CHAPTER TWO
Big Jake rode into Brownsville with definite destinations in mind. There were two people he was sure would know where he could find Chance McCandless.
First he reined in his horse in front of the sheriff’s office. He had known Sheriff Ogden Smith—who folks called O.G.—ever since he first assumed the job twelve years before, while the Big M was still a going concern.
He looped the horse’s reins around a hitching post, stepped up onto the boardwalk, and entered the sheriff’s office.
O. G. Smith looked up from his desk with his customary scowl, but brightened when he saw who was coming in the door.
“Well, sonofabitch,” O.G. said, “what the hell are you doin’ off the reservation?”
The lawman was ten years younger and half a head taller than Jake. The scowl he wore had arrived during his first year in office, and grown increasingly worse year after year. These days it was enough to make people knock at his door before entering—except for old friends. But Jake could see O.G.’s taste for vivid colors in clothes hadn’t changed. The blue of his shirt was enough to hurt the eyes, along with the red bandanna around his neck. Abby had tried her best for years, but could never break Jake of his habit of wearing brown.
He stood up, came out from behind his desk, and shook Jake’s hand. It had been a while since Jake had felt that vise-like grip. He pulled his hand away and flexed his fingers.
“Take it easy, O.G.,” he said. “I’m an old man with brittle bones.”
“Well then, sit them bones down and tell me what brings you to town,” O.G. said, returning to his chair. It creaked beneath his weight, but held.
“I’m lookin’ for—”
“What the hell is wrong with my manners?” O.G. suddenly exploded, coming out of his chair again. “Want some coffee?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Don’t know what’s wrong with me,” O.G. said, walking to the potbellied stove in the corner and pouring two mugs of coffee. “It’s probably because I get no visitors in here.”
He walked back, handed Jake a cup, and then sat back down, putting his cup on the desk.
It had been a while since Jake had sampled O.G.’s coffee. He sipped it and grimaced.
“You’ve gotten better,” he said.
“That’s good to hear,” O.G. said. “I couldn’t be sure because I’m the only one who drinks it. Okay, okay, I won’t interrupt you again. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m looking for Chance.”
“McCandless?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” O.G. said, “you are comin’ out into the open, aren’t you? What do you need with Chance?”
“I’m mounting a trail drive, and I need him to come along.”
“Come along?” O.G. said. “Does that mean you’re goin’, too?”
“Yes, it does.”
“What about your old bones?”
“It’s my last drive,” Jake said. “The last one ever from the Big M. I ain’t about to miss it.”
“Yeah, but . . . Chance? Neither one of you is exactly in shape for a drive to . . . where? Not Kansas City.”
“No,” Jake said, “I know those days are over. Barbed wire and territorial ranchers now make it impossible to get to Kansas City. But there’s still a route we can take.”
“Where to?”
“Dodge City,” Jake said.
“Dodge’s heyday is long over, Jake—”
“I know that, O.G.,” Jake said. “That sort of makes two of us. But there’s still a railroad there.”
“Aren’t the splenic fever quarantines still going to be in force?” O.G. asked.
“They can check all they want, my cattle don’t and won’t have anthrax.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“So,” Jake said, “what about Chance. Has he been around?”
“Not in Brownsville,” O.G. said. “Not that I’ve heard, anyway.”
“Well,” Jake said, putting the coffee cup down on the desk, “you were just my first stop.”
“Right,” O.G. said, “you’ll probably be better off checkin’ with bartenders.”
“I’ll get to that,” Jake said, standing. “After I talk with Doc Volo.”
“The doc,” O.G. said. “That makes sense. He knows Chance pretty well.”
“He should,” Jake said. “He’s taken enough iron out of his body over the years.”
“Out of everyone’s,” O.G. said. “Jesus, he was here before any of us.”
“Thanks for the coffee,” Jake said, and headed for the door.
“Let me know if you find him!” O.G. called out as Jake left.
Doctor Ethan Volo had taken iron out of the bodies of men who were involved in some of those historic battles, particularly during the Civil War. After the war he decided to stay on in Brownsville, and was already there when Jake Motley bought the Big M. He had managed to keep Abby alive during her first pregnancy, when she lost the baby. He had also been at her bedside ten years ago, but could do nothing to keep her from dying when a high fever ravaged her body. To this day they still had no idea what the illness actually was, or what had brought it on. Maybe that fact fed the guilt Big Jake continued to feel about his wife’s death.
Volo’s office was two streets away from the sheriff’s, so Jake walked his horse over there. While on foot he had actually received several head nods from citizens who recognized him. Grudgingly, he returned them, whether or not he recognized the person.
In front of Doc’s he tied off his horse again and went inside.
There were no patients waiting in the office’s outer room, but he could hear voices from the doctor’s exam room. Rather than interrupt someone’s doctor visit, he waited until the door opened and Volo walked over with a woman and a five- or six-year-old boy whose arm was in a sling.
“Now remember,” Volo said in a voice thick with phlegm, “no more trees—at least none that are bigger than you. Understand, Toby?”
“Yes, sir.”
As the boy and his mother left Volo looked over at Big Jake and said, “Well, hot damn. What’re you doin’ in town?”
“Just had a question to ask you, Doc,” Jake said.
“Well, ask it,” Volo said, taking off his wire-framed glasses and rubbing his faded blue eyes. “I got other patients comin’ in.”
“Have you seen Chance McCandless lately?”
“Chance,” Volo said, replacing his glasses so that they sat down on the edge of his bulbous nose. “Another ghost from the past, huh?”
“Is it?” Jake asked.
“You and Chance . . . those were the days, huh, Jake?” Volo asked.
“Yeah, they were, Doc,” Big Jake said. “And they’re gone, but I think I’m gonna look to capture them one last time.”
“Is that right?” Volo asked. “I heard you were sellin’.”
“Not sellin’,” Jake said. “Sold. But I got one last trail drive in me.”
“You think so?” Volo asked. “You think those old bones of yours are gonna stand for it?”
“They better.”
“I only got two words for you, Jake,” Doc said. “Jess Coleman.”
“Don’t go there, Doc,” Jake warned.
Volo put his hands up in surrender.
“Fine, you want Chance?” Volo asked. “Try across the border.”
“How far across?” Jake asked.
“Right across,” Doc said. “Matamoros. But I hear he’s in a bad way.”
“Physically?” Jake asked. “Or financially?”
“Every way possible,” Volo said. “If you’re gonna try to drive a herd east with you and Chance at the head of it, good luck.”
“I ain’t no idiot, Doc. I know I’m gonna need plenty of luck,” Big Jake said, with a shrug. “But I gotta do this. I got nothin’ left.”
“Whose fault is that, Jake?” Volo said. “If Abby could see how you gave up after her death—”
“Thanks for the information, Doc,” Jake said, and stormed out of the office without letting the old sawbones finish his thought.
Doc Volo sat at his desk, took his glasses off again, and rubbed his eyes. There was a time he felt that both Jake and Chance were his friends. That was a long time ago. The death of Abby Motley seemed to have ended it all. Volo didn’t know if Jake was even aware that his best friend had been in love with his wife. Her passing had destroyed two men in one fell swoop. Maybe those two men really did need one last trail drive to either bring them back to life, or just end it all on a high note.
Big Jake Motley untied his horse from the hitching post and mounted up. He sure as hell didn’t need Doc Volo’s two-word reminder about his foreman who had died in the saddle. Truth be told, Jessup Coleman probably wouldn’t have wanted to die any other way than in the saddle, with his boots on. And if Jake Motley’s bones gave out on him between Brownsville and Dodge City, so be it. That would be better than dying while sitting on his porch, smoking his pipe and staring out over what was left of his former empire.
Maybe this was what he had in mind for this last drive, to finish it with his last breath, while offering Chance McCandless the same opportunity.
He directed his mount out of Brownsville and headed for the Rio Grande.