Conagher (1969) (9 page)

He studied them for a while, curious a s to why they were bunched so tightly . . .
a nd then he picked up a plume of dust an d saw the cattle were being drifted by tw o riders. They were too far away to mak e them out clearly.

He tightened the cinch, swung into th e saddle, and angled down the mountainside.

This was open range country, and th e limits that Tay placed on his range wer e purely arbitrary. Such limits were probabl y not recognized by other ranchers; i t was simply that Tay wished to keep hi s own herds within those limits. That way i t was easier to supervise and care for them , to check range conditions, and to trea t them for screw worms, and for cuts o r scrapes from horns or rocks.

Conagher found the tracks of scattere d cattle on Tay range, and found where the y had been bunched and drifted. The track s showed the men had ridden carelessly, a s if driving the cattle by chance.

He followed the tracks, keeping to lo w ground and what cover he could find , until, topping out on a pinon-creste d ridge, he saw the cattle not far off, stil l moving northward. The two riders wer e going on.

Holding to the cover of the pinons , Conagher considered. The cattle belo w were likely to be ST stock, but withou t checking the brands, he would not be sure.

They had been started north, and woul d probably, unless stopped, continue t o graze in that direction. With a little nudg e from riders, they might be thirty mile s away by the time another man came thi s way.

With his glasses he studied the directio n taken by the two riders, but they were no t in sight now. Waiting only a few minute s longer, he rode down to the herd.

All but one wore the ST brand. He cu t out the lone steer, then started the other s back toward their home range. He ha d almost reached the home range whe n another rider, this one on a sorrel hors e with three white stockings, come down of f the slope.

He was a stocky, hard-faced man with a scar over one eye, high cheekbones, and a square jaw. He was riding a Ladder Fiv e horse.

Where you takin' them steers ?
h e asked.

Back to their home range. As yo u can see, they're ST stock. Figured I'
d best start 'em back where they com e from .

The man studied the brands, the n looked at Conagher .
I don't believe I know you , he said .
Are you a new ride r for Tay ?

Uh-huh. My name's Conagher. Firs t time around. Sort of gettin' acquainte d with the range .

I'm Tile Coker. You'd better have a talk with Kris Mahler .

We've talked before. Kris an' me rod e together for the stage company a whil e back .

Tile Coker gave him a quick glance.

Oh? Are you the gent who busted u p Kiowa Staples ?

We had a difficulty .

Heard about it .
Coker swung hi s horse .
You an' Kris should get bette r acquainted. Save us all some trouble .

Maybe
.

Coker rode off, and Conagher pushe d the cattle back over the line and deep int o ST territory. Only then did he resume hi s ride.

Twice he found bunches of ST cattl e that seemed to have strayed too far north.

He started them south, then pushed on , but he kept off the skyline and carried hi s Winchester in his hands.

Johnny McGivern was waiting for hi m near a clump of scrub oak, but Conaghe r saw him before he was seen by McGiver n and chose to make a sweep around som e brush up the slope from where Johnn y waited.

McGivern saw him then and yelled, bu t Conagher took a slow, lazy turn aroun d the clump of oak, cutting for sign. Ther e was none but that left by Johnny himself , so he rode on up to the fire.

Johnny had coffee ready, and Conaghe r swung down. This was apparently a plac e where frequent stops had been made.

There were many tracks, but none of the m were fresh except those made by Johnny'
s pinto gelding.

The stock seems to be in good shape , Conagher said .
Some of it is drifting , though .

Yeah
?
Johnny glanced at him .
Yo u see anybody ?

Only a puncher named Coker. Ride s for the Ladder Five .

You talk much
?

Conagher took his cup from hi s saddlebag and filled it from the coffeepot.

Not much
.

Johnny was looking at him, bu t Conagher paid no attention. He sipped th e coffee gratefully .
Good coffee , he said.

We leave the pot hanging to that cedar.

Whoever gets here first, makes it .

I'll try to see you get here before I do.

You make better coffee .

Ma taught me. Sometimes I made i t for her before she got home .
Johnn y looked around at him .
Ma worked out.

My pa was killed in a train crash when I was six .

She had nerve
, Conagher said .
I t takes nerve to bring up a boy when a woman's alone .
He looked over a t Johnny .
She'd be proud of you, I think.

You shape up like quite a man .

McGivern flushed, and to change th e subject he said , I always wished I coul d have known what pa was like. What kin d of a man he was .

Most railroaders I've known wer e mighty good men , Conagher said .
I'v e helped lay track, myself. And I've ridde n the cars a good bit, with shipments o f stock, and the like. They're good men .

I never had a chance to know him .

A boy should know his pahe need s somebody to look up to. A boy or a girl , they learn how to be a man or a woman b y watching their folks .

There was a man worked at a stor e near us. Sometimes when we hadn't an y money he let us have groceries anyway . . .
u ntil we could pay. I don't know if ma eve r did manage to pay him all of it .

Some day you ought to go back and as k him. Pay him what you owe .

Johnny stared into his cup .
I'v e thought about it. You think I should ?

Uh-huh
.

They sat silent, drinking coffee an d listening to the pleasant sound of th e horses cropping grass. After a while , Conagher got to his feet and cinche d up.

Conn
?
Johnny said questioningly.

Yeah
?

Why didn't you draw on that man? O
n Kiowa ?

You mean was I afraid? No, I wasn'
t . . . not that I recollect. I expect all men ar e scared sometimes, but I didn't think of it.

Kiowa wasn't really mean, he just ha d a blown-up idea of who he was . . .
w hy should I kill him because he wa s making a fool of himself? Why should I risk getting killed myself, for the sam e reason?

He had to be taught , Conn went on , and there's no other way, sometimes. I f he lives, he'll be grateful. If he doesn't, i t won't make any difference. First thing yo u want to remember, boy, is that a reputation doesn't make a man tough. Yo u got to know, not did he kill somebody, bu t who were they? How tough were they?

Also, could he have done otherwise? A m an who kills when he can do otherwise i s crazy . . . plumb crazy .

He might have killed you .

Might have
.
Conagher stepped int o the saddle and looked down at Johnn y McGivern .
Some men take a sight o f killing, boy. Just be sure that when killin g time comes around that you're standing o n the right side .

Johnny stared after him. Now what di d he mean by that? Did he mean anything b y it?

In spite of himself, Johnny felt drawn t o the strange, lonely rider who was jus t disappearing down a draw. He had neve r seen a man more alone, nor a man mor e secure in himself. That was it, Johnn y surmised: Conn Conagher knew what h e believed . . . and Johnny wished he di d himself.

Kris now . . . Kris had swagger an d style, but something about Kris mad e Johnny uneasy.

But only since he had met Con n Conagher.

That was the day Conn found the first o f the notes. He saw it from far off, and dre w up in the shadow of a juniper to study i t out.

Down there on the flat there was a spec k of white, just a speck, but it had n o business to be there.

Conagher had been less than fourtee n when he learned to distrust something ou t of place, and what he saw was not sunligh t on a stone, it was not the bottom side of a leaf; it looked like a bit of paper.

It was not much over a hundred yard s off, so he put his glass on it.

A piece of paper lying amongst som e tumbleweed. His glasses swept the groun d ... no tracks that he could see at thi s distance.

Warily, he rode along, scouting the are a until he was sure there was no one around.

Then he rode up to the tumbleweed.

The paper was folded over several time s and it was tied to the tumbleweed.

Curious, he untied it and opened th e paper.

Sometimes when I am alone I feel I wil l die if I do not talk to someone, and I am alone so much.

I love to hear the wind in the grass, or i n the cedars.

He read it through, then read it again.

He started to throw it aside, but then h e tucked it into his vest pocket.

He liked the wind in the grass, himself.

And the cedars, too, and the smell of them.

He wondered if the writer of that note ha d ever really looked at a cedar. Gnarled , twisted by wind, rooted often enough i n rock, still it lived and grew. It took a sigh t of living and hardship to grow like that , but when they did grow they grew strong , and they lasted. Why, he'd seen cedar s that had split rocks apart, cedars that mus t have been old before Columbus landed.

Leggett was sitting in front of the bun k house when Conagher rode in. The ol d man looked up .
We've et , he said , bu t coffee's on. The Old Man figured yo u might come in late .

Thanks
.

Conagher stripped the rigging from hi s horse and threw it over a saddle tree unde r the shed. He was dog-tired and bone weary.

McGivern come in ?

'Nope . . . Kris took off some place.
t oo .

Conagher dumped water into th e washbasin beside the door and, rolling u p his sleeves, he took off his hat an d neckerchief and washed his face, neck, an d arms. Then he dried them on the rolle r towel, hitched his gunbelt into place, an d started for the house.

Then he stopped .
Leggett, you migh t as well have some coffee with me. You'l l grow right into that bench if you set ther e much longer .

Leggett got up and walked along wit h him to the patch of light that fell from th e kitchen door.

The Old Man's turned in, but he sai d you'd better pick yourself a couple of goo d winter horses and iron them out a little, t o suit you .

All right
.

Tay's got good stock. There's a bi g dapple-gray would make quite a horse i f you're man enough to take the kinks out o f him, and there's a buckskin about th e same size. Both of them big enough an d strong enough for the snow .

Does she get deep around here ?

In the draws and canyons she piles up.

You'll need Montana-style horses .

They sat in silence for a time, and the n Conagher refilled his cup .
You been o n this range quite a while. How's the Ol d Man when it comes to trouble ?

Leggett gave Conagher a bleak look.

He'll stand by you, if that's what yo u mean, but nobody else will. I'm the onl y one of the old hands left, and I'm only her e because I ain't a youngster no more and I got nowhere to go .

Leggett got to his feet .
I don't kno w you, cowboy, an' you don't know me. I f you got any ideas about buckin' troubl e you got to go it alone .

You won't help me ?

How much help would I be? I'm up i n my sixties, boy, older than you thought , an' I want to live out my days, not die o n some sandy slope with lead in my guts .

And the Old Man ?

Leggett looked at him .
Ain't that wha t they want most? If they can get him out o n the range they'll kill him, and then the y can take the cattle as they want, an d nobody to stop them .

Conn Conagher was a stubborn man.

He had never given much thought to trut h and justice or the rights of man, but he di d not like what seemed to be happenin g here, and anything that happened to a n outfit he rode for, happened to him.

Will you stand by the Old Man ?
h e asked .
Supposin' they come after him ?

I'll fight. If they come after him, I'l l fight .

All right, then you stay here. You kee p a rifle handy, and if there's any doub t shoot .

KRIS MAHLER rode in about a n hour later. Conn was seated in th e bunk house with his feet up on a box reading a dog-eared copy of a magazine. He knew by the way Mahle r stalked into the room that the man wa s angry.