Born Savage

by William Hopson

  “Next morning, when Ethan guessed where she’d gone and came after her with a wagon bed mounted on sled runners, she screamed and fought and had to be taken back by force. I guess that on the way home she calmed down and decided to live with her terrible secret. Anyhow, the Utes named the place, ‘Valley Where Squaw Was Angry,’ and pretty soon it was just Bitter Squaw Valley.”

  He lapsed into silence once more, and the two women wisely left him alone with his thoughts; the knowledge that he was going to kill the man who had done this. His father.

  They rode through a narrow cut separating Pronghorn from tile north end of the valley. Below the bluffs on which the town sat, they crossed Rocking R’s wagon road up a narrow cut, and circled around for a steeper trail climb into the west side of Tulac.

  There were no guards to challenge them and the back of Kathy’s house was over yonder in the darkness, two hundred yards away.

  The time was shortly before dawn.

  Near the house Ordway dismounted from the black mare and handed his reins to Vernell. “If she starts to neigh,” he instructed in a whisper, “Jerk her head up. I’ve got to see if anybody is on guard. Lon might have a nervous shotgun trigger finger.”

  He left them and moved on forward, Colt wary, and pulled up by Kathy’s chicken coop. From it emanated a sleepy cluck or two. The house looked dark but his night-accustomed eyes told him finally that two or three squares were lighter than the rest. Blankets over the windows.

  “Hey, Lon,” he hissed.

  “That you, Chann?” came Koonce’s instant reply. “Lordy, but I’m glad you got here.”

  Ordway moved forward and shook hands in the night “I’ve got a couple of women who are very much worried about that strong-willed man of theirs.”

  “They have good reason to be,” the ex-deputy answered cryptically.

  “That bad?” Ordway asked and dreaded the reply.

  “Damned near. I slid out of town today to keep the meeting with you. Ethan’s bunch have let me alone so far, as long as I kept my nose out of their business. On the other side of the basin I found Randolph. He was done in. Shot bad and almost bled to death until he got his wound plugged with that scarf he always wore.”

  Ordway told him about Harl Griddle. “The way I got it figured their trails crossed and Harl figured Randolph for an easy kill. He must have been quite surprised when the Britisher put a quick one through his heart with a fancy rifle.”

  “I had to get him back here to Doc, and this was the only place to bring him. And I was spotted, of course. You know what that means.”

  “Has anybody seen Step?”

  “He’s here, sober, and half crazy to see Kathy again except that Lon sleeps with a shotgun by his chair around the dock.” He handed Ordway the sawed-off shotgun. “Here. I’ll get the women. Go on in the kitchen and get yourself some coffee. Door is to the left and don’t stumble over them washtubs.”

  Ordway found the door and opened it light struck his face. He closed it and laid the shotgun on the table with checkered oilcloth top. A woman entered the room and he turned. It was Kathy.

  For a woman who had miscarried but a little over a week ago Kathy had shown astounding recovery. She wore a light dress, and Ordway noted that she was pitifully thin. Not a pound over ninety, he guessed, and her stem-like neck looked like the bas-relief of one of those ancient Egyptian goddesses. He almost could have encircled it with the middle finger and thumb of one hand.

  However, the dark circles beneath her eyes were clearing, beginning to match the lighter texture of her smooth skin, and he knew it would be but a matter of time until she’d be healthy once more. Only one thing gave him concern. In her eyes, larger than he’d ever seen them in the old days, lay a haunting fear.

  She knew that Step was back in Ethan’s good graces because he had fired the Randolph ranch house. It was an open secret all over Tulac. She knew also that Step was sober, was temporarily contrite toward her for what had happened to an unborn baby, and that he wanted to start all over again.

  If Ordway and Koonce went down under gunfire there would be no hope for her. The whole brutal cycle would start all over again.

  She gave Ordway a wan smile and came closer, and a pity that was more of an older brother rose inside him. He took her in his arms and held her close. It was the kind of gesture he’d have done with a frightened child, a kicked puppy. In a certain sense he felt responsible for the tragedy she had suffered, and the pity arose anew as she snuggled against his chest.

  “Oh, Chann, I’m scared,” she whispered in a muffled voice. “Ethan and Sonny and Step are holed up over in Hanse’s saloon. Mike is barricaded in his bank. Pete the barber is dead. Ethan shot him because he wouldn’t give him a shave one night. Pa’s been wonderful but he’s nigh crazy for a few drinks. Chann! Chann! What are we going to do?”

  It was thus that Vernell heard the last of it, and thus she found them when she stepped inside the kitchen. Ordway turned with the girl against his breast. He caught one glimpse of the terrible pain in the strange, dark eyes and his own heart almost collapsed. Any hopes he had now were gone.

  Nothing on earth would ever convince the girl now but that he still loved Kathy, still intended to get her back.

  Kathy blushed and pushed herself out of Ordway’s arms and straightened the dress over her thin, almost emaciated body. Outside, a rooster, awakened by three horses tied at the coop, cocked its head back and crowed a salute to the morning.

  And out there too one of the horses began to mouth at the loosely knit knot holding her to a post. The black mare was at it again.

  I’m so glad you’re safe,” Kathy said breathlessly to the women. “I guess Bob told you Mr. Randolph got I shot. But he’s in my bed and Doc Cartwright says he’ll pull through. You got nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m sure we haven’t,” Mary Randolph replied murmuringly. “And we’re grateful for your kindness.”

  “You come with me,” Kathy said and led the way.

  Ordway went to a doorway and looked in. He caught a glimpse of a man half propped up among pillows. Randolph’s eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. Doc Cartwright motioned with his head and followed Ordway back to the kitchen.

  “He’s got guts, that fellow. How are you, boy?”

  “What chance has he got, Doc?” Ordway asked and went to the stove for coffee.

  “Just’a question of time until his distillery can cook up a new batch of blood,” the goateed little man replied. “Too bad medical science can’t figure out a way for me to pump about a gallon of new blood in him. He’d be on his feet in no time.”

  He accepted the coffee from Ordway and sat down tiredly, resting an elbow on the cloth. “Wish I had some whiskey to spike this. I sure need a shot, but don’t dare bring any in the house.”

  “Lon?” Ordway asked, pouring for himself. He looked at Koonce, who shook his head and said, “Had mine all night.”

  Doc said, “It’s been years since he’s gone this long without a drink. Now that Kathy is on the way to recovery all he needs is one good shot of liquor and you’d have to hog-tie him to keep him out of Hanses.”

  He drank moodily from the cup, not seeing it, eyes on the floor beyond. A tired sigh came up out of his lungs. “One by one the old bunch are gradually slipping away. Now old Pete is gone. Your uncle is an insane mad dog, Chann.”

  Ordway said quietly, “I don’t think he’s my uncle, Henry. I’m convinced that Ethan is really my father.”

  Doc looked only faintly startled. He put down his cup and the sigh rose once more from his tired lungs. “Well. As long as you know, I’m glad I wasn’t the one to tell you. Your mother shared that terrible secret with me the first time I came to look at you, and I think Ethan brooded about it so much his thinking became all twisted.”

  His eyes turned hard and bright like lead-colored glass. His voice was pitched low so that those in the sick room might not overhear.

  “So you might as well know what Han
se and Pete and me have known for twenty years, because we witnessed that gunfight. Ethan framed Tim into that shootout in Hanse’s place.”

  “There is a thing called instinct, and one called destiny,” Channon Ordway said. “Perhaps that is why I knew a long time before it happened that someday I’d kill Red Waldo’s brother. Go on, Doc.”

  “Ethan,” Cartwright went on, “hired young Jude Waldo and two other easy-money young toughs to come down here and get the drop on him in a supposed threeway brace. The idea was that Tim would jump in to help. And that’s the way it worked out. When Tim jerked his six-shooter to save his brother, Ethan pulled the double cross he’d worked out with Waldo. He shot those other two young toughs to death, Jude centered his gunfire on Tim and killed him, and Ethan let Jude escape. He’s a monster, Chann.”

  There was silence in the kitchen for a few moments. Ordway had been seven years old when it all happened.

  Looking back, he could see how his mother had been literally a prisoner of Ethan on Pronghorn, or perhaps how she had grittily remained to see that her son came into his own.

  It had taken five more years at the hands of Ethan, and an agony of sorrow and shame, before she had given way—something a twelve year old boy hadn’t understood.

  Outside in the coop the rooster stopped crowing and a few alarmed cackles arose as the mouthing black mare finally worked loose the wet reins.

  Holding her head high and to one side to avoid stepping upon them, she moved away.

  She was stud-hungry and she headed straight for Hanses south porch where a number of other horses had been racked all night.

  THIRTEEN

  The lights in Hansen’s saloon were the only ones visible in the small town. The horses, exchanged at the livery at regular intervals in case anything went wrong, dozed outside. In the low interior of the place all was quiet except for the muted click of chips as four men silently played poker. Hanse was gone, had been gone since Ethan’s insane killing of Pete. He’d pulled a six-shooter from beneath the bar, untied his apron with one hand, called Ethan a mad dog son-of-a-bitch, and backed out the side entrance to his place. Into his old cabin, the original saloon.

  He was now holed up in the bank with Mike, in the latter’s upstairs office. If Ethan had to run for it and needed some fast cash at the last minute, he was going to be in for one hell of a surprise!

  A half-dozen or so of Sonny’s men were asleep on the blankets scattered around the door. Nobody was drinking. Nobody had had a drink for forty-eight hours.

  Wrapped in a buffalo robe, Ethan sat in Hanses own comfortable chair at the open end of the bar. He looked like some great grizzly that had wandered in. His gun smashed face was not yet fully healed. His shaggy black hair hung down around it. But his eyes, despite lack of sleep lately, were clear; brooding.

  He heard Sonny’s low chuckle as he raked in a small pot from Step in the penny-ante game. Those two didn’t quarrel anymore; partly because Ethan had so ordered it, but mostly because Step was sober and Sonny had sense enough not to push his jeers any further.

  Only trouble with Step, though, was that woman of his. There weren’t any loose women in Tulac, hadn’t been for fifteen years. Not enough money. Except for maybe finding himself a young squaw now and then, Step had been womanless for months because of Kathy’s pregnancy. Now she was going to be all right pretty soon and Ethan recognized the symptoms.

  That was the trouble with a damn woman, Ethan ‘ reflected. She made a man contented. Take his brother, Tim …

  He got up slowly and let the robe slide down around the chair. He looked at the spot there on the door where Tim had died that day twenty years ago. Memories came flooding back, things he’d forced out of his mind, other things over which he had brooded.

  He went behind the bar and opened a bottle and poured himself a drink. The poker players looked up, and along one wall a man shoved aside blankets and raised himself up on an elbow and yawned.

  “Bar’s open for a few,” Ethan said. “It’ll be closed later.”

  “Pour me one,” Sonny said and pushed back his chair.

  “Step?” Ethan called.

  Step shook his head. “Good boy,” Ethan grinned. “I just hope Lon goes down to the livery and finds that bottle we stashed in his favorite hiding place.”

  Sonny came over and picked up his drink, pushing back his tawny locks with his other hand. “So do I. It’ll be one gun less if we have to rush the house. He can have his booze, I just want that girl!”

  “He’ll find it,” Ethan grinned. The drink went down smoothly and warmed his belly. He poured himself one more. Sonny’s face broke into a scowl.

  “You reckon that damned dude cashed in his chips after Bob brought him in?”

  “Why don’t you go over and ask Henry?” Ethan chuckled with rare humor.

  “I’m asking what’s become of Harl?” Sonny snarled. “He should have been back yesterday. Four men now. Four of my men dead and nine left, and not one damned sign that Chann took the bait!”

  “He took it,” Ethan said. “He’s got more of my Ordway blood in him than he realizes, and the black Ordways were always good at thinking things out.”

  He corked the bottle, hit the stopper with the palm of his hand, placed it on a shelf behind him, and came out from back of the bar. He walked toward the south entrance and came out upon the roofless porch.

  He stood there, looking at the stars. They were shimmering, but fast losing their twinkle. Roosters were crowing all over town. A haze that looked almost like a fog hung over the valley rim as well as Pronghorn, and the thought came to him suddenly that he had never had time to enjoy all this the way Doc had. Doc with his paint brushes and oil colors and canvases always in the back of the buggy.

  He found himself strangely moved by the silence and the beauty. For a few moments it all came home to him, the wasted years, the hatreds, and the violent passions that drew no line of decency toward his brother’s wife, no line of blood toward his own brother.

  He shook off the mood and the old one came back and he scowled. Women. They were always making trouble. He turned as the sound of dainty hoofs came clicking on the hard packed earth. To his amazement he saw Step’s black mare. She came up with reins dragging, carrying a Mexican saddle, and nuzzled one of the dozing horses.

  Ethan Ordway took one look down yonder past where his livery was located, looked in the darkness beyond it toward Step’s home. A hard grin broke his black-whiskered features.

  “I knew it,” he breathed softly. “I knew it! He’s all Ordway.”

  He turned around and went back inside. The game had broken up. Sonny was idly dealing himself a hand of solitaire. Ethan looked around.

  “Where’s Step?” Ethan asked sharply.

  “Why,” Sonny replied in surprise, “I reckon he must have stepped outside.”

  He leaped to his feet and ran to the north door, gun in hand. He saw the dark figure forty feet away and called softly. ‘Turn around, Step. Slow and easy. Now come back.”

  They came back inside. Ethan said mildly, “Chann’s here. Your black mare is out front. Just in case you had any ideas, as long as he’s alive, you’ll never get your wife back.”

  “I was just looking around,” Step growled sullenly. “You say he’s here?”

  “What you need is a drink, boy,” Sonny said jovially. “You deserve one. Give him a couple, Ethan, and I’ll go scout around.”

  He picked up his .44-40 repeating Winchester and disappeared toward the flagpole.

  Upstairs, in Mike’s office over the bank, Mike sat with a light blanket over his lap, the old Winchester across it, the Dutch binoculars to his eyes. He was leaning forward, almost against the big window pane, tying to peer through the darkness.

  He picked up the Winchester by its stock and, with one hand, leaned over and poked the barrel against the blanket-rolled figure on the floor. “Better get up, Hanse,” he whispered. “That looks like Sonny heading down the street toward the livery. And I�
�d bet a hundred dollars it was Lon Perry I saw slipping into the livery corral a little while ago.”

  Over in Kathy’s kitchen, Ordway rose to his feet, his coffee cup empty. Doc Cartwright had leaned forward and wearily closed his eyes for a cat nap, his gray-goateed face, momentarily serene, cradled in his crossed arms. Koonce had gone back to his position on guard in the back door hallway.

  Ordway tip-toed softly to the bedroom door and, feeling guilty of intruding, looked in. To his surprise Eric Randolph’s eyes were open and unclouded. Vernell sat on one side of the bed and Mary Randolph on the other. Kathy had gone out on the front porch with coffee for her father.

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” Ordway spoke gently.

  “Come in, Channon,” Mrs. Randolph replied and rose to her feet. Her tired face was alight with a new happiness. “It will take time but he’s going to recover.”

  Ordway stood with the big sombrero in his hand, the deadly pistol at his right hip. He looked down at the bandaged man.

  “Seems to me, Eric, that it’s about time you and I got on the same side of the fence, No, don’t talk. Let me. I brought your herd back because I made you a promise. You’ve got roughly fourteen or fifteen hundred head of new spring calves and there’ll be more of a drop that will increase the percentage. If we get this thing straightened out you and I can do some swapping of cattle to square things up. If we don’t, it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway.”

  “Thank… you,” came weakly.

  He went to the doorway and turned, tall and grim. Once again he looked like the terrible gunman, the killer they had known that first day. He didn’t look at Vernell. He didn’t dare, he felt that he had no right to after what she had witnessed. She stood looking at him, every fiber in her being, which he had said would be coarsened, crying out, but no sound came.

  Ordway put on his sombrero. A faint grin broke the hard lines around his grim mouth. “By the way, amigo,” he told the wounded man. “As one man who has been shot in the back to another, that was a damned good piece of shooting you did on Harl Griddle. By the time you get back in the saddle, his kind will cut a wide trail around when they see you coming.”