Chapter One – Women!

 

With slow and ponderous steps, the sorrel moved forward, each movement an effort. The rider sat slumped in the saddle with his head bent low, a bandanna pulled up over his face to keep out the dust, his eyes bloodshot not only from the dust but from the pain that had ridden with him all the way from
Passena. He closed his eyes and relived the event ...

He had been minding his own business in the town’s only saloon when a twenty year-old kid had drawn a gun on him, giving nobody, least of all the trail-weary Buck Halliday, time to do a thing about it. He was still confused as to why the youngster had called him.

As a stranger in town, Halliday guessed the kid’s anger had nothing to do with him. But then, gun-brats like Jesse Colbert were often contrary. They always liked to act first and ask questions later ... if they were still alive.

The folly of youth, Halliday thought—indestructible, until somebody a little faster happened along.

Following the confrontation, the town sheriff had ordered Halliday to leave town, and told him not to come back if he valued his freedom.

Unwilling to be pushed around because of something he knew nothing about, Halliday dug in his heels and stayed, only to learn that the lawman had given him sound advice.

Jesse Colbert’s four brothers, along with a dozen cowboys, had come looking for Halliday and had turned Passena’s main street into a river of blood. The wounded Halliday had no idea how many dead he had left behind. He didn’t know—there was really not much time to count.

Halliday immediately heeled his sorrel into a run and headed south, because south was where a man would be hard to follow.

Two days later the poison had taken hold in his thigh and now his leg was raw and swollen. The pain that had started out as little more than a nagging irritation, was now a deep-throbbing ache. He rocked to the gentle rhythm of the sorrel and held on tightly to the pommel only because he knew that if he was left alone out here and on foot, he would die. Haggard, worn, hungry and thirsty, he longed for sleep.

But he didn’t.

He filled his mind with the visions of friends he had known, towns he had visited, women he had loved.

The sorrel plodded on, its eyes bloodshot now, its nostrils dust-caked.

Halliday was almost blinded by the pain in his thigh. His muscles ached, his eyes searched through the haze for some protection, his mind telling him constantly that ahead, and not too far at that, there had to be something better.

He rode through the noonday heat and well into the afternoon before the duster blew itself out. Time after time, the sorrel would stop, and constantly he had to urge it on. How much more the horse could take before it was given a breather became his chief concern as sundown began to close in around him.

Then came the miracle he had desperately hoped for.

The horse labored to the top of a steep rise and once again it stopped. Halliday painfully lifted his head and looked around. The miles of barren country stretched ahead of him, but off to the east was a pool of shadow nestled between two small hills. Trees sprouted out of the barren surroundings, their deep green leaves reaching into a cloudless sky.

Halliday closed his eyes and shook his head, thinking the vision was something his imagination had conjured up. He opened his eyes again and that welcome sight was still there.

Halliday licked his cracked lips and tried to smile. Then he tightened the belt strapped above his swollen thigh. He rubbed a hand soothingly down the sun-scorched shoulder of the sorrel and the horse shied away, as if rebelling against a fresh demand for it to continue. But it took the grade down, as if it, too, had seen the oasis.

As the sorrel plodded on, Halliday’s gaze remained fixed on the shadows. An hour passed and the sun went down behind the hills, and suddenly everything was in shadow. He felt a rise of panic inside him for he could no longer pick out the trees. He tried to urge the sorrel into a lope, but it was beyond anything but a plodding walk.

Halliday then chewed on one rein, trying to forget the ache in his leg. His vision became blurred and he saw again the startled, incredulous eyes of young Jesse Colbert as the youngster staggered back across the saloon to finally crash over a card table. He waited but the youngster didn’t get up.

Halliday had no option but to aim to kill ... but he wished the kid had let him be. If he had, Jesse Colbert would be alive today and Halliday wouldn’t be out here suffering. He gave no thought to the men he had killed, knowing their deaths had been of their own making.

The sorrel stopped again and Halliday felt the cool wind on his arms. He lifted his head and realized that he must have dozed off. He sat there desperately trying to pick out the oasis he had seen from the rise.

Directly ahead of him he saw a shallow basin, and behind it a huge wall of rock. He could now see water flowing over a ledge of green-slimed stone. He tried to lift his leg from the stirrup but found he couldn’t. The sorrel then started forward again, somehow finally smelling the water through all the dust in its nostrils.

The sorrel increased the pace until it was suddenly drinking.

Halliday again tried to lift his boot from the stirrup but again he failed. He shifted his weight to one side of the saddle, wrapped his arms around his head, and dropped to the ground.

It seemed an eternity before he landed with a heavy thud on his side. Pain lanced up into his neck but he ignored it. He pulled himself along on his stomach to the edge of a pool and dipped his head beneath the surface.

Greedily, he drank, came up to take in a deep breath, then dropped his head beneath the surface again, slowly washing the dust from his face, ears and eyes. Then he rolled over on his side and lay with his face toward the darkening sky. The relief that flooded through his body made him laugh. He reached behind him and let his fingers dangle in the water.

Then he closed his eyes and slept.

 

It was morning and he was lying on his back well away from the pool with a blanket covering the lower half of his body. Golden sunshine was warming everything around him, but he was resting in the tree shade.

For some time he just lay there, staring at the leaves swaying in the breeze, marveling how good it was to be alive.

Then, slowly, his mind tracked back to the previous evening.

He looked down at the blanket and knew he had not seen it before. He tried to lift his head, but the movement sent a lance of pain down into his thigh.

He pulled the blanket off his leg and saw that his wound had been dressed and bandaged. He moved his leg and thought the pain had eased since the previous day.

Gradually now, he worked himself up onto one elbow, looked down at his wounded leg, saw that his Levi’s had been crudely cut away, and noticed that the flesh above the bandage was still swollen, but it was more pink than red now. He realized that whoever had helped him had cut the bullet out and drained the wound, stopping the poison from spreading.

A noise behind him made him look over his shoulder. His sorrel stood in the shade, cropping at some grass. His saddle, and the rest of his gear, was laying against the trunk of a tree only a few feet away.

He sat all the way up now and worked his way around until he could rest his back against his saddle. Taking in a deep breath, he looked up at the sky and wondered who had come to his aid this time.

“Keep goin’, girl. Don’t mind him. He cain’t do nothin’.”

The gruff voice made Halliday turn his head. He saw the man first, perched on a slab of rock. The man was hatless, with a good shock of dark hair, his face deeply-tanned. He looked to be well into his forties. His shoulders were lean and slightly hunched, and his clothes were old and torn. Halliday then noticed the rifle in his hands.

Then Buck Halliday saw the girl, a young slip of a thing, long dark hair trailing down her back. She was wearing only a sheer, see-through garment, and Halliday couldn’t take his eyes off her young, shapely body as it glistened in the sunlight. Then the man said;

“Go on now, get washed up. He ain’t in no condition to trouble you. Mister, we’d be obliged if you’d look the other way till Marianne gets into the water.”

Buck Halliday did as he was told. Then the girl stepped into the cool water, lathered her hands with soap, then lowered herself beneath the surface.

“Okay, you can look up now, mister,” the man said from his rock.

Halliday looked back at the pool and saw the girl break the surface to flick her wet hair over her shoulders. The sight of this naked girl frolicking about in the pool did wonders for his flagging spirits.

“If you’re trying to make me jealous, mister, you’re doing a darn good job of it,” Halliday said.

“Not tryin’ to do anythin’ of the sort, mister. Marianne was about to wash up when you stirred. The name’s Jackson, stranger. Bo Jackson. Me and Marianne found you last night. Reckon if we hadn’t happened by, you’d be feedin’ some buzzard, now. Thet leg was bad, real bad. The poison would’ve killed you in no time.”

Halliday took a slow, deep breath and said;

“I’m mighty grateful.”

“Don’t thank me, Marianne did all the doctorin’. She knows what she’s doin’. Put me back together plenty times.”

“Then you must let me thank her,” Halliday said. Halliday looked at the girl splashing around in the pool.

“She sure is somethin’, ain’t she mister?” Jackson said.

Halliday figured the girl was no more than seventeen, but he couldn’t be sure. Some Mexican women looked young in their forties while others were old in their teens.

“You might show her a little respect, Jackson,” Halliday said, his tone a little sharp.

Jackson grinned and rested the rifle across his legs. He was a rugged individual, with sinewy muscles and the hardness of the typical frontiersman.

“Hell, mister, you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. She was only ten when she lost all respect for herself. I dragged her away from squalor you wouldn’t believe. Fought off a half-dozen greasers who was usin’ her as their plaything. So you don’t need to tell me anythin’ ’bout respect!”

The girl was still lolling about in the water, paying little attention to their banter. Occasionally, Halliday noticed her looking at him, appraising him like she would a slab of beef. “She’s your woman then?” Halliday asked coolly.

Jackson jerked his head to the left, prompting Halliday to look that way. He saw a buckboard packed high with provisions and drawn by a single horse.

“She shares every damn thing I own. She knows stayin’ with me means three meals a day and better treatment than she got from them greasers. She gave me her word that if I took good care of her, she’d stick by me. How could any man refuse an offer like that?”

Jackson got to his feet and beckoned the girl out of the water. When she hesitated, glancing Halliday’s way as her face went slightly red, Jackson growled;

“We gotta eat, you know. An’ our patient should be gettin’ mighty hungry. So hop to it an’ rustle up some grub while I check on our friend.”

Jackson got down off his slab of rock while Marianne slipped out of the water, her young, beautifully-shaped body glistening like gold. She glided to the brush where she pulled a dress over her head and smoothed it out over her body, letting it cling to show off her curves. Somehow she looked more appealing to Halliday dressed than when she was naked.

Jackson went down on his haunches and made a cigarette which he put between Halliday’s lips. The cylinder lit, Halliday watched Jackson’s eyes closely and saw pools of amusement in them.

“Now what about you?” Jackson asked, after making a coffin nail for himself.

Halliday told his story. When he had finished, Jackson said;

“What about thet wound?”

“I’d prefer to keep that to myself,” he said, still not knowing the reason behind Jesse Colbert’s fatal challenge.

Jackson shrugged. “Well, guess that don’t really matter to me. Long as you’re not runnin’ from the law. If you are, you sure enough can’t be trailed in this country, so we shouldn’t be gettin’ any unwanted visitors.”

“I’m not on the run from the law,” Halliday told him.

“Good. But we better get a few things straight. That wound of yours was bad. Marianne says you should be on your back for a couple days at least before you’ll be fit to do anythin’, let alone ride. Now, I like to keep mainly to myself and don’t often worry about other folks—’specially folks carryin’ lead. But I’m no animal, either. I couldn’t leave somebody drippin’ blood all over the place and needin’ our help. So we’ll stick around till you’re back on your feet. In the meantime, you keep your dirty hands and pryin’ eyes to yerself. In other words, I don’t want you messin’ with my Marianne. Mind your business and we’ll mind ours. Understand?”

“Perfectly,” Halliday said, watching the girl gather kindling for the fire. “It’d help if she didn’t go around buck naked, though.”

Jackson gave him a gap-toothed smile. “Halliday, the sight of that beautiful thing can only be good for the soul. She’s mine an’ I don’t mind showin’ her off—even to the likes of people like you. So you just rest up and you’ll be up afore you know it. I paid the family plenty for her ... and I aim to get my money’s worth.”

Jackson moved away to the fire. Soon, Halliday could smell bacon frying and the sharp aroma of coffee on the boil.

Jackson helped himself to bacon and beans, then he sat back on his rock and watched the girl with lustful eyes.

Marianne came to Halliday with a tin plate piled with food, her eyes friendly but impassive.

Halliday ate hungrily and lay back when he had finished as Marianne and Jackson went out to scout the area. Then he closed his eyes and slept.

It was sundown when he awoke, and Marianne brought him an evening meal while Jackson watered and fed his sorrel some oats. Despite his annoyance with the man’s attitude toward the girl, Halliday couldn’t help but feel grateful to him. Maybe he shouldn’t be too hard on the man, he told himself. Jackson was a man of the outdoors, and it was hard to learn manners on the back of a horse.

Then he promised to one day repay him the favor.

Evening settled in again and Halliday dropped easily off to sleep. But halfway through the night, he was woken by a commotion on the other side of the pool.

Marianne was screaming and then she shouted angrily;

“Leave me alone. Are you crazy?”

“Crazy for you, girl,” Jackson yelled. “Now you lay still, dammit, and keep them fingernails outta my back.”

“No!”

The fear in the girl’s voice saw Halliday push himself to his feet. When he put his weight on his wounded leg, it buckled and he had to reach out for the tree trunk to keep himself from falling. Again he tested his weight on the leg. Pain drove up his side but he gritted his teeth and took a step toward his gear.

His gunbelt was on top of his saddle, so he bent and picked it up and slipped it about his waist.

In the moonlight he could clearly see their desperate struggle.

Halliday pulled his gun and wisely checked all cylinders. Finding them empty, he filled them and limped to the edge of the pool. Then he heard the girl cry out again as a heavy hand slapped her face.

“Jackson!” Halliday called out.

Halliday stood with his weight on his good leg, his gun held down by his side.

“Warned you to mind your own business, dammit!”

“Leave her be. She doesn’t deserve that rough treatment.”

“Says who? You gotta show ’em who’s boss!”

“That’ll be enough. I’m obliged for all you’ve done for me, but I won’t stand by and see that girl harmed. I’m tellin’ you to get away from her.”

There was a moment’s silence that was broken by the click of Halliday’s gun hammer being snagged back. Then Jackson moved quickly from sight in the darkness.

“Got a bead on you, mister,” Jackson said. “Knew I shouldn’t have helped you—knew it would only lead to this. But, so help me, I own her and I’ll treat her how I want. An’ I’ll do it without any interference from you. So now I’m tellin’ you to get on your hoss and get outta here.”

Halliday knew the man wasn’t bluffing, but he felt that he had to see this through regardless of the risk.

“Marianne,” he called, “you can come with me if you like. I’ll get you to a town and make sure you’re looked after.”

Jackson laughed scornfully. “You’re takin’ a lot on yourself by tellin’ her that, mister! You fool enough to do that?”

“She heard me.”

Jackson pushed his rifle above a rock ledge so the moonlight glinted off the barrel. “Mister, you’re about to learn yerself a valuable lesson. Seems you ain’t locked horns with ’breed women afore, huh? Well, hear this, mister—they ain’t like the women you’re used to. No, sir. They know what’s good for ’em—the more you beat ’em, the better they like it. You ever see a dog run away from its master, even one who treats it badly?”

Halliday had no answer to that.

He looked about him, not liking one thing about this whole affair. He knew that if he pushed too hard, Jackson could kill him and nobody would be the wiser if his bleached bones were ever found. Then Jackson’s scornful laugh rang out again.

“Go on and ask her a second time, Halliday. If she still wants to go with you, she can. I won’t stop her. Just ask her. See if she forgot already that I killed four men to get her out of that pigsty she called a home, that I took her from scum who treated her no better than if she was a dog. You test her and see if she’s already forgotten that I’ve fed her and given her all the comforts she never knew afore. See if she prefers to take her chances with a man carryin’ a bullet which just as easy coulda come from a lawman.”

Halliday looked at the girl who lay silent and unmoving on the ground. He could see no ropes holding her down, and Jackson wasn’t close enough to hurt her if she suddenly sprang to her feet and ran.

“Well, Marianne?” Halliday asked. “What about it?”

There was no answer. Still Halliday waited, not wanting to get into a gunfight with a man who saved his life, but not wanting that man to abuse this slip of a girl anymore. All he wanted to do was to get better and be on his way and leave them to their fate. He didn’t doubt Jackson’s story about the girl’s sordid past. He had known women to go through the same and worse.

“Well, Halliday,” Jackson said, “seems by her silence you’ve got your answer. So climb on your horse and git. I’ll remember how grateful you are if we ever meet up again.”

Then Halliday noticed the girl suddenly move. He was surprised to see her get to her feet and walk unhurriedly toward the pool.

Jackson chuckled and stood up behind his ledge of rock. His gun was still in his hand as he tore a scruffy bandanna from his neck and threw it aside. The moonlight gleamed on his gap-toothed smile as Marianne stepped into the pool and gently splashed about ...

Halliday rubbed his jaw irritably and limped away to his sorrel, saddled up and scrambled into leather.

Women, he thought ... who’d ever understand them?