Conagher (1969) (19 page)

She knew next to nothing about Con n Conagher, only that he was reported to b e a top hand who asked no favors of anyone , a grim, hard man ... a man to leave alone , as McCloud had said.

She knew he had ridden into the bac k country and brought back cattle tha t belonged to the ranch he worked for, cattl e that he must have taken back from som e pretty dangerous men. Yet he seeme d strangely shy, and gentle. Thoug h that had been true of several men sh e had met who were reputed to be dangerous.

She made her bed upstairs with th e children, and Conagher slept on the floor.

When she awoke in the morning an d saw that he was gone, she was suddenl y frightened. It had been so reassuring t o have him here, and she realized that fo r the first time in months she had slep t soundly.

She was dressing when she heard th e sound of a gun, and then another. Sh e managed to get down the ladder and ge t water on for coffee before he came.

Shot a couple of turkeys , he said.

They're in good shape .

All that day Conagher worked aroun d the place, and he kept thinking of the gir l who wrote the notes tied to the tumbleweeds.

If he was going to find her he kne w it was time he started on, but he stayed t o brand the calves, he helped Laban wit h some heavy logs well back on the ridge , and he killed another deer.

You can jerk the meat , he said, an d showed her how to cut it into thin strip s for drying.

Twice he rode out, studying the countr y around. Jacob Teale had picked a poo r place to settle, and would have failed her e as he had elsewhere. There wasn't enoug h grass in the nearby meadows to cut fo r hay, and the grazing was not as good as o n the old Ladder Five range.

One evening Evie was coming in fro m milking and he was sitting on the stoo p watching the sun set on the hills .
It i s very beautiful, Mr. Conagher , she said.

I like to watch the wind on the grass .

He started to answer that, and the n stopped. Kris Mahler was riding into th e yard.

MAHLER pulled up when he sa w Conagher, and the expression o n his face was not one of pleasure.

I figured you'd pulled your freight , he said .
I heard you quit the Old Man .

His horse side-stepped a little, and whe n he straightened him out again he went on , A lot of good it did you, riskin' your nec k for him. There's a couple of good me n gone because of it .

Not because of what I did , Conaghe r replied; ?because of what they tried to do.

As for what good it did me, I was jus t doing my job, the way I'll always d o it .

You think I didn't do mine ?

You can answer that question bes t yourself. You ran out on the Old Ma n when he needed you. You joined up wit h his enemies .

That's a damn lie !

There was a time when I'd hav e reached for a gun if a man said that to me , Conagher said , but you know whethe r I'm lyin' or not, and I know it, so what yo u say doesn't make a bit of difference .

Mahler stared at him, his expressio n cold and mean .
I never liked you , Conagher , he said .
You're not my kin d of man .

I take that as a compliment .

Mahler turned his horse sharply an d rode away. Conagher watched him go , then turned to Evie Teale .
I am sorry fo r that, Mrs. Teale. I believe he came to se e you.

It doesn't matter .

After a moment she said , I wa s surprised, Mr. Conagher. They told m e you were a quarrelsome man, yet yo u avoided trouble .

I don't want to fight him. He's a to p hand when he works, a good man who i s on the verge of being something else. Bu t you were present , he said .
I wouldn'
t want to fight with a lady present .

Thank you
.

They walked to the cabin together, an d he held the door for her. After she went i n he sat down on the stoop again.

The last of the sun was gone, and th e first of the stars had come. The night win d was bending the grass, and his eye s studied the hills. There was somethin g restful in this, sitting here in the evening , the day's work done, the sounds of suppe r being prepared inside, the low murmur o f voices. It was something he'd missed . . .
h ow long since he had lived in a hous e with a woman in it?

Not since I left home , he said t o himself , not since I left my aunt an d uncle when I was fourteen .

Grading camps, cow camps, minin g camps . . . the women you found ther e weren't his kind. He was a lonely man wh o did not make up to people easily. It cam e hard. When he was with women he neve r thought of anything to say. It seemed as i f all he knew was stock, range conditions , and the stories of some fights, and thes e didn't add much to his conversation.

He felt that he should be saddling u p and riding onit was no good stayin g here. Yet he did not move. He watched th e stars come out, and thought of Mahler.

The man had a burr under his saddl e about something. About a lot of things , maybe. Why hadn't he gone with Smoke?

Why had he stayed behind?

An idea came to Conagher, but he shie d away from it. Kris Mahler had nothin g against him ... or shouldn't have.

Still, he was riding it rough tonight. Ha d he been trying to pick a fight? O
r was he sore because he found Conaghe r here?

Was he sweet on Evie Teale? When yo u came right down to it, she was a finelookin g woman. A nice shape to her, an d pretty, too.

Well, she was pretty. Maybe not t o everybody's taste, but she was to his. Sh e was a handsome woman, he thought. An d it took sand to stay on a place like this wit h two kids, and no money coming in. It too k real old-fashioned grit.

By rights he should saddle up in th e morning and pull out. If he was ever goin g to track down the girl who wrote thos e notes he was going to have to do it befor e his money gave out, or before somebod y else got there first.

He told himself he would get going i n the morning, but he did not feel ver y positive about it.

The trouble was, he suddenly realized , that he was comfortable, and he could no t remember how long ago it had been sinc e he was comfortable.

The door opened suddenly .
Mr.

Conagher, supper is ready , Evie said.

All through supper he sat there wantin g to say something and he couldn't find th e words. Finally he said , I reckon I'
d better drift. I can't sponge off yo u forever .

You've helped
, Laban said .
I can'
t shoot straight enough to kill much game.

We never had turkey before .

Sometimes you can kill them with a club. I've seen it done .

Evie Teale stared at him, but when h e looked up she glanced away quickly , blushing for some reason he could no t imagine .
I know you must have much t o do , she said .
I ... you have helpe d us .

She looked at him suddenly .
We wer e having a bad time, you know .

He took out some moneynot that h e had so much left after laying in th e supplies he had bought .
Look, I'll b e coming back this way. Maybe you'd bette r take this so you'll have something for m e to eat when I come back.

I mean, I don't want to pay you, but I want to feel free to come back .

You don't have to leave money , Evi e said .
You can come any time. We hop e you will .
Then, not to seem too forward , she added , We don't have muc h company now that the stages do not sto p here. It is very lonely .

Yeah . . . sure, it must be .

He rode out in the morning. At the las t he did not want to go and he waited , wanting her to ask him to stay, no t knowing whether he dared say anythin g about it to her. Why had he been such a damn fool as to say he was leaving? He ha d no reason to leave, when it came righ t down it to. He was just going huntin g tumbleweeds . . . what kind of a silly ide a was that, anyway?

Was he a kid to go dreaming about som e fancy princess or something? Som e beautiful girl who was held prisone r somewhere? What was he thinking of?

All right, suppose those notes did sa y something to him? That was no reason t o be a fool. He wasn't a kid any more.

If he had any brains he would turn righ t around and go back, but he kept riding on.

He was riding east, and he wasn't eve n looking at the tumbleweeds. Twice h e passed places where they were piled alon g the brush-lined road, but he did not stop.

What did a man say to a woman lik e that? Suppose now, just suppose h e wanted to settle down . . . what would h e say?

When night came he had not answere d the question, and it was time to mak e camp. He reined his horse off the road , crossed over a low ridge and into a n arroyo. His horse shied suddenly an d when he looked ahead he saw the skeleto n of a man. It was too dark to make ou t clearly, and the coyotes had been at it, bu t there it lay, and nearby were the bones of a horse, much of the hide still clinging to it.

And there was the saddle.

He rode on a little farther, found a corner among the junipers and rocks, an d settled down for the night.

The gent back there . . . that was ho w he'd die, most likely, and who would give a damn? When you rode alone you die d alone, and there was nobody to do right b y your bones.

Well, mister
, he said aloud , I'll d o right by you. Come daylight, I'll go bac k there and dig you out a grave. That's wha t I'll do .

Sleep came only after a long time o f watching the stars. He saw the Big Dippe r wheel around the sky, swore at hi s wakefulness, and finally fell to sleep. I t was broad daylight when he awoke and th e dun horse was nudging his toes.

He got up, dressed, and built a smal l fire. He boiled some coffee and fried a piece of venison, and when he had finishe d eating he got up, wiped his knife off on th e seat of his pants, and shoved it back in th e scabbard. It wasn't like Mrs. Teale's grub , but it was all right, it would do.

When he had saddled up he took hi s Winchester and walked back to the dea d man.

By daylight the story was plain enough.

The horse's leg was broken, snapped righ t off, and the position of the saddle and th e crushed bones over the chest showed hi m all too clearly what had happened.

Somebody, an Indian most likely, ha d taken his rifle and pistol, if he'd owne d them.

When Conagher had the grave dug h e took hold of the skeleton and as he move d it he stirred some of the sand and reveale d part of a coat still intact beneath the body.

And partly under the edge of the coat an d buried in the drift sand that had blow n over it, were the dead man's saddlebags.

They were stiff and dry, the edge s curled and turned kind of white, like th e saddle itself. He pulled them apart whe n he couldn't get the stiff leather strap t o come loose, and a shower of gold coins fel l on the ground.

Startled, he stood for a moment lookin g down at them, then glanced aroun d quickly.

But there was nobody, he was all alone.

He squatted on his heels and picked u p the coins. He counted up to three hundre d and twenty dollars, then shook out th e saddlebags again. Five more gold eagle s fell on the ground, and he picked them up.

Four hundred and twenty dollar s more than a year's wages, right there in hi s hands. And it was his, finders ar e keepers.

He looked through the remains of th e saddlebags, but if there had been an y letters or papers they had fallen apart an d been blown away. He completed th e burial, made a marker of a couple of bi g stones, and then mounted up.

Four hundred and twenty dollars! H
e was going into town and he was going t o have himself a time. He was going to hav e one good blowout in his life, anyway, on e at least.

He rode to Socorro and headed for a cantina.

The stage was standing on the street , and Charlie McCloud was boosting a trunk toward the top. He glanced around , saw Conagher, and said , Hey, give me a hand here !

Together they got the trunk to the to p and lashed it in place. McCloud dusted hi s hands, looking at Conagher thoughtfully.

I heard you were stopping over at Mrs.

Teale's. I kind of thought you two woul d get together .

Conagher stared at the ground, flushing.

Aw, Charlie, you know I ain't th e kind to stand hitched. I'm a drifter .

How long have you been tellin g yourself that? You're no more a drifte r than I am. Look, Conn, if you're smar t you'll find yourself a piece of ground an d settle down. That there's a fine woman .

She is that. But she wouldn't have th e likes of me. What have I got to offer a woman ?

McCloud chuckled .
Don't ask me. Le t her tell you. A woman can always fin d something in a man worth having. I thin k you're a no-account saloon brawler who'
d rather fight than eat, and the only things I can say good about you is that you do you r job, you're honest, and you never backe d off from trouble .