Paint the Hills Red

by Ron Schwab

  Dunkirk was a wily one. He was more politician than rancher. Dan had to give him grudging credit for his self-control. The old man would be a hell of a poker player.

  “I’ll settle for a truce,” Dan said. “A permanent one, I hope. There’s no reason we can’t get along. Be assured, I’m not going to cut off anybody’s water supply.”

  12

  SOLOMON PYLE SHIFTED on the bench and swatted at the pesky fly that buzzed at his ear. Dan could see that Sol’s patience for his sitting had run out.

  “Just a few more minutes, Sol,” Dan said. “Then we’ll quit for the day.”

  “My butt’s as sore as if I’d spent two days in the saddle,” the old cowboy grumbled.

  Dan touched his fine brush to the palette, trying to mix the colors into the right pigment of green. His brush swept to the face on the canvas, and he rendered several quick, short strokes to one eye. Close, but not quite right. If he could just persuade the old codger to sit another hour. But it would be hopeless to try to persuade him. It was almost noon and Saturday. Sol would stay long enough to eat, but then he would be in a toot to get home. After a hurried check on Megan and the hands, Sol would take his weekly bath, shave, and head for Hannah Baker’s place. Megan would see him again when it was time for Sunday dinner. It was hard to picture Sol Pyle in the role of an antiquated lothario, but it was a good bet that he was riding five miles to the widow Baker’s for more than the roast beef supper and apple pie she fed him every Saturday night. Dan halfway envied the crusty rancher.

  He put down his brush, perused the canvas, and nodded approvingly. He was prone to criticizing his own work mercilessly. But this one was coming along quite satisfactorily, he thought, and it had prospects of being quite good if he could just capture the eyes. He took the canvas inside the house, and as he emerged to gather his equipment, he said to Sol, who still sat stiffly on the bench at the edge of the porch, “Hey, it’s over, friend. You’re free.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I thought you were tired of sitting,” Dan said as he retrieved the easel and supplies and stepped back on the porch.

  “I’d like to talk a mite, if you got the time.”

  “Got the time? Hell, yes, I’ve got the time. You’ve given me enough of yours the last month. Two or three mornings a week. You’ll be losing your job.”

  “I owed you this . . . for Meggie.”

  “You didn’t owe me anything,” Dan said as he went through the door. He called back, “Stay there, Sol. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Then we’ll talk.” Something was obviously troubling the old man. He had been quiet and pensive the entire morning.

  Dan put the pot of coffee on the coals in the fireplace, and then he cleaned his palette and brushes. He hated the cleanup part; he always would. He dulled the agony by concentrating on a cow grazing sketch he expected to work on in the afternoon. Finally, the unpleasant chore behind him, he poured the steaming coffee into two tin cups and joined Sol on the bench. The older man seemed lost in his thoughts and appeared not to notice Dan’s presence until he sat down and handed him the cup.

  “I should be finished in another week, Sol,” Dan said. “Can you hold out that long?”

  The old man looked up and accepted the cup. “What’s that?” he said.

  “I thought maybe you were getting tired of sitting for the portrait. I said I should be finished in another week.”

  “Oh, yeah. Can’t be soon enough for me. No offense meant.”

  “That’s all right, I understand.” Dan hesitated. “You said you wanted to talk about something.”

  Sol took a deep breath and sighed and sipped at the coffee before he replied. “I want to talk about Meggie a little.”

  “How is she doing? Has she changed her mind about me?”

  “She gets along. Young Nate Coates sticks close like an old cow dog. He won’t let no harm come to her. But she’s independent as hell and don’t like having to be looked after worth a damn. But you can drop by one of these days. I think she’ll talk with you some.”

  “I’m sorry she blames me for what happened.”

  “Oh, hell, she don’t blame nobody. She just don’t want you to see her like this. It’s got to do with her pride. She’s a prideful young lady . . . if you hadn’t noticed,” he added with a wry smile.

  “Is there any improvement at all? Any sign that she’s coming out of it?”

  “Nope. Like the sawbones up at Fort Robinson said, I guess all we can do is hope. She might never see again, or she might snap out of it all at once. It’s been better than a month now . . . don’t seem like we can be too hopeful. But you never know. Some things just ain’t understood so easy.”

  Sol gazed out onto the ranch yard, mesmerized by something there that no one else could see.

  “The Haskells was burned out last night,” he said. “They shotgunned Jubal. Blowed his brains to shit.”

  Dan tensed and a sinking feeling clutched his belly. “Haskell. I don’t think I know the place.”

  “They got a little spread north of here. Jubal was worthless as tits on a boar hog. Never done nobody no harm . . . outside of slapping his brand on a neighbor’s stock when he got the chance. Never stole enough to notice. His missus has dropped six young ‘uns, but she’s still as pretty as a little red heifer in a flower bed. Reckon she’ll sell out to Dunkirk now and look for another man.”

  “Dunkirk was after the place?”

  “Dunkirk’s after every place. And my guess is he’s about done waitin’. These hills are likely to be soaked with blood before summer’s out.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You met the old bastard, didn’t you? Dunkirk?”

  “Yeah,” Dan replied.

  “Does he look like a man with a lot of years in front him? I ain’t seen him for three or four years, but he’s no spring chicken.”

  “No, he’s not a young man, and I’d have to say he looked a long ways from the prime of his life.”

  “Let me tell you something, Dan. The month before he had Ben Grant killed off—”

  “You don’t know that Dunkirk was responsible,” Dan interrupted.

  The old man ignored him. “As I was saying, a month before he had Ben killed, he and Ben had a big set to over at the Diamond D. They always fought like a pair of bobcats in a sack. They went clear back to Texas days, you know.”

  “That’s what Dunkirk told me.”

  “Anyhow, old Woody, he told Ben that his string was running out and come hell or high water, he aimed to have the Diamond D all put together before he croaked. Meaning he was going to gobble up the small ranches hereabouts before he rode off to hell. Nope, you mark my words . . . Haskells’ won’t be the last. Not by a long shot.”

  “You said you wanted to talk about Megan. What does all this have to do with her?”

  Sol did not look at him, his opaque eyes still fixed on the invisible spot in the yard. “I went to see a law wrangler yesterday, a lawyer in Medicine Hill by the name of Lucas Battie. He’s kind of a contrary old fart, but he’s honest as the day is long. I had my will made out. It’s in Battie’s safe; I wanted you to know that. If I said anything to Meggie about it, she’d get herself worked up.”

  “I see.” Sol’s conversation made Dan uncomfortable, but he could see the old man needed to get things off his chest. He was talking like a man who did not expect to live long. A man who had been struck with some premonition of death. Dan had encountered other such men in the Army, and what bothered him now was the accuracy with which they had predicted their fate. Or had they simply been victims of self-fulfilling prophecies?

  “I don’t think I ever mentioned it,” Sol said, “but the Bar G’s always been handled as one spread and Ben Grant owned a big part of it. But I got three sections in my own name. One of them snuggles up against your place. Of course, Dunkirk knows all this. Anyhow, I had me some money of my own when we moved up from Texas, and I decided to buy up some land on my own. Ben didn’t have the money
to buy all he needed anyhow, so I just leased him what I had to go with his own. Sometimes he paid cash rent; sometimes he paid in cows; sometimes he couldn’t pay at all. It didn’t matter none. Ben and Meggie, well, they was family.” He turned his head toward Dan now, his eyes meeting Dan’s evenly. “Son, I’d like to think we’ve become friends of a sort.”

  “We have,” Dan said.

  “It would give me a lot of peace if you would promise me something.”

  “Name it.”

  “Well, first off, when I cash in my chips one of these days, I’d like you to take Meggie in to see Lawyer Battie. Then I want you to see that my will’s carried out to the letter.”

  “You’ll probably outlive me, but when the times comes, if I’m around I’ll do it. You can count on it.”

  “And will you sort of keep an eye on the Bar G? Help out Meggie when you can. She’d scream like hell if she knew I’d asked you this, but if she don’t get her sight back, she’s going to need extra help for a spell. I’d rest a lot better knowing she’d have it.”

  “She’ll have it, whether she likes it or not. But Sol, I don’t understand why you’re talking like this.”

  “No reason in particular. A man just never knows what’s over the ridge,” Sol replied unconvincingly, “and I just want to be sure Meggie’s looked after. She’s unpredictable as hell. More so since the night Ben got killed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Meggie always halfway blamed herself for Ben’s getting killed. You see, her and old Ben had a squabble that night. A young drifter who’d been riding roundup over at the Rocking R was sparkin’ Meggie that spring. He wasn’t a bad kid, but he didn’t have enough sense to spit downwind. Ben didn’t think the kid was good enough for Meggie. I didn’t either, for that matter. But Meggie didn’t see it that way. I guess it was past time for her to lose her heart to some cowpoke. Anyhow, after her and Ben locked horns, she tore out of the house and rode off like a bat out of hell. When she didn’t come back, me and some of the hands rode out to find her. While we was gone, somebody turned a shotgun loose on Ben. Meggie got home before we did. She’s the one who found Ben on the porch.”

  “It must have been terrible for her,” Dan said.

  “Yep. But you know, I never saw that gal drop a tear. I s’pose she did, but not while I was around. She growed up real fast after that; finally saw the drifter for what he was. But she’s been skittish as a colt since that night. That’s why I’m asking you to stand by her. She’ll need a friend at her side.”

  “If the time comes, she’ll have one.”

  Sol seemed satisfied at that and turned away, but Dan had a feeling there was still something unsaid, and he had a hunch he knew what it was.

  “There are some things a man carries alone when he rides through life,” Sol said, his voice melancholy, “things that are best carried alone. But when you get close to the end of the trail, you get to thinkin’. Pretty soon, you ain’t going to be nothing but so much worm food and nobody’s going to know about this load you took on . . . unless you tell somebody.”

  “Is there something else you’d like to tell me, Sol?”

  “I don’t know. There’s something I’d like for somebody to know, but I don’t rightly know why. Maybe I just think somebody ought to know about it, in case it might help out someday. I wouldn’t want Meggie to ever find out unless it just had to be for some good reason. I don’t know. Maybe I just need to fess up, but it’s been gnawing at my innards lately.”

  “Are you wanting to tell me that Megan Grant is your daughter?” Dan asked softly.

  The old rancher jerked upright. He turned to Dan, his eyes incredulous, his mouth gaping open. “Jesus Christ, Dan, don’t sneak up on a fellar like that. How in the hell did you know?”

  “The eyes. Nothing else. Just the eyes. I’m an artist, Sol. There aren’t many who would ever notice, but I guessed the night Megan was injured.”

  “I’ll be damned. I’ll be double damned. It makes me proud as hell to think somebody saw something of me in Meggie. Still, it scares the piss out of me that somebody else might see it, too.”

  “Does it really matter so much? Maybe you should tell Megan.”

  “Oh, God, no. That can’t never be. As far as Meggie’s concerned, Ben Grant was her daddy, and he for damn sure was in the ways that count. She might have growed from my seed, but he fed her and taught her and raised her up. He was an educated man with breeding. He gave her things I never could have. Meggie loved Ben as her daddy. It wouldn’t be right to take that away.”

  “I doubt if it would,” Dan said.

  “Maybe not. But I’d still shame Meggie’s mother . . . God rest her soul.” Sol’s eyes clouded and traces of moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Meggie’s like her spittin’ image, you know. Except for the eyes. Rita’s was dark, like two pieces of shiny coal. She was Mexican, daughter of one of the dons that lived in one of them big haciendas. The old man never forgave her after she run off with Ben Grant. Ben worked for old Dunkirk in them days, but he wasn’t cut out for riding for somebody else, not for long. He had some book learnin’ from someplace and was good with figures. If the war hadn’t come along, he’d been a rich man by now. He wasn’t fifty yet when he was killed. He would have been a big man in the county, too, in time. Dunkirk knew that. The difference between him and Dunkirk, though, was that Ben had principles that he’d believe in and fight for. That’s why him and Dunkirk had a falling out.”

  “Dunkirk told me about it,” Dan said. “According to him, he got burned out in Texas . . . lost his wife there.”

  “Ben didn’t have nothin’ to do with the things that happened at Dunkirk’s ranch. Hell, he was too busy gettin’ ready for war to fool with that nonsense. And Ben wasn’t the kind of man that fought his neighbors. The war, that was the problem. Ben joined up. The Johnny Rebs made him a captain. The damn fool took off for four years. Meggie was born almost ten months after Ben rode out, and Rita birthed before her time. The jackass left me behind to look after things. I didn’t give a damn about the war, but I was fifteen years older than Ben, so I suppose he figured Rita was safe. He guessed wrong. A woman gets lonely with her man gone. She just can’t help it. And I was there. I loved that woman. God, how I loved that woman. So dark and pretty. Soft spoken and gentle. She always had a smile. No matter how much she hurt, she always had a smile. It just happened. That’s all I can say. Wasn’t nobody’s fault. It just happened. She loved me, I know that, but nothing would have ever happened if her man had stayed home. She loved Ben. She always did. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, I can understand it.”

  “She wasn’t no slut,” Sol hastened. “She was just too damn loving. Too hot blooded. Maybe it was her Mexican blood. And me, it was my misfortune that the good Lord got mixed up and put my brains between my legs.”

  “You’ve been too hard on yourself, Sol. Like you said, it just happened. Life’s that way. You just have to accept it and go on. Would you rather there had never been a Megan Grant?”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Dan questioningly. “Dear God, no. I never thought of it that way. Meggie’s what made my life worth living. I ain’t much on religion, but as far as I’m concerned, Meggie’s my life after death.”

  “And Ben Grant, Meggie must have been something special to him, too.”

  “Damn right, she was. Meggie was everything to Ben. Hell, when he come home from the war you should have seen his face when he saw little Meggie. He lit up like a goddamn candle. Ben moved back in the bedroom with Rita and never asked no questions. But I’ve wondered a lot of times. You know, they was married nigh on five years before Rita got with child, and Ben and Rita shared a bed for five years after the war and there wasn’t no more young ‘uns. Do you think Ben knew about me and Rita and Meggie?”

  “I can’t say. But if he did, he must have understood. Isn’t that all that matters?”

  “Damn it, son, you sure got a way
of puttin’ things that makes a man feel right.”

  “Sometimes it just takes somebody else to sort out what you already know deep down,” Dan said. He stood up and stretched his long legs. “Now, why don’t you just sit here a bit longer, and I’ll rustle up some grub.”

  Sol beamed up at Dan. “Don’t spare yourself on my account. Damned if I couldn’t eat a side of beef right now.”

  13

  SOLOMON PYLE HAD barely ridden out of sight, and Dan had just started to get out his oils for another session at the canvas when he heard the whinny of a horse in the yard. Instinctively, he snatched up his gun belt which hung on a nail near the door. He buckled it on and checked the chambers of the revolver before he pulled the curtain back slightly and peered out the window. It was Elizabeth Dunkirk astride a thickly muscled black stallion. He opened the door and walked out onto the porch.

  “I said I was going to stop by for a visit,” Liz Dunkirk said, her full lips parted in a mischievous smile.

  Dan stepped off the porch and looked up at her. Her golden hair was tied back with a royal blue ribbon and glistened in the afternoon sun; her laughing eyes were translucent lakes of sapphire. The tailored riding outfit that clung to her shapely frame seemed more appropriate to Eastern society. She was nothing less than stunning in it.

  “I was led to believe that I would be honored with a private showing of your paintings. Am I invited in, or would you prefer that I ride on?”

  “Of course you’re invited in. You’ll have to pardon me, I’m just not accustomed to such charming guests.” He moved to assist her down from the stallion, but she swept off the horse easily and had dismounted before he reached her. He took the horse’s reins. “Let me put up your horse,” he said, observing that the stallion’s neck and flanks were moist and sticky with sweat and that he was frothing somewhat at the mouth. He had been ridden hard, unnecessarily hard, for a casual jaunt. “He’s about done in,” Dan said. “I’ll take him into the barn and rub him down. He’d better go slow on the water or he’ll founder. If you like, you can go on into the house and look at the paintings while I see to the horse. Help yourself to a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind it strong and bitter.”