A Million Tears (30 page)

‘What I told you about expansion is in the future. I don’t think I’ll do anything in this coming year except consolidate what we’ve got and put some money in the bank. The warehouse may be getting a little small for us but we’ll wait another year and see what happens. Though we may buy some more land around here.’ He paused, finished his drink and busied himself replenishing everyone’s glass, talking at the same time. ‘Since eighteen seventy the price paid for farm products has dropped while the general price of other commodities and raw materials has risen. Look you, whatever we do, whatever we make, there is really only one vital factor. Can we feed ourselves? Against that everything else is trivial. What good is a railroad if we’re starving to death? Also, and I think it’s going to be important, is the fact that a hell of a lot of farms are mortgaged to banks back east who don’t give a damn about the farmers, only their money.’ As he warmed to his theme Evan became more eloquent, using his hands to gesture when he wanted to emphasise a point. ‘The farmers’ alliances are coming to the fore now but I think it’s too late and there’s too much opposition. The McKinley tariff, the highest ever with its inflexible banking and credit systems, will make it more and more difficult for the farmer to pay the interest on his loans – never mind paying back any of the capital. We’ve had a few years of drought. It’s not been too bad around here maybe, but taken over the country as a whole then I think there’s going to be even more problems with farms just closing. I’ve read Henry George’s Progress and Poverty and Edward Bellamy’s Looking Backward and they all make sense if the farming world is to be able to do its job properly, which is feed the nation. Coupled with that is the Government’s determination to keep gold as the standard for our currency and with all the silver buying they’re doing in an effort to ensure that inflation doesn’t get out of hand then I think we’re in for a bad time. Silverites will fight the Populists in the election next year and if they win, then God alone knows what will happen. A few years of prosperity possibly, but then rampant inflation which will be harder than ever to control. If the conservatives win then we’re going to have a few years of real hardship just around the corner.’ He suddenly stopped and looked embarrassed. He took a long drink of beer and said, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that. But you did ask . . .’

John nodded. ‘I was spellbound. You painted a very clear picture of what’s happening, as you see it,’ he paused. ‘Evan, don’t take offence, but for a Welsh miner recently down from the hills – or should I say valleys – you show an understanding I never expected. Look, my father owns a controlling share of the stock of the shipping line that owns the
Cardiff
and her sister ship the Bristol. There are over fifty ships in the line though most are tramps doing coastal work.’ I was astonished and judging by their faces, so were Evan and Meg. ‘The point is that I come from a wealthy family and we were intending to invest heavily here in the States later next year. I was going to leave the
Cardiff
and come and do all the donkey work.’ He took a mouthful of beer before continuing. ‘However, the company’s Board of Directors of which my father is chairman, are a very canny, if you’ll excuse the Scottish term, and careful bunch. They had an analysis made of the current and future financial situation of this here United States. And what it all came down to was what Evan so eloquently said a few minutes ago.’

‘So what does it mean,’ asked Meg, ‘as far as we’re concerned?’

‘Let me just say that in view of what we discovered we aren’t moving in here so soon. We see a depression on the way and shipping will certainly be affected. Because of that may I make a suggestion about the business?’

‘Of course, go ahead,’ said Evan, ‘but it’ll have to be quick. I think I hear the first guests arriving.’

‘I know about your plans, you’ve told me. I agree about you not expanding yet and I suggest that during the next few months you reduce your merchandise to essentials and foodstuffs only. People have to eat but they don’t have to sit on furniture to do so. Also buy gold as well as land and if you can’t afford both then buy the yellow stuff. It’s going to go up faster than land values over the next few years.’ He drained his glass as Meg got to her feet and we followed.

‘What a sombre note to start a party on,’ she said. She took Evan’s arm to go to the frontdoor to greet her guests.

The evening started well. The drink flowed – there was beer, whisky, schnapps or wine and the food table, by eleven thirty looked as though a swarm of locusts had been through it. A four piece Negro band played music varying from the magic of the deep south to the barn dance of America to special adaptations of Strauss and Beethoven. I learned later that they had heard a performance of a visiting orchestra playing classical music and could accurately reproduce the sound in spite of hearing it only once.

Evan, John, Hans Reisenbach, his brother Joachim and I, as well as one or two others were standing on the back porch enjoying a few minutes of fresh air and smoking our cigars; we weren’t allowed to smoke indoors. It was a star-filled night, and a waning three quarter moon lit the snow covered countryside.

We watched a group of four horsemen ride into view along the road from town and stop by our gate. After a moments hesitation, one of them rode along our track and a few seconds later the others followed. At first I thought they were late guests, very late in fact, but when the leader cut across the lawn I was not so sure. I didn’t recognise him. He was of medium height and build, wore a six gun tied low on his thigh and a scowl on his face. He was the worse for drink and when he mounted the porch steps Evan stepped into his path.

‘Can I help you, boyo?’ Evan asked softly.

‘Get out of my way,’ he tried to push past.

‘Hold it, you aren’t going in there, look you. It’s a private party and I don’t remember inviting you. Now back to your horse and get out of here.’

‘I’ve come for my girl. Now get out of my way before you get hurt.’ Again he tried to push past. His three cronies were sitting on their horses watching. I don’t think they had expected seven or eight able-bodied men to be there to greet them.

Evan grabbed the man’s shoulder. ‘Listen, young man,’ he was about twenty years old, ‘you’ll be the only one to get hurt if you don’t go away, and go now.’ The quietness of his voice was more chilling than if a wind had blown up in the still air.

That was as far as he got. Evan’s fist, so unexpected, slammed into his stomach and sent him sprawling with a sickening whoosh of air from his lungs. Two things happened at once. The other three on their horses moved as though to pull out their guns and found themselves looking down the barrels of four pistols that appeared in the Germans’ hands. The horsemen stopped all movement and very slowly brought their hands back into sight.

Evan stepped down to help the man to his feet and onto his horse. The prone figure, holding his belly suddenly drew his gun. Whether from the pain or his awkward position he moved too slowly. Luckily for him the others were watching the horsemen otherwise the foolhardy young man might have been shot. Instead Evan was close enough to kick his hand hard and send the gun spinning into the snow. Evan bent down, grabbed the man by his jacket and gun belt and lifted him into the air. It was the most amazing display of strength I had seen in a long time. He carried the man clean over his head across to the horse trough.

The man was kicking and yelling. ‘My wrist, my wrist. It’s broken. You’ve broken it,’ he suddenly sobbed.

Evan dropped him into the trough, the ice held for a second and then it collapsed under him. Evan calmly walked away, the youth tried to sit up, coughing and spluttering water but went still when Evan returned. Evan dropped the man’s gun into the trough.

‘Now get off my property,’ Evan said still speaking softly.

The man was crying openly now. ‘I’ll get you. Just you wait until my father hears about this. You’ll be sorry.’ He clambered awkwardly out of the trough, his teeth chattering. ‘You’ll live to regret this. I know you Griffiths and I know your kids. I’ll . . .’ he had been about to climb onto his horse. The last sentence was the worst he could have uttered.

Evan pulled him around, held him with his left hand and hit him as hard as he could three times with his right in the stomach. The first caused the man to gurgle for breath, the next two almost knocked him unconscious. Evan then changed his grip, grabbed the man by his hair and brought his right arm back in a blow which if it had connected would probably have caused serious injury. John stepped down and grasped Evan’s hand just in time.

‘Hold it, Evan. He’s had enough. You’ll regret it later if you hurt him too much. Let him go home. You can press charges against him tomorrow if you like, for attempted murder. We all saw what happened. But don’t do something you’ll regret.’

‘You’re right,’ Evan dropped his arm and let the man collapse to the ground. ‘John, use his lariat and tie him over his saddle.’ He turned to the man. ‘If you so much as mention my kids again I’ll kill you.’ He walked back to the porch and seeing the guns held by the Germans said, ‘Thank you. I guess I’d better learn to use one too. Let’s go in, I could use a drink.’

‘Ja, that is a good idea,’ said Hans Reisenbach, though whether he was agreeing about the drink or learning to use a gun I was not sure. Both, probably.

John and three of the Germans took care of our unwanted visitors. Evan went upstairs to wash his hands where the skin on the back of his knuckles was missing while Hans and I waited for him to return, a couple of beers in our hands.

Evan returned, drank deeply of a mug of beer and sighed. ‘I needed that. Who was the kid, Hans? Who’s his father he threatened me with? Is he some kind of an outlaw or something?’

Hans laughed but then stopped abruptly. ‘Sorry Evan. I vos laughing at the idea of Duke Roybal being an outlaw. He owns a big ranch about eighteen miles south of here. He’s also got interests in the railroad and I t’ink the hotel too. He’s a powerful man. I vould say, Evan, that he is a hard man and by his own ideas a just man. At least I have heard nothing otherwise and I’ve been here twenty years. He has one serious fault and that’s Duke Junior, the boy you just sent home. He can do no wrong in the old man’s eyes. The trouble is he’s a bad one and no mistake. The story goes that Duke has, what’s the word? Doted on him? Ah yes, doted. The boy’s mother died at an early age and Duke raised him alone. Whatever young Duke wanted, young Duke got. I think he has taken this idea into his eh, adulthood.’

I nodded. ‘Do you think Roybal will come riding to his son’s defence?’ I asked as John and the others came in.

‘I would say that you can be almost sure of it,’ Hans said soberly.

The incident was dismissed for the remainder of the party. It was not until two o’clock that the first guests began to leave, each with a cup of soup to help them on their way. Some of them had as much as twenty miles to go and on the slippery roads the journey could take anything up to four hours.

Hans and his family were among the last to leave. It was then that I noticed that Dai was still up. He was talking to Hans’ daughter, a pretty blonde girl still with a little puppy fat but displaying the signs of being a real beauty one day.

‘Goodnight, Gunhild,’ said Dai. ‘I enjoyed talking to you. I guess I’ll see you in school next term, now that I’m moving up to your class.’

‘Goodnight, David, I shall look forward to it,’ she said in a soft and somehow breathless voice.

As he turned away Meg said, ‘Dai . . .’

In the light of the setting moon I saw the pain flick across his face. I didn’t understand it but Meg did. ‘David walk your guest to the wagon.’

Dai was pleased, surprised and flustered all at once, but he followed the girl. Meg looked at me. ‘I was going to tell him he should have been in bed ages ago,’ she sighed. ‘He’s only twelve but I suppose he’s growing up. He’s also big for his age. I think Gunhild is fourteen.’ She tucked her arm in mine as we waved goodbye to the Reisenbachs. ‘Were you ever interested in girls at that age, Uncle James?’

We left for the warehouse late the next morning. John came with us but Meg stayed behind to supervise the cleaning. On the way we stopped at a gunsmith’s shop. The bell over the door jangled merrily when we walked in but with my head, even after the cold brisk drive in the buckboard, I could have done without it.

The shop was cramped, every available inch of space filled with guns, rifles, pistols, shotguns and boxes of ammunition. The man behind the glass-topped counter was also, wore a woollen cardigan with the elbows worn away and had a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

‘I’ll be with you in just a moment, gentlemen,’ he focused his attention on the parts of a pistol scattered in front of him. He did something with a small file for a few seconds and then looked up, placing the file and a piece of gun down. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, but I needed to finish that small, delicate operation. Now, can I help?’

The little man and John laughed. Evan looked self conscious. ‘I know nothing about guns, never owned one and never used one. You guide me as to what I need,’ he suggested reasonably. ‘I want the gun for self-defence. I don’t want it for sport or hunting. Just to protect me and my family.’