Boswell's Luck (16 page)

“A month?” Mitch said, laughing to himself as he drew a charred steak off the fire. “Might not be alive in a month.”

“What?”

“I been the worst kind o' fool, Rat,” Mitch confessed as he passed the steak to his friend. “Went down to Weatherford. They got hard men there. I played cards with a pair o' them. I figured I could hold my own, but they had all the luck. I tried everything, even shaved a card or two. I had to bring the chips back my way. It was like before, at the Double L, only I couldn't shoot my way out o' trouble.”

“I don't understand.”

“Rat, those fellows weren't lyin'. I wasn't playing' 'em square. Both times they had me caught and knew it. Pure luck saved me. They tried to settle things with pistols, and I was ready.”

“And at Weatherford?”

“Didn't work that way. Two men called my game. Another had a shotgun on my back. I lost everything. My money, and maybe my hide, too, if I don't come up with what I owe 'em.”

“You owe them money?”

“I used a marker in the game, Rat. I had to get my losin's back. Only I went on losin'.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Two-hundred dollars.”

“Lord, Mitch!” Rat exclaimed. “That's a fortune.”

“For some,” Mitch confessed. “Me, I won that much before, and I will again once luck turns my way. All I need's time.”

“Two-hundred dollars, though! Where'll you get it? Do yer folks have that kind o' cash?”

“No, nor would they lend it to me,” Mitch said, frowning. “Ma says cards's the devil's tools. You recall that, don't you? Scolded us plenty when she caught us havin' a game o' poker.”

“They'd understand if you went to 'em,” Rat declared. “Yer their boy, after all. They'd help you. They think yer the best man ever set foot on the earth.”

“We know better, of course. And if I told them, what pain would that cause?”

“But what else'll you … “

“Why do you figure I come up here, Rat?”

“What?”

“The reward money. Five-hundred dollars.”

“That's for my ranch, Mitch.”

“I wouldn't need it all,” Mitch said, frowning. “Look, Rat, I'd have to have two hundred to get even and another fifty for a stake. I could start fresh.”

“That's my future, Mitch. It's for Becky. It's a house, land, a good stud. I need it.”

“Rat, it's only blind luck brought you that money. You said yourself you didn't know it was Curly Bob Clark set out after you, and you didn't mean to kill him. Luck run your way for once. And it sure as hell's turned its eyes from me.”

“It's a lot to ask, Mitch,” Rat muttered. “More'n a man ought to, I'm thinkin'.”

“More'n riskin' your life ridin' out to see a friend when a shotgun-totin' varmint threatened to kill you? More'n riskin' your neck to save somebody in pain? More'n takin' in a boy, sharin' your home, family, everything? We been brothers, Rat. I give you everything a man can give. I ain't asked much in return. Not in my whole life.”

“Nor've I,” Rat replied.

“It's my life, Rat. Now it's me needs help, and I come to you. There's nobody else.”

Rat stared hard into the eyes of his old friend. Desperation lurked in those tormented eyes. Rat recognized the expression. It drew them both back to another time and place. The scars on Rat's back seemed to eat into his soul, and the specter of ole man Plank's vicious face seemed to dance in the flames of the campfire.

“I got the money locked up in the company safe,” Rat explained. “We'll go into town tomorrow and fetch it.”

“You've saved my life,” Mitch said, clasping Rat's hand.

“Returnin' a favor,” Rat answered. “Payin' a debt.”

“Wasn't ever a debt,” Mitch argued. “We been bonded, the two o' us, for a long time. It's just another trial shared.”

Rat nodded.
Ifs the last one shared,
he told himself. For things had changed between them.

They passed the chill night in an uneasy silence. Once venison steaks would have brought warming contentment. Now there was only a cold void, together with a sense that something valuable had been lost.

Next morning Rat led the way into Thayerville. He paused but a few minutes at the Cathcart place to deliver the deerhide full of fresh venison. Then he galloped along to the Western Stage Line office.

“Well, what do you know?” Nate Parrott cried when Rat entered the office. “Figured you for a week's ridin' easy.”

“I need to draw some money from the safe,” Rat explained.

“Set your mind on that ranch, have you? Well, we'll miss you, son. But a man's bound to make himself a fresh beginnin' now and then.”

“I only need half,” Rat added. “And I won't be goin' anyplace. Truth is, I'll be ready to ride guard again tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Parrott asked.

“I'm sure,” Rat answered.

“Well, you go ahead and draw what you need from the safe. You know how. That packet's still got your name on her. Be easy enough to find.”

Rat nodded and went about it. He gazed nervously at Mitch's face in the side window. And twice he misdialed the combination. In truth Rat didn't want to part with the money, forestall his own dream. In the end, though, he counted off the bank notes and took them to Mitch Morris.

“They got a lot o' trust in you, Rat,” Mitch observed when they met outside. “Must be plenty o' money passes through this office.”

“Enough,” Rat replied, passing over the money. “It's a fine thing for somebody to hold you in esteem, you know. Might be you ought to consider such work yerself.”

“Part o' me wants to,” Mitch confessed. “But I got the itch to deal cards. It'd be a hard fork to take in the road after knowin' what it's like to sleep in silk sheets and wear fancy clothes, have soft shoulders to hold come nightfall, and spend what I like for what I want.”

“It's a mirage, that life,” Rat argued. “Nothin' easy lasts more'n a moment. Life's dark and hard and bitter cold.”

“Sure it is,” Mitch said, folding the bills and stuffing them in his pocket. “Less luck's with you. Be a time 'fore we see each other again, Rat. You watch out for yourself.”

“You, too, Mitch,” Rat said, clasping his old friend's hand. And yet as they parted, there was none of the old warmth left behind.

Rat tended his horse before returning to the Cathcart house. Earlier, when he'd dropped off the venison, he'd hardly spoken a word. Now he found himself greeted by anxious eyes.

“Pa won't favor you ridin' with Mitch Morris,” Busby muttered as he held the door open. “He don't like Mitch much.”

“I know,” Rat replied.

“We worried about you,” Becky broke in. “You might let people know when you ride off into the hills.”

“Didn't figure I was a boy like Buzz, needin' permission to do a little huntin',” Rat barked. “I been a long time growed up, Becky. A long time.”

“And you've been a considerable time part o' this family,” she argued. “I think we're owed some consideration in return for our attentions.”

“Brought you a deer,” Rat countered. “If it's not enough, maybe I'd better pack up my gear and move back over to Pop's place. Might be best. 'll be ridin' to Albany on the stage tomorrow mornin' anyhow.”

“I thought Pa …”

“Thought what?” Rat asked. “That I give up my job? Man's got to earn his way, you know.”

“What about the ranch?” she cried. “You've got the reward money now. I was hopin' maybe the two o' us might ride out and look around some.”

“Spoke to a preacher, too, I'll wager,” Rat grumbled. “Don't you think I got some say in my life?”

“Of course,” she said sourly. “It's only … “

“We done some dreamin',” Rat told her. “Nothin' more. Now I'm mended, it's time I was about my business.”

“Rat … “

“You sayin' I made promises, Becky? Did I pledge myself?”

“No,” she said, dropping her eyes to the floor. “But I thought we shared some feelin's.”

“We do,” he confessed. “But I forgot some matters. Best get 'em tended 'fore I do any more dreamin'.”

She gazed with hurt eyes, and Rat wanted to draw her to him, stroke her soft cheeks and comfort her with kinder words. But come daybreak he'd still climb atop the westbound, and he'd be riding beside Pop Palmer for weeks, maybe years. It would be cruel to promise otherwise, and unfair to hint of a settled life without the cash money to make it so.

“You ought to take her for a walk,” Busby scolded when they were alone in the little side room later. “She thinks Pa told you to keep some distance. Or else you've soured on her. Haven't, have you?”

“No, it isn't her, nor her pa, neither,” Rat replied. “It's me. Seems like the ground beneath my feet's slippin' away, and I got nothin' to hold onto.”

“You got us. Becky especially.”

“Ain't enough just now,” Rat told the boy. Busby's eyes, as Becky's had earlier, searched for an explanation that Rat couldn't provide. He didn't understand things himself. Only time could sort it all out, and Rat hoped he would have that time.

Next morning he climbed atop the westbound coach. Where before he had felt oddly comfortable up there, Winchester in hand, he now found the rifle's touch cold and foreign.

“Feels good, havin' you back,” Pop said when he maneuvered his considerable girth onto the hard wooden bench beside Rat. “Brought you some ham and biscuits for later. And a touch o' spirits, too, in case the arm takes to hurt in'.”

Pop drew out a corked bottle, and Rat nodded. They were only two miles out of Thayerville when he took his first sip.

“Knew you were hurryin' it,” Pop grumbled. “I had a broke arm myself once. Bouncin' around atop a stagecoach ain't no way to get it mended.”

“I'm mended,” Rat growled. “Leastwise my arm is.”

“Well, a man couldn't tell it by yer humor.”

“Sorry, Pop,” Rat said, returning the bottle. “I got no call to bark at everybody. I just got some figurin' to do, and it ain't gettin' itself done.”

“Had a fight with the sheriff's gal?”

“Not a fight,” Rat muttered. “Shoot, it ain't her, neither, Pop. It's me. I got myself twisted round, and I can't seem to find my way. It's like huntin' a trail and findin' a river what ain't got fords.”

“Well, nobody else's goin' to get you down that road,” Pop observed. “I had a crossroads myself once upon a time, though. It's when I found my Varina.”

“Had any regrets?”

“Well, I wouldn't make much of a trail cowboy, Rat. And there's comfort at night, feelin' her close, listenin' to the little ones stirrin'. Cain't say I never looked back, but it was the right trail for me.”

“And me?”

“I ain't much for givin' out advice,” the driver declared. “But Becky's a mighty sensible gal. A man could make a worse bargain.”

“Yeah, I guess he could,” Rat said thoughtfully.

“Now I've said what I know to that business,” Pop remarked. “Let me tell you 'bout that scamp Tyler.”

Pop rattled off one tale after another of his boys and little Velma, and the miles rolled along beneath the wheels of the coach. Except for a brief stop to satisfy nature's demands and to give the horses a drink, the stage plodded its way west without a hitch.

Rat found his uneasiness passing. By and by he settled into the swaying rhythm of the coach. His eyes kept watch on the adjacent rocks and hills, but not so much as a shadow attracted his attention. They rolled into Albany ahead of schedule, and Rat climbed down and bid the passengers farewell.

The return trip started out the same way. But not five miles out of Albany Rat spotted a shadowing horseman.

“Look yonder,” Pop called, pointing to a slender rider poised on the crest of a low hill just ahead.

“One behind us, too,” Rat explained. “Could be trouble.”

“More likely out o' work cowboys,” Pop said nervously. “Not masked.”

Rat saw it was true, but most cowboys would offer a friendly wave to a passing coach. These riders kept themselves to the shadows, and once the Western passed, the second rider galloped over and joined the other trailing horseman.

“Figure another ambush?” Pop asked.

“It's the best way to do it,” Rat answered. “Plenty o' narrow spots in the rocks up ahead. And we got a stop for water scheduled, too. They'd know that, I suppose.”

“Well, if they suppose I'll pull this coach to a halt with men followin' along behind, they got another think comin'. My ma didn't raise herself any idiots, and my kids expect more o' their pop.”

“Maybe I should throw a shot their way,” Rat suggested.

“Better to save the lead,” Pop advised. “Anyhow, they could be peaceable characters after all.”

“You don't believe that,” Rat muttered.

“No,” Pop confessed. “But it'd be a shame to put a hole in a poor cowboy just the same.”

Rat nodded, but he continued to eye the stalking strangers as they appeared ghostlike in and out of the dusty cloud thrown up by the coach's churning wheels.

Bit by bit the coach pulled ahead of its pursuers. Rat expected an ambush in the hills south of the Brazos, but none came. It made no sense to string out a raid like this!

“Ain't so dumb,” Pop pointed out when he slowed the stage as they splashed across a rocky creek. “Look to the horses. They got themselves lathered proper. Cain't drive 'em hard forever.”

“Nor ourselves,” Rat added. “Got any notions?”

“There's a bend in the trail just ahead. Water for the horses, and good cover, too. We can pull off, rest a bit, and see what those dust-eaters got in mind.”