Wild West

by Elmer Kelton

  A shot echoed in his ears. The thought came to him that Zack had missed. He blinked again, and saw Bratcher sprawled out facedown in the mud.

  Clay’s arms gave way under him. He could feel the wet ground under his whiskered cheek. Someone caught hold of his shoulder, turned him over onto his back. It was Jim Sloan. Mary Sloan stood over him.

  “You—you shot Zack,” Clay managed to say to Jim. “But where’d you—find a gun?”

  It was Mary Sloan who spoke. “Allan’s gun. When you brought him in, you pitched it under the bed. You forgot to take it out.”

  Now it was Jim Sloan who was speaking. “We’re grateful to you, Forehand. We wish there was something we could do.”

  Weakly, Clay shook his head. No, there wasn’t anything anybody could do now.

  “There’s one thing,” he said painfully. “When that baby comes, you treat him right—give him a chance. He won’t end up—like the Forehands…”

  And so it was that another grave joined Allan’s there at the foot of the rocky hill. Like the first one, it was left without a marker. But Clay and Allan Forehand were to have a monument just the same, a living one.

  The spring rains had come and the grass had risen green when Jim Sloan hitched the team to the wagon and took Mary down the long, dim trail to town. When he brought her back a few weeks later, there was someone new in the wagon, wrapped in tiny blankets and carried in its mother’s lap.

  They named him Clay Allan Sloan.

  ONE SON

  Leaning back against the front fender of the ranch pickup truck, Matt Cooper absently fumbled with his horsehead watch fob and watched the door of the doctor’s office with a patience that came from spending a lifetime in the saddle.

  He wished old Foster Harbison had let him go along when he went in to the doctor. But Foster was a proud old West Texas ranchman who seemed to feel that there was something disgraceful about letting the infirmities of age creep up on him.

  Presently the door opened, and Foster Harbison moved out onto the front steps. Matt started to step forward, then stopped abruptly. His heart dropped as he studied the dark lines of despair in Foster’s kind old face. Matt knew what the doctor’s verdict had been.

  Without a word, Harbison ambled slowly over to the pickup and got in, his head down. Matt felt a catch in his throat. Sliding behind the steering wheel, he wanted to ask Foster how much time the doctor had given him. But he didn’t.

  “Any place you want to go?”

  Foster shook his grey head sadly. “I just want to go home, Matt.”

  Matt started the motor and backed out of the parking place, hoping Harbison wouldn’t see the mist in his eyes. But Harbison wasn’t looking anyway. He still had his head down.

  Matt felt an ache deep within him. It just didn’t seem right that Foster might go. For thirty years Matt had been Foster’s foreman. They had worked together, eaten together, suffered together, raised their kids together. No stranger would have been able to tell which one was boss.

  Now Matt realized his own age as if for the first time, and the jolt of it was like a kick in the stomach. He was as old as Foster. It could have been his own heart as easily as Foster’s. And if Foster went, might it be long before Matt went, too?

  He tried to shake these thoughts from his mind. He remembered something he had seen when he went to pick up the ranch’s new power cattle sprayer. Now he made a detour off the main road leading out of town. No use letting Foster see young Wade Harbison’s car parked in front of that Lone Star honkytonk.

  As an excuse for making the detour, Matt pointed to a new house on the right-hand side of the street. “There’s Bill Scott’s new home that he’s built so his kids can be close to school.”

  Some of the despair left Foster’s face, and a hint of a smile showed there. “Good kids, Bill’s are.”

  Then the sadness came back. Presently he began to talk. “I wouldn’t mind going so much, Matt, if I knew I had a son like Bill’s that was going to take up the ranch right where I left off. But Wade…”

  Harbison was silent a moment. “I had hopes that when Wade got back from the war he’d marry your daughter Molly, and that I’d have me some grandchildren to sit on my lap and tell stories to before I finally—had to go. It looked for quite a while like it was going to work out that way. Then something happened. I don’t know what came over him.”

  Harbison sat there gripping his hands together until the knuckles were white. “If I had it all to live over again, Matt, I wouldn’t settle for one son. I’d have me four, or maybe five. You know, it wasn’t till the day they brought me the telegram that Wade was missing in action—it wasn’t till then that I realized I just had one son.

  “God was with me then, and He brought my son back. But it seems like He’s looking the other direction now. In a way it’s almost like Wade was missing again.”

  Matt swallowed down the catch in his throat. “Wade’s going to be all right, Foster. The way I see it, it’s just that the war took him so young. It robbed him of those wild years me and you had just before we got to be men. Now he’s kind of making up for them. Something’ll happen one of these days, like it did to us, and he’ll get his feet on the ground.”

  Foster nodded. “Maybe so. I hope it won’t be too long.”

  Matt’s daughter Molly was waiting for him at the front door after he let Foster out and had the cowboys help him unload the power sprayer from the pickup. Matt’s heart warmed at the sight of her. Standing there in a crisp new cotton dress, she looked as fresh as a new calf on a spring morning. But despite her smile, he could see worry behind her dark blue eyes.

  “I could tell by Foster’s look that the doctor’s report wasn’t good,” she said.

  Matt looked down at his box-toed boots. “The doctor says he’s got a chance only if he’ll sit back and take it easy, and has nothing to worry him. Otherwise, it’s just a matter of time, and not too much time at that.”

  Molly’s eyes were suddenly clouded. “He would sit back, if only Wade would take hold and run the ranch. But like it is, Foster’ll work and worry himself to death. I’ve got a notion to tell Wade just what I think.”

  Matt lifted his hands in alarm. “No, Molly, you can’t. Foster made me promise not to tell Wade. If Wade’s going to reform, it’s got to be because he wants to. It can’t be just because his dad is sick.”

  Anger darkened Molly’s cheeks, and Matt saw a hint of tears in her eyes as she turned away from him. He watched her a long moment, gathering courage for what he was to say.

  “We’ve got to bring Wade back to his senses, Molly. For Foster’s sake, we’ve got to. And I think you can do more than anybody.”

  Slowly she turned back around to face him. “Why me?”

  Matt gripped his knuckles nervously. “You’re still in love with him, Molly.”

  She started. The tears welled up, and she leaned back against a chair, her head bowed a little.

  “I guess a blind burro could see that,” she admitted, the hurt plain in her voice, “but what am I supposed to do, throw myself at him and tell him I’m his if he’ll settle down and quit acting like a half-grown kid?”

  Matt shook his head. “Not exactly like that. But it was you that broke off your engagement after he had thrown one too many wild parties with that rodeo gang of his. Maybe if you’d just kind of let him know you still feel the same way about him that you used to, he’ll finally break down and ask you to give him another chance. He’s three years older now. If you love Foster, you’ve got to try, Molly.”

  She nodded. “All right, Dad. We’ll see.”

  All the rest of the afternoon Matt kept glancing at the road that led in from town, hoping to see the trail of dust that would mean Wade’s car. But when suppertime drew near, there was still no sign of the boy.

  Since Matt’s wife had died, Molly did most of the cooking for the small Harbison ranch crew. Foster always came over to the Coopers’ house to eat. Molly would set out a plate for Wade, too. But
the last three years he was seldom around.

  Just as the cowboys settled down to eat, Wade’s car pulled to a stop outside, an empty horse trailer rattling behind it. The two punchers glanced out the window at him, then at Foster. They looked down at their plates as Wade strode gaily in and let the screen door slam behind him.

  Matt studied the young man a moment. No one could ever deny that Wade was a handsome lad, the kind that nice old ladies always wanted to introduce their daughters to. Nor did he lack ability.

  He could ride just about the saltiest ranch bronc that might be led out to him. If he didn’t ride the first time, he would keep getting back on till he finally did ride. Throwing a rope was just as natural to him as throwing a baseball. And he could judge the value of a cow just about as well as his old daddy could.

  For the first time in Matt didn’t know how long, Molly smiled at Wade. “Better late than never,” she said. “I was about to use your plate to feed the dog in.”

  Wade stopped and stared at her as if he couldn’t believe it. He finally grinned. “Now, you wouldn’t want to poison a dog, would you?”

  All through the meal, Matt saw Wade stealing puzzled glances at Molly. A wild hope rose in the foreman. Maybe Wade, too, felt the way he had used to.

  After supper Wade hung around the dining table, struggling hard to find new topics of conversation with Matt while he actually kept stealing glimpses of Molly. Matt went out on the front porch alone and sat down to smoke his pipe. Presently he glanced back through a window and saw Wade helping Molly with the dishes.

  A warm new satisfaction spread through Matt. By dogies, it looked like it might work.

  After a while Wade came out and strode toward the barn. Matt knocked the ashes out of his pipe and followed him.

  “We’ve got three pastures of calves to brand, Wade,” Matt said. “According to the almanac, the signs’ll be right in a couple of days. Kind of hoped you’d want to be here to help.”

  Wade shook his head. “Looks like you’ve forgotten about the rodeo coming to town, Matt. You couldn’t hire any extra help. And as for me, I’ve already promised some of the boys I’d be around for the roping events.”

  Matt choked down the disappointment. “Seems like there’s always a rodeo or a matched roping or some doggone thing someplace when we’ve got work to do here,” he said pointedly.

  He saw a sign of irritation rise in Wade’s face. “I’m sorry it’s that way, Matt.”

  The boy turned to go, then stopped a moment. “I asked Molly to go to the rodeo dance with me the last night of the show. She said she would. That all right with you?”

  Matt grunted. All the disappointment hadn’t left him. “Sure, Wade. It’s all right with me.”

  Next morning Wade ate breakfast with the rest of the crew and followed the cowboys out to the barn. Maybe he would make the morning ride, Matt thought. Old Foster hobbled out to the barn with them, and Matt noticed him glancing hopefully at the boy.

  In the corral Matt shook out a horse loop in his rope. “What do you want to ride this morning, Wade?”

  Wade shook his head. “Afraid I haven’t got time to go along this morning, Matt. Got to work on my rig and get it ready for the rodeo.”

  Matt gripped the rope tightly. He glanced at Foster and saw disappointment wash across the wrinkled face. Foster hesitated a minute, then said, “Catch me old Packrat. I’m going along.”

  Matt hefted his rope doubtfully. “Don’t you think maybe you ought to stay around close for a while, Foster? You got to have rest.”

  Foster shook his head irritably. “There’s been mighty few days since I’ve had this outfit that one of the Harbisons hasn’t been along to help. And that policy ain’t going to change as long as I’m able to see a cow.”

  Matt purposely missed the first loop, hoping Wade would speak up and go instead of his dad. As he recoiled his rope he looked around and saw Wade already on his way to the barn. Anger rippled through the foreman. He caught Packrat clean the second throw.

  His anger came back over him when the crew returned to the ranch for dinner. Another car was parked at Wade’s trailer out by the barn. Matt could see two cowpunchers standing in the shade by the barn’s front steps, watching Wade re-lace his stirrup leathers.

  There wasn’t any mistaking the men’s Hollywood cowboy clothes. Cecil Bragg and Ed Gordon, Matt thought, spitting at fence post in disgust. They had come just the right time to mooch a free meal from Molly.

  Matt gave them a curt nod as he walked up. Bragg eyed him warily, and Gordon slowly retreated around beside Wade.

  “Just came out to see if Wade was ready for the rodeo, Mister Matt,” Gordon said as if he thought an explanation was necessary.

  Matt said nothing. There was a long uneasy moment, and even Wade, concentrating on his saddle, seemed to sense it. Finally Gordon resumed talking to Wade.

  “Like I was saying, Wade, we could have us a real good time if we was to go on the rodeo circuit the rest of the summer. We could go to Arizona and Colorado and Wyoming—all them places like that. Just have us a good time.”

  A tension built up in Matt as he watched Wade studying his saddle, his brow knitted. Wade couldn’t leave the country now, not with his dad in such bad shape. He just couldn’t.

  Presently Wade shook his head. “Aw Ed, I wouldn’t feel right about leaving here for so long. Why don’t you all just go ahead?”

  Gordon objected vigorously. “We couldn’t go without you, Wade.”

  Matt grunted. “Bet your life you couldn’t. Who’d pay your bills?”

  Wade looked up irritably. “I don’t know why you’ve always got to insult my friends, Matt.”

  Matt felt his anger getting away with him, and he tried to hold it in.

  “You’d find out just how good friends they were if you ever went broke.”

  Wade stood up, his eyes narrowed. “When I was a kid, Matt, you told me to never let anybody else pick my cows for me, or pick my friends.”

  Matt swallowed. “You’ve gotten to where you’re a lot better at picking cows than you are at picking friends, Wade!”

  He turned and tromped toward the house, fighting at the anger that surged within him.

  Matt didn’t try to get much work done while the rodeo was on. He turned the cowhands loose to go to the show. Matt himself didn’t go until the last afternoon. The way he figured it, he had lived enough rodeo right out on the range the last forty-odd years.

  Home again, Matt found Molly in a brand new dress, making pirouettes in front of a mirror and admiring the garment. It made her look like a million dollars, Matt thought proudly.

  “It’s for the dance tonight, Dad,” she trilled. “I’ve got to take it up in a place or two, but isn’t it lovely?”

  Matt grinned. He hadn’t seen her so happy in he didn’t know how long. If she couldn’t charm Wade tonight, the boy was blind.

  Wade came to get Molly about dark. Matt’s anger was forgotten as he watched the way the two youngsters looked at each other.

  Old Foster came hobbling over just as the boy and girl left for town. A puzzled grin was on his face. “I just can’t hardly believe it,” he said, watching the car lights disappear down the town road.

  Warm satisfaction spread through Matt. Just let those two parasite friends of Wade’s try to drag him off to the rodeo circuit now, he thought.

  The slamming of a car door awoke Matt with a start. He threw back the cover a little and pushed himself up on one elbow to look at the clock. Hardly midnight. Doggoned early for Wade and Molly to be home from the dance!

  In a moment the front door opened and closed again. Matt sat up in bed as he heard Molly sobbing. Uneasiness spread through him as he started to get up.

  Turning on the light, he saw Molly sitting in a living room chair, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. He stood there uncertainly. He had never been much help when a woman was crying. Finally he walked over to her and patted her on the shoulder.

  “Now, now
,” he said soothingly, “it can’t be all that bad. Where’s Wade?”

  “He’s still in town,” she said bitterly. “I hope he has to walk!”

  She soon got control of herself. “It’s not Wade, really,” she said. “It’s those people who always hang around him, like Ed Gordon and Cecil Bragg, helping him spend his money. If we could make him see what a worthless bunch they are, he might straighten out all right.”

  Matt’s anger began to kindle up again. “What made you go off and leave him?” he growled.

  “It was Gordon and Bragg. Wade and I were having a wonderful time together till those two came in. Wade invited them to sit down with us. They had a bottle with them. I told Wade I didn’t like it.

  “Finally Ed Gordon took a notion he wanted to dance. He grabbed me by the arm and tried to drag me out onto the dance floor. Wade argued with him, in a quiet kind of way, but Gordon didn’t turn me loose. So I slapped him good and hard. Then Wade told me I ought to be ashamed, that Gordon didn’t realize what he was doing. I got so mad I slapped Wade, too. I grabbed his car keys off the table, got the car and came home.”

  Matt sat down in another chair, his hands trembling, his face hot. “It’s my fault, Molly,” he said softly. “I thought we could change him. But all I’ve done is get you hurt all over again.”

  About the middle of the next morning, Gordon and Bragg brought Wade out to the ranch. Matt watched Wade get his own car and back it up to his horse trailer. The old foreman strode over to him. He shot a hostile glance at Gordon and Bragg. He noted the pair’s bloodshot eyes and hoped they both had a headache.

  “Looks like you’re going someplace, Wade,” he said evenly.

  Wade nodded.

  “I figured on going ahead with the branding,” Matt went on. “We need your help.”

  Wade didn’t answer, so Gordon piped in. “Wade’s going with us to follow the rodeo circuit a couple of months.”

  Matt’s heart skipped a beat or two. He felt a little of the color drain from his face.