Riding for the Brand (Ss) (1986) (22 page)

For a long time he stared while she tried to find words, and then one of the big hands dropped and he fumbled for the latch. He came through the gate and closed it behind him. It was a small thing, yet in his condition it told her something.

The man came on toward the house, and when she saw his face she caught her breath. Sunburn had cracked the skin until it had bled, and the blood had dried. The face was haggard, a mask of utter weariness from which only the eyes glowed and seemed to be alive.

Brought to herself suddenly, she ran inside for water. She tried to pick up the dipper, but drooped it. Then she carried the bucket to the man, and he seized it in his two big hands and lifted it to his mouth. She put out a hand to stop him, but he had merely taken a mouthful and then held it away, sloshing the water about in his mouth.

He looked at her wisely, and suddenly she had a feeling that this man knew everything, that he was afraid of nothing, that he could do anything with himself. She knew how his whole body must be crying for water, yet he knew the consequences of too much too soon and held the bucket away, his face twisted as though in a sneer at his fervid desire for its cool freshness.

Then he swallowed a little, and for a moment his face twisted again. He straightened it with an effort and picking up the washbasin beside the door, filled it and began to bathe his face and hands, slowly, tenderly. In all this time he said nothing, made no explanation.

A long time ago Tess had ridden with her brother into the badlands beyond the desert. It was a waterless horror, a nightmare of gigantic stones and gnarled cacti, a place where nothing lived.

How far had this man come? How could he have walked all that distance across the desert?

That he had walked was obvious, for his sneakers were in tatters and there was some blood on the ground where he stood.

He shook the water from his eyes and then, without speaking, stepped up on the porch and entered the house. Half frightened, she started to speak, but he merely stretched out upon the floor in the cool interior and almost at once was asleep.

Again she looked at the road. And still it was empty. If Rex Tilden were to come in time, he must come soon. Judge Barker had told her that as long as she had possession, there was a chance.

If she lost possession before he returned from Phoenix, there was little chance that anything could be done.

It was sundown when she saw them coming. It was not Rex Tilden, for he would come alone. It was the others.

It was Harrington and Clyde, the men Tess feared.

They rode into the yard at a canter and reined in at the edge of the veranda.

"Well, Miss Bayeux" George Clyde's silky voice was underlined with malice "you are ready to leave?"

"No."

Tess stood very still. She knew there was little Clyde wouldn't stoop to if he could gain an end.

Harrington was brutal, rough. Clyde was smooth.

It was Clyde she feared most, yet Harrington would do the rough work.

He was a big man and cruel.

"Then I am afraid we will have to move you," said Clyde. "We have given you time. Now we can give you only ten minutes more to get what you want and get out on the road."

"I'm not going."... Tess held her head high.

Clyde's mouth tightened. "Yes, you are. Of course" he crossed his hands on the saddle horn "if you want to come to my place, I think I could make you comfortable there. If you don't come to my place, there will be nothing in Black Mesa for you."

"I'll stay here."

Tess stood facing them. She couldn't win. She knew that in her heart. Rex was too late now, and the odds were against her. Still, where would she go? She had no money; she had no friends who dared help her. There had been only Tilden.

"All right, Harrington"... Clyde said grimly.

"You move her. Put her outside the gate."

Harrington swung down from the saddle, his face glistening with evil. He stepped up on the porch.

"Stay where yuh are"... A voice said from behind her.

Tess started. She had forgotten the stranger, and his voice was peculiar. It was low, ugly with some fierceness that was only just covered by an even tone.

"You come a step further and I'll kill yuh"... He said.

Harrington stood flatfooted. George Clyde was quicker.

"Tess Bayeux, who is this man?"

"Shut up"... The man walked out on the porch, and his feet were catlike in their movements.

"And get movin'."

"Listen, my friend"... Clyde said, "you're asking for trouble. You're a stranger here and you don't know what you're saying."

"I know a skunk by the smell."... The stranger advanced to the edge of the porch, and his redrimmed eyes glared at Clyde. "Get goin'!"

"Why, you his Harrington reached for him.

He reached, but the stranger's left hand shot out and seized Harrington by the throat and jerked him to his tiptoes. Holding him there, the stranger slapped him twice across the face.

Slapped him only, but left him with a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Then, setting him down on his heels, the stranger shoved, and big Deck Harrington sprawled at full length in the dust.

Clyde's face was deadly. He glanced at Harrington and then at the stranger, and then his hand shot for his gun. But the stranger was quicker. He seized the bridle and jerked the horse around and, catching Clyde by his gunarm, whipped him from the saddle to throw him into the dust.

Clyde's gun flew free, and the stranger caught it deftly and thrust it into his own waistband.

"Now"... He said, "start walkin'. When yuh're over the horizon, I'll turn yore hosses loose.

Until then, walk!"

Harrington staggered to his feet, and Clyde got up more slowly. His black coat was dusty.

The stranger looked at Harrington.

"You still wear a gun"... He said coolly. "Want to die? If yuh do, why don't yuh try drawin' it."

Harrington wet his lips. Then his eyes fell and he turned away.

"That goes for later"... The stranger said. "If yuh want to try a shot from up the road, do it. I haven't killed a snake in a week!"

The two men stumbled from the yard, and the stranger stood there, watching them go. Then he picked up the bucket and drank, for a long time.

When the two recent visitors were growing small toward the horizon, he turned the horses loose, hitting each a ringing slap on the haunches.

They would never stop short of town if he knew Western horses.

"I'm going to get supper"... Tess told him.

"Would you like to eat?"

"You know I would."... He looked at her for a moment. "Then yuh can tell me what this is all about."

Tess Bayeux worked swiftly, and when she had the coffee on and the bacon frying, she turned to look at the man who had come to her rescue. He was slumped in a chair at the table. Black hair curled in the V of his shirt, and there was black hair on his forearms.

"You aren't a Western man?" She asked him.

"I was once"... He answered, "but that was a long time ago. I lived in Texas, in Oklahoma, then in Utah. Now I'm back in the West to stay." "You have a home somewhere?"

"No. Home is where the heart is, they say, and my heart is here" he touched his chest "for now. I'm still a dreamer, I reckon. Still thinkin' of the one girl who is somewhere."

"You've had a hard time"... She said, looking at him again.

She had never seen so much raw power in a man, never seen so much sleeping strength as in the muscles that rolled beneath his shirt.

"Tell me about you"... He said. "Who are them two men that was here?"

"Harrington and Clyde"... She told him. "The H and C Cattle Company. They moved in here two years ago, during the drouth. They bought land and cattle. They prospered. They aren't big, but then, nobody else is either.

"The sheriff doesn't want trouble. Clyde outtalks those who dislike him. My father did, very much, and he wasn't outtalked. He died, killed by a fall from a bad horse, about a year ago. It seems he was in debt. He was in debt to Nevers, who runs the general store in Black Mesa. Not much, but more than he could pay. Clyde bought up the notes from Nevers.

"Wantrell, a lawyer in Phoenix who knew my father, is trying to get it arranged so we will have water here. If we do, we could pay off the notes in a short time. If we had water I could borrow money in Prescott. There is water on government land above us, and that's why Clyde wants it. He tried to get me to move away for the notes.

Then he offered to pay me five hundred dollars and give me the notes.

"When I refused, he had some of his men dam the stream and shut off what water I had. My cattle died. Some of my horses were run off.

Then he came in with some more bills and told me I'd have to leave or pay. He has some sort of a paper on the place. It says that my father promised to give Nevers the place if he didn't pay up or if anything happened to him."

"No friends?" Asked the man.

"Yes, a man named Rex Tilden"... Tess said.

"He rode for Dad once and then started a ranch of his own. He's good with a gun, and when I wrote to him, he said he would come. He's five days late now."

The stranger nodded. "I know."... He took a small wallet from his pocket. "That his?"

She caught it up, her face turning pale. She had seen it many times.

"Yes! You know him? You have seen him?"

"He's dead. Dry-gulched. He was killed near Santos three days ago."

"You knew him?" Tess repeated.

"No. I got kicked off a train I was ridin'.

I found him dyin'. He told me about you, asked me to help. There was nobody else around, so I came."

"Oh, thank you! But Rex! Rex Tilden dead.

And because of me!"

His face didn't change. "Mebbe."... He brought out the gun he had taken from Clyde and checked it. "Mebbe I'll need this. Where's that dam?"

"Up there, on the ridge. But they have it guarded."

"Do they?" He didn't look interested.

She put the bacon on his plate and poured coffee. He ate in silence, and when he had finished, it was dark. He got up suddenly.

"You got a gun?" He asked.

"Just a small rifle, for rabbits."

"Use it. If anything moves, shoot."

"But it might be you"... She protested. "When you come back, I mean!"

He smiled, and his whole face seemed to lighten.

"When anything moves, shoot. It won't be me.

When I come back yuh won't hear me."

"Who are you?" It was the first time she had asked that.

He hesitated, looking at the ground and then at her, and his eyes glinted with humor.

"My name is Barney Shaw"... He said then.

"That mean anything to yuh?"

She shook her head.

"Should it?"

"No, I reckon not."

He ate for a while in silence and then looked up at her.

"A few years ago I was punchin' cows. Then I worked in the mines. A man saw me in a fight once and trained me. In two years I was one of the best. Then I killed a man in a dice game and got two years for it. He was cheatin', I accused him, he struck at me.

"When the two years was up I'd been sentenced to ten, but they let me out after two I went to sea. I was at sea for four years. Then I decided to come back and find a place for myself, here in the West. But first, a job."

Tess looked at him understandingly.

"I need a man"... She said, "but I haven't the money to pay."

He looked at his plate. "How about a workin' share?"

"All right. Fifty-fifty."... She smiled ruefully.

"But it isn't much. I think Clyde will win, after all."

"Not if I can help it. How much do yuh owe?"

"A thousand dollars. It might as well be a million.

We don't have more than fifty head of cattle on the place, and only four saddle horses."

He went out the back door and vanished. Or so it seemed. Tess, glancing out a moment later, could see nothing. She should have told him about Silva, the guard at the dam. Silva was a killer and quick as a snake.

She turned again to the house and began putting things in order. First, she barricaded the front door and then opened the window a slit at the bottom. She got out her rifle, checked it, and laid out some ammunition.

Barney Shaw had seen the draw when he approached the house by the road, so when he left the house he hit it fast. It was deep enough by a head, and he started away. Fortunately, it led toward the dam. It was the old stream bed.

From the shadow of a gigantic boulder, he J looked up at the dam. Largely brush, logs, and earth, it was a hasty job and homemade. He watched for twenty minutes before he saw the guard. Silva, a Mexican, had found a place for himself where he could command all the approaches to the dam.