To deny Tom Lundy the right to go north of the street to call on a girl was a direct insult to every man on the Tumbling B. The bitter feelings left over from the war rankled.
Even in Texas the Davis police force had treated the Texans like second-class citizens, and the resentment burned deep.
John Blake knew what that meant, and he also knew the men of our crew. Every man of them was a veteran of dozens of minor or major gun battles with Indians or outlaws, or of trail-town squabbles. The town might defeat them, might even wipe them out, but other men would die before that happened.
Getting up into the saddle, I rode out toward the herd.
Tom saw me, and came riding my way. He was over six feet – as tall as I was, in fact, and he weighed only a bit less. Seeing him come toward me, I felt a sharp pang of regret for the son I’d never have. Sure, I was only thirty-five, but there was only one woman I wanted, and she was the one I could not have.
“Hi, Conn!” He swung his horse alongside mine. “Can’t somebody else take over? I want to go to town.”
“I can’t let you go, Tom.”
His face hardened a little. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid of John Blake?”
The minute he said it, he was sorry. I could see it in his eyes, but I felt that old tightness inside of me at the word. It was something you did not say to a gun-carrying man in those days, but I was old enough to carry it off … or was I?
“I’m not afraid of him, Tom, and you know damned well I’m not. But if you go north of the street tonight somebody’s going to get killed.”
“I’m not afraid!”
“I didn’t say you were. Nor did I say it would be you who would get killed.” Words were never my way, and I wasn’t handy with them. Somehow I could never dab a loop on the right phrase, though it wasn’t as if I hadn’t mingled with folks, and hadn’t known how to talk.
“Kid, if you go north of the street tonight,” I said, “all hell’s going to break loose. Believe me, McDonald won’t stand for it.”
“Aw, Conn! I can slip in there, see that girl, and get away before anybody knows it!”
“She doesn’t really want to see you, Tom.”
He didn’t believe it, of course, and I should have known he wouldn’t. She was the girl he wanted, and the idea that she might not want to see him was unthinkable. It was simply not to be believed.
So I laid it on the line to him, talking as reasonably as I could, and told him what John Blake had said.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Don’t say that where John Blake can hear you.”
“The hell with him! Everybody’s always talking about John Blake! What’s he got, four hands or something?”
“He doesn’t need four hands, Tom. Take it from me.”
He seemed to be seeing me for the first time, and I knew, suddenly, that whatever place I’d had in the respect of Tom Lundy, I had just lost it.
Death is only a word when you are his age; and much as Tom had seen, he had never seen good men die in a dusty street over a trifle. He had fought in Indian battles, but he had never actually seen a gun battle involving someone he knew and liked.
John Blake was a good man doing a necessary job, and I did not want to kill John Blake. Neither did I want to risk being killed over something like this.
“All right,” he said impatiently, “you’ve told me.”
“Don’t go, Tom. Don’t even think of going.”
“You think I’m scared?”
There it was again. At his age it meant so much to prove one wasn’t scared. I knew how he felt, because it had not been too long since I had known the same thoughts. And to some extent, I still did. “It isn’t only you, Tom. It’s the outfit.”
“Hell, Conn, we could take this town apart. The Tumbling B could rope and hog-tie this town.”
“Tom, you see that man with the beard, the one sweeping off the walk? That’s George Darrough. In two years of buffalo hunting he killed over two thousand buffalo. During that time he had seven Indian fights, and before that he fought through the war. The man who is just now walking up to him is one of the finest rifle shots in the West. It’s men like them you’d have to fight.”
Tom Lundy had nothing to say to that, but his jaw set stubbornly, and I knew what he was thinking. He was proud of our outfit, and we had just brought a herd through rough country, fighting Indians all the way, and shorthanded the last part of it. He did not like to admit that anything was impossible for the Tumbling B.
Also, he feared Linda McDonald would believe him a loud-mouth if he failed to call. He had no way of judging the buried animosities that lay hidden between the trail crew and the people of the town.
“I don’t want to start a fight, Conn,” he said. “When have I ever? All I want to do is go see a girl. What’s so wrong about that?”
“Nothing … nothing at all, except that nobody wants a cattleman north of the street. It’s John Blake’s job to see that none of them do – no exceptions.” The disgust on his face was obvious, and I didn’t much blame him. But neither did I see any reason to get a few men killed over such a thing.
Finally he said, “Is it all right if I ride with you when you go back? I’d better see her and tell her I’m not coming.”
Well, what could I say? I agreed, figuring he would use good judgment, but I was worried as much about some of the others as I was about him. Delgado was in town and he was not hot-headed, but Rule Carson was, and a wrong word could precipitate a gun battle. The whole outfit felt insulted in the person of Tom Lundy, and, in a way, I didn’t blame them. But it was up to me, as well as John Blake, to keep the peace.
Kate was waiting for me at the hotel when I got in town. She had closed the deal with Hardeman, and all that remained was to go to the bank and pick up the money.
Hardeman looked at me. “Conn, one thing I must warn you about. I’ve heard the talk around town – everybody has – and the man who will pay over the money will be Aaron McDonald.”
“So?”
“He’s a narrow, disagreeable man, but don’t think he does not speak for the town. He does.”
“We’ll be talking business, that’s all.”
Hardeman glanced over at Tom. “Sorry, boy. If it was my daughter you’d be welcome, but I have no say here. I am a Kansas City man, just doing business here.”
Kate had said very little, but I had been keeping an eye on her, and I was worried. Her face was cold, colder than I could ever remember seeing it, unless it was in a bind when we were fighting Apaches or Comanches somewhere. Tom Lundy was more like a son to her than a brother. She had reared him, brought him up almost from babyhood, and she resented his treatment as much as any of the outfit did.
An idea came to me. “Let’s go back to that restaurant,” I said. “I could do with something to eat. I mean, after we’ve finished at the bank.”
Nobody said anything, and the three of us went across the dusty street to the bank. Glancing up and down the street, I saw men loitering there, men with coats on … men who at this time of day would ordinarily not be wearing coats.
Only John Blake himself stood in front of the bank. He turned squarely toward us and scarcely glanced at me, but he lifted his hand to his hat respectfully at Kate Lundy. “Howdy, ma’am. Hope you’ve had a nice trip up the trail.”
“No more trouble than is to be expected at this time of year, Mr. Blake.” She looked at him coolly, and then said, “You know, what you told Mr. Dury is correct. We have only fifteen men with us, but by now there are at least twenty other outfits starting north from Texas. And the Clements boys are bringing two herds this year.”
The Clements boys had had their share of trouble, and they had coped with it.
John Blake’s big head thrust forward. “Now, Mrs. Lundy, there’s no call for us to have trouble. You just keep that boy of yours south of the street -“