They reached Broken Spur in the middle of the afternoon. Will was feeling his years, defeated and old. The whole idea of coming into this country and setting himself up as a big cattleman now seemed ridiculous. He just wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. He was a small man and he should have been content to remain small. For another thing, he had tried to act like Mart, a heller with a gun. He’d failed. He looked at Joe. The Negro’s face was wooden, giving nothing away. He thought of his brother. Mart would now be tried and the jury would find him guilty because Brack was leaning on them and Brack could lean hard. It might not go much better with him and Joe. His mind went to Martha, the girls. Clay and the other two boys would put up a fight, but Brack would clear them from the land.
The ranch was very quiet when they rode into the yard. Horses nicked their tails in the corral. The smoke drifted lazily from the cook shack chimney. The Chinese cook came to the door to stare at them. There didn’t seem another living soul in sight.
The posse halted and dust hung on the air. Ransome heaved himself out of the saddle and said: ‘Get down.’ Will heaved a leg over the saddlehorn and dropped to the ground. Saddle-leather creaked as the posse dismounted. Where was Brack? The man should be here with triumph all over his ugly face.
‘Get the prisoners into the house, ‘Ransome ordered. Rough hands seized Will and Joe and shoved them in the direction of the house.
Hank Tristem said: ‘You won’t git yourself outa this one, Storm.’
‘Hold it right there, men,’ a voice called. ‘An’ don’t try anythin’ foolish.’
Will started.
He turned and saw Mart standing there with a gun in his hand. Mart was smiling. Had it only been Mart, maybe some fool among the posse would have tried his luck. But there were men appearing from nowhere with guns in their hands, all pointed at the posse. Dismay registered on every face there. Hands were lifted skyward.
Will looked around, confused and amazed. There were faces he knew. Men he had ridden up the Kansas trail with—there were the two Quintin brothers, Charlie and Meredith; the Mexican cousins, Juan and Pepe Mora; Pete Hasso, limping badly on one leg; Riley Brack; Will’s boys: Clay, George and Jody. The place seemed full of Storms and former Storm riders.
And there, her face grim was his wife, Martha. On the stoop he saw even his two daughters. Was he going out of his head? The two Misses Hargreaves sailed with grace from the house, smiling with delight, ahead of them they pushed a purple-faced Ed Brack.
‘What in hell’s goin’ on here?’ Will demanded.
Martha pushed her way through the men and said: ‘Language, Will.’
Somebody cut his bonds. He worked on his wrists, his mind in utter confusion. Juan and Pepe Mora were working through the posse collecting their guns.
‘I decided it was time to put a stop to all this foolishness,’ Martha said.
‘I am sheriff of this county,’ Ransome was intoning, ‘and this is a legally constituted posse. You prevent us from carrying out our duty at your peril, ma’am.’
‘Tush,’ declared Horatia Hargreaves, ‘that is all nonsense, as you are well aware, Mr. Ransome. You are carrying out the orders of Air Brack who is without doubt something of a scoundrel. Ah, Mr. Storm, I see that you managed to catch the man you wanted. Has he offered you the information you needed?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Then I suggest he is taken into the house and he commits it to paper. Pen and paper await him and my niece will write it all down in a neat hand for his signature. Perhaps you would be good enough to oblige me, Mr. Mora.’
Juan Mora kicked Aintree in the direction of the house.
Brack said: ‘Ransome, arrest these men. This had gone far enough.’
‘And you, Mr. Brack, have gone too far,’ Horatia declared, ‘I suggest you remain silent. Charges will be prepared against you in due course. We shall give Mr. Ransome the opportunity to behave like a proper sheriff and I am sure that he will not fail us. Will you, Mr. Ransome?’
Charlie Quintin jabbed him in the back with a gun-barrel and he said hastily: ‘No, ma’am. You give me the evidence and I’ll do my duty.’ He didn’t look at Ed Brack. He sweated profusely.
‘Now I suggest as you gentlemen have had a hard day in the saddle that you will all enjoy a good lunch. I have arranged it all with the cook,’ Horatia said.
‘She’s a real managing lady,’ Martha said quietly to Will, ‘but she sure do get things done.’
‘Yes,’ said the bewildered Will, ‘she sure do.’
What more is there to tell? Burt Ransome found himself, somewhat to his amazement, behaving like a real independent sheriff. He found himself placing Aintree under arrest and suspecting that he might have the chance of arresting the great Ed Brack himself. He rode out shortly after with the posse, intending to place one Andy Grebb in irons. As for Ed Brack, he found himself so drastically deflated that he could scarcely recognize himself. He packed his bags and decided that it would be healthier for him if he repaired to his property in New Mexico for a while until this Colorado affair blew over. It was going to take all his influence in high places to get himself out of this one.
Pete Hasso and Riley Brack vying for the attentions of Kate Storm came to the edge of exchanging blows again, but Riley decided magnanimously that he couldn’t strike a wounded man, but God help Pete when he was whole again. Pete said for him not to fret about it, he could whup Riley any day of the week wounded or unwounded. Kate, flushed with pleasure at having two such young men quarreling over her, declared that if they didn’t behave themselves in a civilized way, she would never speak to either of them again. They, poor fools, took her at her word and behaved themselves. Will told Kate that if she didn’t make up her mind one way or the other he, by God, would make it up for her. Martha told him to mind his own business.
By dusk, the Storms and their friends were ready to head for home. The horses saddled and waiting, they took leave of the English ladies. Horatia parted from them with regret. She had never, she told them, had a more wonderful time in her life and she thought that Westerners were absolute darlings. They would all have honorable mention in her memoirs. Vanessa was silent and withdrawn. Will thanked both ladies for their generous help and told them that the Storms might well be heading out of the country but for them. Horatia waved this gratitude aside and said: ‘Not at all, dear man. We’ve had a perfectly marvelous time. Haven’t we, Vanessa my love.’ Vanessa declared yes they had.
Mart softly told Will to go on ahead. He would follow. He had a small chore to attend to before he came home. Will looked at him and at Vanessa and said all right. The Storms mounted and headed for Three Creeks. The ladies stood and waved to them in the gathering dusk. The two ladies walked back to their tents and found there a tall still figure waiting for them.
‘Why, Mr. Storm,’ said Horatia, ‘I thought you had gone.’
‘I thought,’ said Mart, ‘that I could maybe have a word with Miss Vanessa.’
Horatia laid a shapely hand on his arm and said: ‘No more than a word, you wicked man,’ and passed into the tent.
Mart turned to face Vanessa.
‘I cannot think,’ she said, ‘what more there can be to say. We have gone through the ritual of polite words. We have thanked each other until one wearies of it.’
‘Could we walk a little?’ Mart said.
‘I see no purpose …’
‘You thanked me for saving you from the Indians. It’s only fair that I have the chance of thanking you for saving my life.5
‘You should thank my aunt as well.’
‘You over-rate my manhood.’
‘Very well,’ she said coldly, ‘if you must.’
‘I must.’
He bent his head and placed his mouth on hers. At first it was unresponsive. Then the lips softened, the pressure increased, her hands were on his arms. She broke free and looked up at him.
‘I’m a little warm,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you would dare to walk me a short distance to get some air, sir.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said.
He offered her his arm and they walked slowly away from the tents. Among the trees, the grass soft under their feet, Mart halted and turned her gently but firmly to him.
‘You said “one word”,’ she told him softly.
‘We won’t speak again for the rest of the night,’ he told her. She came into his arms. Speech was indeed superfluous.
The Storm Family Will Return in
ONE MAN, ONE GUN