by Elmer Kelton
Walking into Cass Duncan’s office, he saw someone working behind a big shelf, cleaning out stacks of old papers.
“Cass,” he called.
It wasn’t Cass. Betty Duncan stepped out from behind the ceiling-high shelf. Her eyes warmed at the sight of Toby. It struck him again that they were beautiful eyes, gray and vital.
Flustered, he said, “Excuse me, Miss Duncan. I thought you were Cass.”
She smiled. “So I gathered. But I’m not.”
Her long brown hair, he noticed, was combed up and rolled into a tight, pretty bun at the back of her neck. “He went out to the Long S this morning with a bunch of men. He ought to be getting back pretty soon.” Her eyes continued to smile at him. “I’m glad you came, Toby. Maybe you can help me put some of these papers back on the top shelf. It’s hard for me to reach.”
He climbed up onto a chair. She handed him some papers. Their hands touched, and a peculiar tingle ran through him.
Toby said, “You know what Cass went out there for, I reckon.”
Her eyes told him the answer.
“I was home last night,” he said urgently. It was suddenly important to him that this girl believe him. “I didn’t know a thing about it till Paul English stopped by and told me. I came in to tell Cass I had no hand in it. I promised him I was going to stay straight. I meant it.”
He looked down into her eyes and found them searching his face. He was glad he hadn’t lied to her. He sensed that she would have known it.
“Dad’ll be pleased to hear that from you,” she said. “He didn’t want to believe what some of them were saying about you this morning. You really convinced him the other day, Toby.”
Her words brought him relief. He relaxed. Looking down at her, he said, “How about you, Betty? Were you convinced?”
She looked past him, her eyes pensive. “You didn’t notice me much four years ago, Toby. I guess to you I was just a little girl then. But I noticed you. I was pulling for you all the way, and I’m pulling for you now.”
Then, a tinge of red color in her face, she turned away from him and busied herself with the stack of papers and books.
A sudden stirring inside him, Toby watched her wonderingly. She had seemed only a kid then in her starched, schoolgirl dresses, her long brown hair braided and tied behind her head. He had often wondered why she was so eager to bake cakes and pies for him. Now he thought he knew.
The knowledge left a warm glow in him. Betty Duncan was no little girl now. He could see how a man could lose his heart to her in a hurry, if he hadn’t already lost it to someone else.
Cass Duncan returned about half an hour later. The heavy sound of his footsteps preceded him down the courthouse hall. He stopped abruptly in the doorway as he sighted Toby sitting there.
Cass pitched his big dusty hat at a rack and missed. He paid no attention to that. He settled himself heavily into his chair and looked across at Toby, his gaze steady and questioning.
“I’ve been listening to everybody else all day,” he said. “Now I want to hear what you’ve got to say.”
Toby told him about Paul English’s visit. “I haven’t stolen anybody’s cattle, haven’t tried to, and don’t intend to try to.”
Cass Duncan stared at him, his gray eyes as inescapable as his daughter’s had been. “You know something, Toby? I believe you. But you know something else? I believe you know who was trying to run off those cattle. You ought to tell me.”
Toby looked away from him. “I’ve told you all I know.”
The sheriff frowned. “All right, Toby, if that’s how it is.”
Then he gave the same warning which Paul English had made. “You’re fixing to get hung on somebody else’s rope, son. Don’t let it happen.”
It was seldom that Toby Tippett ever took a drink. He felt that he needed one now, bad. Stepping into the saddle, he swung around and angled down the street to the new place which was called the Equity Bar. He walked up the steps, then stopped short at the door. A good-sized bunch of men was inside, and among them was Damon Frost.
Toby knew he didn’t want any trouble now, and stepping in there would be a sure way to get it. Slowly he started back down the steps, dismissing his need of the drink. He saw two men riding up the street toward him, and he hauled up short again. They were Alton Frost and Marvin Sand.
He swung into the saddle and pulled out to meet them. The anger built in him. He saw surprise flush into their faces.
“I want to talk to you two,” he said shortly. “Let’s ride out a ways.”
Sand’s gaze nervously swept up the street. “This isn’t the time to do it, I don’t think.”
Angrily Toby said, “We’ll do it now, and we’ll do it right here, unless you turn around and ride out to a better place with me.”
Resentment smoldered in Sand’s face as they rode out around a hill just south of town. Once he looked back over his shoulder.
“Afraid somebody’ll see you with me, Marvin, and get the idea you might be a crook?” Toby asked acidly. Sand didn’t answer.
Toby felt an old dislike swelling in him. He never had thought much of Marvin Sand, even when they had ridden together years ago. With Toby and Dodd and Alton it had been mostly just wildness that pushed them into rustling cattle. Wildness and a thirst for adventure.
But with Sand, two or three years older than any of them, it had been something else.
It had been the money that had attracted him, a love of money that amounted to greed.
And with it had been a mean streak that had sometimes frightened the other boys. That streak had made him kill cattle for spite once when a posse had closed in and the young rustlers had had to abandon their stolen herd. And another time it had been all Toby could do to keep Sand from shooting Cass Duncan from ambush. Malice had burned in Marvin Sand, a malice beyond Toby’s understanding.
“This is far enough, I reckon,” Toby said when they were behind the hill. He swung his horse around to face them. “You knuckleheads! Don’t you know what you’re doing to me? I don’t intend to stand around here with my hands in my pockets while you two fools get me sent back to prison for something I didn’t do.”
Alton Frost stammered. “N-now, Toby, it wasn’t our fault. There wasn’t a chance in a hundred that we’d get caught. It was just bad luck. It’s not going to happen again.”
Furiously Toby exploded, “It better not happen again. There’s something I want you two to get straight, right now. I covered up for you once, because I was as guilty then as you were. But I’m not going to cover up for you now. Get my tail in a crack and I’ll spill the whole story.”
Sand’s eyes narrowed. There was poison in them. “You wouldn’t, Toby.”
“Yes,” he said levelly, “I would.”
Sand leaned toward him, grabbing Toby’s shirt. “You ever say a word about us, Toby, and I’ll kill you.”
Toby’s anger burst free. He drove his fist into Sand’s ribs so hard that Sand almost fell out of the saddle. Sand took a futile swing at him. Toby hit him again, and this time Sand fell.
Instantly Toby was on the ground, just in time to see Sand get up. Sand rushed him. Toby faltered under the savage impact of Sand’s hard fists. But he managed to hit Sand in the face, twice. Sand slowed a little.
Alton Frost had dismounted and was standing there helplessly.
He pleaded, “Let’s stop this. You got no call…”
Rage boiled up in Marvin Sand’s face. He drove into Toby again, his fists striking like sledges. Toby staggered backward and fell. Sand drew back a foot to kick him.
Alton grabbed Sand’s shoulder. “Marvin,” he cried, “you can’t…”
In blind fury Sand smashed Alton in the face. Young Frost fell to one knee and stayed there, holding his hand to his bleeding mouth.
Sand whirled back on Toby. But the brief break had given Toby time to get part of his breath back. He never gave Sand a chance to balance himself. He dived into him, punching, slashing, pounding un
til Sand went down on his hands and knees.
Toby stood over him, his chest heaving. “You boys just … remember what I told you. I’m not going to jail … for anybody.”
Sod Tippett was asleep when Toby got home that night. Hungry, Toby found a few cold biscuits without lighting the lamp. He went to bed.
Next morning he ached from the fight, and the bruises and cuts on his face were burning like grass afire. He walked out by the cistern and hauled up a bucket of water to wash his face. The water cooled him, but the fire soon came back.
Sleepy-eyed old Sod saw the bruises first thing.
“Horse fell with me,” Toby lied.
The old man didn’t believe him. Over his coffee, Sod said quietly, “Not taking to you very well, are they, son? I was afraid they wouldn’t. It ain’t the same now as it used to be. It’ll never be the same again.”
He sipped long at the scalding coffee. “Son,” he spoke again, “what do you say we just up and leave? We can sell this place. We’ll find us something somewhere else, where folks’ll leave you alone.”
Toby studied his father closely. “You think we could ever find a place we liked as well as we do this one?”
Sod didn’t answer that directly. “That ain’t the point, son. The point is…”
Toby interrupted him. “The point is that we wouldn’t. So we’re not going. They may try, but they’ll never chase me off. Don’t you worry yourself about it.”
He rode out again that morning. When he came in at noon, he found Ellen Frost waiting for him. She sat in Sod’s old rocking chair on the front porch, impatiently rocking back and forth. At sight of Toby she stood up quickly. Toby heard the clatter of cooking utensils inside the house.
Ellen hurried out to meet Toby as he swung down and looped one rein over the fence. She took Toby’s arm and headed him toward the barn.
“Let’s get out there where we can talk,” she said quickly.
At the barn, out of sight of the house, Toby turned her around into his arms and kissed her. She gave little response, but she didn’t try to stop him.
Huskily he said, “I’ve been thinking about you ever since you left.”
She smiled, reaching up to pinch his skin. He flinched, because the bruises there sent pain knifing through him.
Ellen laughed. “You don’t look so bad,” she said. “Marvin’s face is half blue.”
Displeasure stirred in him. “They told you?”
“Why not? There aren’t any secrets between Marvin, Alton, and me.”
He turned loose of her. “You know what they’ve been doing?”
“Certainly. Sometimes I have to cover up for them with Pa.”
Toby’s face fell. A sickness started in the pit of his stomach.
Ellen went on, “Why do you want to be so hardheaded, Toby? Why don’t you go along with them? Alton told me he made you a good proposition the other day. As long as people are blaming you anyway, you’d just as well be getting something out of it.”
A sense of disgust swept him. He turned away from her. “I was surprised enough at Alton,” he said. “But you…”
“Surprised to find out that I’ve got some nerve, that I don’t just sit at home and be a proper little girl with a pink ribbon in my hair? Maybe that’s the kind of washed-out girl you want.” Her voice rose angrily, “Well, that’s not what I want to be. You’ve seen my mother. A dried-up, miserable little woman who shivers in fear every time Pa stomps into the house. She’s scared to death of him all the time.
“You think I want to be like that? God knows Pa has tried hard enough to whip me into being that kind of a woman. But he hasn’t been able to do it. No man ever will.”
In despair, Toby said, “I think you better leave, Ellen. And maybe you’d better not come back.”
Anger flared in her eyes and settled into disgust. “You’re a fool, Toby.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But I’m not a thief.”
She slapped him so hard he stumbled back against the barn wall. She turned sharply and struck for the house in a fast, sharp stride. He stepped out and watched her. And suddenly he wasn’t very sorry anymore.
Rubbing his burning cheek, he wondered why it didn’t hurt him more, watching her leave. She had shattered a dream that he had built through four long years. There was some regret, sure. But there wasn’t the kind of ache he might have expected. Instead, there was almost a feeling of relief. Maybe the shock Alton Frost had given him helped inure him. Then his mind went back once again to a pair of wide gray eyes, and he thought he knew.
He had gotten no more than halfway back to the house when the horsemen came—Damon Frost, flanked by Marvin Sand and a dozen cowboys. With them they were bringing back Ellen Frost, her shoulders squared defiantly. Toby knew they had trailed her here. He sensed what was coming.
For a moment he considered running for the house and getting a gun. He might be able to make it. But he knew they wouldn’t leave until they had him. And they might hurt old Sod.
They reined up in front of him. Damon Frost leaned forward, his face clouded. “I gave you a warning the other day, Tippett. I told you to leave my daughter alone, and I told you to clear out of the country. You’ve done neither. Well, I made you a promise then. And now I’m going to keep it.”
Marvin Sand and two cowboys stepped down. They rushed Toby. He stepped forward to meet them, his fists swinging. But in the space of two quick breaths they had grabbed him. Marvin Sand was standing directly in front of him, hate smoldering behind the dark blue splotches on his swollen face.
Frost glanced severely toward his daughter. “I warned you, Ellen. Now sit there and watch.” To Marvin Sand he said, “Go ahead with it.”
Sand’s first fist plowed into Toby’s stomach. Nausea swept him. The second blow struck his bruised face and brought slashing pain. For just a moment he saw Ellen’s face and he found no sympathy there.
Malice leaped into Sand’s darkened eyes. Then Toby’s own eyes were closed by the merciless pounding of hard, hate-driven fists. He struggled vainly against the strong arms that bound him. Each blow drove him back a step nearer the deep, dark pit that yawned just beyond the whirling bursts of fire.
He heard Sod Tippett’s enraged voice, but then Toby slumped, falling backward into that great pit.
Sod Tippett rushed out and down the steps, his old .30-30 rifle in his hands. “Damon Frost,” he shouted hoarsely, “you leave my boy alone.” In fury Sod Tippett stopped and pointed the gun at the ashen-faced cowboys. It clicked harmlessly. Cursing, the old man fought at the lever. But the rifle had jammed.
He came running then, grasping the rifle by the barrel. The two cowboys made a rush for their horses. Marvin Sand stood there. Sod Trippett’s gaze furiously fell upon him. He rushed Sand, swinging the rifle viciously. Sand caught the blow on his left forearm. His right hand grasped the barrel. For a moment he struggled with the old man.
Then he wrenched the rifle free and gave Sod Tippett a savage glancing blow on the forehead. The old man fell heavily. He got up on his knees again, blood trickling down the side of his face. Sand smashed the rifle against a rock.
Suddenly Sod Tippett was babbling incoherently. He swayed to his feet and staggered toward the unconscious Toby.
“Martha!” he began calling hoarsely. “It’s our boy. Come help me with our boy.”
Puzzled, Sand looked up at Frost. Damon Frost sat rigid in the saddle, his widened eyes on the staggering old man.
“Martha,” Frost said, shaken. “That was his wife.”
Sand swung into the saddle. “The old man’s as crazy as a loon. Let’s get out of here.”
They reined their horses around and rode out in a stiff trot.
Pain awakened Toby; his head throbbed as if someone was pounding on it with a sledge. He pushed himself onto his elbows and tried to open his eyes. He winced at the sharp pain of the bright sun, but he managed to get to his knees. His eyes were swollen almost shut. He could see the vague form of the house ahea
d of him. He tried to get there, but he stumbled and fell weakly. Pain rushed through him with sickening force.
He heard Sod Tippett’s voice. “What’s happened to you, son?” the old man said, almost whimpering. “That old Socks horse throw you again? I told you to be careful about him. He’ll really hurt you some day.”
Toby realized vaguely that Sod’s mind had gone astray again. Socks was a mean horse Toby had ridden when he was about ten years old, one that had caused him many a skinned face and bloody nose.
Sod got hold of Toby and helped him up again. With the old man’s support Toby got to the house and swayed over to the cistern. He pulled up a bucket of water and doused his face in it. After a while he could open his eyes enough to see. He saw the dried streak of blood on his father’s face, and the broken rifle lying out there. He could imagine the rest.
Tenderly Toby reached up and touched the wound on his father’s head. “They hurt you, Dad?”
Sod shook his head. “You and your mother, always worrying about a man. It’s nothing. Horse took me under a low limb is all.”
But that wasn’t all. From the tracks Toby could tell pretty much what had happened. And the excitement had been a little too much for his father. Toby saw him grip his chest. He managed to rush forward in time to catch Sod Tippett as the old man fell.
It was after dark when Toby pulled the heaving team to a halt in front of the doctor’s house in town and climbed down from the wagon. He tried to lift Sod out by himself. But he was still too weak to manage it.
“Doc!” he called. “Doctor Will!”
In a moment Doctor Will Chambers came out onto his porch with a lantern held high.
“It’s me, Doc, Toby Tippett. Dad’s had a stroke.”
Together they carried Sod into the house and eased him onto a cot. The physician took out his stethoscope and listened to Sod’s heartbeat.
“I’ve been afraid of this,” he said, “ever since he had that sick spell three years ago.”
Toby had never heard about any sick spell. But his father wrote but seldom, and never much even then.
“It’s all my fault, Doc,” Toby said. “Maybe if I’d been here, if I hadn’t caused him so much worry…”