No One But You (17 page)

Salty didn't take time to dress or put on shoes. “You have to stay here,” he said as he pushed Bones back toward his bed. “I need to talk to Arnie, not have you chew him up.” He reached for his rifle and eased the door open a crack. It wasn't big enough for him to see much.

It was big enough for Bones to stick his nose through, and Salty pushed the dog away again. “I told you to get back. And don't start barking when I leave. This isn't like chasing cows out of the brush. Sometimes you have to sneak up on your quarry.”

Salty opened the door just enough to stick his head out. He didn't see anyone or hear any movement, but someone was out there and Bones wasn't happy about it. Salty squeezed through the door and closed it behind him despite the dog's protests.

“Stop it!” he hissed as Bones started scratching against the door. “If you keep making so much noise, he'll get away.” He didn't know why he was talking like the dog could understand him. Bones's ears told him somebody was outside, and his nose told him it was somebody he didn't like; that was as far as the dog's understanding went. Now it was up to Salty.

The moon was momentarily behind a cloud, but there was enough light for Salty to see any intruder and for the intruder to see him. He only guessed it was Arnie. It could be anybody. Thieves. Rustlers. He was concerned about the pig, the chickens, and the milk cow, but the horses would be the most difficult to replace. Most important was the house, because that's where Sarah and the children lay asleep, unaware of any potential danger. Salty was sorely tempted to loose Bones, but he didn't want the intruder to escape before finding out who it was.

Moving on silent feet, he covered the distance between the shed and the trees surrounding the house as quickly as possible. Crouched in the deep shadows of a post oak he listened intently but couldn't hear any sound. That in itself was ominous: animals moved about, snorted, made small noises on nights they felt safe. They fell silent when they perceived danger.

Salty moved through the trees toward the house. It sat in quiet solitude, silhouetted against a darker backdrop of trees. Being careful to make no noise, Salty circled the dwelling while staying in the shadows. Twice he stopped to peer through the blackness before he could be certain no one was there.

He'd almost finished the circuit when he stubbed his toe. It hurt so badly it surprised a grunt out of him, but he held back the curses that sprang to his lips. Too late to decide he should have taken time to put on his boots, and he finished his circuit of the house at a hobbling gait.

He wondered if he should wake Sarah. He didn't want to worry her until he was sure he had a good reason. Besides, he didn't want Ellen or Jared deciding they had to sit up all night keeping watch. Imagining the things Ellen might do was enough to cause Salty to break out in a cold sweat.

Once he felt certain no one in the house was in danger, Salty headed toward the corral. He went by way of the chicken pen. There was no noise from the hens roosting in the two trees encircled by wire. All was quiet in the pigpen, too, the pig asleep on its side. The milk cow had been staked out in the open. She was lying down, chewing her cud, and looking in the direction of the corral. Bones was still scratching and whining at the shed door when Salty passed.

The corral was in an area that was relatively flat, open enough to have good graze, but with enough trees to provide shade during the hottest days of summer. It was good for the horses. It was also good for anyone trying to avoid detection.

The horses showed no signs of agitation, which meant the person out there was familiar to them—or there was nobody out there. Since Bones had convinced Salty at least one person
was
out there, it must be someone they knew.
Arnie.
Which left Salty with the problem of having to find him, find out what he intended, and decide what he was going to do about it.

Moving carefully, Salty approached the corral fence at a point deep in the shadow of an oak tree. Once there, he searched every part of the corral, attempting to penetrate every shadow with his eyes, whether that shadow was cast by a horse or a tree. Arnie was out there somewhere, likely with the intention of doing something sneaky. A movement in the shadows near several horses caught Salty's attention, but despite staring as hard as he could, he couldn't make out any particular shape.

He was about to turn another direction when a dull flash caught his eye. The moon had crossed behind the darkest part of a cloud and was moving gradually to emerge from the wispy edge. Had that flash been from a button or belt buckle? A gun barrel? A knife? It was too high to have come from spurs and unlikely to be part of a bridle. Just then the moon cleared the edge of the cloud and the horses parted enough for Salty to make out the silhouette of a man next to a black and white paint. He appeared to be patting the horse, apparently trying to calm and reassure it.

The man continued to pat the horse, running his hand down its neck, across the withers, over its back, and down the hind leg. Puzzled but unwilling to wait longer, Salty rose to enter the corral. At that moment, the man bent down and lifted the horse's leg. The flash of a knife meant he intended to maim it.

With a shout of fury, Salty climbed through the rails and started forward at a run. The paint threw its head up, jerked its foot from the man's grasp, and trotted away. Equally startled, the man started running for the far fence.

The riding boots he wore impeded his quarry's progress, but the rocky, thorny ground was brutal on Salty's bare feet; it would be impossible for him to catch the man unless he could mount. Hoping his horses remembered their lessons, he stopped long enough to whistle. A horse separated itself from a group ahead and turned, but it didn't come to him. Apparently it was only curious about the sound.

Hearing something approach from behind, Salty turned to see both of his horses coming toward him at a trot. “Good boy,” he said to the calico, which reached him first. “Now hold still while I climb aboard.”

It was never easy to mount a horse bareback, and it was even more difficult when Salty didn't have anything to give him a leg up. His feet were so sore that merely putting his normal weight on them was painful, but he dropped his rifle, took a firm grip on the horse's mane, bent both knees then virtually leapt onto its back. Despite the skin moving loosely under him, he managed to pull himself up and drove his heels into his mount's flanks. The animal responded with a satisfying burst of speed.

He'd almost forgotten the lessons of his childhood. Not since he was a boy on his father's farm had Salty had occasion to ride a horse bareback, but using pressure from his knees and tugging on the mane, he was able to turn the horse in the direction of his fleeing quarry. The distance between them narrowed with satisfying quickness.

They ran the risk of coming together at the fence. Calling on his mount for more speed, Salty was able to head the man off. His quarry turned a shocked face upward, and Salty recognized Arnie.

“Stop,” Salty shouted. “If I have to shoot you to stop you from getting away, I will.”

Apparently Arnie had enough presence of mind to know that a man in his long underwear riding bareback was unlikely to be carrying a weapon, because he skidded to a stop and headed in a new direction. Unable to turn as quickly, Salty's horse made a big loop before zeroing in on him. Arnie stopped and changed directions twice more before he was exhausted.

“Stop,” Salty called again as he rode up alongside. “If you don't, I'm going to throw you to the ground.” Arnie didn't waste energy responding, just continued stubbornly onward with ever-slowing steps.

Frustrated, Salty guided his mount close enough to plant his foot in the middle of Arnie's back. Giving a shove, he knocked Arnie to the ground then ordered, “Get up. I want to know why you're trying to ruin Sarah. We can go to the shed and talk like civilized human beings, or I can beat it out of you.”

“I hate you,” Arnie muttered.

“I'm not too fond of you just now,” Salty countered. “My feet are covered in bruises, and I have a thorn in my foot that hurts like hell.”

“I wish you'd broken your neck.”

“Full of well-wishes, aren't you?”

Arnie grunted.

“Get up, or I'll ride my horse over you.”

Arnie was slow to get to his feet. He cast Salty a look of loathing, but it lacked anger. The expression more closely resembled resignation. Salty hoped that meant Arnie could be talked into giving up his efforts to win Sarah back, though Salty had never understood the logic of the man's plan. Whether they succeeded or failed, Sarah was still his wife. But then, maybe a man in love was incapable of reason. His own thinking hadn't been all that rational of late. After all, he'd just threatened to ride his horse over a man.

As they moved in the direction of the shed, Salty remembered that he'd cast his rifle aside when he mounted his horse. Arnie spotted it and broke into a labored run. Salty gave chase and, grimacing at the necessity of what he had to do when his horse arrived a stride behind, launched himself into the air. He landed atop Arnie, driving the breath out of both their bodies.

Pushing the older man aside, he rolled toward the rifle and scooped it up. His quick thinking had been rewarded by a thorn in his shoulder. If he lived to be a hundred, he was going to get Arnie back for this.

He struggled to his feet, careful not to put his full weight on the foot with the embedded thorn. “Get up, and don't cause me any more trouble! If I end up with another thorn in me, I'm liable to lose control of my trigger finger.”

Arnie rolled over and sat up. “You were a Johnny Reb. You won't shoot me. You're too honorable.”

“I wouldn't test that theory if I were you. Idealism takes a backseat to pain.”

“What kind of soldier are you to complain about a couple of lousy thorns?” Arnie growled.

“A bad-tempered one.” Salty prodded the ex-hand with his rifle barrel. “Now get up.”

“What will you do if I don't?”

Salty lifted his rifle into the air. “After I slam this rifle butt into your hard head, I'll drag your mangy carcass over to that shed. Then, if I'm feeling particularly charitable, I might consider untying you so you can pick the thorns out of
your
hide.”

Arnie slowly got to his feet and started toward the shed.

Salty was surprised to see Sarah waiting for them when they reached it. “What are you doing here?” she asked Arnie.

“Trying to lame our horses,” Salty said. “Show her your knife.”

Arnie was reluctant, so Salty prodded him with his rifle. “Give it to her, handle first.” Arnie pulled the knife from his waist and handed it to Sarah.

“I'd appreciate it if you could get the lantern in the shed,” Salty said to Sarah. “I've got a couple of thorns that need removing.” He held up a foot to show her that he wasn't wearing shoes.

“What made you go after him barefooted?” she asked.

“He was poised to use that knife on one of your horses.”

“You ran him down with a thorn in your foot?”

It would have been nice to be able to claim heroic ability, but Salty settled on the truth. “I rode one of my horses.”

“You mounted bareback with a thorn in your foot?”

“I couldn't let him get away.”

There wasn't enough moonlight to be sure he understood Sarah's look correctly, but he was sure of some approval in her eyes.

“Where is the lantern?” she asked.

“Just inside the door. There are some sulfur matches on the shelf above it. You,” he said to Arnie, “follow her, but don't do anything stupid.”

He hadn't reached the shed before Ellen came racing up, still in her nightgown. She took in the scene and asked, “Are you going to shoot Arnie?” Her eyes were like pie plates.

“I'm thinking about it.”

“What did he do?”

Salty didn't get a chance to answer. Sarah opened the door to the shed, and Bones went straight for Arnie, a growl deep in his throat and his bare fangs flashing in the moonlight. “Stop him!” Salty yelled.

Ellen threw herself at Bones, managing to get her arms around the dog. Bones wasn't willing to give up easily, but he obviously didn't want to hurt the little girl and she was equally determined. After a brief struggle Bones stopped fighting, but he kept an angry gaze on Arnie, the growl continuing to rumble from his chest.

“What's going on?” With the help of his crutch, Jared could now move almost as fast as his sister. The pair looked so young in their nightclothes, Salty wanted to tell them they ought to be in bed dreaming of rich desserts instead of being dragged out in the middle of the night by some addlebrained swain.

“Arnie is causing trouble again,” he said.

“What did he do?” the boy asked.

“Nothing. Salty got to him first.” Sarah had returned with the lantern, and she asked Jared to hold it for her.

“Why?” Did children ever do anything without asking why first?

“I have to take a thorn out of Salty's foot.”

“There's one in my shoulder, too.”

It hurt almost as much coming out as it had going in—one more thing to add to Arnie's list of infractions.

“Now let's see your foot,” Sarah commanded.

Rather than sit down and risk Arnie trying to get away, Salty held his foot up behind him.

“The thorn has broken off under the skin,” Sarah told him. “I'm going to need a needle to get it out.”

He'd learned to sew during the war. “I have one in my bedroll.”

“I'll get it,” Jared volunteered. Carrying the lantern in his free hand, the boy limped over to the shed and disappeared inside.

“Why did you come back?” Sarah asked, turning to Arnie.

“You know why.” The naked hunger in his eyes would have been embarrassing if it hadn't made Salty angry. No man had a right to look at his wife like that.

“Were you planning to do something to my husband after you killed my livestock and lamed my horses? I'm married now.”

Arnie cast Salty that now-familiar look of loathing. “We don't have to be married for you to run away with me.”

Bones lay down on the ground, apparently convinced he wasn't going to be allowed to take a bite out of the man who'd stabbed him. He stopped growling, but he didn't take his eyes off Arnie.

“What are you going to do to him?” Ellen asked Salty.

“Take him into Austin,” Salty said. He sighed. “People have been hanged for stealing horses. I don't expect laming them is much different.”

“He hasn't done anything awful enough for
that
kind of punishment,” Sarah gasped.

Salty had moments of softheartedness, but he was also practical. “If he'd had his way, he'd have killed both pigs—maybe the milk cow as well—and lamed I-don't-know-how-many horses. What are you waiting for, him to burn down your house?”

“I'd never do that,” Arnie insisted.

“Sorry if I find it difficult to believe you,” Salty snapped. “I haven't had much experience with men who attempt to destroy everything that belongs to the woman they claim to adore.”

“I wasn't trying to destroy nothing. I just wanted to make Sarah love me.”

Jared returned with the needle. “I found it.”

Salty felt sorry for Arnie, but he didn't want to hear any twisted explanations. The man was a lunatic. A dangerous lunatic. “I'm going to sit down,” he said. “If you try to escape, I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you. And if I miss, Bones has a score he's anxious to settle.”

The dog growled and attempted to rise. Ellen tightened her hold on him.

Sarah picked up a water bucket, which she placed upside down in the dirt. “Sit here.”

Salty hobbled over and settled on the bucket. The rim cut into his flesh so deeply he stood up again. “Either you tie Arnie to the fence so he can't escape, or you'll have to do this with me standing up.”

“Where is your rope?”

“I know,” Jared volunteered. “I'll get it.”

“What do
you
think we ought to do with him?” Salty asked Sarah, staring at Arnie. “You can't just let him go.”

“We can keep him tied up,” Ellen suggested.

“That would mean someone would have to watch and feed him,” Salty pointed out.

“Bones could watch him.”

“I need Bones to help roust steers out of the brush.”

“I could watch him.” Jared had returned, dragging a rope behind him.

“I need you to heat the branding irons.”

“I'm not watching him,” Ellen said. “I'm going to help with the roundup.”

“You're going to do the branding,” Salty told her. “Your mother and I will drive the steers into the chute.”

“Sarah doesn't have a chute,” Arnie snapped.

“She does now,” Salty said. “Or she will tomorrow, as soon as I finish it.”

“Arnie can help us,” Jared said. “After what he did, he owes us.”

Salty thought that was a crazy idea. “How?”

“He can pen the cows in the chute,” Jared said.

Ellen shook her head. “He'll get away.”

“Not if you tie him by his leg,” Jared explained. “It wouldn't have to be a long rope, because he wouldn't have to move much.”

“You don't have to tie me up now,” Arnie said, eyeing Bones. “I won't try to escape.”

“I don't trust you,” Sarah said, “but I'll agree to just tie your legs to the fence.” It didn't take her long to make sure he was securely tied a few yards away. “Now, your turn,” she said to Salty.

Salty lowered himself to the ground and rested his foot on the water bucket. He kept a hand on his rifle.

“Hold the lantern still,” Sarah told Jared.

Salty knew having a needle stuck into his foot was going to hurt. He just didn't know how much. He jerked his foot back before he could stop himself.

“It's in deep,” Sarah told him.

“Sorry. I know.”

He wasn't going to flinch. In the war he'd watched too many boys have mangled arms and legs cut off without benefit of anything more than whiskey to dull the pain. Besides, Jared's gaze was glued to him. That boy had to live with a withered leg every day of his life and did so with calm acceptance and good cheer. Salty wasn't going to be humiliated by one stinking little thorn.

But it wasn't easy to appear stoic when Sarah was digging a hole the size of a hen's egg in the tender flesh of his foot. She might as well have been using a butcher knife.

Ellen was watching her mother intently. “I've had lots of thorns way bigger than that.”

Sarah didn't stop digging. “I'm sure it was a lot bigger before it broke off.”

A particularly painful probe of the needle nearly destroyed Salty's resolve. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and held it until the wave of pain receded. Then Sarah held up the needle. “I got it.”

Ellen peered at the thorn. “It's
tiny
.”