Novel 1964 - Kiowa Trail (v5.0) Read online

  “I’m not afraid of him, Tom, and you know damned well I’m not. But if you go north of the street tonight somebody’s going to get killed.”

  “Hell, I’m not afraid!”

  “I didn’t say you were. Nor did I say it would be you who would get killed.”

  Words were never my way, and I wasn’t handy with them. Somehow I could never dab a loop on the right phrase, though it wasn’t as if I hadn’t mingled with folks, and hadn’t known how to talk.

  “Kid, if you go north of the street tonight,” I said, “all hell’s going to break loose. Believe me, McDonald won’t stand for it.”

  “Aw, Conn! I can slip in there, see that girl, and get away before anybody knows it!”

  “She doesn’t really want to see you, Tom.”

  He didn’t believe it, of course, and I should have known he wouldn’t. She was the girl he wanted, and the idea that she might not want to see him was unthinkable. It was simply not to be believed.

  So I laid it on the line to him, talking as reasonably as I could, and told him what John Blake had said.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Don’t say that where John Blake can hear you.”

  “The hell with him! Everybody’s always talking about John Blake! What’s he got, four hands or something?”

  “He doesn’t need four hands, Tom. Take it from me.”

  He seemed to be seeing me for the first time, and I knew, suddenly, that whatever place I’d had in the respect of Tom Lundy, I had just lost it.

  Death is only a word when you are his age; and much as Tom had seen, he had never seen good men die in a dusty street over a trifle. He had fought in Indian battles, but he had never actually seen a gun battle involving someone he knew and liked.

  John Blake was a good man doing a necessary job, and I did not want to kill John Blake. Neither did I want to risk being killed over something like this.

  “All right,” he said impatiently, “you’ve told me.”

  “Don’t go, Tom. Don’t even think of going.”

  “You think I’m scared?”

  There it was again. At his age it meant so much to prove one wasn’t scared. I knew how he felt, because it had not been too long since I had known the same thoughts. And to some extent, I still did.

  “It isn’t only you, Tom. It’s the outfit.”

  “Hell, Conn, we could take this town apart. The Tumbling B could rope and hog-tie this town.”

  “Tom, you see that man with the beard, the one sweeping off the walk? That’s George Darrough. In two years of buffalo hunting he killed over two thousand buffalo. During that time he had seven Indian fights, and before that he fought through the war. The man who is just now walking up to him is one of the finest rifle shots in the West. It’s men like them you’d have to fight.”

  Tom Lundy had nothing to say to that, but his jaw set stubbornly, and I knew what he was thinking. He was proud of our outfit, and we had just brought a herd through rough country, fighting Indians all the way, and shorthanded the last part of it. He did not like to admit that anything was impossible for the Tumbling B.

  Also, he feared Linda McDonald would believe him a loud-mouth if he failed to call.

  He had no way of judging the buried animosities that lay hidden between the trail crew and the people of the town.

  “I don’t want to start a fight, Conn,” he said. “When have I ever? All I want to do is go see a girl. What’s so wrong about that?”

  “Nothing…nothing at all, except that nobody wants a cattleman north of the street. It’s John Blake’s job to see that none of them do—no exceptions.”

  The disgust on his face was obvious, and I didn’t much blame him. But neither did I see any reason to get a few men killed over such a thing.

  Finally he said, “Is it all right if I ride with you when you go back? I’d better see her and tell her I’m not coming.”

  Well, what could I say? I agreed, figuring he would use good judgment, but I was worried as much about some of the others as I was about him. Delgado was in town and he was not hotheaded, but Rule Carson was, and a wrong word could precipitate a gun battle. The whole outfit felt insulted in the person of Tom Lundy, and, in a way, I didn’t blame them. But it was up to me, as well as John Blake, to keep the peace.

  Kate was waiting for me at the hotel when I got in town. She had closed the deal with Hardeman, and all that remained was to go to the bank and pick up the money.

  Hardeman looked at me. “Conn, one thing I must warn you about. I’ve heard the talk around town—everybody has—and the man who will pay over the money will be Aaron McDonald.”

  “So?”

  “He’s a narrow, disagreeable man, but don’t think he does not speak for the town. He does.”

  “We’ll be talking business, that’s all.”

  Hardeman glanced over at Tom. “Sorry, boy. If it was my daughter you’d be welcome, but I have no say here. I am a Kansas City man, just doing business here.”

  Kate had said very little, but I had been keeping an eye on her, and I was worried. Her face was cold, colder than I could ever remember seeing it, unless it was in a bind when we were fighting Apaches or Comanches somewhere. Tom Lundy was more like a son to her than a brother. She had reared him, brought him up almost from babyhood, and she resented his treatment as much as any of the outfit did.

  An idea came to me. “Let’s go back to that restaurant,” I said. “I could do with something to eat. I mean, after we’ve finished at the bank.”

  Nobody said anything, and the three of us went across the dusty street to the bank. Glancing up and down the street, I saw men loitering there, men with coats on…men who at this time of day would ordinarily not be wearing coats.

  Only John Blake himself stood in front of the bank. He turned squarely toward us and scarcely glanced at me, but he lifted his hand to his hat respectfully at Kate Lundy. “Howdy, ma’am. Hope you’ve had a nice trip up the trail.”

  “No more trouble than is to be expected at this time of year, Mr. Blake.” She looked at him coolly, and then said, “You know, what you told Mr. Dury is correct. We have only fifteen men with us, but by now there are at least twenty other outfits starting north from Texas. And the Clements boys are bringing two herds this year.”

  The Clements boys had had their share of trouble, and they had coped with it.

  John Blake’s big head thrust forward. “Now, Mrs. Lundy, there’s no call for us to have trouble. You just keep that boy of yours south of the street—”

  “Why?” Tom spoke for the first time, keeping his voice low. “Why should I stay south of the street, Mr. Blake? Am I some sort of a savage? Am I an outlaw? By what right do you discriminate against me?”

  Tom Lundy had been well taught, and he had read in his books, and when he wished he could talk like it. There was a time when I had spent an hour or two a day with him myself, and in some ways I had a better education than the average man of my time, although my schooling had been short.

  Kate had spent a lot of time with Tom, more time than I had, teaching him to act the gentleman. She knew how it should be, but those months in England and on the Continent that I’d put behind me, they helped. No man had had a stranger life than mine, although the West was filled with men from everywhere, from all countries and all walks of life, and often the walks have been very varied, owing to the kind of men we were.

  John Blake was baffled and worried. He looked at Tom Lundy, and I could see the doubt in his face. John Blake understood tough cowhands, tracklayers and gamblers, and he knew how to handle them, but Tom Lundy was a nice boy, and Blake recognized him as one.

  “I did not make the law,” Blake said.

  “Is it law?”

  “It’s a local ordinance,” Blake insisted, “and I enforce it. No Texas men north of the street.”

  Tom Lundy stood with his feet close together. He stood very straight and he said politely, “Mr. Blake, Conn Dury has spoken of you, and I have
nothing but respect for you and for your rules. Nevertheless, I shall be north of the street tonight. You may expect me.”

  Well, sir, mad as I was at the boy, I couldn’t but admire him; and catching a glimpse of John Blake’s startled eyes as we turned away, I knew that John did, too.

  At the bank door, Tom turned back. “Mr. Blake, what I shall do tonight, I shall do alone, and when I come across the street, I shall come alone. I shall come without Conn, without the Tumbling B.”

  We went inside and walked up to the railing where Dick Hardeman waited for us. His face was pale, and I thought he looked angry. And then I looked beyond him at the man behind the rolltop desk, and I understood why.

  Aaron McDonald was a narrow-built man, high-shouldered and thin, a dry-as-dust man, and he seemed fleshless. His eyes were deep-set under bushy brows, his cheeks were hollow. He glanced from me to Kate, nodded briefly, then opened a drawer and took out a sack of gold and began counting out the money. Kate had settled at twenty-three dollars per head; it was a nice lot of gold money, and Aaron McDonald was a man who respected money.

  He watched me put the gold and greenbacks into a sack for Kate, and then he said, “Your business here is finished?”

  “I’ve some calls to make,” Tom said quietly.

  “You are welcome,” McDonald said, “south of the street.”

  “Tonight I shall be coming north of the street to call upon your daughter.”

  Aaron McDonald lifted his eyes from his ledgers. They were like ice. “My daughter will not be receiving this evening. You are free to do what business you have; beyond that you are not welcome.”

  “I shall be calling,” Tom replied quietly.

  “Mr. McDonald,” Hardeman interrupted, “this is a good lad. I have known Kate Lundy and this boy for years, and—”

  “I am not interested in your opinions, Mr. Hardeman. I trust you are not planning to order the affairs of my household?” He stood up. “This is a place of business, and it seems our business has been completed.”

  Kate’s back was stiff. For the first time in years Kate Lundy was angry. “Tom, let us go. This is no place for us.”

  Aaron McDonald was a mean man, and a cruel one, and he could not forego the final word. “That’s right,” he said. “We put up with your kind south of the street. I hope you will permit us to choose whom we entertain north of it.”

  I slapped him.

  Reaching across the rail, I took him by the scruff of his neck and jerked him bodily toward me, and then I slapped him. My hand is big, it is work-hardened and rough, and I slapped him once, then backhanded him across the mouth.

  “When you speak to a lady,” I said, “be careful of your language.”

  Behind me I heard John Blake’s voice. “Conn…let him go.”

  I did not turn my head. “Are you holding a gun on me?”

  “No…I am asking you.”

  Without a word, I dropped McDonald back into his chair. Turning, I said, “You had better teach him some manners.”

  McDonald was livid. He leaped from his chair. “You god-damned trash! We should have wiped you all out! We should have gone through the South with fire and burned every house to the ground! By—!”

  Suddenly, I was smiling. I rested my two hands on the railing and looked at him, and my smile seemed only to increase his fury. “Mr. McDonald,” I said quietly, “it might interest you to know that I was an officer under General Sheridan.”

  Kate spoke from behind me. “Conn…come. Quickly!”

  Turning sharply, I reached her side in two quick strides. Lounging before the bank were Delgado, Red Mike, and Rule Carson. Tom Lundy had stepped out to join them.

  In a rough half-circle, facing them, holding shotguns and rifles, were nine men of the town.

  “Kate,” I said, “you stay here, I’ll—”

  “No,” John Blake interrupted, “there’ll be no shooting.” He stepped past me and went through the door, walking to the curb, where he stood facing the men of the town.

  “There will be no shooting here,” he said. “Put up your guns.”

  I took Kate Lundy’s arm and we went through the door. Our men around us, I escorted her to her rig, and helped her in. Delgado went to the hitching rail and got our horses, and one by one, facing them across our saddles, we mounted up.

  Suddenly I was conscious of Tallcott’s eyes, and glanced down. In my left hand I was holding Kate’s sack of gold, and it was heavy. The expression in Tallcott’s eyes was one that did not appeal to me.

  Placing the sack beside Kate in the ambulance, I said, “All right—let’s go.”

  In a tight bunch, we started out of town.

  The men still stood in the street, but as we neared the end of the street a man dropped from a roof in plain sight, and then another man led two horses from between the buildings.

  Tod Mulloy and Van Kimberly both carried rifles, and from where they had been situated could have covered the street at a range of no more than sixty yards.

  Both of them sat their horses, one on either side of the street, rifles in their hands, watching the men around Tallcott. And not a man in that group but now knew they had been sitting ducks for the last ten minutes. It was a feeling no man could relish, and never again would any of them feel quite sure that there was not a hidden rifleman some place close by.

  We were almost to the end of the street when I heard Kate’s exclamation, and saw Linda McDonald standing alone on the boardwalk. She stood before the hardware store, the last building but one in the town, and she carried a neat little parasol in her hands. She looked up as Tom Lundy drew rein before her.

  She was beautiful. Of that there could be no question, and I could not find it in my heart to blame Tom. Surely he had seen no such girl on the lonely ranches where most of our time was spent.

  Yet…Was I seeing her now through the eyes of John Blake and of Moira? There was something there, a certain coldness, a tightness of feature, something I did not trust.

  “Your father told me you were not receiving guests tonight,” Tom said quietly.

  She looked up at him, a small smile about her lips. “Did I say that?”

  “No, but—”

  “My father is a very hard man,” she said, closing her parasol with a sudden, very feminine gesture. “I am not surprised that you are afraid of him.”

  “I am not afraid of him!” Tom replied shortly. “I just do not want to be where I am not wanted.”

  “Our house,” she said, “still stands among the cottonwoods at the end of the street.”

  Deliberately, she turned and walked away from him, her shoulders very prim, her hips less so.

  Tom turned his horse as if to ride after her, and for the first time he saw me. His cheeks flushed.

  “You didn’t have to listen!” he said irritably. “What do you take me for?”

  “A Texan alone in a town that dislikes Texans,” I said quietly. “Look!”

  Across the street Tod Mulloy had reined in his horse, and in his hands he held a Winchester.

  “I’m sorry,” Tom said.

  He fell in beside me and, almost reluctantly, Tod followed.

  In silence we rode almost to the herd before Tom spoke. “Conn…I’ve got to go over there tonight. I’ve got to.”

  The worst of it was, I knew how he felt. I knew how he felt about the girl, and about Aaron McDonald, for McDonald’s very attitude was an insult and a challenge.

  Over such things the fortunes of men are altered.

  As for me, I was old enough and wise enough in such a situation, to ride away, but how could he be, at his age?

  And could I have ridden away if it were Kate back there?

  Chapter 3

  *

  DICK HARDEMAN WAS at the herd when we arrived, and he had three hands with him. That spelled something to me; it was getting on to dark and a poor time to start moving a herd, but it did give me an estimate of the feeling in town.

  “Thought we’d pick up
the cattle now, Mrs. Lundy,” Hardeman said awkwardly. “No use you having the trouble of them.”

  “It’s that bad, is it?” Trust Kate to see through anything like that.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.” Hardeman’s face was gloomy. “If I were you I’d move off away from here as soon as ever it’s dark…and leave a fire going.”

  “You think they’ll come after us?” Tom was incredulous. “Whatever for?”

  “Aaron McDonald,” Hardeman said dryly, “is a proud man. If he lives to be a hundred he will never forget that cuffing you gave him, Conn. You’ve made an enemy for life.”

  “He had it coming.”

  “I agree.” He paused, then he asked, “Was that true? Were you with Sheridan?”

  “Sure…the boys know it. Ran Priest was a Union man, too. But as far as we’re concerned, the war is over.”

  When they had moved off with the herd, we stood around our fire. Only the remuda was left, that and the chuck wagon and Kate’s ambulance.

  “We will do as Hardeman suggested,” Kate said. “We will move off to that knoll over there. There’s a sort of hollow just over the top, and we’ll bed down there.”

  “I’d like to ride in there,” Rule Carson said bitterly, “and shoot hell out of the place!”

  “That’s enough of that,” Kate said quietly. “We’ve had trouble enough for this trip. I don’t want to take any more empty saddles back to Texas.”

  “Nobody’s waiting for me,” Rule said truculently.

  “There’s a bunk at the Tumbling B that would miss you, Rule,” Kate said, and there were several chuckles, for Carson was a man who liked his sleep.

  Red Mike took up a rifle and moved away from the fire to stand watch toward the town. Tod Mulloy and Delgado went toward the horses and bunched them as if for night, lined them up with the knoll so their blackness blended with the shadows of the hill, making them invisible from the town. Then very slowly they drifted the remuda away.

  The sun was scarcely down before the two wagons rolled out, and within an hour the move had been accomplished.