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| "In the name of the law," Meadows roared, "I order you to cease and desist." continued on page 62 |
THE TEWKSBURRY FEUD
By AMELIA BEAN
Illustrated by Stan Galli
It was a daring bluff. If it failed, the Tewksburys would be wiped out.
"I want Andy Cooper used up-now!" Daggs told a bounty hunter named Houck. The Daggs brothers were out to take over the whole of the Tonto Basin cattle range for their sheep.
Houck made a mistake and "used up" Billy Graham instead. Andy Cooper convinced the Grahams that it was Breed Tewksbury who had done in Billy, and that the Tewksburys had made a a deal with the Daggs brothers to take over the Tonto. The Grahams joined forces with Cooper and his renegrade Hash Knife riders to wipe out the Tewksburys.
"Ride and pass the word," Tom Graham said. "I figger to hit the Tewksbury place come sunup!"
VI
Old Crip muttered, cursing the milk pails which were coated with frost, and their handles felt like icicles in his stiff hands. His squinting gaze blamed the slow-rising sun, which left the valley in chilly shadow. He let himself in to the pasture, dropping the bars, and took his milking stool from where it hung on a post. Then he, proceeded in his bowlegged, slewed gait along the ditch, mumbling toothless obscenities about the cows as they began a slow retreat from him, forcing him unwillingly to quicken his creaky hobbling.
The long rays of the sun suddenly tipped and stretched down into the valley, and Crip felt the faint warmth of it on his grizzled face. His watery old eyes surveyed the valley below him. Two figures came from the back door of the smaller Tewksbury house. Crip squinted and made them out to be Johnny and Jacobs, heading for the saddle string to catch up the day's mounts. His glance moved back, and saw a woman crossing the dooryard toward the small granary. The pale sunlight caught in her red hair, and Crip knew it was Stella, going for grain to feed her hens. The old man's mouth stretched in a toothless grin; his face became dotingly fond. He figured he'd just step into her kitchen after he milked. Stella knew, without the asking, how a slug of brandy in a cup of coffee could oil an old man's joints.
The thought of the brandy energized him, and he quickened his steps. He drew a short, length of rope from his pocket and looped it about the neck of the nearest of the now resigned cows. He was setting his stool when he stopped suddenly and raised his head. Two shots had boomed out, shattering the crisp silence, fired so close together that their clapping echoes intermingled. They had been from the west, down near the lower horse pasture.
At first it seemed all dusty confusion. The horses were plunging in milling circles; they stampeded for the far fence and the leaders crashed into it, knocking the poles down. Then Crip saw a man, struggling on his hands and knees in the middle of the pasture; and as his stupefied brain sought to comprehend, the flailing arms went limp, and the man fell on his face. Crip now saw that there were two men down, and that they lay not far apart. It must be Johnny and Jacobs - and both of them lay still now.
A rattling barrage of shots poured from a ridge west of the Tewksbury houses. To Grip's appalled ears it sounded like a massed army of gunmen. A flutter of movement jerked his eyes back to see that Stella was still in the chicken run-sheilded somewhat by the small hen coop; but there saw open ground all around it; and he could see the geysers of dust explode and plume as the bullets thudded in a hail of lead. She was crouching against the corner of the coop, and Crip sensed her fright and indecision. "Stay put, honey," he begged aloud, "for God's sweet sake, stay put-don't make a run for it!"
A nearer, heavy booming of rifles from the houses began to answer. Crip detected a flurry of hasty movement along the ridge as the attackers flattened down behind the scraggly bushes. There seemed to be an awful number of them; hard to tell, though, because there was a lot of cover along there. He took a fearful mental count: Johnny and Jacobs downed that left Breed and Jim, old Jonathan and Roberts. Four against God alone knew how many. And they were trapped inside-doubly trapped, for there were women and kids in there too.
Crip wasted no time wondering what it was all about-or who composed the besieging riflemen. He had a more important problem-inasmuch as he was the only one not nailed down and was thus far undetected.
Crip had seen his share of frontier war. His game leg was a souvenir of a clash with Cochise's tough veterans. He looked "down at his crippled, misshapen person with total disgust-it had been years since he had worn or carried a gun.
The accurate returning fire from the houses incited a smothering, blasting roar from the concealed attackers. Crip figured he'd best get out of there while he still could.
He untied his rope from the cow and stowed it in his pocket before dropping to his belly. Cursing the thorns which tore his clothes and ripped his hurried hands, he wormed through the bushes and up the hillside, scrabbling low and crabwise from bush to tree to rock. He gained the crest of the hill and slithered behind a rubble of ice-shattered boulders. From here he crept to a crack between two of them to peer back and down.
The smoking, rocking clamor of the guns was lessened from here-the panorama of it was spread clear to his urgent gaze. He could make out the dark forms of the bellied-down men on the ridge, and as his eyes followed along he saw hunched figures skulking, fanning out. Far to his left, but too close for comfort, he glimpsed two men creeping in his direction. He dropped down, slid and scrambled to the draw at the foot of the hill, along which he scuttled, driving his brittle legs without mercy, smothering the grunts of pain he could not control. He was dripping with tortured sweat by the time he reached the pasture in the wooded ravine where a small herd of horses grazed. He was thankful that Breed's tall, gray gelding was among them, for Bullet lifted his head inquiringly at the first low whistle, and when it was repeated, he came across the pasture and stood while the shaking old man circled his neck with the short rope he carried.
For a little while Crip hung onto the rope, leaning against the horse's shoulder, just resting thankfully. Bullet swung his wise head around and nosed him, smelled the strong odor of fear. He stood quietly while Crip got his breathing back to something like normal, then he allowed himself to be led alongside a rock and stood while the old man climbed on his back, hoisting and pulling himself by clutching the thick mane. Once astride the smooth, bare back, Crip kneed him cautiously and sighed with relief as the gray moved out at once with his swinging, comfortable single-foot.
They traveled east until the sound of the firing diminished in the distance. After a wide half circling they came out on the rutted wagon road that led to Payson-the Tewksburys had friends there, and maybe the deputies Judge Meadows had promised to send to the Tonto were in the neighborhood.
Crip measured their progress against the position of the sun. They were making good time, but if it took him long to roust up help - He wished they knew back there that he'd got away and was riding for help, for there wouldn't be any from any other source. He had to make it. He felt cold with the fear he tried to shut out of his mind. It had been a long time since he'd needed to ride hard. Crip muttered and mumbled along another almost forgotten pattern, as he did his best to pray. It wouldn't hurt a bit for the Almighty to know what was going" on, and the Tewksburys, he assured God, were awful good folks.
Stella poured a generous measure of feed into her sacked-up apron and was scattering it for the busy, clattering hens, when the two shots sounded. She whirled about to stare in the direction of the sound and saw Johnny struggle convulsively on all fours and then collapse on his face in the dust of the horse pasture. She dropped her apron and began to run toward him. But she sprang back again, for a hail of lead thudded all about her and she stood dazed behind the hencoop. She sank weakly to her knees, crouching by the corner of the coop and with her fists punishing her mouth, she stared at Johnny. She noted hysterically that Jacobs lay not far from her husband and that their complete stillness was unmistakable.
The startled horses had plunged away and stampeded to the far side of the pasture. Those in front had been shoved against the slender fence poles, which had tumbled, allowing the horses to clamber through, escaping into the hog pasture beyond.
Shots sounded from very near, and Stella realized that the men in the house were answering the attack from the front windows. A single rifle began shooting rapidly from her house-Jim was there; he had eaten breakfast with Johnny and Jacobs. Her baby was there, too, and she sobbed with relief, remembering he was in the far corner, near the rock fireplace wall-the safest location possible.
She heard shouting from the main house, and then Jim came to her back door. "Breed says," he yelled, "all best get to the main house!" Stella's insides turned over as he went on. "I'm takin' the youngun-you be ready to jump and grab 'im if they get me!"
She started to call out in protest, but he had disappeared back inside. Then a thunderous barrage rumbled from the front of the house-the three riflemen were covering for Jim. The shooting from the west thinned, almost stopped as the attackers ducked down. Jim leaped from the back door of the small house, his long legs spreading and reaching, going fast. He had his rifle in one thin arm, the baby clutched tight to his chest with the other and he ran, hunching protectively, shielding the tiny body with his own.
Stella screamed as he seemed to stumble, but he caught himself and went on with great leaps, made it inside the back door, which had been held open for him by Tildy. She snatched the baby from him, eying him severely. "You're all bloody," she accused. "Strip back your sleeve."
Jim looked down at his arm, blood soaked his sleeve, oozed down his bony wrist. He pushed the sleeve above his elbow. "Jist a splinter," he scoffed. "Won't bother me none."
"Just you hold on now," Tildy ordered. "Scratch or whatever, I'll tend to it-and right now." She settled the baby and competently removed the embedded splinter, washed the arm and wrapped it in bandages.
Breed placed Jim in his own position by the front window-the glass had been knocked out-and came to the back door to see about getting Stella across the yard and into the house.
She was at the corner of the hencoop, her back toward him so that he saw her loosely knotted hair had escaped the pins, tumbled below her shoulder blades. She was bent forward and her hands went shaking against her ears as he heard her begin to scream. It was a tortured keening sound, and her body twisted and writhed.
But she heard his booming voice and turned. "Stella! Stella! Are you hit? Wait-I'll come _" Her mouth was wide, her eyes had a staring, insane look. And then she screamed a jumble of words at him.
"The hogs-the hogs-in the pasture! Johnny-Johnny _"
Breed could not see the bodies-the hencoop was between-but across the pasture he now saw the high, rounded spines of big hogs advancing deliberately. He shouted to the riflemen in the front of the house, "Cover me-now!" Rifle in hand he leaped out. He could shoot the hogs from the hencoop.
A scattering of bullets struck close to him before the barrage forced the attackers down, but he gained the hencoop-to find Stella gone. He could hear her screaming as she ran out into the open pasture. The screaming was oddly accompanied by a dog's hoarse barking. Stella had gathered up her skirts and, as she ran, her long coppery hair streamed behind her. From where he had been crouching, the big gray dog, Smoke, had leaped out and now bounded along beside her.
Breed groaned aloud as he hurriedly set his rifle down. In the very act of leaping out he stopped. Sudden silence had enveloped the valley with the shock of a violent thunderclap. "
The startled riflemen held their fire from the instant their astonished eyes recognized the woman's form and hair. And as she sped across the pasture straight into close range of the hostile guns, those in the house were able to see her too. And a dead silence hung, hushed and waiting, acrid with gun smoke and dust.
The enormous hogs and their mean-eyed sows raised bloody, belligerent snouts as Stella charged them, whipping off her apron and flailing it across their astonished faces. They milled, grunting angrily, but they moved back from the bodies, for Smoke had also launched a furious attack. The hogs were no match for the two of them, and they balkily turned and lumbered with a chorus of ponderous squealing and grunting back across the field. When they had all crossed the fallen poles, Stella lifted them back in place while Smoke chased them deep into their own pasture.
The men behind the ridge, jaws agape, had moved not a muscle as they watched. They stirred uneasily now, not looking at one another as Stella went back to the bodies, kneeled beside her husband and turned him over. Her head went down to his, and the shimmering cascade of hair covered them both as her shaking mouth left the saltiness of her kiss on his face.
Smoke, his jaws wide, his long tongue hanging, came galloping back across the pasture. A rifle barked and the dog went down in a yelping, scrambling heap.
Stella leaped to her feet, saw Smoke roll over and up, come crippling toward her on three legs. She ran to meet him and placed herself between" him and the ridge. He halted to lick whimperingly at the torn shoulder, leaning against her shaking legs.
Stella threw back her head, her chin lifted defiantly, the bronze mane of hair whipped like an angry banner. She raised her fist and shook it. "Damn you!" she screamed, and the listening men cringed inside themselves for every word was clarion clear. "Damn you all to hell!"
There was only silence in answer, and she turned to gather the dog up in her arms. She staggered under his weight but she turned her back, contemptuous of the rifles, and crossed the pasture to the houses.
Back of the ridge a low voice said, "Why the hell you go and throw down on the dog?" The man's face betrayed his unease at the furious cursing they had received.
The rifleman near him turned a face striped by the angry red of unhealed scars. "It was that cursed dog got me these" -he motioned toward his wounds- "that fracas when we had 'em holed up in the box. The dog come down in the brush and flushed us out for Tewksbury! Hank got it dead center. I'd ruther tangle with Apaches than that Breed and his dog."
The oddly hushed silence held for a short space after Stella disappeared from view. The shooting began again as the men behind the ridge had a brief glimpse of Breed leaping back to the main house. Not long after, the Tewksburys knew they were completely surrounded. The shots now thudded from a wide circle and struck the house from new directions. The four men inside were spread thin one to each outer wall of the house. The women kept several rifles loaded and at hand for each man.
The firing from the ridge slackened, although it never stopped as the afternoon wore away. It was obvious that the plan was to hold them down until dark, when the circle would be closed. And the Tewksburys knew they could not withstand a close-in night attack against the number of guns comprising the siege.
They decided to abandon the house in favor of the stone springhouse, which had but one door, no windows and a sod roof-which would not burn. Lydia stiffened, her eyes were haunted in a chalk-white face. "I'll not leave my house," she insisted. "They'll burn it _" She looked pleadingly at Breed. His somber gaze understood, but there could be no mercy now. "If we're still here when they come, they will try to burn us out, Miz Lydy." He paused and then added, "You got only the one choice now-your house or your life."
Her wide eyes dropped and she stared down at her thin hands. When she spoke it was with that old, icy correctness of composure. "Of course, Edwin," she said, "I will gather together some food and blankets. It will be chilly in the springhouse for the children. Fortunately we shall not lack for milk and water." Part of the stream from the spring had been diverted into a wooden trough which ran through the springhouse, rendering the small interior cool for the keeping of milk, butter and eggs, even in the hottest weather.
Breed waited" until the women were busy in the kitchen; and then he and Roberts held" a whispered consultation. They were agreed that the two of them would fight outside of the springhouse-- taking swift, silent care of those who crept in close. With this in mind they checked their revolvers, and each added an extra heavy-bladed knife to his gear.
There was a heavier firing as the sun lowered. The attackers felt safer with the blaze of it directly in the eyes of the Tewksburys. Above the smoking clamor of the valley the sun shot crimson streamers aloft, transforming the billowing clouds into towering, rosy pillars.
Jonathan gave a startled grunt and leaned perilously close to his window, shading his eyes against the sun. They all heard it clearly-and getting louder-the drumming beat of a running horse.
Straight down the road from the north tore a huge white horse, streaked with its own sweat, foam slobbering around the bit in its mouth. Its huge rider turned from the road, galloped to the center of the horse pasture and pulled the horse into a rearing, fighting circle right under the snouts of the suddenly silenced guns.
He stood in the stirrups, and the red glare of the sun reflected on his white mane of hair and beard. "In the name of the law" -his stentorian roar spread and rang like a deep-toned bell-"I order you to cease and desist!"
A threatening growl swelled from the throats of the concealed men, and Judge John Meadows shook his fist at them. "I've got one of your men," he warned. "I know who you are-and Mulvenon's posse will be on your tail any minute!"
There was dead silence and then a restless, shuffling of consternation as the men glanced back and around them and then at one another. Meadows pulled the snorting white horse about, arrogantly presented his broad back and rode to dismount before the main Tewksbury house. He whipped the dust I from his clothes, brushed back his hair and directed a majestic, angry stare toward the west. His commanding stance, boots wide spread, eyes fierce under the beetling brows, did not betray his anxiety that his bluff might not work. Satisfaction curved his mouth-for he now detected the movement of hasty withdrawal. The besiegers were pulling out, not aware that Mulvenon and his men could not possibly reach Pleasant Valley before the next morning.
Presently, from the trees bordering the creek, two riders appeared, driving a man on foot before them. The astonished Tewksburys recognized the tall, gray form of Bullet long before they identified as Crip the stooped and weary rider on his bare back. The other horseman was an Apache tracker who held the end of a rope that bound the wrists of the man on foot. Crip slid from the sweat-stained horse and hobbled into the house, almost falling into the huge grasp of Jonathan, who shouted and pounded the little old man in a way that nearly completed his collapse.
He had met up with the judge and his men-a deputy and the Apache tracker- this side of Payson. The deputy had been sent back to Payson to hurry Mulvenon's gathering together a posse.
Crip limped kitchenward, followed by a clucking, admiring Tildy. "I'll make you some fresh coffee," she offered, and the old man was astounded at this expression of respect from the gaunt and horse-faced woman, who'd never so much as allowed him the time of day heretofore. His bony shoulders straightened and he tried not to limp as he walked to the kitchen table, not to groan as he lowered himself into a chair. "I'll have a shot of brandy in that there coffee," he tested, darting a surreptitious peek to see how far he could take this.
"All right, Crip," Tildy said, in the same matter-of-fact way. She stoked wood into the stove and pulled, the big kettle forward onto the flame while the old man watched her bony back with growing satisfaction.. "My name's Donald," he announced to the room.
Tildy turned from the stove, wiping her hands on her, apron. "Donald." She seemed to give it serious consideration. "That's a right nice name-Donald," she said gravely.
The valley was silent as the twilight grayed and deepened; settling dust flurries from several directions had indicated the wide, scattering retreat of the besiegers. The Tewksburys and Roberts, rifles still warily in hand, joined Judge Meadows and his party in front of the house.
The captured man was Miguel Apocada, who had been guarding the attackers' horses in a draw some distance back of the firing line. His hands were tied behind him with one end of a braided, horsehair rope, the other end, leashlike, was in the hands of the Apache tracker who had captured him. The potbellied little man was sweating with terror, cringing as far as possible from the silent Apache.
Breed spared no more than a glance at the cowering Mexican, but he stared at the Apache, still astride his spotted pony. He stepped close, lifted his hand to grasp and shake the strong, brown paw. His voice was low as he spoke in a halting mixture of Navajo and Apache, which had many words in common. "I greet my brother," he said, "but my tongue does not remember what he calls himself-now."
An appreciative glint flickered in the Apache's obsidian, slitted eyes. He smiled, disclosing strong white teeth. "I am called Hay-soos," he said, "man of peace-now that I ride as tracker with the white sheriff."
Breed was unsurprised at the bold arrogance of it, for he was the Apache Kid, most dangerous and hunted renegade at large since the surrender of Geronimo. It was typical of his slyness that while the manhunt for him went on in the south, near the Mexican border, he assumed the protective coloring of law and order in the pay of a sheriff far to the north. The sheriff would not be short-changed: the Apache Kid would be worth his pay, for he was unparalleled as a tracker and scout.
"Hay-soos is welcome here," Breed said. "I thank him for this service to my family."
"It is small return," Hay-soos countered ceremoniously, "for a life that rested in Trader Breed's hands."
It had been two years ago on a dark night when a sandstorm shrieked down the canyons that the Apache Kid had made his way on foot to Breed's trading post at Cougar Spring. He had run his horse to death, his cartridge belt was empty-as was his belly-and the cavalry was closing in, having succeeded in keep- ing him from water holes for two days and nights. Breed had supplied him with food, a full canteen, a fresh strong horse and cartridges. When the winded soldiers arrived he reported the theft of these things. But as to their questions of the Apache Kid's trail, he shrugged. For, he said, who could tell where the, Apache Kid might be?
" Judge Meadows led a somber procession to the horse pasture. Jacobs had been instantly killed by the bullet which had torn clear through his chest. The slug which had brought Johnny down remained in his body, the point of entrance unmistakable-in his back, between his shoulder blades.
Meadows' head was uncovered, bowed, his voice was somewhat hushed, but it rumbled with outrage. "Shot in the back!" he pronounced. "Outright murder!" He seemed to become further incensed as he inspected the bodies. The outflung hands and arms were almost unrecognizable from the crunching jaws of the hogs.
"Bring the Mex here," Meadows ordered. Hay-soos herded the quaking man forward, and when Apocada saw the bodies he started convulsively and stumbled, then fell to his knees.
"You take a good look, damn you!" Meadows ordered, but the Mexican, swaying and sobbing, bowed his head to avoid the sight of the mutilated bodies.
Meadows advanced and stood over him. "Stop that blubbering!" he roared and Apocada choked and was silent. "Now, listen to me, Mex-I want the names of every man jack in on this-and you'll talk-or I'll turn you over to Breed and my 'Pache. They'll take you up to the hog pasture and when they get done-leave you there!"
"Si." It was a faint whisper, "Si, I tell you-"
"Who was leadin' 'em?"
"Senor Graham-Senor Tom."
"Tom Graham!" Meadows was jolted. "You're lyin'."
"I tell truth," Apocada said. "Senor Cooper-he was there and his brothers, three brothers. It is they who bring in the young senor, Billy-and after he is buried, then it is Senor Tom Graham who send riders out, pass the word."
"Young Billy-you mean Tom Gra- ham's brother? What happened to him?"
"He is dead. He have been shot-bushwhacked. They say, no use to wait for law because law, she is on side of sheepmen. They say, go after killer, themselves-finish off all trouble _"
Meadows' face became apoplectic, but he controlled his rage and asked reasonably, "Why would Tom Graham figger to get his killer by hittin' the Tewksburys?"
Apocada closed his eyes and swallowed painfully; he could not find his voice, and they all bent to hear the hoarse whisper, "The man-who have bushwhack Senor Billy, he leave plain track-moccasin track."
There was the sound of deep, swift breaths. No one looked at Breed's moccasined feet.
Meadows considered for a moment and then he asked, "They know when Billy was killed?" "They bring him in-yesterday, in afternoon. He has not been dead long-one hour, perhaps. He ride from Canyon Creek not long time before Senor Cooper and others. They find him."
Jonathan's slurred voice protested. "Breed was shoein' horses all day-never once outta sight of the house. Ask the womenfolks. "
"I've no need to bother the women," Meadows growled. "I know Breed better'n that!" He turned back to the Mexican. "Who else seen the tracks besides Cooper and his brothers?"
"Senor Jack Graham was there"- Apocada cringed-"and I also."
"Who all was in on this shootin' today?"
"There were many," Apocada gasped. "I not know them all --"
Breed's taut voice spoke so close to the Mexican's ear that the man jerked convulsively. "Who fired the first two shots?"
"First shots-it was Senor Cooper and man beside him- I not know-one of his brothers, maybe."
"How many men all together?" Meadows shot at him.
"I not know-thirty maybe, forty, I not know."
"Hell," Meadows said, "lock him up and I'll write the names for Mulvenon in the mornin'."
The moon rose late and low, it was lopsided and pale but its glow dulled the frosty winking of the stars in the dark sky.
Breed came out of the barn, where he had spread his bedroll. As he did so he made out a shadowy figure leaning against the back fence. His steps were soundless as he approached. "You shouldn't be out here now," he whispered, "you'll get chilled."
Stella turned her narrow face up to him. It was chalky white in the moonlight, and the dark smudges circling her eyes made them enormous; her mouth was colorless. "I'm not cold," she whispered, "I just couldn't-I felt like I was going to smother in the house."
She wore a dark woolen wrap over her night dress. Her hair was drawn back, braided down her neck. She seemed somehow smaller to the man as he looked down at her; fragile, brittle, like a slender thread, drawn too tight and about to break.
Her tight, almost irrational calm worried him, for she had spoken hardly at all-nor had she wept-during the night's grim business of preparing bodies for burial. Stiffly, like a sleepwalker, she had moved about, doing what must be done, with her face like this, and the wide eyes empty and yet haunted.
"You'd best try to rest," Breed whispered.
The waxen profile lifted as she stared unseeingly at the stars, and she seemed not to have heard him. "There's so much," she whispered, "so much I wish I'd done different. I wish I'd been better to Johnny." Breed clenched his jaw at the weariness of the pain and regret.
His hands wanted to comfort, but he lowered them to his sides. "I doubt Johnny figgered you wasn't real good to him. You married him, and gave him a fine boy-seems like that'd sure be enough for any man."
Stella's eyes searched his face. "Would it, Breed?" she whispered. "Would it be enough-if the man figured he was second choice?"
Breed became almost unbreathingly still; his eyes had to move away from her face. "Did Johnny-think that?"
She looked down at her hands on the fence. "He knew how it was with me, that summer you sent Coutouch. But after that we-nobody mentioned it ever again." She looked up at him again. "I've thought it worried him, because he didn't ever talk about it-like he was afraid to ask. We used to quarrel a lot, and it was like he was pushing at me, trying to get at something, roundabout like." Her eyes questioned to see if he understood, and he nodded, not speaking. "It was better, though," she went on, "after you came back-and that's strange; but things were much better between Johnny and me, like we'd faced up to something together. That's the only part I don't have to be sorry for-that we had that much time, right up to this morning when he went to saddle up."
Stella began to cry, the soundless tears slid down her pale cheeks and Breed saw the wet shine of them. He reached out and drew her close. She buried her face against his chest and cried for a long time. After the shuddering sobs quieted she remained in the warm haven of his arms, taking comfort. Breed stood rock still, his eyes lifted, fixed sightlessly on the mountain heights.
She stirred and moved back, looking up at him. "Thanks, Breed," she whispered, "thanks for letting me -"
His face was in shadow and she could not see the deepened strain on it. "Think you" can maybe rest now?" he asked. She nodded and pressed his arm with her hand as she turned away.
He watched her cross the yard and disappear through the doorway. The night seemed suddenly colder, his arms had an aching emptiness and all was a chill void. With an effort that was almost physical he warded his thoughts away from the turbulence Stella's closeness had aroused in him. There was a thing he must do, and he must not even think his own thoughts until it was done.
But try as he would, as he saddled Shawnip, the buckskin, he could not erase from his mind the memory of Stella in his arms. And he knew with a certainty that, if he lived after the task he had set himself, he would come back and wait and see. He had made a decision for them both once. This time it would be hers to make, for he knew now that he had been wrong.
He slung saddlebags on the mare's back and looped her reins over the rail. A shadow drifted toward him in the dark barn, and Hay-soos spoke low. "I would ride with Trader Breed," he offered and waited.
Breed was not surprised that the Apache had instinctively known the course of his thinking-the conclusion of which was foregone both their minds. He did not hesitate. "I would be proud to have my friend, Hay-soos, ride with me." He then added, "But we'll have to let Meadows know. I don't want the family roused up; maybe, you better ask the judge to step out to' the barn quiet like."
As Breed threw a saddle on the deep-chested bay gelding that had been Johnny's favorite mount, gray dawn began to filter through the barn door. Judge Meadows came ponderously in, his movements slow as though he ached, but his eyes were sharp, alert with testiness. "No need to ask what you're up to," he accused. "I can guess." Breed looked at the judge, but he did not speak.
"I don't want you to do this, Breed," Meadows said. "Mulvenon'll be here sometime today. Let the law take care of Cooper."
"The law has wanted Cooper for a lot of years that I know about," Breed said, "and he's stayed free as a bird. He ain't even bothered to stay out of the towns where they've had notices-never even bothered to cover or hide out."
Meadows could find no convincing argument for this. "I could order you as a representative of the law not to go after Cooper."
Breed made no reply. He looked steadily at the judge.
"You'd go anyway," Meadows stated. Breed nodded.
"Then take another man," the judge said. "It's all right with me if Hay-soos goes along, but take one more-take Roberts."
"I want Roberts here," Breed said. "With Jim's arm-it's likely to stiffen up, bother him some. And pa _" With old Jonathan there was no telling-he was already on borrowed time with the strain and shock of the past hours-there was just no telling how it would be for him. Breed wanted Roberts here with the family, for he knew very well that he himself might not make it back to look after them.
Meadows shook his head. "Look, son," he argued, "you might find yourself bracin' up to God knows how many men. Cooper might have half that bunch with him."
"He, might," Breed admitted, "but I don't think so: I figger they've split up-likely headed off in a dozen different directions."
"Which way you headin'?"
"Holbrook to start with," Breed said. "His sister Lela has a house there where he hangs out a lot, and he wouldn't be likely to hole up at Canyon Creek, not with Mulvenon comin' -it's too close."
Meadows nodded and began fishing about in his pockets; his hand came up with something metallic in the palm, and he reached over and pinned a deputy's badge on Breed's vest pocket. "Raise your right hand," he ordered.
Breed looked down at the badge; then he began to unpin it. "No," he said, "havin' a badge ain't gonna make it different-arrestin' Cooper ain't what I got in mind."
"Now hold on, son," Meadows said earnestly, "listen to me. I know damn well the badge won't make a particle of difference to Andy Cooper, but I want you to wear it and I want you to be carryin' a warrant with his name on it when you brace him! And here's why: God knows the law is spread thin in this country, but things is changin', and folks have got to give over settlin' their differences with guns. It only leads to more killin' and blood feuds, and lots of innocent folks git hurt. We got a job to do to make 'em have some respect for law and order. I know that, but we've got her to do and you owe it to your folks, if you don't care about yourself! Now, dammit, raise your right hand!"
Breed tried to control the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he raised his hand and repeated the oath.
A short time later they rode out, and the special-deputy badge was inside Breed's pocket, pinned through the folded warrant on which Judge Meadows had scrawled the name of Andrew Blevins-Cooper. When the sun cleared the rim of the Mogollans they were already moving up the narrow, winding trail that led to the wooded mesas above, and away from Pleasant Valley.
"You wanta know what I think?" Jack Graham's voice was sour. "I think we been suckered-good and proper suckered!"
Charley Blevins agreed, "Sure looks thataway. Damn that old Meadows- runnin' a bluff the posse was right on his heels!"
The two of them had taken turns keeping a lookout all through the cold night. They had seen nothing except that two riders had left the Tewksbury spread just before dawn. It had been too dark to make out who they were at this distance.
"Hell," Jack said disgustedly, "I'm for callin’ it good and go on home. Don't see no sense in squattin' here on an empty belly."
"Me, too," Charley said, "but what about Tom?" The older Graham had ordered them to keep watch and report the arrival and number of men in the posse to him in Globe.
The day before there had been argument about lifting the siege; several men thought Meadows was bluffing. But they all took it for granted that Miguel Apocada, who had been taken prisoner, could be made to give names for the warrants. After this each man made his own decision, but the decisions were the same: to scatter and ride out of the territory of Sheriff Mulvenon’s jurisdiction.
Tom Graham remembered Cooper's report about bought-up lawmen, and he wanted to know if Billy Mulvenon was among them and how many men would ride with him. Tom intended to take Anne to her parents in Globe and return to the ranch to resume operations. Tom was a reasonable and a tolerant man, law-abiding until now; he knew he could find no rest until the man who bush-whacked Billy was dead. Somewhat reluctantly he had, left Jack and his crony, young Charley Blevins, to keep watch and bring him a report of what occurred. He told them to come on in to Globe because he didn't quite trust the pair of them to stay out of trouble. Separated, they were boastful kids-together, they tried to live up to their bragging.
"Well," Jack said, "we already got done what Tom said-we've watched, but no posse showed! Let's get the hell outa here and head for Globe like Tom said to do." He thought dismally of the long miles to ride. "How about let's stop and get some grub and a bottle offa Perk fore we head out?"
Charley's weasel face split in a grin. "Sounds prime to me," he agreed. They scrabbled down the ridge to where their hobbled horses grazed in a draw. They were well out of sight as there were several ridges and rolling hills between their position and the main valley.
Had they remained on the ridge a few minutes longer. they would have seen riders threading down from the hills at the north end of the valley, converging on the road, and then proceeding along it until they pulled up at the Tewksbury place.
Sheriff Billy Mulvenon and his deputies dismounted to hold a conference with Judge Meadows, who came out of the house swearing as he counted only six men in the posse.
"Now, just you hold your hosses, judge," Mulvenon countered. "I figgered I'd best get here fast-fore you and that 'Pache took on the whole Tonto." He grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time I had to fetch you out of a tight-'member that there time _"
"All right, all right, Billy" Meadows' rumble drowned the sheriff out.
"Besides, I left McKinney roustin' up more men," Mulvenon said, "and they'll be along directly."
Sheriff William Mulvenon could have been any age between thirty-five and fifty. He was a set man in his ways and methods, and wise men valued this trait in him. His methodical practicality had proved itself, for he'd been sheriff a long time in frontier territory where uncompromising lawmen were notoriously short-lived. He did better than just stay alive- he was extremely competent and without mercy for the lawless contingent. He made no deals and he continued to be belligerently tender of the security of those he had sworn to protect.
Mulvenon had never allowed situations to develop with gunslingers of the type that must challenge to prove themselves; for they found out that the sheriff did not depend on his speed with the holstered gun on his thigh. For close-in work he, relied on a sawed-off shotgun, the eighteen-inch double barrels of which seemed almost a permanent growth extending from his body, so accustomed was its cradling between elbow and hip, so easy its rest along his thick forearm. Those gaping black muzzles loomed terribly wide and cavernous to a man brought to bay, facing him.
Mulvenon bit off a fresh hunk of tobacco and, chewed vigorously, listening without interrupting while Judge Meadows brought him up to date on events. The sheriff pushed back his hat from his flaming forehead, his eyes never leaving the judge's face. He grunted disapprovingly when Meadows told of deputizing Breed.
"Don't know as I like that," Mulvenon said. "Breed and the 'Pache bracin' what could be Cooper's whole bunch. You shoulda hindered him _"
"Hindered him!" Meadows exploded into a roar. "Hell, short of shootin' him, wasn't a thing I could do."
Mulvenon nodded, "Likely. Well"- he hitched at his pants-"I guess deputizin' him was best at that. I'll send a coupla boys over when McKinney gets here. Not that they got a chance a catchin' up to him and that 'Pache. Still we'll know what come of it." He considered briefly and then swung back into the saddle. "Button. . . Wilkins," he ordered, "come with me. I'm goin' down to Charley Perkins'. You others stay here, water and grain your horses, then give 'em a rubdown. When the judge has put names to those warrants, bring 'em to me at the store. I'll make my headquarters there-so no stupid big-mouths kin whine we've took up for the Tewksburys."
At the crossroads store an agitated Perkins came out to meet the sheriff. The two deputies took the horses to his barn, while inside Perkins set out a bottle and glass and the sheriff helped himself, breathing deep with satisfaction as he enjoyed the drink.
"Hell, Mulvenon," Perkins said, his fat face gloomy, "this here sure jolted me." Perkins mopped his sweating moonface with a red bandanna. "Breed didn't bushwhack Billy Graham-for I bet I know how it come about." He poured out the story about the special deputy to whom he had given information. "But he was after Cooper," Perkins said helplessly, "and I was damn glad to help him. Besides, he had a badge and a warrant. How was I to know Billy would be ridin' in from Canyon Creek? And God forgive me, it never crossed my mind about the boy' deckin' hisself out in silver conchs; so he'd maybe look like Cooper to a man who'd never seen neither one of 'em."
Mulvenon nodded. "Looks like that's the way she floats, all right," he said. "But, Perk, Meadows sent no deputies. I don't care what this feller claimed! My guess is he was a bounty hunter. What'd he look like?"
Perkins described the man in great detail and Mulvenon nodded immediately. "Jim Houck," he identified, "and I've heard-can't prove it, though-that he's workin' for the Daggses." He considered this a moment. "That could be it, Perk," he said. "If Daggs wanted the Tonto squabblin' amongst themselves, fixin' for a range grab, maybe it was Cooper that Houck was after-and maybe it wasn't. He could a been willin' to down anybody that'd rile the cattlemen into reachin' for their guns."
Perkins looked vastly relieved at this interpretation. He poured the sheriff another drink. "I'm gonna take 'em all in," Mulvenon pronounced, "arrest the whole kit and boodle on both sides. And I'll hold 'em in jail till they cool off enough to talk sense!"
Perkins tilted his head to listen; he looked significantly at Mulvenon and moved to a side window from which he could see some distance up the road. "Coupla riders comin' in," he said.
Mulvenon reached for the shotgun which he had placed near at hand on the bar. "Who is it?"
Perkins squinted for a moment. "Looks to be Jack Graham and one of the Blevins boys."
Mulvenon was beside the open door at once. "Stay back," he said in a low voice. "I'll get the drop on 'em and start my arrestin' with these two."
The crossroads store appeared as always to Jack Graham and Charley Blevins. They approached confidently, for the hitching rail was empty of horses or rigs and the door stood open as usual.
They rode near the rail and started to step down when a voice bellowed: "Throw up your hands!"
They saw Mulvenon then, framed in the doorway, the shotgun leveled. They yanked their horses around, dug in spurs and slapped their hands down at holstered guns.
The shotgun roared, its muzzle swung a fraction and blasted again. Almost at the same instant came the heavy barking of two rifles. Button and Wilkins were shooting from the barn.
Both horses went down, carrying their riders into a plunging, screaming convulsion of 'huge bodies and threshing hoofs, which plowed up a boiling cloud of dust.
Mulvenon dropped the shotgun, drawing his revolver as he ran. He maneuvered, dodging the great, flailing limbs and managed to place a shot in each horse's skull. Wilkins and Button pounded across from the barn. Perkins emerged slowly from the store and they all stood, horrified into silence as they stared at the tangled, bloody heap of men and animal bodies.
Mulvenon's face was drawn and sick. "Just kids-both of 'em," he sighed tiredly. "Dammit, why'd they have to go and draw on me?"
TO BE CONTINUED ?
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