Hewey was half a mile from the house, riding Biscuit alongside Snort Yarnell, when he recognized the open-topped automobile making its way along the wagon road from town. “That’s Old Man Jenkins’s car. Wonder what he could want?”
“More money. Them old ranchers are always after more money, like they ain’t already got most of it corraled.”
Hewey put Biscuit into a stiff trot. The jarring touched off an internal ache so slight that Hewey was able to ignore it. The pain had diminished gradually, day by day. He was confident it would soon be gone entirely if he did not do something foolish and undo the progress he had made.
He waved his hat to be certain he was seen. Peeler eased the car to a stop in front of the house and took off his goggles as Hewey and Snort approached. Beaming, Jenkins hollered, “I wisht you’d look at Hewey Calloway on horseback. I expected to see you rockin’ your life away on the front porch.”
“I wore out that rockin’ chair in about a week,” Hewey replied, dismounting slowly to shake hands with both men. He still had to be careful how he moved, for his right knee remained tricky. He had limited mobility in his left arm.
Jenkins said, “Then I reckon you’re ready to go back to work.”
Hewey sobered quickly. “It’s better, but it ain’t that good. I’m afraid I’ve rode my last bronc.”
Snort eyed Peeler with misgivings. “I remember you. You’re the gink that spurred our outlaw bronc to a standstill and cleaned out us Slash R boys.”
Peeler grinned. “And you’re the man that drank the rest of us under the table. Hard to forget a feller with that kind of talent.”
Eve came out of the kitchen, and Hewey introduced her to the two visitors. He said, “You-all go on into the house. I’ll unsaddle Biscuit and be along in a minute.”
Snort reached for the reins. “I’ll unsaddle him. I expect Mr. Jenkins came here to talk to you.”
It still made Hewey uncomfortable to let someone else saddle and unsaddle his horse for him, though Tommy had been doing it lately. “I’m obliged,” he said, and motioned for Jenkins and Peeler to precede him into the house. Eve set three coffee cups on the table and poured them full in silent invitation.
Jenkins looked Hewey over before he seated himself. “I’m tickled to see you doin’ so much better. I’ve had you on my conscience, seein’ as you got hurt workin’ for me.”
“Wasn’t your fault. I got hurt on account of Fat Gervin.”
“It was my ranch and my horse. If you’ve been concerned about your doctor bill, don’t be. I paid my half and yours, too.”
“I’m obliged.” Hewey wanted to smile but didn’t. Dr. Evans had been a big winner on this deal. “Did you manage to get rid of them broncs Fat sold you?”
Jenkins scowled. “Only a couple of them. It appears I’m stuck with the rest. Buyers come and take a look, and they leave so fast their shirttails don’t touch them ’til they’re back on the road. Bias may have to learn how to cook horsemeat and make it taste like steak.”
“I wish there was a way you could make Fat Gervin eat them.” For whatever satisfaction it might give the old man, he described the lie he had told Gervin about Jenkins planning to sic a battery
of Fort Worth lawyers on him. “It’s thin comfort, but at least I worried him for a little while.”
Not long enough, however, for evidently Gervin had pulled the same swindle on someone else. Hewey told about the day he and Alvin found two Tarpley cowboys driving a remuda across the Lawdermilk ranch so Gervin could trade on the good reputation of Alvin’s horses and palm off some scrubs he had bought cheaply down on the Pecos. “I’d bet he’s usin’ the Tarpley bank’s money, but the bank ain’t gettin’ none of the profit. Poor old C.C. ain’t been in any shape to keep an eye on things lately.”
He described Tarpley and the old man’s troubles. “You’d like C.C., Mr. Jenkins. You and him have got a lot in common.”
Both were highly ambitious and tight with a dollar, though this was not unusual among ranchers of their generation. Without those traits they might not have endured and prospered through the harsh challenges of the early years. Hewey was not critical. He understood the men and the drive that compelled them, though he did not share it.
He said, “It’ll be a poorer country when C.C. is gone. Fat Gervin ain’t fit to polish the old man’s boots.”
“Gervin!” It sounded like a cussword, the way Jenkins said it.
“It’s not so much the money. I’ve lost that much through a hole in my pocket. It’s the principle of the thing, lettin’ him skin me that way. I shot a man once for stealin’ horses, but at least he was honest after his own fashion. He never claimed to be anything but a horse thief.”
Eve kept staring at Peeler with poorly hidden curiosity. He must have looked like some foreign being to her, wearing a duster, cap and goggles, jodhpurs and tall lace-up boots. Hewey decided not to tell her he was just a reformed bronc rider. Like as not she would start pointing to him as a potential model for Hewey’s own reformation.
Jenkins said, “Looks like all I can do with them broncs is load them on a train and ship them to the Fort Worth stockyards. They ought to fetch a little somethin’ for soap, but they won’t bring back what I’ve got in them.”
Hewey sympathized. “It’s a pity you can’t sell them back to the man you bought them from.” A glimmering of an idea began forming. “Or maybe you could.”
“To Frank Gervin? He wouldn’t take them back. I’ll bet he’s been laughin’ up his sleeve ever since he sold them to me.”
“There ain’t any use appealin’ to Fat’s good nature. He ain’t got one. But maybe we can appeal to his greed.”
“How?”
“I’ve got the first stirrin’s of a notion.” Hewey arose and looked out the window toward the corral where Snort was helping Tommy and Walter unhitch a raw team Tommy had been working to a wagon. After a minute he turned to stare at Peeler. “Eve, what does Peeler look like to you?”
Eve was caught off balance. “What kind of question is that?”
“If you was to bump into him in town, lookin’ like he looks right now, what would you think he was?”
“He looks like a gentleman, of course, dressed for a drive in an automobile.”
“Would you figure him for a man of means?”
“How else could he have an automobile? We sure don’t have one.”
Hewey grinned at Peeler. “How are you at catchin’ fish?”
“I’ve hooked a few in my day.”
“With a little luck you may hook the fattest fish you ever saw.”
The two automobiles moved along slowly, a couple of hundred yards in front of seventeen horses driven by Tommy, Snort Yarnell and two J Bar vaqueros. As they came to a wire gate, Hewey could see the windmill towers of Upton City half a mile ahead. He turned
in the seat of Alvin Lawdermilk’s car and motioned for Peeler to pull Jenkins’s automobile up beside him. Aparicio Rodriguez left his place behind the band of horses and loped ahead to open the gate.
Hewey climbed out of Alvin’s car. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the roar of the two engines. “Mr. Jenkins, you’d better get in the car with us. Wouldn’t do for Fat to see you and Peeler together.”
Jenkins left his own automobile, moving over to the backseat of Alvin’s.
Hewey said, “Now, Peeler, we’ll let you go on into town ahead of us. You won’t have any trouble spottin’ the bank. If a red car is parked alongside it, you’ll know Fat is there.”
Peeler nodded. They had been over this already.
“Now, you’re a rich cotton merchant from Dallas. You’ve just bought a big ranch, and you need a bunch of horses for your hands to ride. You’re puttin’ all your trust in him to find you some.”
Peeler mumbled impatiently, for he already had it memorized. “And my name is Smith.”
“Smith, Jones … whatever you want it to be. Tell him you’re willin’ to pay up to a hundred dollars a head. No, better make it a hundred and twenty-five. Mr. Jenkins deserves some profit on this deal.”
“And a little commission for you?”
“I don’t care about any commission. I just want to see Fat Gervin get his comeuppance. We’ll wait at Dutch Schneider’s saloon. It’s up to you to set the hook, then me and Mr. Jenkins’ll try and pull in the fish.”
Tommy, Snort and one vaquero pushed the horses through the open gate. Aparicio stood holding it, waiting for the automobiles to pass. Peeler drove through first, Alvin following. Aparicio closed the gate and set his mount into a lope to catch up.
Jenkins said, “If we put this over, I owe them boys a bottle of whiskey apiece. You too, Mr. Lawdermilk.”
Hewey said, “Alvin has reformed. But I reckon he’d take a bottle and give it to his friends. How long’ve we been friends, Alvin?”
Alvin muttered some kind of reply. Hewey suspected his reformation had more to do with Cora than with health or religion.
Tommy and Snort took the lead, guiding the vaqueros to the Upton City wagon yard. Hewey told Alvin, “In case Fat might be lookin’ out the window, maybe we ought to pull this car in on the back side of the barn.”
Alvin remained far enough behind the remuda to avoid the dust. He stopped and let the motor run while the four riders penned the horses in a large lot. Hewey could not see the bank from here, which meant that Fat should not be able to see them, either. Alvin parked the car at the side of the large red barn.
Snort was explaining to the liveryman that the horses belonged to Mr. Jenkins of the J Bar at Alpine. Jenkins took over the negotiations. He said, “Just throw them a little hay. Not too much. They ain’t worth much.”
The liveryman grumbled, “Ain’t no horses goin’ to be worth much if everybody keeps buyin’ them damned automobiles. Looks like I may have to turn this place into a garage.”
Hewey heard a commotion in a corral back of the barn. Two men were trying to saddle a sorrel bronc, and it was giving them a fight. This was the kind of show Hewey had always enjoyed watching, but somehow it put a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He watched as one of the punchers eared the pony down and the other mounted. Turned loose, the bronc pitched hard. Hewey wanted to look away but could not. He seemed unable to move, fascinated like a bird watching a snake.
It became obvious that the rider would not remain in the saddle for long. Hewey held his breath. It seemed the cowboy was suspended
in midair for a whole minute before he came down like a sack of bran. The sound of impact was physically painful to Hewey. He could not breathe until he saw the cowboy get up and dust himself off. At least he was not hurt.
Only then could Hewey bring himself to turn away, shaking as if a cold norther had just blown in.
Tommy asked, “You all right?”
“I’m fine. For a minute there it was like watchin’ myself and that black stud. I used to love a good bronc ride. Now just watchin’ it gave me a chill.”
Alvin Lawdermilk said, “It’s like I told you. You lose the ability, then you lose the want-to.”
They walked out the front of the barn. At the far end of the street stood the bank. Peeler had parked Jenkins’s car beside it.
Jenkins said, “Looks like we’ve got some time to kill. If you gentlemen won’t mind, I’ll set everybody up to a drink.”
Snort said, “Bad as I hate to … the saloon’s right down thisaway.” He led out.
Aparicio had misgivings. “It may be that we are not welcome, Raul and me.”
Some saloons did not allow Mexicans or blacks, but Hewey assured him, “Dutch Schneider ain’t got an ounce of prejudice in his body.” He looked at Tommy. “Except for underage boys. You’d best take you a sody water and stay real quiet.”
Schneider came from behind the bar to shake hands with the men as Hewey introduced them. He was as cordial to the Mexicans as to Old Man Jenkins. He seemed surprised to see Alvin Lawdermilk. “It is a long time since you were here to visit me, Alvin.”
“I took the pledge.”
“That is good. How better it would be if more did the same.” Though it went against the business he was in, Schneider could safely make that statement because the pledge was more often honored
in the breach than in the keeping among male citizens of Upton City.
Schneider carried glasses and a bottle to a table large enough for all seven. Like Tommy, Alvin settled for a soda water. Cora should be proud of him, Hewey thought, though Old Lady Faversham would no doubt find fault somewhere. She would be terribly disappointed if she were someday to enter the pearly gates and find her son-in-law there ahead of her.
Snort was already on his third drink when a thin figure appeared in the doorway, stopping to squint and accustom his eyes to the darkness of the interior. C. C. Tarpley spotted Hewey and hollered from the door. “Hewey Calloway! I thought I saw you comin’ into town a while ago.” He strode with a strong step toward the table. His back was straight, his eyes alive and cheerful.
Hewey was taken aback. The last time he had seen C.C., the old man looked ready for the graveyard. Hewey stood up and extended his hand. “You’re lookin’ real good, C.C.”
“I finally decided to take your advice. I went to Fort Worth and let a couple of doctors look me over from my head to my toenails. They said the only thing wrong with me is that I’ve got a stomach ulcer.”
“That’s all, an ulcer?”
“That’s it. Said I been sittin’ around worryin’ too much instead of gettin’ busy and grabbin’ ahold. I need to cut out the whiskey and drink lots of milk. Trouble is, I’ve got five thousand cows on that ranch and not a one of them I could pen up and milk. You reckon Walter’s got a Jersey cow he’d sell?”
“He’s got a heifer fixin’ to freshen. I’m sure he’d let you have her at a fair price.”
“Price is no object, as long as it’s not too high.”
“I’m sure glad to hear the good news, C.C.”
“I owe it all to you, Hewey. The doctors said if I’ll take care of
myself there’s no reason I can’t live another ten, maybe twenty years.”
“I’ll bet Fat was tickled to hear that.”
The irony went over C.C.’s head. “Frank didn’t seem as cheered up as I thought. I suspect he don’t believe them doctors. He’ll believe, though, when I grab ahold again out at the ranch, and I’m goin’ to take a bigger hand in the bank, too.”
“He’ll be real tickled,” Hewey said.
C.C. paid for a round of drinks for the crowd, though he did not take one for himself. “I’m headed for the ranch,” he declared. “Ridin’ out in Blue Hannigan’s truck with a load of horse feed. There’s a couple of Fat’s hired hands badly in need of a firin’, and I feel just good enough to do it.”
He had been gone only a few minutes when Hewey heard an automobile pull up outside. Peeler walked in, pushing his goggles up. Hewey met him halfway. “How’d it go?”
Peeler looked as if he had won a big pot at poker. “If anybody asks you, you’re addressin’ Mr. Percival Smith, a rich cotton trader from Dallas, who’s got more money than he knows what to do with and is willin’ to spend a wad of it on horses.”
Hewey asked, “You think Fat bit on it?”
“Ever watch a wolf grab a rabbit? I could see the cash register workin’ in his eyes. I told him I’d find me a boardin’ house and be around town for two or three days.”
Hewey said, “We’d best give Fat a little time. If we go over and brace him too quick he’s liable to smell a badger game.”
Jenkins frowned in Snort Yarnell’s direction, his voice a little sarcastic. “I don’t suppose your friend Yarnell would object if I bought him another drink?” Snort was two drinks ahead of everybody else and working on another. “I’m gettin’ curious. I wonder how much it’d take to fill him up?”
Peeler shook his head. “You don’t want to find out.”
Hewey’s skin prickled with impatience, but he forced himself to wait for what he guessed was half an hour. Peeler still had half of his first and only drink, for he had to drive. Snort had drunk enough for Peeler’s share and Alvin’s as well. He seemed lost in a far-off solitary world of his own, half humming, half singing a raucous ditty that could get a Baptist thrown out of his church, though that was no hazard for Snort.
The song was happy, but Snort’s expression was melancholy. Even with a crowd around him, Snort was somehow alone.
He was always alone, Hewey realized. He had lived his life that way, drifting like a cottonwood leaf on the vagaries of the wind. He reached out for friendship, yet always left for new country before people could come too close. He had many acquaintances but few real friends. It came to Hewey as a sudden revelation that Snort was getting old, too old to continue much longer the kind of life he had led. Hard as he might fight it, trying to live young and loud and reckless, the years were pressing down on him. One day he would look in a mirror and see himself as he truly was.
Perhaps he already had, and that was why he looked sad.
Maybe I ain’t far behind you, Hewey thought. A chill ran through him, like the chill he had felt watching the bronc ride.
He asked Jenkins, “You ready to go take Fat’s temperature?”
He looked back once at Snort before he left the saloon. Snort had his head down as if he were half asleep. He sat at the edge of the group, but his chair was pulled back a little, not quite in the circle with the others. He was talking to himself, talking about Grady Welch and the way he died. Nobody seemed to be listening to him.
Hewey and Jenkins crossed the street and walked toward the bank that had C. C. Tarpley’s name prominently carved across its stone front. Blue Hannigan leaned against a truck parked a little short of
the door, a load of feed stacked on its bed. As Hewey and Jenkins neared, Hannigan stepped free and held up his hand, gesturing for them to stop. He looked pleased.
“C.C. is readin’the gospel to Fat. You wouldn’t want to disturb a good sermon.”
Hewey heard Tarpley’s voice inside, loud and commanding. “I’m fixin’ to get to the bottom of this, Fat.” He never called his son-in-law Fat to his face except when he was provoked. “Now, I want them books brought up-to-date, and I don’t mean some time next week. I’ll be back from the ranch tomorrow, and they’d better be ready.”
Gervin’s meek voice answered, “Yes, sir.”
Tarpley burst out of the bank with a strong stride that said he was in full charge. He saw Hewey and Jenkins and seemed to feel that an explanation was in order. “Sometimes you’ve got to hit a mule over the head to get its attention. You-all got business in the bank?”
Hewey said, “We just need to talk to Fat about a horse.”
“I don’t think he knows which end eats grass, but I’ll teach him if it takes me twenty years.” He turned to Hannigan. “Ready to go, Blue?”
“Ready and rarin’.” Hannigan winked at Hewey.
As the truck pulled away, Hewey said, “Now, that’s the C.C. I used to know.”
He motioned for Jenkins to precede him into the bank, which he thought was appropriate in view of the fact that Jenkins was much the oldest. It did not matter that he had the most money.
Fat Gervin sat at his desk, his head low. His chubby face was even redder than usual, for he had taken a dressing-down from his father-in-law in front of two harried, underpaid bank employees who probably enjoyed every minute of it. He looked like a man who had just been run over by a team of mules. Glancing up, he saw Hewey first.
“Hewey Calloway, what do you want?”
“I want to introduce you to Mr. Morgan Jenkins of Alpine, Texas.
He’s the man who’s fixin’ to sue you for a hundred thousand dollars.”
Jenkins suddenly had Gervin’s full attention. “You the man I sold them horses to?”
Jenkins took a cue from Hewey and drew himself up like an officer commanding a firing squad. “I am, and I have come here for satisfaction.”
“I sold you them horses in good faith. I don’t see where you got anything to sue me for.”
Hewey reminded him, “You said they came from Alvin Lawdermilk’s ranch. All they did was cross over it.”
“A technicality. I didn’t claim that Alvin raised them.”
Jenkins charged, “But you wrote the letter in such a way as to deliberately mislead me. It’s a federal offense to use the mails to defraud. I intend to lodge a complaint with the post office. And sue you besides.” He looked at Hewey. “For two hundred thousand dollars.”
Hewey took pleasure in the old man’s audacity. “You never saw so many lawyers in one bunch as Mr. Jenkins has got.”
Cornered, Gervin turned both palms upward as if to say he was helpless. “I got troubles enough right here in the bank. Them horses are way out yonder at Alpine. I don’t know what I can do.”
Hewey said, “The horses are here, down at the wagon yard. We’re givin’ you a chance to buy them back before the lawyers get into it. You know what a mess they can make.”
It took a moment for the information to soak in on Gervin. His expression made a gradual transition from despair to hope to greed. “They’re here? Well, now, that does alter circumstances. It just so happens …” He caught himself and did not finish.
Hewey suspected he had been about to say he had a ready and willing buyer but realized that information was best kept to himself.
A calculating look came into Gervin’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted to be fair. If I was to buy them ponies back from you for the same price you paid for them, that ought to set things right. It was fifty dollars a head, wasn’t it?”
Jenkins said, “It was seventy-five, and you know it.”
Reluctantly Gervin said, “Seventy-five, then.”
“But I got a lot of labor and expense in them broncs, and a big doctor bill besides.” He motioned toward Hewey. “One of them outlaws ran into a fence and broke its neck. It’ll take a hundred a head to square the deal.”
“How many head?”
“Seventeen. I sold two.”
Gervin tried to look displeased, but his eyes gave him away. Peeler had told him he would pay a hundred and twenty-five dollars. Hewey could see him mentally multiplying twenty-five dollars times seventeen, his potential profit.
Hewey tried to do it himself and came up with four hundred and seventy-five. That didn’t seem right, but he had rarely had occasion to tally up large sums.
Jenkins said, “Deal.”
Gervin put down a satisfied smile. “I’ll write you a check.”
“No check. Cash.”
Frowning over the imposition, Gervin walked into the open vault and returned with a handful of greenbacks. He counted out seventeen hundred dollars. “I’ll want you to sign a receipt.”
Jenkins counted the money for himself.
The teller moved up cautiously to Gervin’s side. “You’ll need to make a note for that cash, Mr. Gervin. Mr. Tarpley will insist on knowing where it went.”
“I’ll have the cash back in the vault long before he comes in tomorrow.”
Jenkins said, “Mr. Gervin, I’ll call off my lawyers. I’m glad we got our account settled.”
“So am I. Come again.”
Jenkins muttered, “When the sun rises up out of the west.”
Walking back toward the saloon, Hewey said, “I guess I’ve settled my account with him too, as much as I ever will.”
“I’d love to see his face when he goes lookin’ for Peeler and can’t find him.”
Hewey smiled over an imagined confrontation. “Even more, I’d like to be there when he tries to account to C.C. for that seventeen hundred dollars.”
“That would be a show worth stayin’ for, but I’d best be gettin’ out of town. When he catches on, he’s liable to put the sheriff on me and Peeler.”
“Wes Wheeler’s the law. You don’t need to worry about him.”
Before they entered the saloon, Jenkins pulled out the roll of bills he had received from Gervin. “I wouldn’t have got it done if it hadn’t been for you, Hewey. I feel like I owe you a commission.” He peeled off a hundred dollars, considered a moment, then said, “Aw, what the hell!” and peeled off a hundred more.
Hewey debated about accepting. “It was worth it to see Fat put up a tree.” But he considered his financially embarrassed condition and took the money.
Jenkins said, “I’m still needin’ a foreman for the Circle W Looks to me like you’re healed well enough to take on the job.”
“I doubt I can do rough work anymore. I’ll never wrestle wild cattle again. I won’t be able to ride anything but gentle horses, and maybe not all of them, either.”
“It’s time you learn the difference between a cowboy and a cowman. A foreman can point out what’s to be done and let the younger hands do it. If he can’t ride a horse, he can ride in a buggy. He uses
his head and lets the others use their hands and their backs. You’ve got a head on your shoulders, Hewey. You showed that when you figured out how to snooker Fat Gervin.”
Hewey rubbed his neck, wondering. He had never liked having to answer for anything or anybody except himself.
From inside the saloon came Snort’s voice, telling again in painful, tearful detail all the facts about Grady Welch’s sudden death and how hard it was to lose a good friend when he had so few. The words came slowly and badly slurred. Listening, Hewey felt the chill again.
He said, “I’m afraid Snort’s pretty far gone.”
Jenkins frowned. “He doesn’t know where he’s at or where he’s goin’. I’d hate to see you wind up like him, Hewey. There’s too many lost souls in this world already.”
“I’ll bet Snort would enjoy workin’ at the Circle W.”
“He’s a good cowboy, but he’s not foreman material. You could be.”
Hewey reached deep inside for courage. “If I was to go, I’d want to take Snort with me. Aparicio, too. And I’d like to have Bias Villegas there to cook for the hands.”
“Blas? The boys at the J Bar would kick like hell over losin’ him. But all right, he’s yours.”
Something inside told Hewey to turn and run, but he stood his ground. “You sure you’re ready to take a gamble on me?”
“If you’re ready to take a gamble on yourself. Me; I think it’s a cinch bet.”
Hewey’s hand trembled, for self-doubts remained strong, but he steadied it enough to hold it out and shake with Jenkins. “Deal.”
Snort, Tommy and the Mexican hands had left their horses at the wagon yard. Hewey got the group together and started them walking in that direction, Tommy holding Snort’s arm to keep him from weaving off into the street. A heavy figure moved ahead of them,
also going toward the wagon yard. Fat Gervin was on his way to look at the horses he had bought, the ones he expected to turn a nice profit for him.
Jenkins climbed into his automobile while Peeler cranked the engine. Gervin turned to look as the car pulled away from the front of the saloon. He started to wave, but his hand froze in midair. Hewey wondered who he recognized first, Peeler or Jenkins, and how long it took him to realize they were working together.
Gervin staggered back a step. His body seemed to sag. He stared into the dust until the automobile passed out of sight around the livery barn. He slumped onto the edge of the wooden sidewalk, his arms hanging limp.
Most people called him Frank to his face. Only a few who had no tact or had nothing to lose called him Fat where he could hear it.
Walking by him, Hewey said, “It’s been a pleasure to do business with you, Fat.”