Jessica, surprisingly to Blake Durant, did not show any enthusiasm over the arrival of the cattle. He worked the herd towards the yards, then came back to her. Jesse rode off, eager to get back to the cattle and start the branding Durant had promised would take place as soon as possible.
Jessica frowned at Durant and said, “Gus Cowley happened by. Before that I had a visit from Sheriff Dowd and the banker, Griff Darrett.”
“So?” Durant said.
“Tom Dowd said he’d just told Cowley that he couldn’t take over this place. They were gone no more than twenty minutes when Cowley came by, cursing and ranting and demanding to know where you were. He had seven men with him, including Jud Slater.”
Durant nodded. “Where’d they head?”
“I told them nothing, Blake,” she said. “They couldn’t get a word out of me.”
It was then that he noticed a welt on the side of her cheek.
“Who hit you, Jessica?” he demanded.
“Slater,” she said.
“Where’d they go?”
“Towards town.”
“How long ago?”
She licked her lips and moved closer to him, shaking her head. “No, Blake. Let them curse and abuse us, but don’t fight them. There’s no need for fight.”
“How long ago?” he asked again and her shoulders slumped.
“An hour. They’ll be halfway to town by now.”
“Which way?”
“Down the valley.”
He straightened in the saddle and looked across to where Jesse was climbing the yard rails. “Look after the boy,” he said, then he wheeled Sundown around and cut him into a run.
The thunder of his going forced Jessica to let out a cry which she immediately choked back. Tears formed in her eyes and her face was ashen with anxiety. Jesse came running to her a moment later and looked at the cloud of dust raised by Sundown.
“Where’s Mr. Durant gone, Ma?”
“To town, Jesse.”
“Now, this late?”
“He has some business to attend to. It has nothing to do with us, so wash up and we’ll have an early supper.”
Jesse pulled away from her. “But, Ma, there’s the cattle to brand. Mr. Durant said—”
Her stern look took the boy by surprise. Then, as he saw tears building up in her eyes, he bit back his protest and walked away, looking back often before he reached the trough at the side of the house. Jessica Gray, standing rigidly, wrung her hands in desperation. She did not move until Durant was out of sight.
Sheriff Tom Dowd saw Durant ride down the street just on sundown. He locked up his jailhouse, hurried into the street and intercepted Durant.
“Where are they, Sheriff?” Blake said.
Dowd shook his head slowly. “There are too many for you, Durant. Best ride out.”
Durant gave no answer. He turned at a noise from Belle Hudson’s saloon, then let Sundown walk on. Dowd walked quickly along at his side, keeping pace, watching Durant’s cold eyes taking stock of the street.
“Damn you, Durant, you’re no match for that lot. There’s seven of them, part drunk. My guess is they’re getting up steam to pay you a visit tonight.”
“No need for them to wait,” Durant said and rode on. Dowd cursed him and Durant said, “Dowd, you’re a good lawman. Keep out of this, for the town’s sake.”
“Maybe I can stop it,” Dowd muttered.
Durant gave him a thin smile. “No. Cowley’s called the tune.”
Dowd wiped his face hard and rubbed sweat from his palms. More noise rose from the saloon. Down the boardwalks people knotted together, plainly worried about the saloon ruckus. More than one person hurried home. Blake Durant came out of the saddle before the saloon, listened a moment, then walked straight for the batwing doors. Dowd was only a few paces behind him.
Durant pushed aside the doors and entered the saloon. The noise rose tumultuously about him as he walked to the bar. Gus Cowley stood at the counter, scowling into his drink. Jud Slater was standing a short distance away, no glass in his hand, his face hooded in thought. The other hands, including Arch Briller, were drinking heavily and making a lot of noise. Belle and Marie were at the top of the stairs, both looking worried. Hap, sweating, was trying without success to control the boisterous, jostling Cowley hands.
Tom Dowd worked his way along the wall. He sighted Belle and nodded; then, as she started to come down the stairs, he pushed his way through the crowd towards her, catching the attention of Slater and Cowley. During this distraction, Blake Durant crossed unseen to the counter and signaled Hap towards him. Hap gaped, stole a look Cowley’s way and hurried to Blake.
Durant ordered a whisky, paid for it, drank it down, then stepped away from the counter. He stood casually, looking straight down the bar at the Box C crowd. Men nearby studied him and moved off. This allowed Durant a better view of Slater and Gus Cowley.
He said, “Looking for me, Cowley?”
Cowley spun about, his glass cracking against the counter’s edge.
“Durant!” he snarled.
“Your move,” Durant said.
Cowley pushed a hired hand aside and moved away from the counter. A moment’s indecision showed in his face, then his lips peeled back in a snarl. Suddenly his hand flashed for his gun. But, as he drew, Jud Slater hurled him aside. Durant’s gun came out with a blur and bucked in his hand. His bullet took Cowley in the shoulder and sent him reeling. Then Durant’s cold eyes bored at Slater who’d been outdrawn.
At the bottom of the stairs, Tom Dowd said, “You want me to stop it, Belle?”
Belle shook her head. “No, Tom. It has to be. They both know it. It’s here or someplace else, some other time.”
Cowley had regained his feet, but his gun had been jolted from his grip. Directly behind him Arch Briller shifted to keep Cowley between Durant and himself. The other hands backed away under the sweep of Blake Durant’s fierce stare. Slater’s hand stayed fixed on his gun butt.
Blake Durant said, “We’ll finish it now, Slater.”
Men moved away from Slater. Dowd, easing Belle aside, walked forward, checking off the Cowley hands. Gus Cowley shouted wild curses and charged at Durant. But Blake, hardly looking at him, swung his gun and smashed Cowley down.
Slater made another move for his gun but Durant’s Peacemaker was leveled at him. Slater lifted his hand but Durant knew that, given a chance, Slater would shoot him down.
He decided to give him that chance. He stepped further away from the counter and said, “Tom, watch the others.”
Then he planted his feet wide and slowly let his gun drop into his holster. Slater’s mouth twitched and vicious hatred burned from his eyes.
“You call,” Durant said.
Slater worked his shoulders and glanced to where Cowley lay still. Then his hand went down. His gun cleared leather with a speed that brought a gasp from Belle. For a brief moment grim satisfaction showed in Slater’s eyes. Durant had not seemed to move except to lower his left shoulder. But the Peacemaker was in his hand, bucking.
The bullets tore into Slater, sending him rocking back to the bar. Cowley looked up from the floor to see Slater going down. All color left the rancher’s face. The other Box C men backed off as if the bullets were ripping into them. Not one of them went for his gun.
Blake Durant stood still, cordite smoke rising to veil his features. There was no emotion in his face. His eyes were vacant. Then the tension went out of Durant and he looked at Tom Dowd. Dowd nodded and drew his own gun, saying:
“It’s finished. That’s it.”
Cowley, helped to his feet, stared at Blake Durant. Blood streamed down the side of his face and from his shoulder. Arch Briller was the first of the Box C men to speak:
“I’m cutting out, Durant. I want no part of you.”
Durant’s look touched on Briller. “Ride.”
Briller looked at his companions. One by one they edged past Cowley.
“Where the hell are you g
oing?” Cowley barked.
Nobody answered. When they were gone, he looked down at the motionless Jud Slater and his shoulders slumped.
“Damn you, Durant!” he croaked and then he turned and went out to the boardwalk. Durant picked up Slater’s gun, followed Cowley out, swung onto Sundown and rode from town.
Jessica Gray stood on the porch. Jesse was in bed. He’d insisted on staying up with his mother to await Blake Durant’s return. But the hard work on the spread had fatigued the youngster, and he’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He was too heavy for Jessica to carry, so she’d walked him into his bedroom. Jesse was so weary that he wasn’t aware he was on his feet ...
It was late. The spread was a long way from town, but Durant should have been here by now. He would come, she told herself, refusing to believe that anything could stop him, not Cowley or Slater or all the hands from the Box C. But then she thought of the death she’d seen in Slater’s eyes. Slater was a man who lived by the gun. Durant was no killer. Oh, he’d killed, but only because he’d been forced to.
And there was Cowley. He hated Durant for paying the note on the spread. Cowley was no ordinary man. He was polite enough, even affable, when things were going his way, but he was a vicious enemy. How far was Cowley prepared to go to exact vengeance on Blake Durant? Sheriff Dowd would be no help; she’d sensed this when Dowd came to the house with Griff Darrett. Dowd wasn’t on Cowley’s side, but he was just one man.
Something caught her eye. A falling star! The last time she’d seen one she hadn’t made a wish. Now she did. She closed her eyes and in her mind she said: “Protect him. Save him. Don’t let him die ...”
Then she listened to the silence of the night, not opening her eyes, holding onto the wish. She stood there, an arm around a porch post. Finally her arm felt numb and it was a great strain to keep her eyelids down. But she didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to see the empty darkness.
Then she heard it. At first she thought it was her imagination manufacturing the sound, or that maybe she was hearing the throbbing of the nerves that pulsed at her temples. She keened her ears and the sound grew louder ... the drumming of hoofs. When she was absolutely certain that a horse was approaching, she opened her eyes.
The hoof beats grew louder and louder. She peered into the darkness. Any moment now she would see the horse and rider. There—a moving shadow in the darkness.
“Let it be him, oh Lord! Let it be him!”
Then:
“Blake! Oh, Blake!”
She ran down the steps towards Durant. He reined in Sundown and leaped from the saddle. She stopped when she was a few paces away.
“It is you,” she breathed.
The long ride had accustomed his eyes to the darkness and he could see her pale face clearly. There was the shine of a tear on her cheek.
“Cowley?” she said.
He nodded. “I saw him. And Slater. It’s all over, Jessica.”
She grasped his arm. “Are you ...?”
“I’m fine.”
She started to lower her head so he wouldn’t see the tears, but he reached out and lifted her chin with a gentle hand.
“Please,” she said, “I’m making a fool of myself.”
“Never be ashamed of tears, Jessica.”
Then she was in his arms and his lips were on hers. She opened her mouth to his kiss and pressed herself hard against his body. But then her hands were on his chest and she pushed him away. He let his hands drop to his sides.
“It’s late,” he said, and there was a tremor in his voice. “You go to bed. I’ll take care of Sundown and—”
“I’ll be waiting for you in the barn,” she said. Before he could speak, she turned and walked across the clearing.
Durant watched her disappear through the doorway of the barn. She’d lost control of herself for a moment and wanted to get her composure back, he thought. She probably wanted to talk to him about future plans, and maybe she was anxious to know what had happened in Crimson Falls.
He unsaddled Sundown, then walked him around to cool him off before taking him to the water trough. After that he took a rough towel from his saddlebag and dried the perspiration flecks from the horse’s black hide. He walked Sundown into the barn and looked around but he didn’t see Jessica. He made sure the horse’s water pail was full and he left Sundown munching oats in his stall.
“Blake ...”
Jessica’s voice came from the darkness at the end of the barn. He walked there and she stepped out of the shadows. He sucked in his breath at the perfection of her naked body.
“Love me,” she whispered.
He started to reach for her, stopped his hands. “The boy,” he said.
“He’s in the house, asleep. Don’t you want me, Blake?”
“I sure do, Jessica.”
“Then come and take me.”
But he hesitated. “This—this might be just a reaction,” he mumbled. “You’re glad I wasn’t hurt and ... and ...”
Her teeth flashed in the darkness. “You’re very good at thinking up excuses, aren’t you?”
“Jessica ...”
They moved forward at the same time. His hands glided down her shoulders and over the curve of her back. She turned her face up to him, her lips parted. It was a sweet, gentle kiss at first, then their yearning for each other became a savage pounding, a demand that couldn’t be denied. She leaned back and a long, deep sigh came from her.
“Oh, darling ... Oh, darling ...”
She went limp in his arms. He lifted her from the floor and carried her across the barn to his bed ...
They lay back, breathing easily, passions spent.
“Sleep,” she said.
“Jesse ... he might wake up and find us here.”
“I’ll awake before he will. I always do. Sleep, Blake. I want to feel you beside me for a while ... I’ll go to the house before dawn.”
He closed his eyes and sleep came almost immediately.
But Jessica lay awake, content to feel her flesh against his, to hear his level breathing. After a while Durant began to dream, and then he whispered a name.
“Louise ...”
There was tenderness in his voice. But suddenly his body jerked.
“Louise!”
There was anguish now.
“Louise! Louise!”
“It’s all right,” Jessica said soothingly, her hand caressing his cheek. “Easy, Blake, easy.”
His body stopped jerking. It was as though he heard her voice and was taking comfort from her nearness.
She stayed beside him until she was sure the dream had ended, then she eased herself away, put her clothes on quickly and walked to the house.
Now she knew what had made Blake Durant the man he was. And she also knew that she couldn’t take the place of Louise, nor could any other woman. Later, maybe, but not now ...
Jesse was overjoyed to see Durant in the barn the next morning. His mother had told him to go out to the barn and the youngster ran all the way.
No work was done for most of that morning. Durant had to tell Jesse exactly what had happened in town, move for move, over and over again. Jessica Gray stood in the background while they spoke, a gentle smile on her lips. Finally Durant sent Jesse to his room to get rigged up for work. He turned to Jessica, licked at his lips.
“I don’t think I can say how much last night meant to me,” he said. “But—”
“Don’t,” she said, knowing that he was going to tell her about Louise. “Look, Blake, I think we should both do our best to forget about last night.”
He looked surprised. She turned away and said:
“I like you, in fact I’m very fond of you, but we’re just not right for each other. I have my life to lead and you have yours, and we’re going in opposite directions.” She looked into his eyes. “Do you understand, Blake?”
He smiled. “I understand only one thing—you’re too good for me.”
She felt tears coming and had to
turn away again. Love for him filled her being, but she couldn’t let him know. He’d already had tragedy in his life; it would be cruel to make him feel shame and remorse. She had to do all in her power to make the parting easy for him. And the day of parting would come; it had to; Blake Durant was a man who needed change—new faces, new surroundings. It was necessary for him to keep on the move, ever searching. Someday he would find himself, would be able to pick up the threads of day-to-day life and settle down. Maybe he would select her. If so, she would be waiting. She’d make sure he knew that before he left; she’d find ways to tell him.
Durant slapped the boy on the back. “All right, partner, let’s be on the move.”
Jessica watched them go. Not until they were on their horses and riding away did she let the tears come.
For two days they roped and branded the cattle, Jessica insisting that the new brand be D bar G. Durant offered no argument. When the cattle were turned into the valley, Durant and Jesse returned to the barn. After supper, Durant told Jesse to practice with the gun he had picked up from the floor of the saloon near Jud Slater’s bullet-riddled body.
To Jessica Gray he said, “Nobody will trouble you again.”
In the morning Jesse ran back to the house from the barn and called:
“Ma, Mr. Durant ain’t at the barn. Bed’s rolled up and his horse is gone.”
Jessica felt sharp pain dig into her bosom. She caught at her throat with shaking fingers. Jesse stood back, looking tearfully at her.
“He’s gone, Ma?” he asked, choking on the words.
Jessica could do no more than nod. She caught her son to her and hugged him desperately, as if he, too, might suddenly be lost to her.
“Why, Ma, why? Didn’t he like it here?”
“He liked it fine, Jesse. He liked us very much. But Mr. Durant is his own kind of man and he must do what he must.”
Jesse pulled clear. “Will he come back, Ma? Will be ever?”
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