Mark of the Hunter (3 page)

“Come on,” Lem said, nodding to Cord to follow him to the kitchen, where Stony Watts and a short, dark-haired man with a bushy beard stood by the stove. “Slop will fix you up with a little somethin' to keep your belly from curlin' up before breakfast.”

Stony turned to grin at Cord when he and Lem walked up. “You get the privilege of ridin' night herd with me and Lem on your first night. Course, you have to ride with Blackie here, too, so it ain't all good.”

Blackie shook his head in mock disgust. “You're about as funny as a saddle sore on the crack of my ass, Stony. Come to think of it, there's a right smart resemblance there, too.” They all laughed. “You're lucky you're ridin' with Lem,” he told Cord. “Before the night's over, the cows will be comin' to Mike to complain about Stony's jokes.”

“Here,” Slop said, handing Cord a biscuit with a slab of bacon in it. “Find you somethin' to wrap this up in. And don't pay no attention to them two.” Indicating Blackie and Stony.

“Much obliged,” Cord said.

•   •   •

The night passed peacefully enough, with Lem showing Cord the boundaries of the range the cattle were grazing. They met Stony and Blackie several times before dawn as they circled the herd. It was only necessary to drive a small number of strays back to the herd on two occasions before darkness set in for the night. On the first occasion, Lem suggested that Cord should cut the strays off and push them back to the main herd. Cord managed to get the job done, but with a lot of extra trouble to Lem's way of thinking. “That horse you're ridin' is a cow pony,” Lem told Cord after it was done. “He knows what to do, if you'll just let him know where you want 'em to go.” On the second bunch, Lem led off so Cord could watch him turn them back. “Ain't much to it,” Lem said. “Horse does all the work.” As far as Cord ever knew, Lem made no mention of his inexperience working cattle to any of the other men.

In the weeks that followed that first night with Lem, Stony, and Blackie, Cord developed into a first-rate cowhand. It seemed to come naturally to him, and it suited his lonesome disposition. By the time the crew drove the cattle into the holding pens in Ogallala, Duffy knew he had himself a top hand. Cord soon gained a reputation with the other men as a hard worker, uncomplaining, even when called upon to ride night herd in the brutal winter that followed his first fall in Ogallala. Mike Duffy's daughter, Eileen, had taken notice of the quiet young man. “He never goes into town with the other men on payday,” she commented. “Is he a religious man?”

Mike had to think about that. “Well, I never thought about it,” he said, “but I don't think so. At least he ain't never talked about his religion.” He paused again, this time to chuckle over his remark. “Course, he don't say much about anythin'. I don't think religion's got anythin' to do with why he don't go to town with the other men, though. I think he's just savin' up his money.” Mike happened to glance at his wife, who had paused in the midst of drying the dishes Eileen was washing. He immediately picked up on the look of concern in her eyes, causing him to question his daughter. “How come you're so interested in Cord, anyway?”

Eileen shrugged indifferently. “I'm not
interested
in him,” she asserted, emphasizing the word. “He just seems like a nice man—quieter than the others.”

Mike was quick to warn his daughter. “Well, quiet don't always mean nice. A rattlesnake's pretty quiet till he's fixin' to strike. Don't you go gettin' interested in that man. We don't know a thing about him before the day he set foot on this ranch. One thing for sure, though, that boy's got somethin' locked up inside him that he don't wanna talk about.”

“I thought you liked him,” Eileen protested.

“I do,” Mike said, “but somethin's eatin' inside him, and I'd just as soon not know what it is.” For all practical purposes, that pretty much ended all discussion concerning Cord Malone, but it was not enough to curb Eileen's curiosity—a fact that her mother continued to notice, even if her father did not.

•   •   •

After a winter that Mike Duffy claimed to be one of the hardest since sixty-eight finally gave way to spring, work on the ranch turned to repairs and preparations for the arrival of the herds coming up the Western Trail from Texas. The cabin that housed Mike and his wife and daughter was one of the buildings in need of repair. The job had been given to Stony and Blackie, but Stony recruited Cord to help them, knowing that his quiet friend never shied away from hard work. He justified it by pointing out that Cord was a good bit taller than Blackie and would, consequently, make it easier to hand up shingles from the wagon. So when Cord came in after helping move some twenty-five hundred head of stock cattle to a new range, Stony gave him barely enough time to grab a biscuit before riding down to the boss's house to work on the roof. Blackie had just returned from Ogallala, where he had picked up the new shingles at the railroad, and Stony was hoping to finish the repair job before dark. As he expected, Cord made no complaint, although he was going without supper. “Don't worry,” he told Cord. “Mrs. Duffy will most likely offer us some coffee or somethin', and we might even get a peek at Eileen.”

Cord had paid very little attention to Duffy's young daughter on the few occasions he had seen her—those times usually at a distance, even though there had been one morning he had been in the barn when she came in searching for some chicken nests. She had wished him a good morning, and he had returned the same. There was no conversation beyond that and he had led his horse outside and ridden off to his assigned work.

On this afternoon, knowing that Mike was not around, Stony made it a point to knock on the door, telling Cord and Blackie that it was the proper thing to do to let the ladies know they were going to work on the roof. His real purpose was the chance for an opportunity to get a look at Eileen. When he returned to tell his two partners what success he had, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Mrs. Duffy said she'd put some coffee on after a while, when we was ready to take a rest.” He looked at Cord then and winked. “I saw her,” he said. “She was standin' in the kitchen door, lookin' at me while I was talkin' to her mama. I swear, she's lookin' fine. She's got herself a fair-sized pair of chest warts since last summer, 'cause somethin' was makin' that apron poke out in the front.” His mischievous chuckle brought a like reaction from Blackie, but an unintentional scowl from Cord.

“Whaddaya doin' eyein' the boss's daughter?” Blackie said, enjoying the mischief. “I thought your true love was big ol' Flo down at the Crystal Palace. Now, there's a real pair of chest warts, and Flo will let you see 'em for two dollars.”

His remark brought forth a chuckle from Stony. “Well, now, that's a fact. The trouble is, Flo will let
you
see 'em, too, if you've got two dollars, but I'd pay a heap more'n that to take a little peek at Eileen's.”

“Ha,” Blackie huffed. “You ain't gonna get a look inside that bodice for a year's pay.”

“Let's get it done,” Cord finally interrupted, and climbed up on the roof. Stony's harmless remarks were not meant to vilify the young lady. He knew Stony well enough by then to know he would never do anything to disrespect the boss's daughter. It was just typical male bluster, but Cord was suddenly chilled by the reference to her body, and his thoughts were drawn back to the little regard his father had shown for his mother's feelings. The peaceful months he had spent working for Mike had dulled the intensity he had left home with, and the vow he had made to avenge his mother. It now surfaced once more to remind him never to forget. “Hand up that hammer,” he ordered Blackie.

“Damn,” Stony swore softly, surprised by Cord's sudden irritation, “what did you say to him?”

“Nothin',” Blackie replied. “I reckon he just wants to get this roof fixed.”

Working at a pace set by the determined quiet man, ripping up rotted shingles and replacing them with new ones, they repaired the weakened places in the roof in about half the time calculated. When they started throwing their tools down into the bed of the wagon, Muriel Duffy came out to take a look. “Knocking off already?” she asked while she stared up at the roof, shielding her eyes from the sun still high above the horizon.

“Done finished,” Stony replied as he hopped down from the roof.

“Well, my goodness,” she said. “I expected it would take you till dark. I just made some fresh coffee I was fixing to offer you, and some sugar cookies to go with it.” She interrupted herself to call back inside to her daughter. “Eileen, see if those cookies are ready to come out of the oven.” Turning back to the three workers, she said, “I guess, if you're not in a hurry to get back, you can take a little time for a cookie.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Stony answered for the three. “We've got time for a cookie, all right.” He favored her with a warm smile.

Eileen came out the door then, carrying three coffee cups in one hand, and the large coffeepot in the other. “We don't have a big tray,” she explained as she set the cups and the pot down in the wagon bed. She grabbed Cord by the elbow. “Come on, you can help me bring out the cookies and some dishes.”

“I doubt we'll need any dishes,” her mother quickly remarked.

“Well, he can carry out the plate of cookies,” Eileen countered, and continued on toward the door with Cord still in tow. She was still curious about the quiet young stranger with the cruel scar across his forehead, and she didn't expect many opportunities to observe him up close. She smiled at Cord and asked, “You can do that, can't you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied dutifully, unaware of the game of wits being played between mother and daughter.

Taking no chances with her daughter's immaturity, Muriel followed them into the cabin. In her mind, there was no reasonable explanation for Eileen's interest in the strangely serious young man, so she had to credit it as just that, immaturity. She had shown not the slightest awareness of any of the young men hired by her father before this seemingly aimless stray showed up at the ranch. Muriel's concern was to make sure no foolish mistakes were made before Eileen got over her fascination, so she planted herself between Cord and Eileen when they got to the kitchen. “Go ahead and pull them out of the oven if you think they're done,” she instructed her daughter. When Eileen pulled the pan out, Muriel quickly slid the cookies off onto a plate and handed it to Cord. “There you go,” she said, and nodded toward the door. “I hope you and the boys enjoy them.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Cord said, still without a clue, “I'm sure we will. Thank you, ma'am.”

Fully aware of her mother's concern, and finding it amusing, Eileen caused him to pause at the door when she asked a question. “Papa said you were from Kansas. Is that right?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Where in Kansas?” Eileen persisted.

“Moore's Creek.”

“I guess you still have family there. What brought you up here to Ogallala?” She could see right away that it was going to be difficult to pry conversation out of the stoic young man.

“I needed a job,” was all he offered.

She gave up for the time being, but his reluctance to talk only increased her curiosity. Her mother and father's suspicions that an unwillingness to talk probably meant he had something to hide was not shared by Eileen. To the contrary, she saw honesty in the somber face, despite the granitelike features and the scarred forehead. She gave her mother a smile and held the door open for Cord, stood in the open doorway for a moment to watch Stony and Blackie assault the plate of cookies, then returned to the kitchen to clean the pan and mixing bowl.

“Honey,” Muriel said, “you need to leave that boy alone. He's got trouble written all over him.”

Eileen only smiled in response and went on with her cleanup.

The summer came with the first herds driven up from Texas arriving in Ogallala during the second week of June. There were few opportunities for even chance encounters between Eileen and Cord since the men were busy moving the Texas longhorns to graze on Willard Murphy's range to fatten up before shipping them to the markets. Long days, with many nights camping out on the prairie, gave Cord little time to think of much beyond watching the cattle. Stony, Blackie, and usually Slick never hesitated to ride into Ogallala whenever the opportunity presented itself, but Cord never accompanied them, causing Stony some concern. He had grown to like the private young man, and he feared that, if Cord didn't blow off some steam from time to time, he was going to explode one day like a cartridge in a campfire. Cord would give him one of his infrequent smiles and assure him that he just wanted to save his money. “I swear,” Stony predicted, “you're gonna swell up like a tick if you don't take a drink of likker once in a while. Ain't that right, Blackie?”

“I swear, Cord,” Blackie confirmed.

The campaign to get Cord to the saloon amused Lem Jenkins. “You oughta leave him be,” he told Stony. “He's got more sense than the rest of us—helluva lot more than you and Blackie.”

Cord held to his resolve throughout the summer, but when it finally wound down and Mike Duffy's crew drove the last shipment into the pens at the railroad, he allowed that he could celebrate the season with a round of drinks with Stony and Blackie. Overjoyed that his friend was finally going to let off some steam, Stony proposed a visit to the Crystal Palace to start with, and a follow-up at the Cowboy's Rest if the Crystal was unsuccessful in providing the added pleasures that accompanied drinking. “You know, it wouldn't hurt you, and probably do you some good, if you was to visit with ol' Flo or Betty Lou upstairs. You know, to make sure everythin' is workin' like it's supposed to.”

Stony's serious advice almost made Cord smile. “I ain't figurin' on spendin' my money on any of the fine ladies in the saloon,” he replied, and maintained that he was limiting his drinking to a couple of shots of whiskey. Stony hoped he would change his mind once the fun started. Leaving the cattle loading chutes, the three friends walked their horses down the short main thoroughfare, known as Railroad Street, to the Crystal Palace.

Although most of the Texas drovers had departed the town on their way back home, there were still four cowhands lagging behind to enjoy the pleasures offered by the bartender and the prostitutes at the Crystal. Without the usual summer crowd of cowboys to compete for the services of the ladies, the four drovers commanded the attention of all three remaining prostitutes—their sisters in sin having already gone to Omaha for the winter. Judging by the loud conversation and the raucous laughter, the Texas crew was well along with their last celebration before leaving town. Clyde Perkins, tending bar, offered a “Howdy” when he saw the three local men walk in.

“Howdy, Clyde,” Stony returned, and headed for a table across the room from the Texans. “Bring us a bottle of that rye whiskey you had last time I was in here.”

In half a minute, Clyde came over to the table with a full bottle and three glasses. “Stony, Blackie,” he acknowledged, then nodded toward Cord. “I remember your face, mister, but I don't recollect if you was in here before.”

“I've been here before,” Cord said.

The way he said it, short and factual, triggered Clyde's memory. “'Bout this time last year,” he recalled with a grin. “Looks like you found a job. I swear, though, I didn't see you no more after that, so I figured you musta not had no luck.” He was about to say more but was interrupted by a call from one of the soiled doves attending the Texans.

“Hey, Stony,” she bellowed, “it's about time you showed up. Me and Betty Lou are fixing to pull outta here in a couple of days.” She was a large woman, tall with still some feminine shape in a body that had seen many miles of hard road. She was not really overly heavy. Big-boned was her description of herself, with enough padding to give a man a handhold. Her name was Flo, Stony's favorite whenever he had occasion to visit town.

“I figured you and Betty Lou might be gettin' ready to head out to Omaha or Cheyenne for the winter,” Stony yelled back to her. “That's the main reason we came to town today.”

“Liar,” she responded. “I don't reckon all them cows over there in the holdin' pens had anything to do with it.”

“You know I couldn't ride through town without comin' to see you,” Stony insisted, holding one hand over his heart for emphasis. Flo threw her head back and laughed. “Come on over and say hello,” Stony invited.

Not particularly amused by the playful conversation between Flo and the three cowhands across the room, the Texans attempted to regain the attention they had enjoyed before Stony came in. Three of them looked little more than boys. The other one, however, was a heavyset, square-jawed brute with coal black hair pulled back and tied like a pig's tail, and he took personal offense when Flo started to get out of her chair. “Where the hell do you think you're goin'?” he said, and grabbed her wrist.

She favored him with a patient smile, and replied, “I'm just goin' over to say hello to a friend.”

“The hell you are,” he informed her, “not after I spent my money fillin' your gut with whiskey.”

Flo maintained her patience, having dealt with countless bully types over the years. “I'll just be gone a few minutes,” she said. “Betty Lou and Frances will take care of you boys.”

“Set your ass back down in that chair,” Pig Tail ordered, tightening his grip on her wrist until she winced.

“You're hurtin' my wrist,” she told him, still standing. “Let me go.” He responded by clamping down on her wrist until she cried out in pain.

Her sudden cry interrupted all conversation at the table as everyone became aware of a situation suddenly turned threatening. Hoping to head off an ugly scene, Betty Lou and Frances both tried to calm the Texans down, insisting that they would make sure none of them would be slighted. The incident had caught the attention of everyone in the saloon now, including the three men at the table across the room, as well as Clyde behind the bar. As Pig Tail continued to crush her wrist, now forcing her back toward the chair, she struggled against him and said, “I'm gonna ask you one more time to let me go.”

“Or you'll do what?” Pig Tail slurred. Her answer was swift. Using her free hand, she reached up and pulled a long hat pin from her hair. And in one quick move, she plunged it deep into the back of his hand. With a great roar of pain, he freed her wrist immediately to yank the pin out of his hand, releasing a spurt of blood when he did. The sight of it, and the pain throbbing from the wound, sent him into an insane rage. He sprang to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. “Now you're gonna pay for that, you damn slut,” he promised.

Alerted by the sudden commotion at the table across from them, Stony, Blackie, and Cord realized that a serious confrontation had developed. Stony rose from his chair, preparing to intervene, unaware of the quiet rage flaring up in Cord's mind. His young friend's attention was captured with the first sign of an argument between the woman and the rude cowboy when their voices rose in heated exchange. Thoughts of his mother's abuse came back to fill Cord's mind with images of her blatant mistreatment at the hands of his father. Vivid pictures of his mother's suffering caused the muscles in his arms and shoulders to tense with each threat that issued from Pig Tail's mouth, and for a brief moment, he saw Pig Tail as the incarnate of his father. Ever frustrated by his inability to protect his mother then, he now sought to punish the brute lunging after the woman.

As Flo instinctively backed away toward Stony, he stood ready to defend the prostitute while Blackie kept his eye on the Texan's companions. In the midst of this tense situation when the opposing cowhands eyed one another, and Flo's girlfriends tried to calm the men down, striving to head off a brawl, no one was prepared for what happened next. Like a wolf on the attack, Cord struck quickly and savagely. Launching his body like a human battering ram, he drove his shoulder into Pig Tail's chest, and the force of his strike carried the two of them hurtling backward to land in the middle of the Texans' table. The impact of the two sizable bodies caused the table to collapse under them, landing them on the floor with whiskey glasses and bottles scattered in all directions as the women screamed and the drovers jumped back out of the way. His rage fed now by the fury of his attack, Cord hammered his victim with a series of left and right punches, each one with every ounce of strength he could muster. So lost in the determination to punish all men who victimized women, he failed to notice when Pig Tail no longer tried to defend himself and lay unconscious, his head rocking back and forth with each blow delivered.

“Cord!” a shocked Stony yelled. “He's had enough!” When Cord continued his brutal assault, both Blackie and Stony tried to penetrate the blind fury that consumed him. “Cord! He's done! You'll kill him!” When words failed, Stony grabbed him by his belt and pulled him off the beaten man. Cord spun around to defend himself. “Whoa!” Stony yelled. “It's me, Stony!” His words finally registered and Cord relaxed and looked around him at the shocked witnesses. Staring in disbelief, as if having witnessed the strike of a cougar, everyone was stunned to the point of paralysis, never thinking to join the fight. Aware now that he had lost control of his emotions, Cord stood numb, his hands bloody and swollen.

“He ain't dead, is he?” The question came from behind them, and everyone turned to find Clyde standing there, holding a double-barreled shotgun.

“If he ain't, it's a miracle,” one of the Texans said. At that moment, Pig Tail moaned and rolled his head back and forth as if recreating the beating just administered.

“Looks like he's alive,” Clyde decided. “I expect it's best if you boys get him outta here before the sheriff finds out and throws the lot of you in jail. That goes for you, too, Stony. It's best you and your friends leave.”

“Right, Clyde,” Stony replied, but made no effort to move, still unable to believe what he had just witnessed.

Clyde lowered his voice and spoke softly to Blackie. “Get him outta here,” he said, nodding toward Cord.

“Right,” Blackie said, and took Cord by the elbow. “Come on, Cord, we gotta get goin'.” He kept one eye on the cowhands helping the beaten bully to his feet, but there was no indication they entertained thoughts of making any further trouble. “Let's go, Stony.”

Finally back to his senses after the shocking exhibition he had just seen, Stony looked at Cord and muttered, “Damn, Cord!” That was all he could think to say at the moment.

Blackie was intent upon taking Clyde's advice, however, and started herding Stony and Cord toward the door. While her two friends stood back from the broken table, still shaken by the brutal beating of the belligerent bully, Flo stepped in front of Cord. “Honey, I wanna say thanks for what you did. That bastard was fixin' to give me a real beatin'. Thank you.” He nodded, but made no reply, and Blackie pressed him toward the door again.

Outside, the three younger men were lifting Pig Tail up into the saddle. The opposing parties paused only momentarily to stare at one another before getting about the business of leaving town. There was nothing said between the two groups. They got on their horses and rode out on opposite ends of Railroad Street.

It was a somber ride back to the ranch for the three friends. For Cord's part, he was slowly coming down from the violent rage that had overcome him when he had seen the bully's mistreatment of Flo. Prostitute or preacher's wife, it made no difference—no woman should be treated like that by any man. As for Stony and Blackie, they were still somewhat stunned to have been introduced to a side of their quiet friend that they never suspected. The attack on Pig Tail had been as violent as any they had ever seen, and was only a few minutes short of a killing. “It don't pay to rile him none.” Blackie summed it up when he and Stony told the rest of the crew about it out of Cord's presence.

In the days that followed the near-fatal beating, Cord could not help noticing a difference in the attitude of the other men with whom he worked. They seemed to be more guarded and less inclined to jape him as much as they were inclined to do with everyone else. Stony was the one exception. He seemed to know that there might have been something deeper inside that caused the quiet man to react so violently. Cord regretted the change in their treatment of him, and he wished that he had not totally lost control of his rage that night. But he did not regret stopping Pig Tail from harming Flo.

As was bound to happen, word reached Eileen of the savage beating of the Texas trail drover a few days past the incident when she overheard her father relating the story to her mother. “Hard to tell about that boy,” Mike had said. “Looks like he's got a little rattlesnake in him.” The comment was enough to worry Muriel, for she was already concerned about Eileen's apparent curiosity about the quiet man. She talked to her husband about the peril that might lie ahead for their daughter if her odd fascination for the man was not nipped in the bud, and suggested that it might be in Eileen's best interest if Cord was let go. The decision was a tough one for Mike, since Cord had proven to be hardworking and dependable. “Problem is, honey,” he complained, “there ain't a man on the place that works harder than Cord. And he ain't ever showed no violent streak before, least not against the men he works with.” He promised her he'd think about it, however. Before he was moved to take action on the matter, an opportunity arrived to delay any permanent settlement of the problem.

Word arrived in Ogallala early one morning in late September that the Union Pacific train had been held up twenty miles west of town at Big Springs Station. It was the first time that a Union Pacific train had been robbed, and the bandits had reportedly escaped with some sixty thousand dollars, all in twenty-dollar gold pieces. There was great speculation as to who the guilty parties were. Some suspected Jesse James or the Youngers, but a witness aboard the train recognized one of the robbers as Joel Collins, one of Sam Bass's gang, and the call went out to the ranches to form a posse to hopefully pick up the robbers' trail. Mike Duffy was willing to let a couple of his men ride with the posse. His first choice was Cord, hoping this would give Muriel some temporary peace of mind, having him away from the ranch for a while, and maybe out of Eileen's mind. When he approached Cord with the proposition, the quiet young man agreed to go without hesitation. Mike asked Lem Jenkins to volunteer as well. He, too, was agreeable to participate, not being averse to an opportunity to get away from the daily chores of the ranch. “No tellin' how long you'll be gone,” Mike told them. “So get what supplies you think you'll need for a week or two at the general store and tell Homer to put it on Murphy's bill. I expect you'd better head for town right away, 'cause they'll be ridin' out as soon as they get a posse together.”