The Devil's Roundup Part 9

"Thanks for the job," Willie said, watching Saber's face.

The man was nimble-witted and an excellent poker player, but Willie caught the flitting puzzlement in his eyes before Saber lifted his beer and stated: "Think nothin' of it ...nothing at all." He set the schooner down. "Have one." Willie shook his head, and Saber asked: "Wife object?"

"No," Willie said. "It don't seem right, somehow... me here havin' a beer and her home with one dress to her name. A homemade one at that."

Saber studied his reflection in the polished bar. "1 know how it is."

The batwings squeaked, and heads turned. Jesse Dulane crossed to the far end of the bar. Willie straightened and walked over to him. Jesse took a beer from the bartender and said: "From the way you're walkin' stiff-legged, 1 can see you're just honin' for a tussle."

"Ain't 1 got a good reason?"

"Maybe you have," Jesse told him, "maybe you ain't. But it's too hot to wra.s.sle or crack each other with our knuckles."

Saber lifted his drink and slid along the bar until he was within three feet of Willie. His voice was quiet, but the warning was there: "Back off, Willie."

Kerry turned his head quickly, not understanding this. "This is none of your d.a.m.ned business, John."

"You're mistaken," Saber told him. "This is my business. Come on back and have a beer before your hot head gets you into trouble."

Willie looked around the room, returning the stares, then followed Saber to the other end of the bar. He waited until the bartender drew another beer before he said softly: "1 come because you got a reason. 1 know you'll tell me."

Saber let out a long breath. "Give Dulane a chance to know you. He just wants to find out what kind of a man you are."

"h.e.l.l," Willie said impatiently, "why don't he ask around? People here have known me for ten, twelve years."

"You know better than that," Saber pointed out. "A man doesn't take another man's word on those things. He finds out for himself. I told you once they were a clannish lot... give him a little time."

"All right." Willie sighed. "No bloodshed." He lapsed into silence for a moment, then said: "1 don't see George Rudy around."

"Gone," Saber said. "Went to Dallas the morning after his fight with Loyal Surrency. Went to Surrency's house, big as life, and took the girl. I guess she was eager to go."

"That takes money."

"True," Saber agreed, "but he had some. Keno Charlie gave him three hundred to sweeten the pot." He leaned on the bar, and looked around the room. He stared thoughtfully at his hands for a long moment, then said: "Speakin' of money, 1 saw you come out of Loyal's bank. A little short?"

"I wanted to get Louise a few things," Willie said quietly.

"That's not good enough. If you needed it for anything but that, 1'd let you have it, but she's got to start at the bottom if she wants to grow up."

Kerry stiffened and said in a brittle tone: "I've heard some rough talk lately. 1 don't want to hear any more.. .not even from you."

"Don't be a fool, Willie," Saber said explosively. "Can't you see what Jesse's doing?"

"No," Willie said hotly, "and 1 don't want to."

"Better come off the boil," Saber advised. "Losing your temper won't help anything."

"Wait a minute," Willie warned. "You and 1 have had some rough times together but that don't give you the right to stand back and pick my wife to pieces."

Saber drained his gla.s.s with a few quick swallows, and wiped the foam from his mouth with his handkerchief. He gave Willie a straight look-"Excuse my big mouth."-and walked out.

Willie Kerry drew an aimless design on the bar's wet surface with a blunt finger. The bartender came up to him and asked: "Want something?" Kerry shook his head and went outside to mount his horse.

Louise Kerry bent over the steaming tub. Willie carried wood for the fire. Clothes hung wetly from a lariat strung from the roof of the well cover to the far corner of the cabin. The heat lay heavy on the land, and her gingham dress was dark with sweat across the back and shoulders. Willie walked up behind her and held her hands from further rubbing on the board. "That's enough," he told her firmly. "Let the rest go dirty."

Her face was flushed from the heat, and her hair lay awry. He crossed to the well to draw a bucket of cool water. They drank gratefully of its coolness. Finally they sat on the steps, close, but Willie had the distinct feeling they were growing apart. She let the silence spread out for a moment, then asked: "Why did you go into town?"

"Money."

"Are we broke?"

"No," Willie said, "but there were some things 1 wanted to buy for you."

"1 have all I need," Louise said softly.

Willie looked at her, knowing she lied to save his pride. He sat with his head down and remained that way until she touched him gently on the knee. He raised his head in time to see three hors.e.m.e.n leave the rocks, angling toward the cabin. Willie stood up and went inside. When he came out, he was wearing his gun.

Strang, Pecos, and Valverde stopped twenty feet away.

Strang said: "1 never knew you to carry a gun, Kerry."

"Before your time," Kerry told him, and gave them a studied attention. Valverde s.h.i.+fted on his horse and gave Pecos a knowing look. Kerry caught this: "Say what you want, then drag it."

Strang stared at him. "Unfriendly cuss, ain't you?"

"Speak up or ride out!"

Strang chuckled deeply in his throat and looked at Louise. "Your pap wants to know if you've got a craw full yet."

Louise stiffened. "is he getting impatient?"

Strang shook his head. "I wouldn't know, ma'am."

Willie felt his temper push at him, and Valverde said: "I can't get over it...you packin' a gun."

"Leave him alone," Strang warned. "We don't want trouble."

"Speak for yourself," Valverde told him. He leaned on the saddle horn, staring at Kerry with a wide grin slashed across his face. "Is it for show, or do you really shoot it now and then?"

"Take it easy," Strang cautioned, not liking the expression on Willie's face. He gave Louise another pointed look and said: "You sure you won't change your mind?"

She shook her head, and Strang turned.

"Don't be in a hurry," Valverde said. "1 want to see this fella shoot. Go ahead, bronc'-stomper... shoot."

"Get that big mouth outta here," Willie warned quietly.

Strang made a move toward Valverde, but the man reached across his stomach and casually drew his gun. Willie waited until the muzzle was swinging toward him, then pulled, spilling the squat man from the saddle with one quick shot. The echo bounded and rebounded through the hills. Willie advised: "Pick him up and get him out of here.. .you with him."

Strang and Pecos dismounted hurriedly and draped the groaning man across his horse. They mounted with no hostile move, and Strang said: "This isn't the first time you've smelled powder."

"And it won't be the last," Willie informed him.

He stood there and watched them ride out, then went into the cabin and hung up his gun. Louise watched him closely. Trouble crowded Willie until he no longer knew where he had made his first mistake.

He took her gently by the arms, pulling her to her feet. His voice was humble. "Louise, a man like me ain't nothin', but it takes something like this to make him see it. I'm guilty of loving you...I never should have done that, but it was something 1 couldn't help. I never should've brought you here, made a slave of you...not giving you anything but hard work and trouble. Your father was right... you belong with him and his money. I'll take you back."

"Have 1 nothing to say about it?"

"1 guess," Willie told her, "that you're the sweetest thing in this world and you'd say a lot of things to save my pride. Well, it just ain't worth savin'. I'm gonna take you back."

"If you do," Louise said, "there will never be another chance."

"1 don't deserve another chance." Willie went to the barn to hitch up his buckboard. Halfway there, he turned to look at her-slowly....

Dulane's Anchor still looked the same to him as he watched it materialize from the ledge overlooking the desert, but somehow it seemed sharper, clearer. Willie glanced at Louise on the wagon seat, but her face was set, and she stared straight ahead, saying nothing. The silence had remained unbroken throughout the entire ride.

Willie rapped the horse, and they moved toward the loose cl.u.s.ter of buildings. Jesse Dulane sat on his wide porch, Strang on the steps before him like a faithful dog. They paced slowly into the yard. Finally Willie hopped down, and lifted his arms for Louise.

Jesse watched this with no change of expression.

Willie asked: "How is Valverde?"

Strang's eyes widened, and he said: "1'm surprised you asked. He'll be all right. Your bullet gouged out a h.e.l.luva hunk of meat, but it'll grow back."

The answer satisfied Kerry. He looked at Jesse Dulane.

Dulane watched his daughter, noticed her workroughened hands, the much-washed dress, and asked bluntly: "Get your belly full of hard work, back fat, and beans?"

"No," Louise said heatedly. "He just decided that I'm too good to be his wife."

"Ha!" Jesse said, and slapped his thigh. "He did, did he? Well, let me tell you something, Kerry. My wife and 1 came into this country thirty years ago with one cow, a horse, a Sharps rifle, and a lot of ambition. She lived hard, played hard, and, by G.o.d, we loved hard.. .but she was all woman ...and my daughter's the same."

Louise gave Willie a long look and said: "Understand something before 1 walk in that door. 1 love you more than anything in this world, even my father. 1 felt homesick, yes, but it was a natural thing. 1 was proud of you, and 1 still am. But you aren't content to just have me love you. 1 never told you this, Willie, but 1 would have lain in the dirt and waited for you if you'd wanted me to."

She opened the door. Her father spoke sharply: "Remember what 1 said, girl! Set foot in that house now and you've given up.. .there ain't no turnin' back after that door closes."

"We'll see," Louise murmured, and went into the house.

Kerry stared after her, and Jesse Dulane chuckled. "It's all like a game of poker, sonny, but 1 won. You held all the cards, and 1 bluffed you out. 1 ain't no fool. 1 knowed 1 couldn't keep her forever, and 1 wanted her to have a man. You're a man, but you weren't quite man enough, or you'd never give her up. 1 played a poor hand right into a winner."

The screen door opened, and Louise stepped onto the porch, Jesse's double-barreled shotgun cradled in the crook of her arm. She pointed the twin bores at her father.

Jesse Dulane straightened and said: "Hey, be careful with that danged thing ...it's loaded!"

"I know it," Louise said firmly. "You also taught me how to shoot it." Jesse started to stand up, but she motioned him down with the gun. "Get him a horse, Strang." The man got uncertainly to his feet, then moved off when he looked into her eyes.

"You're an old, hard-headed goat, and 1 love you, but this time one of your lessons is going to backfire in your face. You put me out with only the clothes on my back, trying to find out if 1 was a woman or not. You gave Willie h.e.l.l to see if he was your kind of man. Well, now you can have some of your own medicine."

"You can't do this to me, honey! 1 own this place!"

"1 hold a shotgun, and in Texas that's better than a fist full of deeds. I've heard you say so yourself!"

She glanced at Strang as he appeared with Jesse's pony. Louise motioned with the shotgun, and Jesse stood up wearily and crossed to the horse. He pulled himself up into the saddle with a grunt. There was a thinly veiled pride in his eyes as he looked at her. "Get going," Louise told him. "Ride until your pants fall to pieces, and, when Willie and 1 get ready, we'll send Strang after you, and you can come back. Swallowing your pride won't choke you...you'll find that out." She turned to Willie then and added: "This is your last chance too, buster. In the future, when 1 say I love you...I mean just that."

Jesse Dulane watched this with a thin grin spreading across his old face. He said: "Dammit, girl, if you was a son, I couldn't be prouder." He was laughing as he rode from the yard.

Willie understood it, then-his biggest mistake. He hadn't really shared anything with her, a.s.suming the whole burden himself without considering her a part of it. He crossed to her, and put his arms around her. She smiled up at him. There was nothing about either of them that the other didn't understand now. Willie suddenly felt that they were solidified and made whole. It was a new feeling to him and perhaps to her-he had no way of knowing-but she was his woman, and she pleased him as nothing else ever had.

I.

It was questionable whether the horse or the rider attracted the attention as he rode slowly down Hondo's main street. He had no saddle, just a moth-eaten blanket thrown over the horse's bony back, riding Indian fas.h.i.+on, hunched over with the scuffed toes of his half boots tucked inward. His shoulders, under the faded and much-patched brush jacket, were bunched up, still carrying the chill of the high country he had vacated. He wheeled in at the hitch rack in front of Keno Charlie's saloon and slid off, leaning his weight well into the horse.

He was a young man, normally smooth shaven, but now an inch of corn-colored stubble layered his cheeks. They made a pair, the horse and rider. Both were thin to the point of being gaunt, badly in need of a currying and clipping. The man's split-kneed jeans were supported by a frayed piece of lariat, but he hitched them up with a certain dignity, ducked under the hitching bar, and pushed through the batwings.

Keno Charlie's was nearly empty at this early morning hour, the sun not standing high enough to drive the November chill from the air. Three men stood at the bar, twirling their gla.s.ses, saying little, but they turned and gave him a frank glance when he came in. One of the men, much older than the other two, continued his inspection as if turning some thought over in his mind.

The free lunch table sat against the far wall, cluttered with stale sandwiches left over from the preceding night. This caught the stranger's eye, and he looked them over with the air of a fastidious gourmet. The three men turned to watch him. Even Keno Charlie paused in his gla.s.s polis.h.i.+ng to give the young man his undivided attention.

A selection was made-a thick rye bread creation with drooping salami-and the young man bit into it. His chewing was a loud grinding sound in the silence. He finished the sandwich and attacked another, then went on to a third. The older man with the sharp blue eyes and blond hair that grew thickly at the temples and was turning white watched this with a faint amus.e.m.e.nt around the edges of his mouth. Keno Charlie said nothing until the fourth sandwich vanished, then threw down his towel. "Those are for the customers, mister!"

The young man paused in his meal, gave Charlie a frank stare, and said: "And 1 thank you. Someday 1 hope to be a customer of yours." He had one of those bland, open faces, and, although his pale eyes were bright with good humor, there was nothing brazen or bold in them.

"Don't take that free lunch too literally," Keno Charlie said with a forced gruffness, not knowing whether to turn sour or dismiss the whole thing.

"Let him alone, Charlie." The older man spoke softly. "You'd have thrown it out anyway.. .or else tried to feed it to Willie or Burt here."

"Dammit, John," Charlie murmured, "1 can't afford to feed every saddle tramp that rides through."

The young man laid down his half-eaten sandwich, his fifth, and came over to the bar. He went through his pockets, finally coming up with a silver dollar that he laid on the bar. "in order to remove the stigma of vagrancy from my name," he said, "1 will buy a beer... a large one with a very small head."

John Saber laughed at this. Charlie growled something under his breath, and the tap fizzled. Saber put his hand over the boy's dollar and shoved it back to him. "On me," he said. "You earned it with an all night ride."

The young man considered this for a moment, his face grave, then pocketed his dollar. He lifted his beer, and drank deeply, then wiped the foam from his lips with a tattered sleeve. He said to John Saber: "1 thank you for the beer. Maybe we'll have another round when I'm more solvent. My name's Phil Stalker. 1 didn't catch yours."

Saber introduced himself and Willie and Burt Kerry, then they bellied against the bar and finished their beers.

Willie Kerry was a tall man in his early thirties with a wide, tolerant mouth and no nonsense in him. His eyes were grave, his actions studied and deliberate, and he wore a guttapercha b.u.t.ted .44 with the bottom of the holster tied against his thigh. "What's your plans?" he asked Phil Stalker. "Winter's just over the next hill, and it's a h.e.l.l of a time for seein' the country."

"I don't know," Stalker admitted. Then he asked: "What town is this?"

Keno Charlie's head came up quickly, his mind keening for the joke, but Phil Stalker's face was without guile. "Hondo," the saloonkeeper said. "You know you're in Texas, don't you?"

"Mope," Stalker admitted. "1 been riding for two months, and the last place I recognized was Guthrie. Right now, I'm looking for a job."

"Doin' what?" Burt Kerry asked. He was a short man, stocky, with heavy shoulders and a young, flat face. "You ain't a Westerner.. .a blind idiot can see that. This country ain't exactly for dudes."

Phil Stalker's eyes darkened for a moment, and he gave Burt Kerry a straight-faced attention. "You're right," he admitted. "I am an Easterner, but whatever 1 do, or say I'll do, will get no complaints from you or any man. I'm studying to be a lawyer, but I ran out of money at the end of this term, and now I'm trying to earn some to go back to school on. Is that all right with you?"