The Return of Caulfield Blake (16 page)

“Sure we were. Right, boys?”

The cowboys nodded. Caulie's fierce stare hushed them, though.

“You might just save your hides if you own up to everything,” Caulie declared. “Well? Care to tell the truth?”

“Don't you say a word,” Mott commanded. “We have friends. By tomorrow we'll be out on bail. Then we'll see who settles what.”

“He could be right,” Dix said. Carlos reloaded his shotgun and cocked the hammers.

“You'll never do it, will you, Blake?” Mott taunted. “I know your kind. You're death in a fight, but you've got no stomach for doin' it plain 'n' simple. Go ahead and shoot, boy. Shoot your papa's killers. Well?”

Carlos prepared to fire, but Caulie pulled the shotgun barrel up so that the blast tore into the sky overhead. The cowboys shrank back, but Mott only laughed.

“We'd best get these three to town before I forget myself,” Caulie said, glaring at Mott in particular. “I might lose my way and leave young Carlos here alone with the prisoners. It'd be a shame if they made a move to escape.”

“A man can sure get himself shot that way,” Dix added. “You load that piece up good, Carlos. You feel the urge, I'd hate for the gun not to be ready.”

“I was born ready, Senor Stewart,” the boy said sourly. “They won't get veiy far away.”

Caulie sat outside the doctor's house with Marty Cabot as Doc Brantley did his best to sew John Moffitt's torn body back together. Dix and Carlos were still at the jailhouse. Ben Ames, the blacksmith, was there as well, fixing manacles to the legs of the three prisoners.

“I tell you we were on Simpson range, mindin' our very own business,” Trandell Mott had argued when Caulie and Dix had presented the trio to the sheriff.

“He had this over his head,” Dix had explained, handing over a hood.

“Sheriff, he was one of the men who hung my father,” Carlos added.

“You goin' to believe a Mex, Sheriff?” Mott asked.

“Before I'd believe a killer,” the sheriff answered. “I've got posters from the New Mexico Territory on you, Mott. A man who's killed once will surely do it again.”

Caulie had nodded with grim satisfaction when the sheriff conducted the prisoners to a cell.

* * *

“How's young Court?” Caulie asked as Marty stared at the stars overhead. “Dix said he'd taken poorly.”

“He's feverish. Doc says if his arm doesn't improve, it'd be best to take it.”

“Lord,” Caulie said, bitterly recalling the butchery performed by the surgeons during the war. “Wouldn't seem a bit of fever would merit such action.”

“We'll see. Doc hopes openin' up the wound may ease the pain. I hope so. Court's awful little to hurt so much. Did you get 'em all?”

“The Jenkinses. Matt Simpson got away.”

“Then nothin's settled,” Marty said angrily. “And there'll be worse still to come.”

Caulie looked away. He hoped not. He sat there, battle-scarred, bloody, exhausted, for close to an hour. Finally Katherine Stewart stepped outside.

“How is he?” asked Caulie.

“John's asking for food,” Kate said, smiling faintly. “Doc says he should stay here tonight. Tomorrow he can come over to our place. I'll tend him till he's well.”

“Your place is becomin' a regular hospital,” Caulie said, letting her lean against him. “Looks to me like you should go along home yourself. Nothin' much more to do here.”

“I'm going to stay with him,” she declared. “Doc says I can help tend Court, too. He's going to make me a nurse.”

“Well, that sounds like a fair deal to me.”

“Uncle Caulie, tell Ma not to worry.”

“I'll bet she understands,” Caulie said, lifting Kate's chin. “Wasn't so long ago she set her cap for a young man.”

She grinned, and Caulie gave her a hug. Then he turned and headed down the street to Dix's place. Before he could knock on the door, Rita stepped out to greet him.

“Kate said to tell you she is stayin' at Doc's tonight,” Caulie said. “Holdin' young Moffitt's hand, I suppose.”

“Will he be all right?”

“I expect so. He's apt to get good care.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Caulie, you've got company.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” she said, leading him along inside. Sitting in the kitchen beside Charlie Stewart and Caleb Cabot was Zach, chewing on a boiled potato.

“Pa, you all right?” the boy said, rushing over and examining Caulie's bandaged elbow.

“What brought you to town, son?” Caulie asked as he led Zach out the door and onto the porch. “Your ma said . . .”

“We heard the shooting,” Zach explained. “Was Ma sent me. We, uh, we . . . had to know.”

“Sure,” Caulie said, staring away a moment.

“You goin' back to the cabin tonight?”

“No, it'd be best not to isolate myself. I'll stay here with Dix. I thought to pay the Simpson place a visit, but we had some prisoners to bring in. John Moffitt needed some tendin', too.”

“I should've been along.”

“Your ma was right. Could be you over at Doc's right now.”

“It might be if you hadn't stopped 'em at the creek. Pa, they're short on space and long on trouble here. Come back with me.”

“Your ma send the invitation?”

“She sent me. It's pretty close to the same thing.”

“Is it?”

“Pa, when I was really little, I remember talking to you about the war. You were selling horses to the Yanks, and I was all mad about it. Remember?”

“I'm surprised you do. You weren't very big.”

“I didn't understand how you could do business with 'em after they killed your own brother. You said something I still remember.”

“Oh?”

“You told me somebody has to start mending fences. Don't you think maybe you could do that with Ma?”

“I don't know that we've got fences to mend.”

“With Carter then. Lord, he's got himself all tied up in knots about you coming back. He won't even talk to me 'cause I take your side. Ma storms around the kitchen, tossing pots here and there, mad at everybody for no reason.”

“That doesn't sound like her.”

“It's 'cause she's worried. I know that. She blames herself for getting you in the middle of all this.”

“I've been in the middle of this a long time, Zach.”

“She asked you to come back, though. Tliere's something more, too. Old man Simpson could come to our place. I got nothing against Marsh. He's been better'n just good to me. Carter's a fair rifle shot, too, but we wouldn't stand much of a chance. I heard all about Court Cabot from Caleb. If anything was to happen to little Sally or Todd or Wylie, I don't know what I'd do.”

“You needn't worry about any such thing.”

“I do worry. Come home?”

Home? Caulie thought as he gazed into Zach's reddening eyes. Did such a place really exist anymore? Would he be welcome, or would words fly like Hannah's frying pans?

“Pa, please?” Zach pleaded.

“Guess it wouldn't hurt to pass one night there. It's a long ride. You sure you can get me there?”

“Blindfolded,” Zach said, jumping up and leaning against Caulie's bloodstained arm. “She'll be glad to see you. You'll see.”

Glad wasn't exactly the word for it. Hannah's face bore signs of shock and surprise. As Zach led the horses to the bam, she rushed to his side.

“They've shot you!” she gasped.

“Hardly broke the skin,” he told her as she examined the arm. “I wouldn't worry myself, Hannah. I've had worse bein' tossed off an unladylike mustang.”

“I know all about that, and I know when somebody's been shot, too.”

She conducted him inside the house, removed the bandanna, and scrubbed the wound. After fixing him a cup of mint tea and stuffing a thick slice of bread down him, she ordered Carter to drag out the bathtub once again.

“I'm too tired for all this fuss, Hannah,” Caulie complained.

“Tired or no, I won't have you fester up on me.”

“I can take my own bath.”

“Don't let it bother you, Pa,” Zach said, gazing in through the doorway. “She bosses everybody that way, and she bathes us all right in front of everybody.”

“Not me,” Caulie objected. “It's not proper. We'll do it in the kitchen. And what help I might need Zach can provide.”

“Zach needs his rest,” Hannah told them. “Get to your bed, young man. As to your privacy, Caulie Blake, there's not much I haven't seen before, and more than once I might add.”

Zach laughed loudly, and Carter dragged the bathtub in.

“Boys, see if you can get him out of those rags. I'll bet Marsh has something he can wear.”

“Ma, remember that old trunk in the storeroom?” Zach said. “It's full of Pa's old clothes. Some likely still fit. He hasn't put any weight on.”

“Probably not,” Hannah agreed. “I've tasted his cooking. I wouldn't feed it to pigs.”

“Now hold on,” Caulie complained. “I seem to recall you took a likin' to my berry pies.”

“Well, you did have a way with baking, I grant. But what you did with meat stands as a crime.”

He laughed at her, and for a second the last seven years seemed to fade off into memory. Then he spotted Carter's disapproving face and grew silent. Hannah saw it, too.

“Ma, the little ones are waiting for you to hear their prayers,” Carter said. “Pa's been in there awhile, biding time till you came.”

“Then I'd best go along,” she said. “The boys can start the water boiling.”

“Sure,” Zach said as he took down a kettle from the wall and headed for the water barrel. Carter turned away, but Caulie reached out and held the boy in place.

“Don't you think it's time we made our peace, Carter?” Caulie asked. “I don't think I can bear to read so much hatred in your eyes.”

“When you leave, you won't have to see it anymore,” Carter said, shaking loose.

“That's true. Is that all I should remember?”

Carter stopped a second. He turned slowly and stared sadly at Caulie.

“You didn't have too much trouble forgetting the'last time.”

“I didn't?” Caulie asked, his eyes growing wide. “You boys were never out of my thoughts. I wrote, often and steady.”

“Letters,” Carter grumbled. “What use's a letter? You don't know how it was, all the people calling you names, saying you were a coward and a traitor, siding with the Yanks and all. Ma quit sending us to school in town. 'Cept for Kate Stewart, I had no friends. Ma wasn't even welcome at church.”

“It was hard on me, too,” Caulie said as he unbuttoned his bloody shirt. “I lay on my back three days. Then I rode as far north as I could. Even so, for six months each time I saw a stranger, I figured he was sent by Henry Simpson.”

“We even changed our names!” Carter cried.

“That's a lot to ask a man to do,” Caulie said, gazing at the floor. “But not as much as to ask him to give up his wife, his family, his home. Seven years is a long time, Carter, and I won't ask forgiveness. Only know for each hour of pain you've felt, I've known two. And many's the time I've thought I'd been better off if Simpson's hirelings'd finished me that night in town.”

“I never wished for that,” Carter said, sitting beside Caulie on the floor. “But you brought down such hard times on us.”

“Not me,” Caulie objected. “Henry Simpson. And now he's started again. It's time he paid.”

“Men like Simpson never pay,” Carter said bitterly. “They hire the work done, or they buy off judges.”

“He didn't the last time,” Caulie declared. “And he won't this time, either. We won't settle our business in a courtroom. It's bound to come to a head soon, and the final word will be spoken out there among the same rocks and hills and creeks we've fought over for fifteen years.”

“Who will win?” Zach asked, returning with the water.

“I guess we'd better,” Caulie said as Zach lit a fire and filled a kettle with water.

By the time the water was hot and the tub was full, Caulie had shed his clothes and settled into the bath. The swirling warmth chased off some of the shivers that had plagued him since the ambush. The reluctant approval in Carter's eyes had done the rest.

“Time you boys were in your blankets,” Hannah announced as she returned to the kitchen.

“I left you a nightshirt there on the chair,” Zach explained before going. “Carter and I'll carry the rest to our room. It all right if he beds down with us, Ma?”