CHAPTER THIRTY
Blue Corrigan saw the riders clearing the ridge as he walked out of the barn. Late morning sun was trying to warm the day. He knew in one glance it was Deed and Holt, leading a third horse with a blanket-wrapped body strapped over it. Two days ago, Tina Sanchez had ridden over to tell them what was happening. The news was most appreciated; both Blue and Silka were getting worried. Hearing that Holt was with Deed gave Blue a warm feeling that he couldn’t quite describe. And seeing them now made him raise his eyes to the sky and thank the Lord.
He yelled at Silka who was shoeing the paint horse called Warrior. The animal had gradually settled into a solid working horse and could outrun any horse on the ranch, except the sorrel stallion, Captain.
Willy and Harmon had gone to inspect one of their line cabins and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. Little Jake was in the bunkhouse recovering from his gunshot wound.
“Silka, it’s Deed!”
The older man hurried the horse to the closest corral and let it loose. “Aiee, we are blessed.” He continued to where Blue was standing watching the riders.
“Is that Holt with him?” Silka said, putting a hand to his forehead to block out the autumn sun.
“Yes.”
“It is a good truth then. They bring a body,” Silka said.
“I’m afraid it’s Chico.”
“Aiee. I remember.”
Blue and Silka waved and Deed and Holt returned the greeting. In minutes, the two brothers reined up alongside Blue and Silka. Happiness was evident even in Silka’s usually stoic face. They dismounted and shook hands.
As they walked the horses to the barn, Deed and Holt took turns telling them about what had happened to the posse, to the outlaws chasing a wounded Deed, the second attack on the Lazy S, and the problems in town. Blue and Silka knew most of it already, but not the events in town. They had stayed for the Sanchez family’s burial of their son and the two vaqueros.
Deed said, “We brought Chico’s body home.”
“That was the right thing to do,” Blue responded.
Silka studied Deed. “How bad is your ear, son?”
Touching his bandaged ear, Deed said, “Oh, it’s all right. I was lucky.”
“Looks like it,” Blue said and patted Deed’s shoulder, then turned to Holt. “Mighty glad you came along when you did Holt. And mighty glad to have you with us.”
Holt smiled and touched the feather in his hat. “Took some time for me to get smart.”
Deed led his buckskin toward the barn, his limp barely noticeable. The blood that had been on his pant leg and shirtsleeve were barely noticeable. The Sanchez women had done a good job of cleaning them. He was tired, but it felt good to be home.
Holt followed with the other horses. Silka and Blue stayed with them. Holt told them about Deed’s fight in town with Sear Georgian as Taol had relayed it to him. Holt knew of the big man and thought it was an amazing fight.
Silka frowned. “You should not have done that. You were hurt. You could have been hurt bad.”
“Oh, I think he thought I was wounded worse than I was,” Deed said. “Only a couple of flesh wounds. They just bled a lot.”
“Evidently he wasn’t hurt too much,” Holt laughed. “Taol told me that the big son of a bitch was cut down like a tree.” He turned to Silka. “You taught him well, old man.”
Chico’s body was carefully taken from his horse and laid on the ground. After unsaddling and rubbing down the horses, they led them to the water tank, then to stalls where they were grained.
“I think we should bury Chico before we go inside,” Deed said.
“Yes,” Blue agreed.
Neither Holt nor Silka responded. Deed went to get a shovel and Holt followed. They would bury the cowhand’s remains in the family cemetery. Blue went to the house to inform Bina of his brothers’ return and made a stop at the bunkhouse to inform Jake. The short cowhand got up and joined them at the grave site. His arm was in a tight sling, prepared by Bina.
After Holt, Deed, and Silka took turns digging, Chico was buried. Jake volunteered to help, but they wouldn’t let him. Blue returned before they were finished and told them that Too Tall nearly had dinner ready. At Deed’s urging, Blue stood at the head of the grave next to a temporary marker Silka had made. A running iron had burned CHICO into the main piece of the small, nailed-together, wooden cross. No one knew Chico’s last name or when he was born or if he had any relatives to contact.
Blue removed his hat and so did the others. Holt picked up a small dirt clod and massaged it in his hand, letting the crumbles fall through his fingers. Touching a new grave was good luck, he told himself. Only Deed noticed.
With his eyes closed, Blue said, “Lord, we give to you this day the soul of our good friend, Chico. You know his full name, but we never did. He was a steady and loyal hand. Keep him close. Amen.”
“Amen,” the others muttered.
Their walk to the main house was subdued; Jake excused himself and went to the bunkhouse. No one wanted to think beyond the moment. Holt walked with his arm around Blue. Even in the sadness of the day, it was good to be back. He would tell Blue and Silka later that he planned to go by the name Sam Holton. A lot of men changed their names, maybe Chico had. His eyes took in the ranch buildings; it was like seeing them for the first time, and yet, it wasn’t. More like seeing them as if they had been part of another life. He smiled. They were.
Finally, Blue started talking about their cattle. It had been an excellent summer and the fall crop of calves was plentiful. He shook his head and declared they would have their hands full finding and branding all of them.
At the porch railing were two pans of fresh water, soap, and new towels. The men took turns washing up as the talk continued about the roundup. Blue thought they should separate the herd for market next spring, putting the steers and older cows in a separate group in one of their valleys.
Deed dried his hands and asked, “Makes sense to me. How soon are we starting?”
“Everything’s ready, but we’ll be shorthanded without Chico. Little Jake shouldn’t be in a saddle, but I know he’ll try, no matter what we say.”
“What am I going to do about the Forsyth kids? I promised Benjamin he could ride with us,” Deed asked. “And Elizabeth would stay with Bina and your kids. But it may not be safe. We’re likely to get hit by Bordner’s men.” He shook his head. “What am I saying? It won’t be safe for your family to stay here either.”
“You think he’ll try something now, during the roundup?” Blue said, “I was counting on Benjamin becoming a welcome hand.”
“What about me? Am I chopped liver?” Holt asked.
“Of course not,” Blue chuckled. “We’ve needed you for a long time.” He cocked his head. “I figured you’d take Chico’s string. We’d set aside some gentle ones for Benjamin.”
“That sounds better,” Holt said.
Deed’s concern went unanswered and they headed for the front door, continuing to talk of cattle.
Bina greeted them warmly when they entered. Holt was careful to step into the house with his right foot first, that would bring good luck to everyone within.
“Bina, you know my brother, Holt. It’s been a long time though,” Blue said.
“Oh, Holt, how good to see you again,” she declared. “Blue talks often of you.”
Holt smiled. “Now I know why he’s done so well, Bina. He has you.”
Deed agreed with his statement and slid past the two of them and into the main room where Blue had already gone.
Her smile was broad. “You are most kind.” She said something in Apache that Holt didn’t know, but assumed it was a welcome message. Realizing her statement was not understood, she quickly apologized, “Oh, I am sorry. I forget when I am excited. I said our lodge is yours. Of course, it is. This is your parents’ home. Forgive me.”
“Thank you. It’s good to be here.” Holt ignored the thought that the ranch was indeed his, or at least his parents’. The statement was caring.
From around the corner, Blue’s children and Jeremy came running to their Uncle Deed. He grabbed each one with a big hug.
“Uncle Dee, you hurt,” Matthew said, pointing at the dried blood on his clothes.
“Yeah, I uh, I fell down. Kinda clumsy of me.”
Mary Jo put her hands on her hips and declared, “Uncle Deed, bad boy. You were fighting. I know.” It was like being scolded by his mother.
He laughed and said, “Come and see your Uncle Holt. You probably don’t remember him. He’s your father’s brother and mine.”
He introduced them to the bearded stranger. “This is your Uncle Holt. Uncle Holt, this is Matthew . . . and Mary Jo . . . and Jeremy.”
Forgetting his plan to go by Sam Holton for the moment, Holt squatted on his heels and drew the three children close. “My goodness, it is good to see you. Let’s see, Matthew, I only heard about you.” He smiled and touched Mary Jo’s cheek. “And you were only a baby.”
Jeremy tried to step away, but Holt took his arm gently and pulled him back. “And you, sir, I’m proud to meet for the first time. Jeremy, I hope we can become good friends.”
The boy smiled. “I do, too.”
Blue came over and suggested the children go help in the kitchen and let the men talk over some matters. All three children hugged Holt again and ran toward the kitchen.
Holt stood and shook his head. “Man, now that’s something to come home to.”
“Yes, I’m very lucky.”
“Seems to me luck runs in the family,” Holt said. “Maybe I can catch some of it.”
“You already have.” Blue patted him on the back. “Let’s go in here while we wait.”
The four men walked into a living room warmed by a huge stone fireplace that dominated the room. Right away, Holt was pleased to see the well-banked fire was burning evenly. An occasional blue flame told him spirits were close. He decided they were the spirits of their parents and sister.
A large blue sofa and rolltop desk made up the rest of the room, along with a small table holding a kerosene lamp. Blue headed to the rolltop desk that had belonged to their parents. Above it was a framed photograph of their parents on their wedding day. Next to it was another photograph of the three children with them. In the picture, a twelve-year-old Blue had his arm on the shoulder of four-year-old Deed who was looking at his oldest brother and ten-year-old Holt was looking at the camera and smiling stiffly.
Blue rolled up the front piece where a bottle of Tennessee whiskey and glasses sat. The bottle was nearly full. Holt was surprised there was liquor in the house, but said nothing. He guessed the bottle had been there for years.
“I keep this for Christmas Eve. And for special occasions, like the birth of my children,” Blue said. “This is a special occasion.”
He poured a finger full of the brown liquid into four glasses.
“Here’s to Holt’s return,” he said, handing out the glasses and holding up his own.
Both Deed and Silka were amazed at Blue producing whiskey, but it did seem like an appropriate time. Silka nodded and held his glass next to Blue’s.
“Ame futte ji katamaru,” the old samurai declared.
Deed and Blue repeated the acclamation. Holt mumbled something no one understood, but grinned afterwards.
He clinked his glass against the others. “It’s great to be home.” He swallowed the fiery drink in one gulp and returned the glass to the desk. Blue added his.
“Reckon that’s all the whiskey we’ll drink. For a long time,” he smiled at Silka. “Right, Silka?”
Without any expression, the Japanese warrior added his emptied glass to the desk. “Hai, it is so.” Holt wished he could have another, but still felt uncomfortable asking.
“If you don’t mind an old Rebel making a suggestion,” Holt continued, “I think it’s time we attacked that fat bastard. You’ve been on the defensive long enough.”
“That’s easy to say,” Deed snapped, putting his emptied glass beside Holt’s and Silka’s. “They’ve got twice as many guns as the Lazy S and us combined. And they own the county law. Hell, they might even own a Ranger or two, for all we know.”
“He’s just a man.”
“Right, and a fat one, but if we attack the Bar 3, Bordner’ll have the Rangers all over us,” Blue said. “I think that’s what he wants. An attack from us or the Sanchezes so he can go to the Rangers and have us arrested.”
“Blue’s right,” Deed added.
“I think we get with the Sanchezes and get on with our roundup,” Blue said. “If we don’t, all the calves around will be wearing Bordner’s brand. Then it won’t matter.”
“How the roundup would go without involving the Bar 3 is a serious consideration,” Blue said.
“We can’t leave our beef along there,” Deed said, referring to the border of their ranch and the Bar 3 land. “Murphy’s men’ll brand everything that moves.”
“Well, riding on their land will mean shooting, you know that,” Blue said. “Felix Sanchez is willing to stay on their own land to avoid more bloodshed.”
“What if Holt and I take care of the stray cattle on the Bar 3 land? I know I’m not afraid to cross over and I’m pretty sure Holt isn’t either,” Deed said and added, “But first, I’m going to ride to the Forsyth station and tell Atlee that the kids can’t come. It’s too dangerous.”
Holt said, “You’re right, Deed. They will be very disappointed, I’m sure, but now’s not the time. And when you come back, I will be with you when you ride onto Bar 3 land.”
“Thanks, Holt. That helps, I guess. What about Bina and your family, Blue? Do we dare leave them during the roundup?” Deed responded.
From the other room came the call that dinner was ready.
“We can talk more after we eat,” Blue said. “It’s not a good idea to keep Too Tall waiting.”
They laughed and it eased the tension.
Holt could see the kitchen as they walked to the dining room table. Mismatched chairs surrounded it. The table was set with a bouquet of dried autumn flowers and leaves as a centerpiece.
The kitchen itself was controlled by a cast-iron stove, the same one that had toiled in the house since it was just their parents. Too Tall, the black cook, filled it with his intensity. A large upright pantry contained white ironstone plates, heavy iron tableware, pots, pans, two buckets, a large copper double boiler, and a dozen empty canning jars. On the floor, a large box was filled with sacks of flour, beans, and salt. A large china water basin, a lamp—and their meal of roasted grouse with peas and mashed potatoes—covered most of the small kitchen counter. Blue had shot six grouse yesterday.
At the table, Blue said grace and Too Tall began serving filled plates. Bina followed with hot coffee. Holt sat between Matthew and Mary Jo, with Jeremy next to her. They bombarded him with questions, most of which brought chuckles. The talk stayed happy until after the meal was finished and the children left.
Meanwhile, at the Bar 3, Agon Bordner was furious. He had just learned from Macy Shields that Deed had whipped Sear Georgian in front of witnesses. Before that, Rhey Selmon had informed him that vaqueros were stationed on the roof of the Lazy S ranch house night and day. Attacking them again would be difficult and costly in men.
“What the hell!” Bordner yelled and slammed his fist on the dining room table. “I don’t believe it. Deed was shot, Rhey and Dixie told me. Shot several times. Can nobody whip him!”
“Well, boss, he sure looked like it, but he tore up Sear something fierce. Be down for a long time,” Shields said.
“Why didn’t you arrest him?” Bordner screamed again.
Shields shrugged his shoulders. “He had a gun on me.”
“Did Corrigan hold a gun on Sear?”
“No. He gave it to Virdin while they fought,” Shields continued. “Leastwise, that’s what folks told me. I wasn’t there.”
“Virdin? What the hell. Why was Virdin there?” Bordner growled and glared at his gunman.
Shields straightened his back. “Corrigan bought some scarves in Virdin’s store before the fight.”
“I told Virdin to shut Corrigan and Sanchez out.”
“He said he told them.”
Bordner rubbed his unshaved chin.
“Dammit, boss, he stood up for Corrigan. Virdin did. Told me I couldn’t arrest him ’cuz he lived in town. Virdin said that.”
“I thought you said Corrigan had a gun on you.”
“He did. Virdin gave it to him . . . when the fight was done.”
Bordner shook his head. “Damn! Simpson, I’m hungry. Bring me something to eat.” He stared at Shields again. “Get out of my sight, Macy. I thought you were better than that.” The enormous man waved his gunman and his protests away.
He was also angry with himself. In the past few days, he had been going over his last conversation with James Hannah. The famed gunman had come to his house after considering Bordner’s offer and said, “I’ll take your money, Bordner.”
“I’ll take your money.”
Bordner had been tossing that phrase around in his head. He replayed the conversation out loud. “Hannah hadn’t said he would take the job or that he would kill Deed Corrigan. He had simply stated, ‘I’ll take your money’ and I had been so damn glad Hannah had returned that I hadn’t really listened.
“The only thing I asked the son of a bitch was ‘when’ and he said that he had some other business in the area. I said ‘fine.’ Then he downed his drink, took the money, and left, and I let it go at that.”
He slammed his fist on the table and yelled again for Simpson.
“What a stupid fool,” he muttered and forced himself to think of his next move. He prided himself on that ability. Whatever was done was done and the key was to move on. An idea was trying to break through and he must let it. What if they left the Lazy S alone for a while and attacked the LC ranch while the men were working the roundup. What if Rhey Selmon and some of his men slipped into the Corrigan compound. He didn’t care what happened to the Indian wife of Blue’s; she deserved raping, living like a white person. Same with Blue’s children.
Bordner licked his blubbery lips. Yes. Yes. That would break them, pure and simple.
Grinning, he yelled again, “Simpson, I want a steak. Medium rare. And eggs. Over easy.”