Walking back across the dusty street, Doug Monahan managed to get a tight rein on his anger. He asked Dundee, “What about the sheriff?”
Dundee shrugged. “He didn’t say anything that wasn’t the truth. McKelvie’s a pretty good kind of a man. Punched cattle for the captain a long time ago, till the captain got him made sheriff. It was about like staying on the R Cross payroll. But things have changed here lately. New people comin’ in, people that don’t figure Rinehart’s got any claim on them. Been tough on McKelvie sometimes, I expect, bein’ sheriff for them and the captain, too. He wants to be fair, and he’s havin’ a hard time figuring out what fair is.”
They stepped up onto the plank sidewalk that fronted the little saloon where Stub Bailey had gone. The small sign said, TEXAS TOWN, CHRISTOPHER HADLEY, PROP. Two men sat on the edge of the porch, whittling and spitting and soaking up the fleeting sunshine. They stared curiously at Monahan. Doug knew the story had gone all over town, probably all over the county.
It was a shotgun-shaped saloon, narrow in front but somehow longer than it had looked outside. Stub Bailey sat at a table toward the back. The rest of the fencing crew was there with him. The proprietor brought two fresh glasses. Bailey poured the two full from a bottle he had sitting in front of him. He hurriedly drank what was left in his own glass and refilled it too.
“I always like an even start with the crowd,” he said.
Monahan took a quick swallow of the whisky and grimaced at its fiery passage. He hadn’t really wanted it.
For Bailey, it went down smoother. His glass was half empty when he set it back on the table. “You’re all the talk around here today, Doug. Some of the captain’s cowboys was in here talking about you when I came in. They finally recognized me and shut up. They were betting on how quick you’d be out of the country.”
Doug said dryly, “You ought to’ve taken a little of their money.”
The proprietor had been watching Monahan until he figured out for sure who he was. Now he came back smiling, bringing a bottle.
“Welcome, Mr. Monahan,” he said. “My name’s Chris Hadley. This is my place.” He picked up the bottle Stub had been using and put the other one down in its place. “This is on the house. It’s a pleasure to serve someone that’s had the nerve to stomp the captain’s toes.”
Monahan eyed him noncommittally. “I’m afraid you got it backwards, friend. He did all the stomping.”
“You’re still in town, aren’t you?” Hadley replied. He was a shortish man, growing heavy now in his late forties, his hair receding to a light stand far back on his head. There was something about him that made him a little out of place as a saloonkeeper. He bore himself with a dignity which hinted of a better background than this.
Presently Doug heard a stir out in front of the saloon. A couple of cowboys pushed through the door and stood looking over the thin scattering of customers. The pair wore woolen coats, unbuttoned now because the day was not unpleasant. They had on chaps and spurs, and one wore leather gloves. They spotted Monahan and moved toward him.
Monahan stiffened, an angry red ridge running along his cheekbone. The tall one in the lead was Archer Spann.
Spann stopped and stared at Monahan, a vague contempt in his black eyes. “Monahan,” he said sharply, “the captain’s outside. He wants to see you.”
Monahan stood up angrily, changed his mind and sat down again. “Tell him if he wants to see me, he knows where I’m at.”
Spann said, “When the captain says come, you come.”
“I don’t.” Monahan sat there with a deep anger smoldering in him. He was hoping this grim man would make a move toward him, hoping for an excuse to lay his gunbarrel against that hard jaw and watch those black eyes roll back.
Spann shifted his weight uncertainly from one foot to the other. It was plain enough he wasn’t used to running up against a situation like this. But he could not miss the dangerous smoulder in the fence-builder’s eyes. Suddenly, he turned and walked out again.
The proprietor moved to the front window and looked outside. “It’s Captain Rinehart, all right. He’s out front there on that big gray horse of his.”
Chris Hadley nervously wiped his dry hands on his apron. “Four years I’ve had this place, and the captain’s never set foot in it. Folks used to ask him permission to do this or do that. I never did. I put this place up, and I never asked him anything. Couple of years, no R Cross cowboy ever came in, either. But they’ve been starting to drift in. The old man’s word doesn’t carry as strongly as it used to.”
Spann came in first and held the door open. Captain Andrew Rinehart strode in with stiff dignity. He paused a moment, letting his eyes accustom themselves to the room light.
“He’s back here, Captain,” Spann spoke, waving his hand toward Monahan.
It took the captain a moment to pick Monahan out. Monahan stood up slowly and pushed his chair back. The captain stopped a full pace in front of the table.
“I thought you’d be gone,” the old man said.
Monahan’s voice was calmly defiant. “I’m still here.”
The cowman’s piercing eyes had a way of seeing right through a man without revealing much of what went on behind them. “Maybe you’re broke,” he said. “I understand you’ve got some barbed wire stored over at Tracey’s Mercantile. I’ll buy it from you. That’ll give you enough money to be on your way.”
Monahan said, “I’m not broke. The point is, I’m not running. I’ll leave when I get ready, and I’m not ready.”
A sharp edge worked into the captain’s voice. “I’m trying to be fair about this, Monahan.”
“Like you were yesterday?”
“What happened yesterday wasn’t all planned. Sometimes things just happen that weren’t figured on atall. You’d better forget it.”
Forget it. Twice now Monahan had heard that.
“You burned up my wagons, destroyed my supplies and killed a harmless old man. How do you think I could forget that?”
“Sometimes it’s best for a man to make himself forget, Monahan.”
“I’ll bet you never did, Captain. I’ll bet you never in your life let a man get away with anything.”
A tinge of red worked up the old rancher’s ears. “Monahan, I was in this country when you were just a little boy. I came out here when everybody else was afraid to. There were Indians here, but I took the country, and I held it.” His beard quivered with emotion. “Other people have come in, sure, but only because I let them. It’s still my country. It goes by my rules. They’ve been fair rules, and one way or another, I’ve seen that they’ve been kept.
“People may say I’ve been a hard man. Well, it took a hard man to run the Indians out. It took a hard man to get rid of the cow thieves. Even yet, there’s all kinds of land grabbers and leeches, waiting to move in here the minute I soften up. They’d love to see Kiowa County split apart. And you know how barbed wire can split people apart. It’s done it other places, and it would do it here. I’ll not allow you to come in and stir up dissension. I’ve told you to leave. I’ll not tell you again!”
Doug Monahan had been standing out of his habitual deference for men older than himself. He realized suddenly what he was doing, and he sat down. He said nothing, but the defiance in his eyes gave his answer. The captain stood there stiff-backed, his old fists doubled.
Spann moved up to the captain’s side. “I’ll take care of this for you, sir.”
“No,” said the captain, “no saloon brawl.” He had too much pride for that. “You’re feeling ringy, Monahan, because one of your men was killed. I’ll take that into account for now, but don’t crowd your luck.” He turned on his heel and strode stiffly out the door.
Spann hung back, watching Monahan. “You won’t find me as easy to talk down as the old man.”
Monahan replied tightly, “And you won’t find me as easy to kill as a poor old Mexican with a pothook in his hand.”
The saloonkeeper, Chris Hadley, stood at the window, wiping his hands on his apron as he watched the riders pull away. He came back, a little of nervousness still hanging on him.
“Well, Monahan,” he said, “you’ve made the history books. But what are you going to do now?”
“Build fence, if I can. I’m not running away.”
Chris Hadley was more than just a barkeeper. He was a man given to quiet contemplation. He said, “Maybe you’re the one, Monahan, I don’t know. For a long time we’ve needed somebody to wake people up and make them stand for their rights. The captain was a great man for his time. He came here when it was a raw, wild land. He tamed it and he built it up. But he got it to a point where it suits him, and now he wants it to stay there. In the old countries, he’s what you’d call a benevolent despot.”
Monahan said, “What’s benevolent about him?”
Hadley shrugged. “There are some good things about him, believe it or not. But he’s still a despot, and we’ve outgrown that kind of man, Monahan. We’ve outgrown him, but were too weak to do anything about it.”
Presently two men came in and walked up to the bar. “Hey, Chris,” one said, “wasn’t that the captain we saw walking out of here?”
Hadley nodded, and the man whistled softly. “We must be comin’ to the end of the world.”
The other man said, “I saw the captain ridin’ out of town like he was on his way to a lynching. A big bunch of R Cross cowboys was with him. I guess they all left.”
“All but one,” the first man corrected him. “That Wheeler boy stayed in town.”
“Wheeler? Vern Wheeler?” Worry crept into Chris Hadley’s voice. “Where did he go?”
“Last I seen he was headed in the direction of your house,” the man said, grinning slyly.
Chris Hadley lost interest in his customers. He absently wiped the bar, his troubled gaze pinned on the side window of the saloon. His house lay in that direction.
* * *
VERN WHEELER LACKED three months of turning twenty-one. He was a large young man, as husky as his father, old Noah Wheeler. He had a squarish, handsome face with bold, honest features, a picture of what his father must have been thirty years before.
He carried a brashness and a recklessness, though, that were strictly his own. He walked right up to the Hadley house and knocked on the door, standing there on the front porch for all to see him.
Paula Hadley opened the door. Her brown eyes lighted with joy at the sight of him. “Vern Wheeler! What are you doing here?”
“What do you think? I came to see you. You going to make me stand out here in the chill all day?”
She hesitated. “Vern, you know Papa.…” Then she opened the door wide. “I guess you might as well come on in. They’ll all talk, either way.”
He walked in and she closed the door, leaning back against it. She studied him with a happy glow in her brown eyes. Paula Hadley was a slender, small girl who looked even tinier beside big Vern Wheeler. She dressed plainly because her father disapproved of anything else. As she was a saloonkeeper’s daughter, austerity was a penalty she had to suffer to keep her beyond suspicion. But nothing could hide the quiet beauty of her face, a beauty enhanced by her happiness now as she looked at Vern Wheeler.
“Gosh, Vern, it’s been a long time. Can’t you come around more often?”
“You know I’m working, Paula. Captain Rinehart’s got me and another feller staked out in a line shack way over on the north end of the ranch.”
“You weren’t in that incident at that fencing camp, were you?”
“No, I didn’t even know about it till it was over.”
That brought her relief. “Gosh, Vern,” she said again, “it’s been a long time. Two months.”
“Costs money to come to town, Paula. I’m saving mine. You know why.”
She nodded. “I know why. Vern, who’s with you in the line camp?”
“Fellow named Lefty Jones. I don’t expect you know him.”
She shook her head. “I’m glad it’s not that redheaded Rooster Preech you used to run around with. I was afraid he’d get you in trouble someday.”
“The captain wouldn’t give Rooster a job.”
“And you know why.”
Vern Wheeler smiled. “Rooster’s all right. Folks just don’t understand him, is all.”
“I understand him. He’s too shiftless to do honest work.”
Vern Wheeler moved toward her, grinning. “Honey, I didn’t come here to talk about him.”
He held his hands out, and she reached forward, taking them. At arm’s length they looked at each other.
“Gosh, Paula,” he said admiringly, “you sure look pretty.” He took her into his arms. “Paula,” he said, “why don’t we just go and tell your dad about us? Tell him we want to get married.”
“Vern, you know how Papa feels about things. He’s got his heart dead set on sending me off to school. He scrimped and saved for years. It would just about kill him.”
“He’s bound to know about us, Paula.”
“I guess he does, a little. He just doesn’t realize how serious it is between us. But give me time, and I’ll find some way to tell him.”
“Tell him about the money I’m saving. It won’t be like you were just marrying some saddle bum. They’re still holding more than a year’s wages for me out at the R Cross. I haven’t taken a thing out of them except a little tobacco money and a few dollars for clothes.
“I got my eye on a piece of land back yonder in the hills. It’s got a good spring on it, and good grass. A little longer, Paula, and I’ll be able to buy it, and the stock to go on it. You tell your dad you’ll be marrying a man who knows how to work and save and make his money count. We’ll amount to something one of these days.”
“I know we will, Vern. Don’t you worry about Papa. Now you’d better go, before the gossips all get started.”
“All right, Paula,” he said. “But one of these times I’ll take you with me.”
He kissed her and walked out. She stood on the porch and blew him a kiss as he swung onto his nervous-eyed sorrel bronc. Showing off a little, he jabbed his thumbs into the bronc’s neck. The sorrel went pitching off down the street, Vern Wheeler laughing and waving back at Paula.
Chris Hadley came walking up as Vern’s bronc eased down into a trot, his back still humped. Hadley stood at his front gate, frowning, watching the young cowboy disappear.
“You’re home early, Papa,” Paula said in surprise as he walked into the small house. “I don’t have supper ready yet.”
“Business wasn’t much, and I wasn’t feeling very good anyway,” he replied. He watched the girl worriedly as she put on an apron and moved into the kitchen. He followed her, leaning against the kitchen door.
“Vern Wheeler was here, wasn’t he?” he asked.
“He came by to see me.”
“You let him in the house?”
She paused. “Papa, we wouldn’t do anything we shouldn’t. You know that.”
“I know, Paula, but some of the neighbors around here don’t. You’ve got to remember, you’re a saloonkeeper’s daughter. With some people it doesn’t matter whether you did anything wrong or not. The only thing they see is that you could have.”
He walked over to the stove and checked the coffee pot. “Paula, I’m going to send you back where you can be with good people, like your mother’s folks were.”
Impatience came into her voice. “I can remember them. When I was just a little girl, after Mother died, you took me back to see them. They wouldn’t have anything to do with us, not you or me either. They were too good for us, remember, Papa? Your family had lost its money, so we weren’t good enough.”
“It wasn’t you they didn’t like, Paula, it was me. They didn’t want me to marry your mother. We ran off and got married anyway, and it turned out just the way they said it would. We drifted around from one sorry place to another. I dragged your mother down, just like they said.”
“Did she ever complain, Papa?”
“She wasn’t the kind who would. But I ruined her life. Now I want to make it up. I want you to have the things she never could have.”
“Maybe they’re not the things I want.”
Chris Hadley studied his daughter intently. “Paula, I know how it is when you’re young, but I want you to listen to me. Vern’s a good boy, I’ll grant you that, but look at him. Look at any of these people. Look at those women over on Oak Creek. Do you think I want you to wind up like them someday, washed out, worn out, all their hope and spirit gone? I’m not going to let it happen.” He shook his head. “Paula, I don’t want you to see him again, ever.”