Into the Light (13 page)

His father had changed, though. He carried more weight on his short frame, gray predominated over black in his thinning hair. His black eyes hadn’t changed. They remained as piercing as ever.

His voice was the same too, deep for such a small man, with an underlying smug tone, as if he always knew things no one else did. “I’m glad you’ve finally decided to stay home for a while. All this travel back and forth to town can’t be good for you.”

Especially in a buggy with cut reins and a loose wheel.
“It’s not a problem. I’m almost back to full strength now, and sitting in a buggy isn’t hard work.”

“Hard on the back.”

Trey shrugged. “A little.”

“How’s your Irish friend doing?” his father didn’t wait for an answer, but went on. “I hear he’s working at the flour mill. I could find him easier work for two or three times the money. Just ask.”

“He wouldn’t take it.”
And hell would freeze over before I’d ask.

“That’s too bad. They’re a thick-headed people. In truth I’m glad you’re seeing less of him and showing more family feeling. Revenge isn’t always profitable, but sometimes it’s good for the spirits.”

Starting an argument over the thickness of Jamie’s head would have to wait until Trey understood the revenge remark. His father was all too pleased with him at the moment. Trey didn’t like it.

“I’ve had a talk with your sister, and Vernon too. You’re my son. You’ll inherit, but they won’t exactly starve. Vernon’s making enough now he’ll be wealthy on his own by the time I’m gone. It’s not like I’m planning on dying soon.”

“Of course not. Only the good die young.”

“You’re never going to let it go, are you? When it’s yours you can run it like a charity for all I’ll care. You’ll lose half of it, but there will still be enough for my grandchildren. My legitimate grandchildren.”

What the hell was he talking about, and more important, what was he up to?

“I’m afraid you lost me at revenge,” Trey said, “and if you have some notion you have illegitimate grandchildren anywhere, you’re wrong. I may have sewn a few wild oats, but I was careful none of them ever sprouted.”

His father’s expression matched the knowing tone of his voice as he leaned back and blew a smoke ring. “I hear you were out at the grangers’ church last Sunday.”

So that’s what all this was about. “You really have spies everywhere, don’t you?”

“People know being friendly never hurts and sometimes pays. So you had one of the Sutton girls down the road with you. Got those damn Suttons all lathered up and bothered, the girl running off in tears. I wish I could have seen it.”

The smile and jolly attitude had disappeared now, and Trey could see pure malice shining from his father’s dark eyes.

“So they already know a Van Cleve had her. Now you make sure you leave her with a bastard to remember you by. Let Cal Sutton chew on that. Maybe he ought to start worrying about his daughters with a handsome young buck like you around.”

Trey threw the cigar down, ignoring where it landed on the carpet, and pushed to his feet. “She has more sense than to want anything to do with a son of yours. I wish I had the same choice.” He yanked open the door to leave, then paused, “And if you leave me one bloody red dime, I’ll give it away. I’ll give it to every charity that helps the kind of people you’ve cheated, beggared, and murdered to line your own pockets.”

“The hell you will. You say that now in a self-righteous fury, but when it’s yours, you’ll fight to keep it.”

“If you’re stupid enough to do it, I hope the preachers are right about heaven and hell and you can see me throw it away from where you’re burning. That’s the only way you’ll see me again.”

Alice and his mother stood wide-eyed in the hall, drawn by the shouting.

“You fool.” Alice walked into the study and shut the door behind her.

His mother put her hands on his arms and looked into his face. “You’re leaving again.”

“I am.”

“I wish....” She stepped back. “Be careful.”

He nodded and turned away. He wouldn’t make Hubbell until after dark, and the morning’s gray sky warned of fall weather at last. A cooler temperature and stiff breeze would be welcome. With luck the cold and wind would clear the lingering scent of cigar smoke from his head and his father’s filthy words from his mind.

I
N NO MOOD
to indulge Herman, Trey hauled everything he’d brought to the ranch to the barn, caught Irene up, groomed her, and harnessed her inside out of the wind. Rifle, valise, bedroll, a large leather bag, he loaded them all and was ready to put Irene to the buggy when Herman hustled into the barn.

“You should have come got me.”

The old man didn’t need to know why Trey was in such a hurry or such a temper. “Sorry. Help me hitch, why don’t you?”

Trey started to untie Irene as a small black streak ran through the open door, under the buggy, and disappeared behind the grain bin along the wall. No sooner was the animal out of sight than Lenny, Trey’s least favorite of the ranch hands, charged into the barn, cursing.

“Where’d it go?” he yelled at Herman.

Herman pointed wordlessly then turned to Trey. “Let’s get you on the road.”

Lenny grabbed a buggy whip and poked behind the bin with the butt. “I got the other two sacked up, but this one took off.”

Lenny shoved the whip back and forth along the wall. The little animal he pursued slipped out from behind the bin and under the bench next to it. Trey recognized one of the puppies he’d seen playing around the yard.

“Come on, now,” Herman said. “You need to get to town before dark.” He grabbed Irene’s lead rope.

Hurry or not, Trey was still in enough of a temper to resent being pushed, and if he had to guess who had moved Irene into the corral with the other horses, Lenny, with his cocky attitude and thinly disguised contempt for the boss’s son, would be first on his list.

What’s more, there were better ways to catch a puppy.

“Hold up,” Trey said. “Shouldn’t you be herding cattle, not dogs?”

Lenny stopped poking behind the bin and raised the lid, ignoring Trey and his question. “How full is this thing? Maybe we can just pull it out.”

“It ran under the bench,” Herman said, pointing again.

Trey left Irene to Herman and blocked Lenny’s path to the bench. “I asked you a question.”

After rolling his eyes toward Herman, Lenny said, “If you spent more time around here, you’d know cattle don’t need herding this time of year, but yeah, I got better things to do. I’m last hired, so I get the dirty jobs. Like taking care of dogs. We got too many dogs around here, and I got orders to get rid of them.”

“We always locked bitches up in the old smokehouse during their time,” Trey said. “If we don’t need more dogs, and you’re the one who takes care of dogs, why are there puppies running around?”

Lenny’s leathery face hardened. “I let the old bitch out, that’s why. I got tired of cleaning up dog shit, and I let her out, and I’d do it again. Drowning them or shooting them is easier, so why don’t you get in that fancy buggy and drive that lady’s pony to town and leave me to it?”

“Because I’m firing you first,” Trey said. “Go get your possibles, saddle up, and beat me and the lady’s pony to town, or I’ll know why.”

“The hell you say. You can’t fire me.”

“Sure I can. I just did.”

“You and what other cripple!”

Shouting the last words, Lenny rushed straight at him. Trey pivoted away from the charge and smashed the man across the knees with his cane. Lenny fell head first, screaming. Irene lunged and danced in place.

Trey shut Lenny up with a second blow to the mid-section that left him no breath for more than a moan. Shaking with the effort at control, Trey held back from what he wanted to do — put all his strength into a third blow to the head.

He went to Irene, soothed her with a few words and soft touches. “I saw some men hitching a wagon over by the south corral,” he said to Herman. “Tell them to drive around here, load this trash up, and dump it in town.”

“Your pa ain’t going to like this.”

“Think again. How would you like to be the one to tell my father he’s been paying a hand who disobeyed orders because he’s too lazy to do his job? Maybe I should tell him. My guess is the foreman will find himself in that wagon with Lenny.”

“This ain’t important enough to bother Mr. Van Cleve. So everybody likes Lenny. So we let him get away with it this time. You can’t fire men over dogs.”

“I can, and I did. It wouldn’t be just this time, and you know it. Now it’s not a problem.”

“Yes, it is a problem. Them dogs need killing. Are you going to do it?”

The puppy had ventured out from under the bench while they argued. It stayed far away from where Lenny groaned, hunched over his knees. Gathering courage, it pounced on the lash of the whip and pranced back under the bench with its prize, head and tail high. Floppy ears, black with white paws and tail tip, it looked exactly like the ranch dogs Trey had grown up with.

“You take care of Lenny,” Trey said. “I’ll take care of the puppies.”

By the time the wagon creaked away with Lenny in the bed, Trey had found the other puppies and a wood crate large enough to hold all three. He dumped the jumble of equipment out of the crate and tied it on the seat of the buggy.

“What the heck are you doing?” Herman said, coming up behind him.

“I’m taking them to town. Help me find a board to put on top and keep them in.”

“You figure they ain’t got enough dogs in town?”

“I figure you’re going to help me find a way to keep them in here,” Trey said, feeling the pressure of time. Not only would he get to town long after dark, he’d prefer not to debate his reasons for throwing his weight around with anyone who knew he was leaving the ranch for good.

At least three unhappy puppies would keep him from thinking of Deborah Sutton, his miserable family, or what he was going to do with the rest of his life for most of the long hours of the drive.

Ready at last, Trey held his eager horse to a walk for a short distance down the ranch road. Finally letting her move into a ground-covering trot, he waved once over his shoulder without looking back.

B
Y THE TIME HE
was halfway to Hubbell, Trey had reason to regret his previous thoughts about welcoming colder temperatures and wind. His teeth chattered for miles even before the rain started. First thing tomorrow he’d buy a heavier winter coat — and oilskins.

Irene slogged the last miles to town through mud that made any gait faster than a walk dangerous and pulled up in front of the town stable long after it closed for the night. Her head hung. Water dripped from her nose, tail, and everything between.

Unwilling to argue about his horse or the puppies, Trey didn’t roust anyone to help him. Irene finished a quart of oats and munched on hay as he rubbed her down, her attitude improving by the minute. After exploring the barn, the puppies settled in a pile of straw, growling over the rabbit Trey had shot for them before the rain started.

He left his undersized horse and canine waifs in accommodations reserved for their betters, grabbed his valise and rifle from the buggy, and set out for the First Street Hotel. Waking a working man like Jamie this time of night would be cruel, and in truth Trey wanted a hot bath, not a walk down the hall to cold water, and a soft bed, not an old cot.

At times like this, he still needed the cane. Fatigue crawled up his spine and sat heavily on his shoulders. Mud and muck in the street gleamed under the streetlights as he tapped his way along the walk. The catty-cornered crossing from the south side of Main to the east side of First proved every bit as treacherous as he feared.

Slowed by the heavy going, valise in one hand, rifle and cane in the other, Trey stopped in surprise at the sound of a man’s deep shout.

“Heeyaah!”

The shout came again and again, punctuated with whip cracks. Hooves splashed and sucked in the mud as a four-horse team tore toward him, wagon rumbling and creaking with the strain. No way to run.

Trey froze for almost fatal seconds then dove for the walk, rolling as he hit the street. A hoof glanced off his shoulder, another smacked his thigh, and then the wagon was gone, careening into the night, the madman in the driver’s seat still shouting.

Trey crawled up on the sidewalk and sat there, scraping muck from his face with shaking hands. A man splashed across Main to where he sat. “Are you all right, mister? You almost got squashed like a frog in the road. He has to be crazy. Only a crazy man would run a team like that even in good weather.”

Crazy, drunk, or murderous. A blast of beery breath in his face as he took the proffered hand made Trey decide to leave drunkenness out of possible explanations. At least in present company.

The fellow wasn’t really drunk, no more than halfway. He squelched back into the street, picked up Trey’s battered valise from where it had landed, and looked around until he found both rifle and cane.

As soon as Trey took the cane, his helper’s cheerful expression dimmed. “Ain’t you the Van Cleve boy? What are you doing out and about in town on a night like this?”

“I’m running away from home,” Trey said with as much dignity as he could muster while wiping mud from the back of his neck.

“Can’t say as I blame you with that family. Where you headed?”

“First Street Hotel.”

“Gimme that case, and I’ll help you there.”

Trey handed over the battered valise, spit mud, and smiled, “Thank you, friend.”

T
REY EXPECTED MORE
sympathy from Jamie when the two met for supper the next night.

“They can’t weigh more than ten pounds apiece,” Trey said. “How could they have done twelve dollars worth of damage in a single night?”

“Are you sure they didn’t really chew that saddle?”

“Who could tell? It’s an old hulk so worn out no one could tell if the marks he showed me were made last night or during the Civil War, and your landlord’s being totally unreasonable.”