The fear returned to Brack’s face. He had seen a chance with the eldest Storm, but he knew he wouldn’t get any change from Mart or from Joe. They were a couple of hardcases who sounded as if they had learned their lessons in the same school he’d learned his. So he’d have to eat humble pie in front of his son. It would choke him, but he’d have to do it. Goddam the Storms to Hell and back. He could change his tune later.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘You win. Does that satisfy you? You win. My boy here heard me say it. State your terms.’
‘Your southern boundary is the saddle yonder. You don’t come no further south than that,’ Will said. ‘We’ll take a parallel line goin’ west. You keep north of that. You don’t touch the sources of water on your range. You don’t bar our access to the north.’
Brack swallowed.
‘I agree,’ he said. Will thought he said it too easily. But there was no way of telling if the man were speaking the truth. They would have to be satisfied with that.
Joe got to his feet and stalked to Brack, leaning over him, his eyes a terrible threat.
‘You stick to that, mister,’ he said. ‘You break your oath and ole Joe’ll come after you. Like you, I don’t know the rules. You can go hide in Denver or down in New Mexico, but I find you. Hear?’
Brack didn’t reply.
Will got to his feet.
‘Right. Jody – George – horses for Brack and his son.’
The horses came, saddled and bridled. Brack looked fit to be tied. He got heavily into the saddle and settled there.
Quietly, he said: ‘You should maybe have killed me, Storm.’
Just as softly, Will said: ‘Maybe I should of at that.’
They turned their horses and rode away. They all stood and watched them go slowly across the grass of the valley. Martha came and stood by Will.
‘Thank God, it’s all over,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Will agreed. But he didn’t think it was over. Men like Brack didn’t take a beating. He had cattle on the range to the north. He would bring men back into the country to care for them. Next year, the year after, he would want to expand, he would be looking south into the well-watered creek country. He wondered, not for the first time, if he were too soft a man to build in a hard country. He looked at his family and reckoned that for them he could be hard enough. He looked at young Kate talking to Pete Hasso; at little Melissa standing holding the black hand of her beloved Joe; at Martha, standing smiling at him; at his three boys and his crew. All good men. He sure had the material to build with. Life was good.
‘Well,’ he said, not with much originality, ‘tomorrow’s another day. Tomorrow, we start on the house.’
He looked across at his new daughter-in-law. She smiled. He touched Martha’s arm and said: ‘Let’s you an’ me take a walk, girl.’ He wanted to be alone with Martha, to think aloud, to work out what he was going to do in this great new land. He could see the longhorns scattered out on the rich grass, a wisp of cloud rode across the timber to the north, a light breeze was rising, touching their faces like a blessing. Dusk wasn’t far off,
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘life’s good.’
Martha put her hand in his and pressed it.
If you liked this then read
STAMPEDE!
HARD TEXAS TRAIL
From Piccadilly Publishing
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