Diamond Buckow (14 page)

“Two things.” Tom Dobbins paused to pat the muzzle of the calm grulla.

“First, every rider comes in here is willing to
talk
trade, even though most ain't really going to. Second, Sean just left here, after telling me you was on your way.”

Diamond's mouth flew open. “Why, that slippery little son-of-a-gun! I wondered which side he was on, and now I know. He's playing both sides against the middle.”

“Hold on.” The trader's direct gray eyes were serious.

“That boy is more honest than most growed men. It's just that he works for me. And then he took a shine to you, so he wanted to be on both sides. I always like to think of a trade as being good for both. 'Course, if a fellow wants to make a contest out of it, I can play it that way, too.”

“No,” Diamond said, holding up a hand. “No contest. I'm sure I'd come off second best with a seasoned operator like you.”

Dobbins chuckled, and the tension was gone. Still, Diamond thought, he'd ought to be careful and make up his own mind.

“Did the kid tell you which one he recommended to me?”

“Yes, he did. When you see that geld you'll think you were right the first time. But you'd be wrong. That horse is kind of like Sean: had awful poor care, lots of backbreaking work, and not enough to eat. Got him in Dodge just the other day off a trail driver that had his remuda stolen along the trail up from Texas. The man just plumb wore out what few mounts he had left.”

They moved around the barn to the pasture and enclosure behind. Dobbins gestured at the sorry gelding.

“That's him, along with some other possibilities right here in the corral.”

Diamond saw two connected corrals, the smaller being made of two-inch planks with a snubbing post in the center.

“Looks like not all the horses you handle were broke,” he observed.

Tom Dobbins shrugged and spread his hands out. “If you trade regular, you're bound to get some unruly ones. Tell you what. We'll run the whole bunch into the smaller corral. Then just shake out your rope and dab it onto whatever takes your eye. Look 'em all over good, and if you find one you like, we'll see if we can work out an agreement.”

Diamond led the mouse-brown. He wrapped her reins around the corner post and took down the leather lariat he'd gotten so long ago in San Antonio.

The horse trader studied over the braided lasso and said, “I've heard about them Mexican riatas, but I've never seen one before. You like it better than hemp?”

Diamond let go of a lengthy sigh. He recalled all the hard hours along the trail from San Antonio. The bone-biting winter months of trying, alone, to take care of Henry Blough's stock. The sore muscles from making throw after throw.

He looked at Tom Dobbins and answered quietly, “Yeah, I like it. It's all I'll ever use.”

Then, sliding through the bars, Diamond made a short underhand motion and dropped the loop over the head of a short-legged paint. The stocky little mare followed the pull on the rope and came right up to him without hesitation.

He took a good look. She was well-mannered, all right, he reckoned. But she lacked the depth of chest necessary for staying power. Too bad for him, but she'd make a good ladies' horse.

Next his loop settled over a large, well-proportioned Appaloosa. Diamond knew this animal was used to men. As he inspected it, he thought it was almost too good to be true. Dobbins called it his top cutting horse, and Diamond believed him. Then the trader stated his price. Speechless, Diamond put the Appaloosa back in the big corral without even trying his saddle on it.

On the far side was a buckskin that had always managed to keep another horse between himself and the strange man with the rope. Diamond decided he wanted a closer look at that one. After several tries, he got the animal away from the rest. Just as he let the loop go, the powerful stud ducked his head and shifted off to the side.

Diamond already knew this wasn't the horse he wanted. But on the other hand, he'd be damned if that buckskin was going to best him. Luck went against him the first three times, but on the fourth, the stud veered into the loop and Diamond hauled him in. He stood quietly enough to be saddled, but his would-be rider wasn't fooled. As Diamond pulled the saddle cinch up, the black mane danced.

The buckskin swung his head, teeth bared, reaching for the stranger's middle. Without letting go of the cinch strap, Diamond drove his fist into its muzzle, then gave the strap a sharp tug and fastened it. The mount was calm again. Quiet before the storm, Diamond figured. A storm like that would mostlike burst as soon as he hit the saddle.

He wasn't wrong, he barely had time to find the right stirrup. With the first jump he nearly lost his seat. Before the next leap Diamond managed to ram both spurs into the cinch and ride out the whirlwind. Once the horse sunfished two or three times, he got the kinks out of his system. His back straightened out and he proved to be well trained, after all. Easy to ride.

Diamond had enjoyed the struggle. But then, he reasoned, he might not always have time every morning to prove who was master. He turned the stud loose, dropping his loop over the head of a hammer-headed dun.

Immediately, he wished he hadn't. The broomtail hit the end of Diamond's rope going away. The only thing that saved him the embarrassment of losing his end of the riata was the smallness of the corral and the snubbing post in the center.

When he got in close, the dun rolled its eyes and quivered with fright. Diamond pulled the loop over its ugly head, relieved to be free of that one.

He leaned on the fence and said to the trader, “That only leaves the sorrel, and he must be older than I am.”

Diamond felt almost sure that the young breed, O'Malley, had been trying to help Tom Dobbins get rid of a ringer.

He added, “And the chestnut has plain got too much of his bones showing through his skin.”

“Well, of course, it's your decision,” the horse trader said. “But you'll make a mistake if you don't look harder at that gelding. He's the most hoss for the money I've had in some time.”

Diamond stood in silence a long space. “All right, Mr. Dobbins,” he agreed. “Guess a look-see couldn't hurt me none.”

As he crossed toward the geld, the horse stood still. The rest of the animals shied away to both sides of the corral. Diamond stopped, slowly reaching out a hand, and the chestnut thrust his nose forward to smell it. Despite the sharp boniness of the gelding's head, Diamond noticed its broad black nostrils close together, a blaze up the nose, large lively eyes set wide apart.

The forehead was broad, with short ears now angled forward to give a questioning look to the whole face. Damn' fool cayuse almost looked intelligent, Diamond thought, begrudgingly. Its neck was long, the shoulders strong. The depth of its chest spoke of stamina, yet Diamond could count every rib.

The animal stood close to sixteen hands high on straight legs. Diamond had to admit, this time not so begrudgingly, that the geld was built well in all the important places—all but its overlean flanks, which nearly hurt Diamond as he watched the horse breathe.

Diamond returned to the chestnut's head and looked it in the eye. The friendly gelding rubbed its head first against Diamond's chest, then in his beard, snorting. Diamond turned and started across to the gate where Dobbins waited, looking back over his shoulder.

The animal watched, flicking its ears, waiting to be called.

“Oh, OK, hoss, you win,” Diamond laughed. “Come on.”

When he reached Tom Dobbins, the geld was right at his shoulder—two chestnut heads, near the selfsame color, moving together.

“I'm ready to talk trade,” Diamond declared. “But I got to warn you, I don't have much money.”

The horse trader's smile looked genuine. “For a mount in that shape, you won't need much.”

Diamond still thought to use care in the bargain. “I couldn't take him out on the range 'til he had a new set of shoes.”

“Tell you what,” Dobbins said. “I'll lay my cards on the table. I need a well-mannered mount for a lady. That's why I got the paint, only the lady in question turned her down. So I'll let my wife keep the paint mare, but your grulla might do for the other lady. Let me saddle her, ride her back to the store. You ride the chestnut, and we'll talk trade along the way.”

It was ten o'clock at night. Well past closing time for Dobbins's Hardware, when Diamond finally walked out the front door with a bill of sale for the chestnut folded in his pocket. He walked up to the hitchrail and rubbed his new horse behind the ears.

“Well, fella, you sure look like an old bag of bones. But I'll wager in three or four months with me, you'll fill out and be a damned good hoss.”

Diamond backed up a step and made a quick, critical survey.

“Come to look at you again, I'll bet you always
will
be raw-boned. Guess I got to name you Bonaparte, and call you Bones for short.”

The geld nickered, pushing the soft velvet of its nose into Diamond's beard.

“OK, Bones. Let me stop for a quick beer or two. Then we'll go out to my camp and I'll clean you up.”

He pulled the strap from the tierail and started down toward the saloon at the end of the street. Noticing that Bones didn't follow, but instead walked right beside him, he knew this horse was a partner. Not a servant like the little grulla had always been, but a real partner.

Minutes later, Diamond was leaning against the mahogany with a mug of half-warm beer in his hand. As he looked at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar, it was clear how much he'd changed. He felt that if he had some kind of mirror at his camp, he'd try trimming his beard into some kind of decent order. But he knew he couldn't shave it off for years and years.

A few words of somebody's conversation drifted over to Diamond, piquing his curiosity. His eyes squinted into the glass as he looked for the speaker. He saw two men dressed in range clothes sitting at a table. What was there about that pair? he wondered.

Diamond turned to face their table just as the one on the right said, “Yes, but that was back in Santone.”

The Southern drawl flashed an idea into his head. When the other man answered in a short, clipped, Bostonian voice, he was sure. He ordered another beer, took it, and walked over to them.

“Pardon me,” he said with a slight smile. “I see there's an extra chair at this table. Like to join you, if I may. You gentlemen once got me out of a tight spot, and now I'd like to thank you.”

Diamond stood waiting while the two he'd often thought of as South and New England John looked him over at length.

Finally the taller and tanned one said, “Well, now, I can't place you. And that's odd, seeing as how you claim I did you a favor.”

But a friendly-looking crinkle formed at the corners of his brown eyes. “Still, I reckon you're welcome to that there chair, at any rate.”

Diamond sat. “My name's not what's important. It was in San Antonio, the Mexican bar where I tried to down an outlaw named Red Pierce. You two got me out of there and away from town before Pierce got around to me.”

A look he couldn't decode passed from South to John. Diamond paused, frowning his confusion. When he got no kind of answer, he continued.

“At the time, I was hot for Pierce to come to, so's I could have another go at him. But now I'm sure he'd have gunned me down, just like he did my pa. These days, if I was to meet him, I'd for sure handle him a lot better.”

South answered, his manner and tone strangely apologetic. “Well, it's odd we should see you. One or the other of us has talked about you a goodly lot.”

He seemed to want to change the subject, fast.

“You know, you ain't the wet-behind-the-ears kid I recall. Don't rightly think I
would
have known you.”

New England John took up where his friend left off. It seemed like they were trying to avoid something, to Diamond's thinking.

“Yes, quite different,” John agreed. “I believe it's more than just the beard. Your eyes have a different look. They show a maturity that wasn't evident in Santone.”

His speech pattern served to make Diamond all the more alert. What could it be they didn't want to talk about? Something to do with Red Pierce? If so, he sure as hell wanted to find out.

He tried a humble tack. “I'd still like to thank the both of you. I was all set for revenge, for sure. Like you said, wet behind the ears. I'm sure now I'd never have stood a chance against Pierce that day.”

“Yes,” South agreed. “That's why we acted like we did. Let's see, it couldn't have been that long ago, could it? Not even a full year, if memory serves me. John's right. For the short time, the change in you is remarkable. Still, it ain't so uncommon. Boys become men fast, if they survive at all, in this lawless country.”

Diamond sighed, exasperated. “Look, just tell me what happened when Pierce woke up. Did he spend time lookin' for me?”

New England John shrugged, that mask of annoying, cold indifference settling over his face.

Watching his partner, South said with resignation, “I guess the dirty work's left to me, like always.”

He turned to Diamond with a weak, placating smile.

“You see, friend, it's this way. You don't owe us any thanks. In fact, it might be just the opposite.”

Diamond stared a burning question as South hastily continued.

“We were wrong that day in Santone. You didn't need to run. Your friend Pierce was so well-loved that nobody was in a hurry to help him. His wound bled more than anybody realized, because it kept soaking into the sawdust under him where you couldn't see it. Then, well, he just died from the blood loss.”

Diamond's jaw dropped as the meaning of South's words dawned on him. He exploded, jumping to his feet as his chair fell backwards with a crash. His hand moved to the butt of his sixgun.