by Adam Brady
“No,” Bosker said. “Come for another reason, Tom. We tried to see Finch Rogan, but he was havin’ nothin’ to do with us. So we went to see McPhee, and he offered us as hard a damned contract as I ever heard about.”
“I know all about that,” Mahoney said. “Same thing happened to me.”
“So what’d you say to him?”
“I told him to go fry in hell.”
Bosker nodded and indicated his companions with a jerk of his thumb.
“Same as us,” he said, “but the thing is, we’re just about beat. We had us a talk on the way back from town and figured we can do one of two things. We can let Rogan double-cross us and allow McPhee to take over, then we can pack up and move with our tails between our legs. Or we can fight.”
“Are you talkin’ about a shootin’ fight?” Mahoney asked.
All three nodded, and Milligan spoke for the first time.
“McPhee sure has asked for it. Rogan says we’re just askin’ for more trouble, but I don’t see what we’ve got to lose.”
Mahoney’s eyes gleamed with interest.
“Figured I was on my own in this,” he said. “Until Buck here come along, I thought I’d just have to tackle Rudder and McPhee all by myself. Now the three of you are speakin’ up ... things are startin’ to look hopeful.”
Mahoney flicked a quick glance Halliday’s way, and asked;
“What do you reckon, Buck? Do you want some more excitement? Strikes me you ain’t a man that walks away from a good fight!”
Halliday stayed silent for almost a minute, and then he looked at each of the ranchers in turn. He had intended to see Mahoney safely home and then head off for parts unknown, but now he was not so sure.
“I’ve got no fight with Finch Rogan,” he told them.
“Not after what he said to you back there in town?” Mahoney said with a frown. “Hell, you take that kinda treatment from a polecat like Rogan, next thing—”
“He’s no polecat,” Halliday said. “He’s just a feller that got in over his head. I talked this over with him yesterday. He knows he took a risk with McPhee, but he didn’t have anybody else to turn to. And now McPhee’s backed him into a corner. It stinks, but it’s legal. Finch’s tried every way he can to help you fellers get outta this mess—he was even hopin’ to get some money from Melissa to bail Mahoney out until I got in the way.”
“How’d you do that? Hell, she’s his woman. Everybody knows that. If she’s got money, then maybe ...”
“Everybody thought she was his woman, especially Finch,” Halliday said. “But it turned out she was messin’ with Wes Rudder.”
Bosker’s jaw dropped.
“The two of them?”
“It sure looked that way to me,” Mahoney put in. “That gal near suffered a seizure when Rudder got what was comin’ to him. Then she came after Buck with blood in her eye, and her pa bought in, and I’m tellin’ you, there was one helluva ruckus.”
“You don’t have to feel like you’re at fault over Melissa,” Bosker said unexpectedly. “There’s more to that one than meets the eye.”
“All I’m saying,” Halliday told him, “is that I wouldn’t like anything to happen to Finch. His crime was bein’ a mite foolish, but that’s as far as it goes.”
Plainly puzzled by this turn of events, Mahoney straightened his back and addressed his neighbors.
“If you want to fight,” he said, “you can count me in. Rudder’s out of the way, and so are two other fellers. About the only one McPhee’s got left is the sheriff, and Buck shattered his gun hand with a bullet.”
“Yeah?” Thomas asked, eyeing Halliday intently.
“It’s true,” muttered Mahoney. “I sure wish you’d stay awhile longer, Buck. I ain’t trying to offend you none, but hell, every man has to make his way best he can. We can offer you a share in what we got if you can see your way clear to stickin’ around and helpin’ us ...”
“It wouldn’t work,” Halliday told them flatly. “The townsfolk would never go along with what you’re proposin’. Maybe the law is a mite bent, but it’s still the law and they aren’t the kind to buck it. Take Jeff Leonard, for instance. If he was gonna do somethin’, he would have made a move long before now.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Mahoney said quickly. “Nothin’ falls due till tomorrow. It just ain’t hit home to him yet.”
Bosker grunted his agreement, and his two companions nodded also. Halliday looked out into the distance. The empty spaces called to him.
“Time we got you home, Tom,” was all he said.
“That all you got to say, Buck?” Mahoney scowled.
“I reckon it is, Tom. It’s not my town, and it’s not my land. You know damn well that I wouldn’t take a cent for helpin’ you. Money’s not my main problem.”
“So what is?” Mahoney pressed.
“Finch Rogan,” Halliday said. “The two of us rode some mighty hard trails together. He’s not like everyone thinks he is. If you’re grateful that I’ve helped you, I’d like to have your word that you’ll leave Finch be.”
Mahoney looked quickly at the others. Bosker shrugged his shoulders and slapped at a fly.
“Cole?” Mahoney prodded.
“I just don’t know if Halliday’s right or wrong about Rogan,” Bosker said, “but I guess I’ll leave it to you, Tom.”
Mahoney nodded and chewed noisily on his bottom lip. Then he said;
“Okay, you all head on home, but stop in on Watson and Smith on the way. We can all get together at my place first thing in the mornin’ ... and all head for Watson’s place. That’ll be where McPhee goes first.”
Halliday sensed that Mahoney was talking himself into doing something he would much rather avoid. He did not doubt that once committed, Mahoney would carry this thing through to the end and likely get himself killed.
He walked his sorrel up the slope and stopped on the top of a rise. The parched land spread out in front of him looked no better than wasteland. Only fools would fight over a place like that—fools or people whose roots were sunk too deeply into the drought-stricken ground.
When his neighbors rode away, Mahoney brought his mount alongside Halliday’s, and said;
“Well, it’s time we went, too.”
“You know the law’s on McPhee’s side, don’t you?” Halliday asked as they heeled their mounts into motion.
“I guess so,” Mahoney said, “but he’s doin’ a bad thing, law or no law. Even if this is the last fight for me, I’m taking that tinhorn with me, Buck. It don’t matter much to me at my age, but I figure I owe it to my neighbors. They’re good men, and they’ve worked as hard as a man can to make somethin’ out of their ranches. Bosker’s always been willin’ to fight for what’s his, and Milligan, he’s got a wife and kids who depend on him. Thomas ain’t ever said a bad word against anybody until he came up against McPhee. I can’t turn my back on them, Buck. It just wouldn’t be right.”
They rode on in silence under the scorching sun. Finally, they reached Mahoney’s fence, and Halliday opened the gate and let the old man through. Then he led the sorrel onto Mahoney’s land and closed the gate.
The two men rode into the yard, side by side. Mahoney’s men came out to greet him, and when they saw the blood on his head, they tried to help him down from the saddle.
“I’m all right,” Mahoney said irritably. “Just leave me be. Somebody can take these hosses and give ’em a feed, though. Look after the sorrel first—Buck’s gonna be leavin’ soon as he’s had some grub and it gets a touch cooler.”
Halliday nodded gratefully. He expected that the sorrel could use all the special treatment it could get. It had been a long, hard ride to Redemption with little time so far to recover.
Even the slow ride to this ranch had tired the sorrel more than Halliday liked, and he was thinking he would have to baby it along for a few days more before it got its strength back.
Mahoney brought a half-bottle of whiskey out onto the porch, taking a swig
and then passing the bottle from hand to hand as his cowpokes squatted with their backs against the railing.
It seemed to be a tacit admission that there was not much for a ranch hand to do on yet another hot, dry afternoon.
Halliday sat beside the old rancher and stared out into the distance. Mahoney and the cowpokes talked a little, but for the most part, there was a companionable silence.
Halliday was thinking about the difference between being lonesome and being alone. Most of the time, he preferred his own company, but Finch Rogan had been the rare exception—the kind of friend who was never demanding. It was a shame to bust up that kind of friendship, especially over a woman who did not seem to really want either of the former friends.
The day droned on, slow and silent as every living thing tried to conserve energy and stay out of the sun.
It started to change just before dusk. A wind whipped up out of nowhere, bringing a surprising chill with it.
The men on the porch began to stir, and one of them stepped off the porch and looked up at the sky. Mahoney watched him curiously, and finally asked;
“What’s it doin’, Jake?”
The cowpoke shook his head doubtfully.
“Damned if I know, boss. Almost feels like there might be a storm buildin’ ...”
“Why don’t you ride up the ridge and get a better look?” Mahoney suggested.
“Why the hell not?” Jake concurred.
He walked across the yard in his run-over boots, heading for the corral.
“It’s somethin’ havin’ a wind to cool the place down, even if that’s all there is to it,” Mahoney concluded.
“Somebody’s comin’,” one of the other men remarked with mild interest.
Everyone except for Halliday craned their necks to see who it was.
“That’s two unusual things in a row,” Mahoney commented. “Don’t that look like Mrs. Harper’s buckboard?”
“Yeah, boss, and she’s pushin’ that old hoss mighty hard,” the cowpoke confirmed.
It took no effort to stop the heavily-loaded buckboard. As soon as the sad-eyed woman on the box seat let the reins go loose, the horse simply stopped and let its head droop.
Halliday counted three kids among the boxes and bundles in the flatbed.
“Looks like you’ve already made up your mind, Mary,” Mahoney said.
“I had to, Tom. McPhee paid me a visit today, and he tried to do a deal. Seems like the only way he’ll let us stay is if I do somethin’ bad. That old farm ain’t worth much at all these days, and it sure isn’t worth losin’ good friends over it—so I figured it was time to go.”
Halliday saw Mahoney’s face harden.
“What was it that skunk wanted you to do, Mary? By hell, if he was askin’ you to—”
“No,” the woman said, dropping her eyes in embarrassment. “It was nothin’ like that. He wanted me to accuse you of rustlin’ my cows.”
“Now who’d believe a crazy thing like that, even if he found somebody to say it?” Mahoney snorted.
“Not likely anybody would believe it, Tom,” the woman said, “but he seemed to think it would be a help to have Luther charge you ... but like I said, the ranch isn’t worth enough to make me tell lies against a neighbor that’s helped us hang on as long as we did. I guess maybe he thought it would take the attention away from what he’s doin’, foreclosin’ on everybody, if you was jailed for rustlin’.”
Mahoney swore under his breath and slapped his hand down hard on the porch rail.
“That does it! That buzzard’s asked for it, and now he’s gonna get it!”
He went down the steps and stood by the buckboard to say farewell to the family.
“You’re a fine woman, Mary,” he said, “and these kids are a credit to you. I think you’re doin’ the right thing in gettin’ out of here, at least for the time bein’. Gonna stay with your sister in Red Rock, are you?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “It’s the only thing that came to mind.”
“Well, you do that, but write to me in a week or so and tell me how you’re gettin’ on. I’ll write back soon as there’s somethin’ to report, and let you know what’s happenin’.”
Halliday felt sorry for the little family with nowhere to go, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to her. She was not the kind to welcome sympathy from anyone, no less a stranger.
“What do you think will happen, Tom?” Mary asked after a long silence.
“We ain’t movin’, Mary. We’re fightin’ if we have to. It looks like tomorrow’s the day. I for one have been here too damn long to go somewhere else. I aim to stay right here on my own dirt—or under it.”
The woman’s lips sealed tight, and she nodded in complete understanding. Then she looked long into Tom Mahoney eyes, and muttered;
“Be careful, Tom.”
“I aim to be.”
Looking back into the wagon box, she said;
“Are you children all settled in there?”
She waited until she heard three sleepy replies, and then she said;
“Well, wrap up snug in that quilt I left out for you—we’re leavin’ now.”
The widow took up the reins and slapped them down on the horse’s rump.
When Jake returned from the ridge, he simply shook his head.
“You must have somethin’ to say,” Tom Mahoney said flatly.
“Not a cloud in the sky, boss. Sorry.”
Mahoney clapped him lightly on the shoulder and said, “Nobody’s blamin’ you for the lack of rain, Jake.”
Flinging his arm wide to include the others, he said;
“C’mon, boys. Let’s see if we can scare up some grub.”
It was more like trail food than what was usual for a ranch kitchen, but Mahoney and his few remaining hands did not pretend to be cooks.
When the supper was over, the hands drifted off to the bunkhouse and left Mahoney and Halliday to drink the last of the coffee.
After awhile, Mahoney disappeared into the storeroom. He returned with a lumpy flour sack, knotted at the neck.
“Here,” he said. “I may be doin’ it hard, but I cain’t let you leave with nothin’. Take this for the trail.”
Halliday nodded his thanks and said, “I guess it’s about time I went. It’s cool and there’s plenty of moonlight. That’s about as good as it’s gonna get, I suppose.”
“Just remember,” Mahoney said seriously, “as long as I’m here, you’re welcome to come back anytime and stay as long as you want.”
They shook hands without another word, and Halliday went off to get the sorrel. Mahoney lifted a hand in farewell from the porch as Halliday rode out of the yard.
When he was over the ridge, Halliday slowed the horse to a walk. To him at least, there seemed to be the smell of rain in the air. Maybe it wasn’t close, but it was there. He could picture it in his mind—powder-dry dirt turning to mud, dry washes suddenly running in a wild flood that eroded the banks, tore trees loose from the ground and carried a burden of writhing snakes and half-drowned prairie dogs on its swirling waters.
He knew where he was heading this time. Before long, he was looking at the lights of Redemption.
Eight – One Street Too Many
Late as it was, lamps were still glowing in the bank. Buck Halliday left his horse out front in the near-deserted street and walked around to the back, where he knocked on the door.
After a time, he heard footsteps, and then Finch Rogan opened the door and looked out.
“Hello,” Halliday said quietly. “You ready to listen now?”
Rogan looked beyond Halliday’s shoulder into the darkness, and then shrugged. “Come in.”
Without looking back to see if Halliday was following him, Rogan went to his office and sat down behind his desk. When Halliday dropped into the visitor’s chair, Rogan looked up at him and shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I figured you’d be gone for good,” he said flatly.
“Could’ve, except for one thing,” Halliday told him.
“What’s that?”
“McPhee is going to start tightening the screws tomorrow, the way I hear it. And the ranchers are goin’ to fight him.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Just about everything,” Halliday said quietly. “Even if it wasn’t what you meant to happen, you’re the man that gave McPhee his chance to squeeze the ranchers out so he can take over Redemption and everything around it.”
Anger flared in Rogan’s eyes, and he said;
“All I was trying to do was find some money to keep this town from drying up in the middle of a drought.”
“I know that,” Halliday said, “but does your backer feel the same? Anybody who didn’t know better would think you were in on his plans right up to your neck ... except for one thing, of course.”
“What’s that?” Rogan asked suspiciously.
“You’ve been shot at twice and wounded once, and at least on the second occasion, the reason was that you were tryin’ to organize some more help for Tom Mahoney so McPhee couldn’t take his ranch.”
“Dammitall!” Rogan exploded. “What the hell are you up to now, Buck? You took my woman and made trouble for me all over town. You killed three men, countin’ Rudder, and here you are again—back for more! It’s hard to say whose side you’re on, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Being your friend is every bit as hard as being your enemy. I’ve had enough. I just want you to get out of here and leave me the hell alone!”
Halliday had never taken that kind of treatment from any man, and even though it was Finch Rogan doing the talking, he found it hard to control his temper.
“I didn’t come here to listen to a lot of ranting and raving,” Halliday said tightly.
“So go!” Rogan scowled.
Halliday shook his head.
“When I’m ready and not a minute before. Hell, that woman’s sure got her hooks into you, hasn’t she?”
“I was going to marry her, and might still do, no thanks to you! I love her ...”
“Then you’re more of a fool than anybody I’ve ever met, and if you try to fight about it again, I’ll kick you in the butt so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a month.”