleans.

  Moving through the crowd, I was lucky enough to ge t close to the bar. Beside me two men talked Norwegian , and down the bar I heard a man order in German, an d the bartender replied in the same language. This was th e West, a melting pot, a conglomeration. These were har d tough, reckless men from all over the world, following th e lure of a wild new country and quick riches in the mines.

  No telling what had happened to Liza here. Maybe sh e had seen the place and what it was like and had gon e on. Certainly this town was no place for a pretty gir l alone.

  Two hours later I was no closer to finding her. True , I wasn't asking questions. I was listening, drifting fro m place to place, keeping my eyes open. The stage statio n was closed, so I couldn't check there.

  Snow kept falling. The Gold Miner's Daughter wa s jammed when Mustang found me there.

  "Got a place," he said, "and it wasn't easy. This tow n is crowded."

  We drifted around the tables. We had a drink, and I p layed a little roulette and lost fifteen dollars, then wo n five of it back.

  Turning toward the door, I saw a man stop and tak e another look at me, then walk on. He knew me fro m somewhere.

  All of a sudden, somebody swore, men jammed back ou t of the way, and a gun blasted.

  It was that quick, and all over. A man in diggin g clothes was backing up slowly, both hands holding hi s stomach. He sat down and rolled over, moaning softly.

  The gambler with the gun in his hand walked aroun d the table and stood over him. Coolly he lifted his pisto l for another shot.

  Me, I don't know why I did it, but I stepped from th e crowd.

  "He's dying. Leave him alone."

  The gambler was in his shirt sleeves and vest. He wa s a tall, pale man with a mustache. His eyes held suc h cruelty as I've never seen before. He looked coolly at me.

  "You're making it your business?"

  He held a derringer in his hand. It was one of thos e short guns with two barrels, each holding a .44 cartridge.

  "I am."

  He looked at me. His gun was in his hand, half lifted.

  Mine was in my holster. Yet he had one shot left, an d if he did not kill me with that shot, he was a dead man.