The Big Corral, page 5
“Heard it said, just yesterday, that Rawe is headin’ south for Texas,” Devero drawled. “Tom MacGorda met him and his foreman, Doll, days ago. They was far down the trail then, and burnin’ daylight, not to mention bustin’ horseflesh.”
Marian drew in her breath sharply. For a moment the news was stunning, incomprehensible, yet she could not doubt it. Nothing else would explain his failure to return. And at no time had she been able to bring herself to believe that he might be dead.
Devero did not elaborate, nor ask questions in turn. It was as though he had dropped an idle remark about one who was a mutual acquaintance, and expected no comment. But she knew that he guessed at the truth—that North had ridden away and left her, and that they had not been married. They could not have been, under the circumstances. If he had stopped to think much about her or her welfare, he would not have left her here, in this burned-over land, to subsist in a bare cabin. The depletion of all supplies would not have missed those searching eyes of Devero’s.
There was nothing that she could say by way of denial, and she knew it. Bewilderment was in her, coupled with hurt, and then a slow understanding began to come.
Rawe North was a practical man. He had wasted no time in whistling against the wind, in idle recrimination or in feeling sorry for himself, as lesser men would have done. His range was destroyed, but it would grow again. His herds were gone, and his crew with them. But there were vast herds in Texas, cheap cattle available almost for the taking. And men. Texans of a tough, fighting stock. It needed only a second thought for her to understand why North had not wasted an hour in heading for the Lone Star.
So far as she was concerned, she understood that too now, with bitter clarity. She had made it plain to him that she was not moved by emotion, that she was not for sale cheaply. He had known, without possibility of doubt, that she was accepting him because he had made the highest bid.
So he had been certain that, coming to the edge of the burned ground, seeing the devastation, knowing that he was ruined and would have nothing to offer her now, she would promptly turn back. The notion that there might be some womanliness deep down in her, a core of loyalty to him in his time of trouble, of faith to her own word, had never occurred to him at all.
What he planned to do was to recoup his fortunes and then return for her! Purely a matter of buying and selling, as he would do with a cow. Her cheeks flamed again.
“You’re mighty purty, honeycake, when you color up that way,” Devero drawled. “Fact is, you’re the finest lookin’ gal I ever set eyes on, anywhere, any time—or mebby I’ve told you that before!”
She faced him, her eyes stormy.
“Do you think it’s fair or chivalrous to say such things to me, when you know that I’m going to marry another man?” she demanded. “But I suppose it’s useless to mention such scruples to you. You like to take advantage of a man when he’s away and can’t help himself.”
His eyes were sharp on her for a moment before that half mocking humor veiled them again.
“Now there’s a thought!” he commented. “Somebody said a bunch of words once about makin’ hay when the sun comes bright! But I always been too easy-going, lettin’ too many chances slip. Thanks for pointin’ out my opportunity.”
“You’re welcome for nothing,” she retorted. “And now will you go?”
“Is that neighborly?” he chided. “And after me ridin’ way over here? It ain’t quite the same as crossin’ a street in St. Louis. I been in the saddle since early yesterday, just to pay this call.” He sighed elaborately. “Sure seems strange to see the Thrush in such surrroundings as this.”
“It’s due to a neighborly gesture with a match that I can’t invite you into the big house which had been built,” she reminded him bitingly.
“Golly now, this neighbor business stretches wide, don’t it?” he sighed. “A plumb wide loop.”
They had both remained standing—partly because there was only the single chair in the room, which she had been occupying before his arrival. Partly because she was of no mind to invite him to linger, even though she knew the rule of Western hospitality. There were a couple of stools, the edges of bunks along one wall.
Calmly he backed against the opposite wall, raising one spurred boot to rest against it. His glance was quizzical.
“I had a talk with you, Marian, back soon after I’d first met you,” he reminded, with an abrupt change of manner. “You told me then that you’d been one of a big family, and never had had quite enough to eat or wear or keep warm by till you were fourteen. That because of that, you’d had enough of poverty, and knew just what you wanted—and intended to get it. Remember?”
“Of course I remember.” She stood behind the chair now, hands resting on the back of it. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I was just wonderin’. You made a lot of things plain—or you sure used plain words. You weren’t going to be ruled by sentiment, or emotion—nothing like that. When you found a man that had what you wanted, plenty of money—or land and cattle that would bring money—a man that could give you what you aimed to have out of life, you’d marry him. Not any other. That sounded so convincin’ that I hypered home to kind of build up my spread. Then I went back to St. Louis, but seemed like I’d come a mite late. Like you’d had your bid matched.”
She was silent, and he gestured with one hand.
“Whatever you expected, this is what you found. I didn’t give up hope—not back at St Louis. I figured somethin’ might turn up—”
“And rode ahead to make sure that it did!”
“If I could,” he acknowledged. “When you put the price high, a man has to meet it. What I’m drivin’ at is this. North didn’t have it to pay. Right now, I do—and I’m here, and so are you. You’ve known a long time that you’re the only woman for me, Marian. Well—I got a big spread. A good many thousand head of cattle on it. My house isn’t much, though it’s a considerable improvement on this. And I’ll build you a big one—as fine as you want.”
For a moment he was quiet, serious. Then that tantalizing grin came out again.
“Ought to be an improvement, anyway. Course, I go with the deal. But you could do worse. If you’d like to do what you didn’t do before, check to see how big the place is, count the cattle, why, I can show them to you—”
“Oh, stop!” she cried frantically. “Will you get out now— do you think I’m that sort of a woman?”
He eyed her uncertainly for a moment, and there was a new light in his eyes which surprised and startled her. Only for a moment and then it was gone, with that twisted, half mocking grin in its place.
“Anybody that thinks he knows a woman,” he commented, “is sure a fool. And I reckon that goes for you as well as for any other female of the species.”
“Since you’ve arrived at that weighty conclusion, will you get out?” she demanded again. “That’s little enough that I ask, isn’t it?”
Devero lowered his leg, only to elevate the other in turn against the wall. He shook his head, making no move to obey her request.
“Nope,” he denied. “That’s asking a whale of a lot. You’d ought to know that. Still, if it’s what you want, why, I reckon you know well enough that I been your slave, grovelin’ at your feet ever since I first set eyes on you.”
“You appear to grovel!” she flashed.
“Don’t I do a good job of it, though?” he echoed admiringly. “Yep, I sure enough do. So if you ask me to go—why, I guess I might at that. Only first, honeycake, I want another kiss. I sure liked the taste of that other one. Been savorin’ it for weeks now, lookin’ forward to the next one.”
“There’ll be no next one!” she cried, and near panic was in her tones, to her own acute bewilderment. Secretly she raged, knowing that she too had remembered that other kiss —savored was the word he had used. Not for the world would she admit to anything like that, but the very notion upset her more than she would have believed possible.
“If you’re a—a gentleman at all, get!” She added, almost imploringly, “Please go!”
He had lowered both feet to the floor now; his grin was like that of a coyote approaching a hen-yard.
“I’m no gentleman,” he retorted. “I’m a devil—on plumb good authority. A feller that’ll steal when he gets the chance. So I’m going to have another kiss if I have to steal it. Though if you’d prefer just to give it—”
She was backing away as he slowly advanced, still holding to the chair, dragging it with her, keeping it between them. There was wildness in her eyes now, a high color in her cheeks. Never had he seen her look so beautiful, even when artfully made up and sumptuously dressed for her part as the Thrush.
“I—I’ll kill you,” she warned desperately. “If you don’t stop—”
His grin widened.
“I really believe maybe you would—if you had the chance,” he agreed. “You’re like me, I guess—got some of the devil in you, too. When you look at a man that way, you got to expect that he’ll want a kiss. And when you call him all those names, don’t you expect him to live up to ’em? Come on now, honeycake—one kiss, and my word on it that I’ll do as you ask then—even to kissin’ you twice if you want me to, or ridin’ away with just the one, if you insist, though I sure won’t want to!”
She was almost back to the other wall now, her ears strained for some sound which would indicate that Judy and Farris might be returning. But there was no sound at all, and she knew there would be none—not in time. Devero was still advancing, leisurely, but she knew his cat-like quickness.
“Stop!” she warned again. “I’ve told you—”
He wasn’t stopping. She had known from the start that he would not. Now she gripped the chair tighter, swung it up suddenly, high above her head. Then she brought it crashing down with all her strength, full upon him. She was hardly aware that the wild scream ringing in her ears was issuing from her own throat.
The chair shattered to wreckage, smashing over and around his head, down to his shoulders, to his waist. Still he came on. There was blood on his face now, streaming from an ugly cut over one eye, dripping down across his mouth. She could taste that blood, salty on her lips, as he held her in his arms and his own mouth was upon hers, hungry, savage. Then something seemed to burst in her head, a torment which had been building there for days, and darkness swept over her; she went limp in his arms.
- 9 -
THEY WERE hurrying, hurrying. Never pausing longer than was necessary to graze tired cayuses, to snatch a little sleep for themselves, and not much of that. Urgency drove North like a spur. It was his conviction that horseflesh was cheap, and when worn out could be replaced. As for men. any who rode with him must be able to keep up. They could doze in the saddle, or not at all.
Noland Doll matched him mile for mile as they drove steadily south. To Texas, and on without a pause. What thoughts might fester behind the rocky face of Rawe North Doll could only guess at. But the harsh overtones of them showed constantly.
They were deep in Texas before he showed signs of taking a breather. The Leon ran here, narrow and turbulent. Weeks were behind them since they had turned down from Kansas, and in the north winter would be fastening its relentless grip upon the land. Here the air was humid, crowding in lungs, crawling in lines of sweat down a man’s face, itching his back. There was no wind now. as there had been before. Noland Doll had hated the wind, but now he felt its lack. As though they had left a friend behind, were alien in a strange land.
Which was odd, for he was Texas raised. But time and distance could change a man. This was his first trip back since before the war. Texas, too, was changed. He had heard plenty of reports of poverty where plenty had reigned, of misery in a land once flowing with milk and honey. But reports were intangibles. Reality could be a noose about your neck.
Natives, who had never drifted as he had done, spoke hopefully where, half a year before, there had been only despair and hopelessness. Now there was a promise like a rainbow in the skies to the north of them.
Cattle were everywhere, here in Texas—mavericks from the years when markets had vanished, and owners or crews had marched to drums or died to note of fife. The brush was full of cattle.
A year before they had been all but worthless. Now they sold for three dollars a head, having tripled in price in half a year. There was promise that they would triple again, and hope burned anew in the hearts of men.
But it was mostly the promise of hope, not yet become reality. There had been a town on this ground, a decade before. Now there was one building, where a man could buy liquor or food, if he had the price. Or get a bed of sorts, and play a game of cards. Rawe North made an abrupt decision.
“There’s money here, Noll,” he said. “I think we could use some of it.”
Doll shrugged. He didn’t like the feel of this expedition, which was strange, since it was pretty much the sort of thing to which he had grown accustomed. Knowing North, he had been aware from the start that this would be a desperate venture. Maybe it was the fact that wilderness had reclaimed a land once half civilized that depressed him. He had grown accustomed to seeing that trend reversed. But he said nothing.
With the coming of night, the lone building took on a new aspect. Doll had expected half a score of men, at most, to congregate here. But riders were drifting in like shadows, until at least thirty were clustered about as the game got under way, Rawe North’s face was intent and smiling. It was a rare thing to see North smile. About the only time he ever did was when he played poker.
Maybe that was because he almost always won. There was incredible dexterity in the way his long fingers manipulated the cards, a smoothness to rival the professional gambler. Beyond that, those who knew Rawe North seldom ventured an opinion. They contented themselves with the remark that he had a lot of luck with the cards. If they were losers, they usually took their losses with a good grace and pulled out of the game.
Tonight was no exception, so far as the luck was concerned. North was winning. As the game progressed the stakes grew high. Poverty might be the lot for Texas, but there was money in this room. Money out of Texas, but not for Texans. It was a difference well known and not too subtle. Tonight it seemed mostly to belong to a man named Garwood. For the first half-hour Doll watched him, puzzled. He was accepted by these others, but there was something different about him. Then he caught a whisper, and understood. Carpetbagger.
That accounted for his having money, for his sureness. But it didn’t account for his acceptance by these others. And then Doll began to understand that, too, and to feel the tension building up in the room.
Go where you would, there were always men for sale. You could buy them as you bought a herd of cattle, and about as cheap, that kind. Garwood had taken the precaution to purchase protection for himself in the country which he exploited.
He wasn’t taking it too well as the evening wore on and North continued to win. But Garwood played a careful game, not alone of cards. He had a flat, blank face, devoid of expression as a wiped plate. Now he leaned back in his chair and spoke.
“Luck seems to be with you tonight, Mr. North. A lot of luck.”
North smiled again. He could afford to, considering what he had won already.
“I can’t complain,” he acknowledged.
“I can,” Garwood sighed. “I wouldn’t go so far as to accuse you of cheating, Mr. North—not that. Though I’ve known men from up north to have few scruples, here among us Texans.”
Doll could feel the chill, as though a door had opened. None had, and the smoke-filled room was still humid, so that as a precaution he wiped the sweat from his eyes and carefully rubbed the palm of his gunhand. As he had guessed, Garwood was clever. He had a part of this crowd on his side, and he was subtly identifying himself with them, painting North as the interloper. He wanted to be sure of where he stood, of what was behind him.
Doll sucked in his breath. Garwood might be clever, but so was North. The carpetbagger had underestimated him, judging solely by appearance, by the fact that they were down from Kansas. The smile had been wiped off North’s face.
“Speakin’ of Texans,” he said, “there’s men in this room know I was spawned on the Brazos. . . . Like you say, no real Texan likes a carpetbagger.”
Doll waited, while the silence crowded and the smoke shimmered. Then he expelled his breath again. There would be no fight—not now. Color was a thin painting under the flat face of the carpetbagger, but he had learned to bide his time, to take no risks which could be avoided. There were more men in this room against him than for him, though the odds were close.
“Seems like we’re in agreement,” he commented. “Only I’ve had enough, and it’s quite a ride home.”
North gathered up his winnings. Several thousand dollars. They had arranged for a room, and they went to it, but Doll had no need to suggest what was in his mind.
“We’ll slip out the window, get our cayuses and keep on ridin’,” North whispered. “He’ll be back—soon as he gathers more of his kind and figures the others have gone home. But he won’t find us here.”
Only once did he refer to the game, as, miles down the trail, they prepared to roll in their blankets for a few brief hours of sleep.
“I told you I’d get money down this way, Doll. Working capital. All a man needs do is collect.”
- 10 -
LATE the next afternoon they came upon a sure sign of what they sought—a long filigree of dust rising and hanging. A trail herd on the move. Two thousand head, Doll estimated swiftly, when at length they came up to them, with nine men driving them, one chuck wagon following. A fair-sized bunch to trail north, though this was late in the year for a drive.
But they were planning a winter drive when they had gathered a herd. That might be a move of desperation, but Rawe North liked any kind of a gamble if it promised a profit.
