The early hours of the following morning. The sun shouldered its way into the azure dome of the sky, stretching the golden ringers of its rays over the vastness of the mountains, thrusting itself into the deep fissures of the valleys.
The various players in the drama that was being enacted moved in their divers ways, all heading unknowingly slowly toward that final scene when all the problems of the plot are resolved.
Mart Storm and his lovely English woman were headed west. Stu Aintree lay wounded and sorry for himself in the backroom of Grebb’s road-ranch, his one dream to have Mart Storm’s back presented to him while he held a loaded gun in his hand. Ed Brack ate a large late breakfast, washed down with whiskey and water while he surveyed a small slice of his mighty empire. His mind too was on Mart Storm and he wondered if his thoroughness would pay off. On the trail of the gunman he had set two skilled killers and a legal posse—and a man could not do much better than that. If one failed, the other wouldn’t and, with luck, the two of them might fall foul of each other. That struck him as humorous and he chuckled. His mind flitted to the rest of the Storms. Come fall, he would have the whole bunch of them running for the safety of Denver.
Then he thought about his son and he frowned.
The damn fool kid. He wasn’t safe to let loose on his own. But he would have to find his feet. What worried him was that the boy had gone south and that was Storm country down there. It would be a real piece of bad luck if he ran into the Storms. Will Storm had made a show of forgiving and forgetting, but Brack didn’t believe in either, whether it was in other men or himself. Life was a matter of dog eat dog and pay your debts. Will Storm had snatched the boy the year before and held him as a hostage. There was no reason why he shouldn’t do so again when he learned that it was Ed Brack on the trail of his brother Mart. Well, he was in for a surprise if he tried that tactic again. Because this time, Ed Brack wouldn’t play. He could keep Riley and be damned to him. He washed his hands of the boy.
Meanwhile, the boy of whom his father had washed his hands, if it can be put that way, had slept in the hills separating the Three Creeks country from the Broken Spur ranges. He woke feeling overwhelmingly lonely and almost alarmingly unprotected. At the same time, he had to admit to himself that there was something stimulating about finding himself suddenly free and no longer under the spell of his father. He wondered secretly if he could keep it up, this wish to be independent. He had been too long dependent upon his father to quickly shake off his influence.
In the first cold gray minutes of dawn, he made his first gesture toward something like maturity. For the first time in his life, he saw himself as objectively as a man can see himself. Which isn’t much, but is better than nothing. He saw himself for what he was—a helpless and inexperienced boy alone on the hillside with hardly a cent in his pocket. He had no food with him and if he didn’t find some soon, he was going to be pretty hungry and he had never suffered hunger in his life. In fact, suffering was something of which he had had little experience, except that perhaps he had suffered mentally from the assaults of his father upon his mind.
He was cold and stiff and the physical discomfort was salutary. He braced himself a little and saw now that his survival was entirely in his own hands. His only assets were his physical fitness, his youth, his horse and the gun and a dozen or so shells that he carried with him. His rifle he had left back at headquarters. He had been a damned fool to storm out like that. He should have come with his weapons, plentiful ammunition and supplies.
But he had learned his first lesson. He tightened his belt, worked the stiffness out of his limbs and caught up his horse. As he saddled the animal, he wondered if there was anything he possessed in this world that had not been given to him by his father. He couldn’t think of a thing. The gun, the clothes he wore, the horse he rode—everything had come from his father.
He dreamed of making enough money to pay his father for what he had received from him, so he didn’t have to owe him a thing. He mounted and headed south across the ridges that would take him into the Storm country.
He knew that he could be headed into trouble. Only the year before Will Storm had taken him at the point of the gun and held him as a hostage for his father’s peace. That had shaken Ed. He had never been crossed in that way before. Riley wondered if his father had been concerned because of his love for his son or if the Old Man had merely been mad because another man had dared to lay a hand on his property. If Ed had started trouble with the Storms, maybe they would take him again.
That made him think of Kate Storm. He had been thinking about her since the day he had been a prisoner in Storm hands. The Storms had put the fear of God into him, especially Mart with his cold clear eyes and that terrible Negro, Joe Widbee. They were a pair of wild ones he didn’t want to tangle with again. But, just the same, the Storm valley was like a challenge to him. If he turned aside from it, he turned aside from his own manhood. So he rode on south even though he had to go across ridges to do so.
Besides down in the Three Creeks country, there was always a chance of seeing Kate. And he hadn’t set eyes on her but once and that no more than a glimpse, since the time the Storms had captured him. He could remember the stillness of her as she had watched him, knowing that he belonged to the enemy. Yet she didn’t seem hostile. Maybe he had read pity in her eyes. And pity could be akin to love. But he dared not hope.
He kept going south. He went down into the valley the hard way, missing the saddle to the east by a mile or more. He was light-headed with hunger now. He came to a mountain freshet, slaked his thirst and allowed the horse to drink and then went on, heading down into the valley through pleasant timber, cool even though the sun was now climbing the morning sky.
After a while, he heard the bawling of a cow for its calf. He found cattle in a gully, the Lazy S and the Storm earmark showing. They were Texas longhorns and a man took his life in his hands to be on foot among them. They eyed him as wild as deer as he passed. They looked in good shape. This northern grass had put meat on their lean frames. He thought he saw traces of shorthorn among their calves. He knew that much about cattle. So the Storms were upbreeding their stock. His father would be interested to know that. Though he probably knew it already. His intelligence service was the best.
He was in a small side valley which led him southeast. He trotted his horse down it, its hoofs make a pleasant shush-shush through the rich grass. Then the main valley broke before him and he saw again why his father wanted this country so badly. It was a cattleman’s paradise—shelter from the elements, good grass and plentiful water. No man could ask more.
When he hit the main valley, cattle became more plentiful. The graze was so good here that a man could run the cows close without eating the grass away. Even so, he could see that this year Will Storm had populated the graze to capacity. Maybe he was going to sell in the fall with his animals at their peak.
Now the boy asked himself the question: Where the devil do I find a meal?
Ahead of him was a small motte of trees. Unthinkingly and for no particular reason, he headed toward it. It was probably the most fateful move he ever made in his life.
As he reached the trees, he heard a horse whinny.
Slightly alarmed, knowing he was in enemy country, he stopped his horse and looked around. The horse rumbled again. He reached to his hip for his gun and drew it.
A voice asked—
‘You needn’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.’
He twisted in the saddle.
She sat with her back against the bole of a tree, back arched, hands gripping one knee. She was nineteen years old and the world was hers. You could see it in her clear gray eyes, the way she looked frankly at you. There was a kind of fresh innocence there, yet, at the same time, her expression was bright with intelligence. She’d be hard to fool, this girl. Under the light-brown hair, its front bleached by sun and wind to a pale gold, the forehead was high and smooth. The cheekbones stood high, giving character to her features, the nose straight, the mouth maybe a little too large, but not for Riley who thought it the most perfect mouth he had seen on any woman.
Her posture thrust her firm young breasts forward so that her blouse stretched tight and straight to the waist, the waist that seemed too slender for the strong rounded hips beneath. She wore a divided skirt and beautifully decorated Mexican boots. No spurs. Her goad was a finely plaited quirt, dangling from her slender right wrist.
She looked up at a young man a year or two older than herself, showing an arrogance that could not hide the underlying uncertainty. And it was this uncertainty that appealed to Kate as a woman. And, being honest with herself, she was instantly aware of it. He was a golden boy. Golden haired, golden skinned and rich. He was made for gold.
He was the enemy. She should distrust him and maybe fear him a little. But she could not. Not as a man. Sure, he was on his father’s side and she knew that he could be here on an errand for Ed Brack.
He looked lost for a moment, then pushed his gun back into its holster. The arrogance and uncertainty showed equally on his scowling face.
He stepped down from the saddle. He approached her and stood looking down at her. Now close to her, he felt even more embarrassed than he had done in the saddle. He neither knew what to do or say.
‘Good morning,’ was all he could manage.
She smiled rather haughtily.
‘We don’t often see Bracks in this valley. Have you lost your way, Riley?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t lose my way. Mind if I sit?’
‘Be my guest.’
He sat. Not too close to her, not too far away. He wanted to stare at her, but he was too abashed. He covered his shyness with an arrogant look. It didn’t fool her.
‘So you just came for the ride,’ she said.
‘No.’ He hesitated. He scarcely knew the girl, yet he felt suddenly that he had known her all his life. Maybe it was because he had thought so much about her. ‘I broke with my old man yesterday. I cleared out.’
‘Cut off without a penny?’ She was laughing at him. He knew it and he squirmed.
‘That’s about the size of it.’
She cocked her head on one side. She looked so lovely as she did this that it was all he could do to prevent himself from reaching out for her.
‘You could be making that up,’ she said. ‘You could be down here spying.’
‘No,’ he cried. ‘That’s not so. I swear it.’
She was thinking. Her smooth forehead creased itself into a frown.
‘So Ed’s back in the country,’ she said at last.
He looked surprised.
‘Didn’t you know that?’
‘Nobody did. I don’t think they were supposed to either. So Uncle Mart gets braced by a bunch of hardcases. He’s on the run with a posse after him for a killing that was forced on him. Now I know your dad’s back, it stinks, Riley Brack.’
He squirmed some more. He knew it stank.
‘This doesn’t have anything to do with me,’ he said. ‘I cut myself off from my father.’
‘Just the same,’ she insisted, ‘Uncle Mart wouldn’t be on the run if your dad hadn’t come back.’
He looked at her wretchedly.
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ he said. ‘But this doesn’t have anything to do with me, I tell you.’
‘That could or could not be true,’ she told him.
‘Miss Kate,’ he said and hesitated. ‘Miss Kate, heck, I didn’t come here ... I mean ... let’s bury the hatchet. I’m out on my neck and I’m looking for a job.’
‘What can you do?’ she demanded practically.
‘Do?’
He hadn’t thought about that. It was the first question he should have asked himself. He saw himself riding the range like a man. But his dream didn’t go any further than that. Suddenly he knew that nobody would hire him. There wasn’t a thing he could do. Why he couldn’t even use a rope. He’d practiced a little with his gun and didn’t think he was too bad with it. But he couldn’t earn his keep with his gun. His hatred for his father burned deep. The Old Man had fitted him for nothing. And some of the hatred was turned against himself, for he knew that a man must fit himself for life. Nobody else could do it for him.
‘There isn’t a durned thing I can do,’ he said with a commendable honesty. ‘I can read, write and ride a horse.’
‘That won’t get you far in this country,’ she said. ‘You could maybe go to Denver and hire out as a store-clerk.’
He looked at her in horror. He wanted to be like the wild tough men who rode the range.
He was also damned hungry. Even the sight of this beautiful girl couldn’t stop the rumbling of his empty stomach.
‘Miss Kate,’ he said, ‘you wouldn’t happen to have a bite to eat on you?’
She raised her fine eyebrows.
‘Eat?’
‘Yes. I ate last midday yesterday.’
She was contrite at once.
‘Why, you poor man, you.’
She was on her feet in a moment.
‘I didn’t eat breakfast before I came out,’ she said. ‘Come home with me and ma’ll feed you.’
‘I—I couldn’t do that.’
‘Ma won’t bite. She loves nothing better than to feed a hungry man. Don’t stand there, get on your horse and let’s ride.’ She walked off through the trees and a moment later rode back astride a fine little strawberry mare. He thought she looked magnificent on a horse. He stepped into his own saddle and followed her as she headed south-west.
‘Your father won’t welcome me,’ he ventured.
‘He’s out on the range with all the men,’ she said. She smiled. ‘Maybe we’ll meet him as we ride.’
He didn’t like the sound of that much and prayed that no such thing would happen.
He need not have worried, it didn’t. They rode clear across the valley and came in sight of the house without seeing another rider. Riley was greatly relieved at that, but, just the same, he found himself all tensed up because he had to face Kate’s mother. He could not forget that the year before he and his father with the Broken Spur men had burned the Storm house to the ground. Sure, the Storms had burned the Brack house in retaliation, but somehow that didn’t help in the situation.
Martha Storm came to the door of the house as they rode in. It wasn’t difficult to see where Kate had gotten her looks. The mother was still a handsome woman with a fine figure. There was a strength in the woman’s face which had not yet developed in the girl’s. With Mrs. Storm was Kate’s younger sister, Melissa. Riley tried to read the older woman’s face, to see if he was welcome, but he could not.
Kate said from the saddle: ‘I found Riley out on the range, ma. I offered him breakfast.’
The woman smiled a little and Riley was relieved.
‘Surely,’ she said, ‘and welcome. ‘Light, young man.’
They stepped down from the saddle. Riley took the lines from Kate and led the horses to the corral that stood to the east of the house. When he had unsaddled them and turned them loose, he walked to the house. Melissa was waiting for him.
She said: ‘You don’t aim to burn our house this year, do you?’
The question took him aback.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not unless you burn ours first.’
They exchanged smiles and it helped the atmosphere a little. They went into the house. The next hour or so helped to allay Riley’s fears. Mrs. Storm spoke with him as if there was no bad blood between the families. When Kate told her that Riley had broken with his father, she took the news without comment. She gave him a wonderful breakfast and he began to feel more at his ease. Just the same he thought he would be riding before the menfolk came home. Better safe than sorry. He had a healthy respect for the Storm men.
However, when the time came for him to depart, Mrs. Storm wouldn’t hear of it.
‘You have no place to go, boy,’ she said. ‘My husband will welcome you the same as we have. Never fear.’
But he did fear and he wanted to go on. But he didn’t allow for Kate. She threw her arguments in to support her mother and he found himself prevailed upon to stay. A few more hours in Kate’s company was too good to miss, however great the risk. He stayed.
Melissa took him to see the new foals on the pasture running down to the creek to the west of the house and proved to him that the Storms had a good taste in horseflesh. Then she took him across the creek and showed him the cave which she regarded as wholly her own. He found that he was enjoying himself in the company of the pretty and intense youngster. He only wished that Kate was with them, but she was helping her mother in the house.
Around noon, they ate again and he had a chance to talk with Mrs. Storm and he was almost unaware that the woman was pumping him. He found himself talking freely about his relationship with his father, telling her frankly of his fears and ambitions. He knew that he sounded young and green, but he also found that he liked talking to her about himself. He realized that this was what he missed. He had nobody to talk to. It was strange that he had to come to his father’s enemies before he could find a warm companionship.
However, when it came to the time for the Storm men to come home, he found that some of the warmth ran out of him. He knew that he was dreading the necessity of facing Will Storm. Fresh in the man’s mind must be the fact that his brother was being hounded for murder. The Storms weren’t fools. When Will set eyes on Riley, he would guess that Ed was back in the country.
Riley was in the house when the sound of horses was heard in the yard. Martha and the girls went out to greet the riders. Riley followed slowly. There were three men stepping down from the saddle. Will Storm, the middle son George and a rider Riley didn’t know. Will turned and saw Riley behind his women. He stopped and stared.
Martha said: ‘I invited Riley to eat with us.’
The man didn’t say anything for a moment. The boy George was looking wary. The strange rider was looking at Kate.
Then Will Storm said: ‘Howdy, Brack, an’ welcome.’ He handed his lines to the strange rider and George and they led the horses off to the corral.
Will walked up to Riley and said: ‘Does this mean Ed’s back on Broken Spur?’
‘Yes,’ Riley told him and nothing more. He shifted uneasily under the man’s steady gaze. Riley stood a good two inches taller than Will Storm, but he felt the older man tower over him. There was a quiet force in the man that his unobtrusive manner couldn’t hide. Will walked on past him into the house and his wife followed. Riley was left with the two girls.
Will washed up in the kitchen while his wife worked at the stove. When he dried himself, he said: ‘This clears up one little mystery.’
Martha said: ‘You mean this explains why those men braced Martin?’
‘That’s what I mean. What’s the boy doin’ here?’
‘Kate found him out on the range and brought him home for breakfast.’
‘You mean he’s been here all day?’
‘Yes. He says he’s broken with his father.’
‘Does that mean you don’t believe it?’
‘I don’t know. It could be true. The boy’s decent enough. I can see him not being able to stomach Ed and his bullying.’
‘You ain’t forgettin’ this boy played a part in burnin’ us out last year?’ Will said.
‘I’m not forgetting,’ his wife said. ‘But at that age a man can change.’
‘He’d have to change a whole lot from Brack before I could take a shine to him,’ Will retorted.
‘I quite like him,’ she said.
‘Is he soft on our Kate?’ he demanded softly.
‘All the boys’re soft on her,’ she said.
‘An’ she knows it.’
‘She’d be blind if she didn’t.’
He laughed and went into the main room. He sat at the table and wondered how Mart was making out, alone in the hills. He hoped that Mart was through being one jump ahead of the law. A man couldn’t be a man living that kind of a life. But that was the way things went sometimes. He sighed with regret.
Kate and Melissa came in followed by George, Pete Hasso and then by Riley Brack. Riley’s face was red. Inside him, Will laughed. If the boy was gone on Kate, Will didn’t doubt he would clash with Pete Hasso and Pete was a tough number. An interesting situation. Pete and Riley were on plainly opposite sides. Where Riley was the spoiled son of a very rich and powerful man, Pete was an orphan who had made his own way from an early age. Where Riley had always had his fill of everything, Pete had frequently starved. Will knew most of Pete’s story—not an uncommon one.
The boy had been born in Missouri and was most likely illegitimate. He had fought his way through a half-dozen foster homes till he was twelve and had run away to Texas. There he had somehow survived doing chores on farms until he was seventeen when he found himself a cowhand. He had fought longhorns in the hard brasada country and he had been up the trail to Kansas. He had had his share of violence and like so many of his kind had run afoul of the law on more than one occasion. So far as Will knew he had committed armed robbery twice. There was still an air of suppressed violence about the man and a certain surliness which several months in the warmth of the Storm family had been diluted only slightly.
Will found in himself a certain strong sympathy for the boy and knew that many of his faults could be ironed out in time. All he wanted was a chance and maybe a good woman. There was nothing like a good woman to keep a man straight and sane. Dishonesty to Will was like a sickness of the mind and a straight woman was the medicine for it.
Pete’s passion for Kate troubled Will a little. He knew that Kate would be good for the boy, but he didn’t much like the idea of sacrificing his daughter, whom he treated firmly, but secretly doted on, to cure a tough number of his faults. However, if Kate showed she favored the boy, that was another matter. If she returned the hand’s passion, there was nothing he or Martha could do about it. Except maybe fire Pete and that seemed a mean way out and really might not solve anything.
If Kate did return Pete’s feeling, she certainly gave no sign. Stray riders had a habit of accidentally arriving at the house and by pure chance finding themselves in conversation with the girl. She acted like a magnet for men from miles around. Neither Will nor Martha went about with their eyes closed and both knew that before very long the girl would have to make her choice. Will for one would be relieved when she was settled down with a man. Soon she would be past the usual age for marriage and Will liked the idea of having grandchildren around the place. So far as he was concerned, the more Storms the merrier. God knew there was room enough for them all in this country. As yet Clay’s wife had shown no signs of dropping a foal.
Kate found herself a seat at the table between her mother and father and Pete Hasso sat himself opposite at her and glowered. Riley found himself at the far end of the table between Melissa and George. While the eating was going on, there was silence, as was the custom. But when they were through eating and the plates were pushed back, the talk started. Pete and George had been riding line to the north up to the pass that led into the Broken Spur country.
‘Found twenty head of Broken Spur cows and pushed ’em back over the saddle,’ George said. He didn’t look at Riley who blushed.
Pete Hasso said with a twisted grin: ‘They know where the best grass is at.’ He looked at Riley and the grin stayed on his face.
Riley stared at the table.
‘I was at Clay’s place,’ Will said. Clay and his wife occupied a house on the eastern edge of the valley. The youngest Storm, Jody, worked with him and lived with the young couple. It was a nice spot called White Water on account of the way the creek came rushing out of the hills in the wet season. Clay was doing well for himself, riding line to the east and raising some cows of his own in with the Lazy S stock. Next year maybe he would be seeking more grass to the south. Will went on: ‘He has company. Running Deer and a few of his people came in yesterday and dropped a few hints the hunting wasn’t too good this year. So Clay’s feedin’ ’em.’ This was a small band of Southern Cheyenne the Storms had entertained the year before. It was Will’s contention that it was worth slaughtering an indifferent steer to placate the Indians and keep on good terms with them. Nothing could trouble a stock-grower more than Indians if they were of a mind.
Pete Hasso’s grin disappeared. He couldn’t abide Indians. Will reckoned that was because they scared him. A lot of men were like that.
‘You should ought to run ’em off like the Broken Spur critters, Mr. Storm,’ he said. Every man spoke his mind in the Storm crew. Will encouraged it. That way he could measure their temper more easily. You didn’t attain a happy outfit when opinions were suppressed.
‘This was Indian country once,’ Will said mildly.
‘But it ain’t now an’ they have to be showed.’
‘Way I see it, they have to be showed we ain’t enemies,’ Will said gently. ‘They could be mighty embarrassin’ if they got it into their heads to be unfriendly.’
‘You gotta show at the start you’re boss. The only thing they understand is a man bein’ strong.’
Kate said with some asperity: ‘You’re talking through your hat, as usual, Pete Hasso. Running Deer is a real honey. Why, last fall he gave us all the cutest moccasins.’
‘An’ what did he aim to get in return,’ Pete demanded fiercely. ‘No Indian does nothin’ without a reason.’
Riley said: ‘I agree with Miss Kate. Indians don’t want trouble any more than us whites. They have to live.’
Pete Hasso scowled and stared at him. There was a pregnant silence and then Pete said: ‘I opine the only good Indian is a dead Indian.’
Riley snapped: ‘I could say that about a few whites I know.’
Pete swallowed on that.
‘Name just one,’ he said.
They glared at each other like fighting cocks.
Martha said: ‘This is my table, boys.’
Pete flushed up and murmured something apologetic. The boy might be tough and he still had burrs on him, but he knew his manners and recognized the right of his boss’s wife to rebuke him. The talk became general until George said: ‘I’m bushed. Here’s where little ole George hits the hay.’
‘Me, too, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am,’ Pete said.
Martha excused them and the two young men walked out. The girls started to clear the dishes from the table.
Riley rose and thanked Martha for her hospitality. He said it was time for him to get on his way.
‘Ride at night in these hills?’ Will said. ‘No, sir. Nobody gets turned away from my house after dark. You bunk down with the boys, son, an’ welcome.’
Kate and the girls started clearing the table. Riley got up and looked for his hat. When he found it, he stood there and looked like he would rather stay where he was or ride out. But he thanked his host and hostess again and told the two girls goodnight. He walked out into the yard and stood in the darkness. The lamp was lit in the other half of the house. There was trouble in there for him and he knew it. He had made up his mind to make his own way in the world without his father’s help and he might as well start now. He hitched his pants and headed for the sleeping quarters.
When he entered the western end of the house, he found that George and Pete were playing cards at the table. Plainly, their excuse of being tired was no more than an excuse. Both young men looked up at his entrance.
To George, Riley said: ‘Your ma and pa invited me to stay the night.’
‘Sure,’ said George, ‘an’ welcome. There’s blankets down at the far end yonder. Help yourself.’
Riley walked the length of the large room and found the blankets. He picked up two or three and turned to ask: ‘Which bunk?’
‘Our gear’s on ours,’ George said. ‘Any of the others.’
Pete Hasso wasn’t playing cards any more. He was watching Riley.
Riley chose a bunk against the north wall and dropped the blankets on it.
‘Not that one,’ Pete Hasso said.
Riley turned.
‘Your gear isn’t here,’ he said.
‘Just the same, I’m goin’ to use it,’ Pete said.
Riley picked up the blankets and moved on to the next.
‘Not that one either,’ Pete said.
‘You using two bunks?’ Riley said.
‘I get restless and change during the night,’ Pete told him.
‘Lay off, Pete,’ George said.
Pete turned on George.
‘You playin’ at boss’s son?’ he demanded.
George smiled easily and said: ‘Sure, you know me. I’m always playin’ the boss’s son.’
Riley put the blankets down on the bed. Pete said: ‘You heard me, rich boy.’
Riley said: ‘What’s eating you? You have a pain or something? I’ll sleep here.’
Pete got to his feet so suddenly that his chair fell over backward.
George said: ‘Lay off, Pete. Riley’s a guest.’
‘Your guest, boy. Not mine.’
‘Cool off,’ George said.
Riley felt his hackles rise. He wasn’t his father’s son for nothing. He didn’t like this man who looked at Kate Storm with his lust showing in his eyes.
‘No,’ he said. ‘He wants trouble and so far as I’m concerned he can have it.’
‘College boy,’ Pete said, ‘you make me feel good. You know that? I’m goin’ to have your hide an’ I’m goin’ to nail it on the wall.’
‘You couldn’t take the hide off a chipmunk,’ Riley said.
Pete advanced. George jumped to his feet and said: ‘No fightin’, boys.’
Pete turned on him fiercely and demanded: ‘Who the hell says so? You? You ain’t no more’n me around here. If’n I wanta to fight, I fight. I’m goin’ to tan this smooth-talkin’ sonovabitch an’ there ain’t a man livin’ that can stop me.’
‘Take it down by the creek, then,’ said George.
‘All right. Let’s go.’ Pete turned and tramped out of the house. George gave Riley an apologetic look and shrugged. He seemed surprised that Riley didn’t look scared. Riley walked out into the night and George followed. Pete was walking ahead of them, headed for the first creek. When they reached the creek, he was waiting there on a flat piece of ground.
Pete demanded: ‘How’d you want it? Knives or guns?’
That stopped Riley short. He hadn’t given a thought to weapons. College-trained, he thought of a fight in terms of fists. Guns and knives meant the possibility of being killed and of killing. He recoiled from the thought.
‘Fists,’ he said.
Pete sounded astonished.
‘Fists,’ he said. ‘I never fought with fists in my life. What kind of a fight is that?’
Riley said: ‘You’ll find out, won’t you?’
Pete laughed. Suddenly, he liked the idea. This gently reared boy was soft. He’d take him apart with his bare hands. The thought appealed to him.
‘Keno,’ he said.
George said: ‘Shuck your guns, boy. An’ I don’t want any gougin’. ‘
Pete said: ‘You the referee?’
‘Right.’
‘Just remember the referee can git his neck broke, too.’
Riley took off his jacket and unbuckled his gun-belt. He wasn’t scared as he had been when guns and knives had been mentioned. He had been taught by a professional how to use his fists. He squared up to Pete who laughed and said: ‘Look at that now—ain’t that fancy?’
George said: ‘Git on with it.’
Pete gave a great shout, lowered his head and charged.
Riley sidestepped, Pete missed him by a mile, tripped and measured his length full on the ground. The yell was cut short as he bit dirt. He got to his feet swearing foully and with some skill. He stood staring at Riley’s dim form in the moonlight and charged again. Riley rode back from the attack, drove two fast lefts in under the heart and snapped over a right for the head. He caught Pete high on the head and staggered him. The cowhand stood panting, unable to believe that he had not thrown the other over and trampled on him.
Pete said: ‘I’m goin’ to kill you.’
‘You’d better get on with it then,’ Riley said calmly.
Pete came on again, this time showing a little caution. Riley danced around him, lightly on his toes, darting out that cultivated left, stinging Pete with three jabs to the face. Blood showed darkly on the cowhand’s face. He backed up and Riley followed, jabbing to the body and coming over with that deadly right. This time, Pete went down under the rain of well-placed blows. George expected Riley to go in with the boot, but the boy merely stood back and waited for Pete to get up. Pete and George looked at him in open astonishment.
‘What’s the matter?’ Pete demanded. ‘You had enough?’
‘I was letting you get up.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s the rules.’
Pete got to his feet, wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand and said: ‘There ain’t no rules, sonny.’
George thought that Riley looked a little shocked in the moonlight.
Pete advanced. Riley took up his pugilist’s pose, left fist forward in the classic position, right arm crooked so that his stomach, chest and face were protected. George couldn’t quite understand why because he didn’t see Pete using his fists. Pete now kicked Riley hard on his left knee. Riley let out a yell and dropped his guard. Pete kicked him in the crotch. Riley doubled up in agony and it looked like Pete kicked him in the face. Wherever Pete kicked him, Riley went down as if he had been pole-axed. He lay squirming on the ground making noises like a man in great pain.
Pete gave a little laugh of savage delight and jumped forward to put the boot in. Had the kick landed there is little doubt that some of Riley’s ribs would have been cracked. However, to the astonishment of both Pete and the watching George, Pete’s right ankle was gripped by a pair of strong hands, Riley rose to one knee and Pete hit the ground so hard that the wind went out of him making a sound like a dying church organ. While he was lying there, Riley got slowly and painfully to his feet, took two short strides toward Pete’s almost inert body and dropped with both knees on his belly. The last remaining ounce of breath went out of Pete.
Riley got to his feet, backed up a yard or two and stood holding his groins. His face was all twisted up with pain.
George said: ‘I reckon that just about makes it quits.’
Riley said: ‘You keep out of this, Storm.’
Pete whispered: ‘I’m goin’ to kill this yeller-livered bastard with my own bare hands.’ He tried to get to his feet and didn’t have much success.
Riley said: ‘You’re going to crawl, Hasso. And while you’re doing it, you’re going to be spitting your teeth out and begging for mercy.’
Pete rolled over and rose to his hands and knees, saying in a whimpering snarl: ‘Listen to girlie.’
‘I’ll give you girlie if you can get on your feet,’ Riley informed him.
Slowly Pete rose to his feet.
Riley danced in and punched him one-two with two fast lefts to the nose. Blood streamed afresh. Pete staggered back. But he didn’t go far. He shook his head to clear it and advanced slowly and with determination. Pete gave him a couple of more jabs to the face and a right under the heart, but he could not stop that slow and sure advance. Pete grabbed the front of his shirt with both his hands and brought his knee up. Riley howled. Still gripping the shirt, Pete lugged Riley toward him and butted him in the face.
Riley started walking backward.
George called: ‘Look out.’
Riley said: ‘I beg your pardon,’ turned and stepped off into the creek.
He landed with a very loud splash.
‘What do you know about that?’ Pete said in wonder. He and George walked to the edge of the creek and watched Riley floundering about in the water. He was saying incoherent things. Pete said with the air of a man making a great discovery: ‘I could drown the bastard.’
He climbed down the bank and waded into the shallows.
George said: ‘I think you both had enough.’
Pete told him what he could go do to himself. George got mad and told him to watch his fool tongue or he’d kick his butt from there to Denver. Pete laughed with his mashed mouth and said that was all right with him if he wanted to try it when he was through with the college boy. He caught Riley by the hair and shoved his head under. Riley fought like a hooked fish. George started down the bank, somewhat alarmed. But he need not have been. The next instant, Riley seemed to rear up out of the water and then Pete was down. The spray hit George.
Pete got to his feet and reached for Riley who hit him hard in the belly. Pete doubled up and Riley lifted him from his feet with an upper cut that must have been heard over at the house. Pete arched backward and went under with a great deal of noise.
Riley walked out of the shallows and mounted the bank.
George said: ‘You had enough. The pair of you.’
Riley said: ‘I’ve had enough, Storm, if Hasso doesn’t come out of the water.’
Pete came out of the water very slowly. He climbed the bank even more slowly. He and Riley stood dripping there, panting for breath and eyeing each other.
Suddenly, Pete ran at Riley with his head down. He got Brack’s boy clean amidships and Brack’s boy went down over the bank and back into the water again. The noises that came up to the two above were rather like a whale with indigestion. Then Riley rose to his feet, cascading water and climbed the bank again. When he reached the top, Pete tried to kick him in the face, but again Riley caught his foot and put him on his back.
He tried to drop his knees into Pete’s belly again, but this time the cowhand rolled and Riley missed. They both lay down on the ground near complete exhaustion.
When they rose slowly to their feet, George said: ‘AH right, you’ve had your fun, now I’m stopping this.’
‘You go to hell,’ said Riley.
‘I hate to agree with college boy,’ said Pete, ‘but you do just that.’ He started forward. George tried to bar his way. Pete barged into George and drove him back at Riley who clipped him smartly on the right temple. The referee staggered from the fight and collapsed on the ground. The two combatants met. Riley hit Pete once with a blow that would not have felled an infant; Pete tried to butt him in the face. Then they leaned on each other. George staggered to his feet, got between them and forced them apart. They turned on him as one man and he backed off.
A voice said: ‘All right, boys, we’ll call it quits.’
They all turned. Will Storm stood there in the moonlight.
‘Good grief, pa,’ George said in surprise, ‘how’d you git here.’
‘I reckon they heard you up to Denver,’ Will said. ‘I said let the two young fools kill each other, but the women’re soft-hearted and they asked me to only let you batter each other senseless.’
‘I had him just about to crawl, boss,’ Pete said indistinctly.
Will said coldly: ‘You look as if you don’t have the strength to crawl yourself.’
‘One more left-right, Mr. Storm,’ Riley said, holding his crotch, ‘and he’d have been out for the count.’
Will nodded sagely.
‘It was a purty good fight, boys, I’ll give you that,’ he said. ‘Now it finishes. And it won’t start again while you’re on Lazy S. Hear? Shake hands.’
Pete looked aghast.
‘I’d take my time rather’n do that,’ he said.
‘I’d count my fingers after I did it,’ Riley said.
Will said: ‘College boy fought well, didn’t he, Pete?’
Pete thought about that and finally nodded begrudgingly and said: ‘Sure. He done purty well considerin’. First off, that fancy stuff sure had me buffaloed.’
‘And the ignorant cowhand, Riley,’ said Will, ‘he gave you a good fight?’
‘Surely,’ said Riley. ‘He doesn’t know a single rule, but he proved he can fight.’
‘In short, boys, you both proved you have sand. Right?’
‘I reckon,’ said Pete.
‘I guess,’ said Riley.
‘Now shake hands before I bang your fool thick heads together.’
Pete gave a battered grin. He stuck out his hand. Riley followed suit. They shook.
‘Now,’ said Will, ‘clean up and get some sleep. I have another sound outa you two colts tonight an’ I’ll throw you to Mrs. Storm.’
They nodded. Will turned and walked away. George followed him. The two gladiators looked at one another and walked after them, side by side. They walked very slowly.
When they were inside their sleeping quarters, they looked at each other.
‘You’d best clean up that face,’ Riley said. ‘You get dirt in those cuts and you could have a bad time.’
Pete shrugged and said: ‘I been cut before. Hey, it was a lulu, wasn’t it? Hey, George, wasn’t it a lulu.’
George said: ‘I was neutral and you both struck me. You wait. Tomorrow I ain’t neutral, so you two sneaky bastards had best look out.’
Riley said: ‘Let’s get this straight. Why did you fight me, Pete?’
Pete thought about that for a while. Then he said: ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at Miss Kate, if you must know.’
George said: ‘You’re talking about my sister.’
They both said together: ‘You keep out of this.’
Riley said: ‘I’ll look at her any way I like. I intend to marry her.’
‘What?’ shouted George.
‘You’re wastin’ your time, Rile,’ said Pete. ‘She can’t marry two men. It ain’t legal. An’ I made up my mind to marry her myself.’
‘Since when?’ roared George.
‘Since the minute I set eyes on her last year.’
‘Does she know about this?’
‘Nary a thing.’
‘Did you ought to ask her first?’
‘All in good time. What makes you think she’d marry a dude who don’t know one end of a cow from the other, Rile?’ Pete demanded.
‘And what makes you think she’d marry a broken-down cowhand?’ Riley enquired with as much force.
George said: ‘My sister ain’t marryin’ neither of you two fools. She has too much sense.’
‘Broken-down cowhand, is it?’ Pete said. ‘What do you have to offer, Rile? Your old man throwed you out, didn’t he? You got so much to offer?’
‘Not at the moment,’ said Riley. ‘But I shall make my way.’
‘You’d best make it damn quick,’ George put in. ‘Every man in the country wants to marry Kate.’
‘Anybody gits between me and my intended,’ Pete said through his teeth, ‘an’ you’ll be plantin’ him.’
‘That goes for me too,’ said Riley.
‘You see,’ George said, ever the peacemaker. ‘You two have one thing in common.’
‘You’re right,’ said Riley, ‘we do.’
‘Yeah,’ said Pete, ‘you can say that again.’
Riley said: ‘I don’t intend standing here talking all night. You needn’t think this is finished, Hasso. I’ll knock your teeth down your throat before I’m through. No girl’d look at a man with no teeth.’
Pete said: ‘A Hasso without no teeth is worth two Bracks with a full set.’
‘Will you two shut up and get some sleep?’ George wailed.
‘All right,’ said Riley. ‘But don’t fool yourself this thing is finished. Because it isn’t.’
‘You bet it ain’t,’ said Pete. ‘For my part it ain’t even started.’
They heaved off their boots and retired to their blankets. Neither was sorry to rest himself. They both ached. They both knew they’d had a fight.
Before he slept, Riley thought: That Hasso isn’t good enough for her. She’d never marry him. I reckon even dad would be won over by her, even if she is a Storm.
Pete thought: Kate’s a cow-country girl. She wouldn’t take up with a dude like that Riley Brack. Naw, she’ll take a shine to a tough ridin’ man. Like me, for instance.