Longhorn Country (5 page)

A little more manipulation and the Company could easily become a holding of the O’Day Beef Cattle Company – Broken Wheel had huge tracts of timber in the hills….

Lucas was feathering his own nest for the future and already had his father’s backing in most
everything
he did. Morgan, with no daughter now to dote on, no adopted son to hold his interest, turned his full attention on Lucas – something Lucas had craved for most of his life. He had always felt he had played second fiddle to Kitty, and then Blaine had earned his father’s respect simply because he stood up to him and was unafraid.

Yes – this was Lucas’ Big Chance and he didn’t aim to let it slide by.

Then, five months after Kitty had left and Blaine had vanished, an outrider brought in some strays that had wandered over from Bell’s Cross B, and,
off-saddling
at the home corral, said casually,

‘Seen a rider up on Slaughter Point today—’

‘That’s nothin’ to write home about,’ growled one of the men perched in the late afternoon sun on the corral fence watching the outrider rub down his mount. ‘You can see half-a-dozen riders in a day crossin’ our land over that Point.’

‘Sure,’ the outrider said, a Tennesseean called
Curly – he was completely bald, naturally. ‘But this one was wearin’ buckskins – over-shirt, pants,
knee-length
leggin’s, all buckskin.’

One of the men on the fence stiffened. ‘An Injun?’

‘Nah! Thought it might’ve been at first, but he was a whiteman, all right, had a curl-brim hat – an’ – like somethin’ dark on one side of his face. Maybe paint.’

‘Paint could mean an Injun,’ someone opined worriedly.

‘Somethin’ dark?’ asked the original sceptic. ‘What the hell’s that mean?’

Curly shrugged, taking off his hat, using his sleeve to blot sweat from his glistening pate. ‘I dunno, it just looked like somethin’ – dark – don’t matter, anyways. He turned and dropped back over the Point again.’

‘Now why in hell would anyone want to climb all the way up to that Point, then turn around and go back down the way he come…? Damn big waste of energy you ask me. …’

They soon dropped the subject and it wasn’t even worth resurrecting over supper.

Until, just on dark, a lone horseman came into the yard and the lounging ranch hands saw that he was dressed all in buckskin – and had some kind of patch or mask on one side of his face.

Then Alamo Ames, sitting quietly on an upturned empty nail keg, stood up abruptly, watching the tall newcomer step down lithely from the saddle.

‘Judas priest!’ the trail boss whispered, dropping his fresh-made cigarette unlit. ‘It’s Blaine!’

The men started to get up and move towards the dimly seen figure, but Alamo waved them back,
sauntered
forward as Blaine looped the reins over the corral rail and loosened the cinch on the big, dusty sorrel.

‘New hoss,’ Alamo opined and Blaine looked at him slowly and the trail boss winced, seeing the scarred face, the crooked nose – and most of all, the leather patch covering the right eye. Or where it once was….

‘God almighty! They – took your – eye?’

‘Where’s Kitty?’ Blaine asked in a stiffer, colder voice than Alamo remembered.

‘Gone.’

‘He send her away?’ At Alamo’s nod, Blaine added, ‘Where?’

This time Alamo said nothing, stared soberly, and after a pause, Blaine nodded slowly.

‘You gave him your word, huh? Where is he?’

‘In the house – I’ll go on ahead and let him know you’re….’

‘Stay put.’

Blaine shouldered past the miffed trail man and Alamo took two steps after him, lifting a hand as he opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. ‘Hell, they gotta settle it sometime….’

As Blaine entered the house, the cowboys came across from the bunkhouse, all curiosity and
questions
. Alamo fended them curtly.

‘Dunno any more’n you – he’s back. What happens next is somethin’ we’re just gonna have to wait and see….’

‘Christ!’ someone said. ‘Reckon he’ll kill Morg…?’

Alamo wondered about that, too.

After the first shock of seeing Blaine again wore off, Morgan O’Day made straight for the whiskey bottle in his office. The bottle neck rattled musically against the glass rim. ‘You never were one to drink much, but you can help yourself if you want.’

‘What’d you do with her?’

Morgan took a deep draught before he answered, wiping a slightly shaky hand across his lips. ‘She’s all right – safe. Out of your reach—’

Blaine waited a moment. ‘She have the baby?’

‘Miscarried – halfway through the third month. But she’s recovered and – living a different kind of life now.’

‘I hope I can take your word for that.’

Morgan bristled. ‘You do what you damn well
please! But I’ve told you and you can believe it or not.’

To give himself something to do, O’Day lit two oil lamps. It was almost full dark outside now. ‘Hardesty and Rendell ain’t here. I don’t know where they are.’

‘I can find ’em when I want ’em.’

‘Your – eye. I’m truly sorry about that. It wasn’t meant to be – that way.’ Blaine said nothing and Morg poured another whiskey. ‘You don’t talk any more then you did before,’ he rapped sharply but there was still no reply. ‘I’d like to know what happened to you after the riverbank.’

‘Thought you’d have figured it out by now.’

O’Day sipped, nodded slowly. ‘I think maybe I have – Partly, anyway … Yellow Wolf’s men, right?’

‘Just two. They were kids when last I saw ’em – seems they’ve been keeping an eye on me from time to time over the years. Running Bird and Longhead.’

‘Because you’re Yellow Wolf’s son.’

‘Uh-huh – But I’m not pure blood. Whites don’t have a monopoly on treating a man different because he’s mixed blood. They kept watch, but on the quiet.’

That seemed to surprise Morgan, mildly. ‘They must think pretty well of you, to take you in and – doctor you.’

‘There’s a whiteman doctor at the Agency on the Reservation. He knew my mother, Katy.’ That brought Morgan’s head swinging around. ‘Knows about you and that raid, too.’

‘Not Doc Weir? He still around?’

‘Made a career out of working with the tribes. He
set my nose, slung my jaw in a damn leather sling for over a month while the bones healed. Fed me liquid mush through a reed…. Couldn’t save my eye, though he tried. Clem Hardesty turned it to mush with his boot heel.’

Morgan looked uncomfortable, drained his glass and refilled it after a slight hesitation.

‘Like I said, it wasn’t meant to …’

‘I heard you the first time.’

Morg turned slowly, eyes burning. ‘You sayin’ you don’t believe me?’ But he sounded nervous, unsure….

Blaine didn’t answer and saw the man stiffen and just as Morgan was about to blow, said, ‘I didn’t come here to kill you – I’ll get Hardesty and Rendell
sometime
, but there’s no hurry. They’re dead mean already – just don’t know it.’

Frowning, O’Day asked, ‘Why did you come back then?’

‘To square with you.’

‘You just said …’

‘I said I didn’t come back to kill you – and I didn’t. But I’ve got a lot more than a bad beating to square with you, Morg.’

O’Day didn’t like the atmosphere now. There was a coldness in this room, his
sanctum
, alive with memories in the shape of tin-types and faded post cards, old tattered letters locked away in carved-wood boxes. Here had always been a kind of retreat where he could come to and let the good memories soothe him from the worries of the present, a warm, comfortable place.

But not with this one-eyed breed standing here, gun-hung, solid as a statue, menacing without even trying.

‘I dunno what the hell you’re talkin’ about – I treated you well enough. You couldn’t expect the same as I gave Lucas or Kitty—’ He stumbled over the word and Blaine knew he had disowned her.

‘You treated me well enough,’ Blaine broke in and puzzlement swept over the rancher’s face like a tide coming in at the sea shore. ‘Gave me a life, educated me a little, fed me, clothed me, called a sawbones when I needed one, taught me about cows—’

‘Then, what….?’

‘Morg –
that’s
what I owe you. All those things. You told me yourself you’d spent a lot of money rearing me, keeping your word to my mother. You said I’d have to pay you back for those things….’

‘That – that was just talk. I was riled a’plenty and …’

‘I aim to square my obligations to you, Morgan. You mentioned you’d put me to work, in effect, take the money out of my hide. Well, I’m agreeable to that. Where do you want me to start? Back in my old position,
segundo
to Lucas? Something else…?’

The air was hissing from Morgan’s large nostrils now and his eyes were narrowed.
Hell, what had he raised here …? This was totally unexpected and he wasn’t sure how to handle it
… Then the old tough cattleman asserted his hard nature once again, feeling confidence surging through him as he did so.

‘All right! You think I’m loco enough to say “no” to an offer like that?’ He shook his silver head
vigorously
.
‘No, sir! It’s just what I want – you’ll work to pay me back for what it’s cost me to raise you. You’ll have your keep and a little
dinero
– very little! But I’ll take it out of your hide until I say “stop” – you get that?
I’m
the one to say “ ’nough”, call it quits. Until then, you do as I say….’

He stopped dead as Blaine shook his head. ‘No, you can call it quits when you’re satisfied, but as for me doing everything you say –
I’ll
be the one to judge that.’

‘Now, listen here…!’

‘Workwise, OK, I’ll follow orders. But that’s where it stops, Morg. Leave my personal life alone. You don’t boss me around like the kid with a hole in his pants that I was when I first came here. I’m Blaine now: Black Dog to the Comanche, if it’s of any
interest
to you. I’ll work and work hard, and do as good a job as I can – but that’ll be your only interest in me.’

Morg blazed in the old style, shaking a thick finger across his desk. ‘You don’t talk to me like that!’

Blaine put on his hat and turned to the door, stumbling into a chair on his right side. He smothered a curse but Morg heard and his seamed face softened some.

‘One eye – must make it – pretty tough, huh?’

‘Not as good as two,’ Blaine admitted. ‘You want me to move out of my old room…?’

The rancher nodded, sensing he could have the final victory here. ‘Yeah, you’re on a different footin’ here now, just another hired hand. There’ll be room in the bunkhouse.’

Blaine nodded and went out. Morgan O’Day
poured another glass of whiskey and held it up to the light. His hand was still shaking slightly.

‘Well – here’s to you, Morgan Patrick O’Day. When that man walked through that door I didn’t expect to still be be able to do this—’ He shuddered as the whiskey hit the back of his throat and added huskily, ‘or anythin’ else!’

Alamo Ames paused as he buckled the leather
chest-piece
on his horse, ready for brush-popping
mavericks
high up in the sawtooths. He watched Blaine fumble a little getting the strap ends through the buckles as he fixed the leather to his sorrel.

‘One eye make a big difference?’

‘Some. Had to learn to shoot a rifle all over again.’

The trail boss blinked. ‘How come?’

‘You can’t shoot a rifle up to your right shoulder with only your left eye to sight with – Can’t shoot accurately, nor even fast. Got to sight straight down the barrel, so I had to learn to use the rifle with my left hand.’

Alamo grunted, scratching his head. ‘Six gun?’

‘That’s OK – can still use my right hand and just point. Maybe not as good as before, but it works.’

‘No wonder you were so long with the Injuns….’

Blaine tested the buckles on the chest-piece and, satisfied, swung up into the saddle. It wasn’t done as smoothly before he lost the eye, Alamo noticed.

Morgan had decided to have Blaine work with Alamo, rounding-up and branding mavericks, and other cattle considered prime enough for the trail drives. The rancher decided he would feel easier if
Blaine was away from Broken Wheel much of the time. Maybe it was Morg’s conscience – he sure wouldn’t admit to himself that it might be
uneasiness
, still not certain about Blaine’s intentions.

The entire valley was stunned when they heard that Blaine was back, not with a smoking gun in his hand, but volunteering to work off what he figured he owed Morgan O’Day. It won Blaine a lot more admiration that he knew, even from those who, previously, had figured O’Day was out of his mind, taking on the raising of a half-breed and expecting some good to come of it….

Lucas was possibly the only one who didn’t see anything good in Blaine’s return. He tried to sway Morgan whenever the chance occurred.

‘He’s just waiting, Pa! Waiting for his chance – then he’s gonna bust us good!’

‘Us? You think he’d spend any energy this way to square with
you
? Lord knows he’s had plenty to put up with from you over the years and he’s whaled the tar out of you from time to time – and I had to stick up for my son, of course, and punish him. But that was enough for someone like Blaine, giving you a black eye or a bloody nose – he don’t think you’re worth much more’n that.’

That hurt Lucas and he flushed deeply. ‘How about you? You figure that’s all I’m worth? A scuffle in the dust ten years ago…?’

Morgan sighed. ‘I’m sayin’ that’s the way Blaine sees it – forget him. You just keep managin’ Broken Wheel the way you’re going – you’re doin’ a good job.’

Lucas preened at those rare words of praise from his father. ‘Yeah, well, like you say, Blaine’s just another hired hand now….’

‘Alamo’ll take care of him. He needs experience in trail drivin’.’

Lucas frowned.

‘You make that sound like he’s got some sort of – future here.’

Morg scowled, but there was a slightest suggestion of a crooked smile there, too. ‘How long you think it’s gonna be before I holler “quits”? You think Blaine’s gonna get this all squared away in six months – even a year?’

Lucas smiled slowly then: he knew the Old Man was as sharp as ever.

He was going to keep that breed working his butt off until he dropped – then kick him to his feet and work him some more….

Alamo and Blaine hadn’t had a lot to do with each other over the years, but they always got along pretty well. Blaine had helped out with the trail drives
occasionally
but mostly he had been kept on ranch chores – Lucas giving him those he didn’t want to do himself in the early days, before he managed to talk his father around into letting him take care of the books.

As the days of rounding-up the mavericks passed and they spent time together, camped out in the hills and canyons, Alamo and Blaine formed a closer bond. The trail boss knew he could never break through the ’breed’s reserve but they had short conversations on general topics now, something
Alamo had never been able to initiate previously.

‘You think about Kitty a lot, don’t you?’

Alamo had decided that Blaine would never ask him about the girl, respected him too much to expect him to break his word to Morgan.

‘You said she’s all right – I’m taking you at your word.’

‘Good – because she’ll be fine where she is. It was her choice in the end. I think maybe Morgan had calmed down some and might’ve taken her back – sort of – but when
she
decided what she wanted to do, he disowned her – says he don’t have a daughter.’

‘Must be hard on her – she thought a lot of her father.’

‘Only natural: her mother died when she was very young, only months old. Morg’s the only real parent she ever knew – Lucas was different. He could remember his mother a little—’

Blaine tossed his coffee dregs into the fire abruptly. ‘Guess I’ll turn in – I’m tired. You’re a
slave-driver
, Alamo.’

‘Hell, I can give you nigh on twenty years and I ain’t tired – well, not
real
tired.’

‘Good, then I’ll leave you to check the mounts and the cattle pens.’

As Blaine moved away, Alamo said, ‘Hey! You better be careful, you almost smiled then!’

But neither man was smiling a couple of hours later when the cattle they had gathered and penned-up in a gulch came bawling and snorting and horn-
swinging
through the camp in all-out stampede.

Above the noise and the thunder, both Alamo and Blaine heard the rap of gun shots, driving the killer herd on.