Riders West Read online

  Joe said: ‘Amen,’ and they went and stepped into the saddle.

  They rode back down the narrow trail and Will thought: This ain’t a good start. If it’s a start at all. Do I stay or do I push on?

  After a while he turned in the saddle.

  ‘Do I stay or don’t I, Joe?’ he said.

  ‘You sure do ask a man some questions,’ Joe said. ‘You want to stay, you stay. You want to move on, you move on. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘It’s not an’ you know it.’

  ‘I don’t so.’

  ‘I have the women to think of.’

  Joe grunted and Will knew he wouldn’t get any more out of him. Joe didn’t account for women. Will brooded as he rode, knowing that the country had done something to him. His vision of his family prospering here and creating a good life had been too strong for him to deny. He would have to put it to the others. Just the same, he knew he wanted to stay more than he had wanted to do anything else in his whole life.

  Chapter Two

  Mart had camped on the low knoll just as Will had said. The wagon was parked, the fire was built, Martha had something good simmering in the pot and the horses were out on the grass. Beyond the camp, the creek shimmered in the evening sun. The sight did a man’s heart good. The valley swept away into the west for three or four miles, then slowly swelled into the green hills beyond. Further west the mountains reared up titanically into their soft clear blue, capped with the white of the snow. Their immensity impressed and inspired a man. It was as if under their majesty he could never think a pretty thought again. Will had never known such tranquility as he rode in towards the fire. For a moment, the dead man back there was forgotten.

  He and Joe unsaddled, the horses trotted forward into the deep grass and rolled ecstatically. Toting their saddles, the two men walked into camp.

  When they finished supper, night dropped with dramatic suddenness and they were left in the small bright cave of light from their fire. The air was crisp now and the men shrugged themselves into the coats and the women drew shawls and blankets around their shoulders. There was something invigorating and stimulating about the cold. They chatted a little, the men smoked, little Melissa fell asleep against her father’s side, his arm around her. They heard a wolf singing in the hills and Will reckoned they should keep a sharp watch during the night because of the horses. There might be Indians about, too, of course. A man could never be sure. White men had not been long on the grass of this country. He thought the Indians unlikely. There were men in these valleys who had shortly before hung a man. A white man. They would as likely kill Indians.

  What kind of Indians? Will asked himself. He wasn’t too strong on Indians. What would they be hereabouts? Utes, Cheyenne. He’d heard at some time that the southern Cheyenne and the Arapahoes drifted across into Colorado. The Utes were great horse thieves. Yes, watch the horses. Maybe he’d been a real fool to come into unpeopled country like this, light on men and so many women. The men would have to stand watch. No more than three of them. They were going to be mighty short on sleep. But he would get a good strong house built. They’d all feel better then. He’d have to build fast. The hard weather wasn’t far off.

  He found himself nodding in the heat of the fire.

  He jerked to when he heard Mart say: ‘We have to talk about it, Will.’

  Will looked across at Martha and found that she was watching him.

  ‘Shovels,’ Kate said in her clear voice. ‘What were you diggin’ for, pa, you an Joe? Gold?’

  Joe laughed.

  Kate was about the only soul on earth he would laugh for. Her and Melissa.

  ‘No,’ Will said. He felt uncomfortable. ‘It wasn’t gold.’

  ‘Come out with it,’ Martha said.

  He thought: What’s the use in trying to hide it from them? If there’s trouble here, Martha’ll find out soon or late, any road.

  He told them.

  Martha took it calmly. Will knew she would.

  Kate said: ‘But how horrible. Isn’t there any law hereabouts?’

  ‘No,’ said Will. ‘There’s no law. Every man looks out himself. An’ that poor devil couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Maybe he was a thief or a murderer,’ Kate said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Will agreed.

  Mart said: ‘So we have to decide. Do we go or do we stay?’

  ‘What do you want to do, Will?’ Martha said.

  ‘It’s no never mind what I want,’ Will said, ‘We have to agree.’

  ‘Which means you like it here,’ Martha told him.

  ‘Sure I like it here,’ Will said. ‘Who wouldn’t like it here? I’d be crazy if I didn’t like it here.’

  ‘That means we stay.’

  ‘It don’t mean we stay. It means we talk it over like we’ve always done. We’re all in this. I make the decisions, but first we talk it over.’

  Mart said: ‘It’s the dead man frets me, it could mean a whole lot of things. But it looks to me like there’s a strong man around here, Will. I can just feel it. You took a good look at this country when we came in. You see how high into the hills the grass goes. There’s cows up on that grass. The feller that claims this range has his cows up on the high grass in summer and brings ’em down into the valley in winter when the weather turns bad.’

  Will thought about that.

  Mart could be right. His mind had run along the same lines,

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘The feller doin’ that ain’t been doin’ it long. There hasn’t been a white cattleman in this country any length of time.’

  Joe said: ‘So he comes ahead of the others. He’s smart an’ he ain’t afraid of much. He ain’t scared of Indians. He sells beef to the mines. Even if he don’t sell beef to Kansas he can sell it all year around here.’

  They slept on it.

  Will lay awake a long time, staring up at the stars and thinking. He sure did like it here, but dare he risk his family? Didn’t he risk them the moment he decided to settle in Colorado? The whole business of bringing women and children into the wilderness was one big risk. Martha knew what she was letting herself in for. He found himself planning. He would homestead this place. Mart could do the same along the creek with the next section but one. When the boys came up from Texas with the cows, they could claim further along, each building his own cabin. He’d checkerboard the whole country with claims till he had a sizeable piece of range. There’d be land for his sons and daughters and for their children in turn.

  But maybe there was somebody claiming this land already. Legally claiming that was. Or maybe there was a big cattleman camped somewhere in these valleys just claiming free range by right of his strength. That could mean a fight. Could he afford a fight with Martha and the two girls around? He didn’t have the strength for a fight. One of the men would have to go to a town and claim the land. That meant him or Mart. Joe was out. He was a Negro and he wouldn’t get anywhere. What was he going to do about Joe? He owed him. His old friend had a cut in the Kansas herd coming. Maybe he’d find himself a place in the hills like he’d said he would. Run horses. Or maybe he’d just drift off on his lonesome into the wild country. Just the same, Will wanted to do something for Joe. He hoped the Negro would stay with them through the winter that lay immediately ahead. He was sure going to need him.

  His mind was drifting. He must keep it on the subject in hand. What to do about this place.

  They would most likely have to go to Denver to make their claim. That was a long way off. The women would be protected by only two men while the third was gone. Maybe they could do it at that. Mart and Joe were formidable with guns. They would give a good account of themselves. But what if it was a big outfit in this country? Say, a dozen or more men. That could be rough.

  Worrying, Will fell into a troubled sleep in which he dreamed that he was being hung by the neck from a tree by a ferocious man ten feet tall whom he never saw.

  Dawn came into the valley deliciously. Will awoke clear
headed and refreshed in spite of his dream. The air here was wonderful. He greeted the others and walked down to the creek and washed his face in its ice-cold waters. It shook him into full wakefulness.

  In the clear light of morning, this place looked more like paradise than ever. As he walked through the grass, his boots cascaded dew like bright crystals. Even the horses felt the glory of the place. There was a sort of heady gaiety in their movement this morning.

  Martha was smiling as he approached the fire. The smell of frying bacon touched his nostrils. The whole world seemed utterly alive and at peace.

  Mart brought him back to earth again. He sat cleaning his gun. Every day, Mart cleaned his gun.

  Joe wasn’t in sight. Will asked where he was. He’d gone into the hills with his rifle, they told him. Will knew there would be fresh meat for the pot that day.

  Melissa was talking to her doll, Kate was combing her fair hair at the tailboard of the wagon. The beauty of the elder girl fitted the scene. Will stayed where he was, watching them all, seeing in a moment as a man seldom sees what his family meant to him.

  Martha poured him a cup of coffee and held it out to him. He took it and sipped the strong brew. Her eyes met his.

  ‘I’m staying here,’ she told him.

  He smiled. She knew what he wanted.

  ‘The first year,’ he said, ‘could be pretty hard.’

  ‘It could be that anywhere,’ she told him. ‘But afterwards …’

  Yes, it was the afterwards, the years ahead. He stood and mused, thinking of what might happen. This wouldn’t be free range forever. The west was a cattleman’s paradise right now, all the grass a man could want for the asking. But life never stayed still. All this could change. The cattleman was wasteful of land, lazy of innovation. One day, the farmers would come in. The aspect of this valley would change.

  ‘Mart,’ he said, ‘I reckon Martha and me’re stayin’. How about you?’

  ‘If the wages’re good,’ Mart said, poker-faced, ‘maybe I’ll give it a whirl.’

  Suddenly, Will was excited. It was settled.

  Kate heard.

  She came running from the wagon.

  ‘Are we staying?’ she said.

  ‘Sure are.’

  ‘Oh, pa,’ she cried, ‘we’ll never find better’n this, I swear.’

  Will started pacing slowly, planning, running his eyes over the curves and rises of the land. He’d build his house right here on this knoll. The spot was well protected from the weather and yet the house would be raised above the floods if the creek overflowed during the spring. He could sink a well easily here for Martha so that she would not have to tote water from the creek. She could lay out her truck garden over yonder. The corral for the horses could go over yonder and there, on that flat piece, they could erect a fine strong barn for the winter hay. He could get all the hay he wanted within easy reach of the house. The horses were going to eat well this winter.

  If they were to winter here, they must start thinking about supplies. Joe would get them fresh meat. They’d be mighty short of green stuff, but they’d make out.

  He ate his breakfast in silence, his mind still working, thinking his way through the winter ahead. He had never felt so good in his life. The mountain air was doing its work. He felt young and vigorous and strong. Confidence flowed into him, stimulating him, making him feel equal to anything.

  He inspected the grass after breakfast, feeling it with his fingers. Down here in the valley, it was cured sufficiently on the root. Should he risk leaving it where it was? No, he thought, he would cut some and make sure. He reckoned this place would snow up when the hard weather hit them.

  He caught the bay pony and saddled it, riding over to the west side of the valley and looking at the timber. He could build ten houses without trouble. He rode back and around the camp, looking over the scattered trees. Some of them came pretty close to the knoll on which he planned to build his house. They would come down for building. If trouble came, then he would have a clear field of fire around the building. He thought like the Civil War sergeant he had been. Once he had his house up, Indians or cattlemen would have to keep their distance.

  He unsaddled and turned the pony loose. Then he broke out the axes from the wagon and started putting an edge on them. By the time winter came he, Mart and Joe were going to be honed down to muscle and bone. Cutting the hay was going to be a problem, They didn’t own a scythe. He’d have to think on that

  Mart took one look at the axes and said: ‘I got a feelin’ I ain’t goin’ to like it here.’

  ‘You got a choice, boy,’ Will told him. ‘Build a house or freeze.’

  ‘Couldn’t I just hunt a town and gamble a livin’ through winter?’ Mart said.

  But just the same, he picked himself an ax and showed, as he always showed, that he could use his hands and liked to do so. He started on the nearest timber while Will marked out the house. Martha and Kate accompanied him and it was like a serious game, placing the rooms and drawing them in the dirt, full of delight. They planned to build in two parts and to connect them with a roof. They would put one half up first so that they would be certain of shelter if bad weather hit them. As soon as that was up one of them would head for Denver or the nearest settlement and lay in supplies. They would all need some stout winter clothing too, for the cold here would be like something they had never known before.

  Joe didn’t return till the following day. He came in with a buck slung over the rump of his horse. He told them that he had seen the sign of plenty of game to the west. To the north, there were cows on the higher grass. They were longhorns and they were marked with a broken spur. There were a lot of them. He hadn’t seen any riders, but he had seen their sign.

  Will thought that most likely their smoke had been seen by this time. Right now, whoever was running cows in this country knew they were here.

  They spent the next three days cutting timber and snaking it to the knoll with ropes behind horses. Kate lent a hand and worked as well as a man. They all labored from first light till dark. For they knew of the weather in these parts, they were now racing against time and they didn’t want to take any chances. There was a wonderful feeling among them that they were accomplishing something. They worked in harmony.

  Chapter Three

  Will was right.

  They had been seen.

  It was a young man named Bob Dickson who spotted them. He was a Texan like themselves and he was paid a dollar a day by the Brack outfit to ride line and keep the wolves from the cattle. He also looked out for cow-thieves, horse-thieves and anybody who might take it into his mind to settle on Broken Spur range, that is free grass that Ed Brack claimed for his own but had no more right to than any other man.

  Bob wasn’t a particularly bad man, nor was he a particularly good one. He was like so many cowhands of the time, a Texas farm boy who had gone for a cowboy. He should have been at home in east Texas helping his father on the land, tending the cotton, seeing the hogs didn’t break down fences and generally making himself useful. But the call of the trail and the romance of being a rider of horses had been too much for him. The idea of clinking around in spurs and wearing a hogleg on his hip like a full-blown man had got the better of his caution.

  He had been a cowhand for three years. First he had helped drive a herd to Kansas and there in the cow-towns amid other wild youths who fancied themselves as wild and woolly he had come to the conclusions that he was a pretty tough hombre and a man to be reckoned with. He spent his money as he earned it and his future, though he was incapable of seeing it, entailed being worn out in another man’s service and one day being thrown on the scrap-heap when he was through. Men like Ed Brack thought more of their cows and their own ambition than of their men.

  But Bob could see none of this. He had gotten away from the monotony of the farm and he was riding high, wide and handsome. This was the life for him. For his dollar a day he gave his complete loyalty to the man who paid him. The obligatio
ns were all on the side of the hired not the hirer.

  His sharp eyes saw the Storm smoke down in the valley. He headed towards it to investigate, pleased that there might be something to break the dull routine of riding and looking over cows.

  It took him some time to ride down from the high grass and to pick his way through the timber in the valley without being seen, but, by noon, he found himself looking at the camp on the knoll by the creek.

  He saw the woman at the fire, stirring something in the pot. Nearby a little girl played.

  There was movement off to his left, the sound of axes on wood. A Negro lopped branches from a fallen tree. Two white men swung their axes on the bole of a tree. A rider snaked logs towards the camp. His heart turned over. It was a girl. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen. It was a long time since he had last seen a white woman. He couldn’t take his eyes from her.

  He followed her with his eyes. She halted the horse and flicked her rope easily from the log she dragged. Even at that distance he could see that her body was superb. The sun caught her golden hair in an aura of light.

  Further out in the valley several horses grazed. These people were here to stay. He would have to take word back to headquarters. But meanwhile he couldn’t take his eyes from the girl.

  It was the girl’s horse that first sensed his presence. The animal whinnied, throwing up its head and looking towards the timber in which Bob hid. Before he could stop it, his own horse replied.

  Several things happened then.

  He saw the girl swing to face him. The woman at the fire jerked upright.

  It was the Negro who caught his whole attention. Suddenly, the man had a rifle in his hands and, though he could not be in the man’s sight, Bob knew that the muzzle was pointed directly at him.

  One of the white men disappeared from sight.

  Bob saw it was no good playing ’possum. He might as well come out in the open. He kneed his horse forward. The girl pushed her golden hair back from her tanned face with the back of her hand.