Conagher (1969) (4 page)

When you were a youngster everythin g seemed easy, and life was forever. He'
d spent a lot of time dreaming about girls , usually about one girl whose face kep t changing, but who was always mighty i n love with him, and he ready to die for he r . . . only he never met her, somehow.

He'd never cared for the women on th e Line, although he'd had his dealings wit h them. There'd been a girl he knew in a Missouri town where he drove some cattl e . . . only she married a home guard there , and already had a baby boy when he cam e back up the trail. That had been just a s well, because she wasn't his cup of tea . . .
h e'd tried to talk himself into it. And no w he was thirty-five, with nothing but hi s chaps and his saddle, and womenfolk s didn't cotton to a man with nothing wh o wasn't going anywhere.

These thoughts went through his min d as he ate his beans and some almight y tough meat, and sopped his corn bread i n the gravy and settled back to drinkin g coffee. He was a coffee drinker, and h e liked it black and bitter.

The trouble with him, he was thinking , was that the kind of a woman he fancie d was hard to come by, and he wasn't likel y to settle for less. He did not want a big , bustling, brassy woman; he wante d something dainty and feminine he coul d carry flowers to without her thinking he'
d gone off his rocker. The womenfolks h e met, at least the single ones, they wer e hunting a man with a wide stretch of land , with cows to his name and a ranch hous e with more than two rooms. Well, he coul d build the ranch house, if it came to that.

He'd always been a fair hand with tools.

What you goin' to do when you pay off , Conn ?
Kris Mahler was asking .
Yo u goin' to get drunk ?

Ain't likely. I'm going to rustle me a job, someplace I can put my feet under th e table for the rest of the winter .

You goin' south ?

No
.
He made the decision as h e shaped the words .
I'm going to stay righ t here. In this here country somewhere .

You got friends here ?
Johnny asked.

I got no friends anywhere. Onl y whiskey friends, and that kind don't sta y by you. Seems like I been driftin' eve r since I can remember .

You seen a lot of country, they tel l me .

Me? I've punched cows from th e Musselshell in Montana to the Rio Fuert e in Sonara, and all I got to show for it i s saddle sores and savvy, and a thumb los t on the Brazos when I was tryin' for a n extra turn around the horn and a fifteenhundred-poun d steer hit the end of th e string. Took my thumb off, and me thirt y miles from the ranch and twenty-two fro m town. I stubbed it against my shirt to hol d down the bleeding and heated a brandin'
i ronI cauterized it right there with a runnin' iron.

Then I rode on the twenty-two mile s to an Army-post town to let the doc look i t over. He looks it over, and then he says , You lost a thumb, boy .
All of which I could have told him. Then he gave me a stiff drink of rye, had one himself, an d cleaned her up a mite, stuck a bandag e on it, and charged me four bits for th e job .

Conn got up
.
I'm for sleep. Where ca n I bed down ?

Any place you can find to suit you, a s long as it's on the floor .

Conn unrolled his two blankets an d ground sheet. Then he straightened up.

Woman over east of here saw Inju n tracks a few days back .

I ain't seen any , the station agen t said .
I figure she's imaginin' things .

Conn laid out his bed before he replied , and then he straightened up and slippe d off his pants .
No, if she says she sa w tracks, she saw 'em all right. That's a pretty steady woman yonder .

Long after the light was out Conn lay o n his back, his hands clasped behind hi s head, staring up into the darkness, jus t thinking. There was water in the Mogollons , and a man might be able to make i t up there, with a few head of stock.

At breakfast Johnny McGivern looke d at him curiously .
What you goin' to d o about Kiowa Staples ?

Do? What's there to do? Ever'wher e you go, Buster, there's a Kiowa Staples , ever' town an' ever' cow outfit. If a ma n lets himself be bothered by such as the m he ain't goin' far. I've seen them com e and go. If he minds his own affairs, I'l l mind mine. If he starts anything wit h me I'll just cloud up and rain all ove r him .

Conagher took his pay at the Plaza an d recovered his own horse from the stagelin e corral. He threw his beat-up saddle o n the dun and rode down the street. He dre w up at a saloon, tied his horse, and went in.

Mahler was there, and he greete d Conagher .
Have one on me. They'v e hired me to wrangle stock for 'em .

Luck
!
Conagher said, and took hi s drink. He tossed it down, giving the fe w men in the room a cool glance .
I'll bu y one, and then I'm riding .

Mahler leaned closer .
Staples is i n town .

The hell with him .

Conagher rode to the store, only a fe w steps away, and bought himself a ne w rope, some coffee, a side of bacon, flour , dried fruit, and some odds and ends. Mad e up in a sack, it would ride easy behind hi s saddle.

Outside he threw it into position behin d his saddle and was about to hang the coi l of rope over the horn when he heard a ste p behind him .
All right, Conagher. Thi s time it won't be fists .

It was Staples' voice, and Conn turne d on one heel, swinging the tightly coile d rope in a sweeping blow that caught th e gunman across the face. It was a bruta l blow; the coiled rope was like iron and i t caught Staples across the mouth and nose , knocking him staggering into the hitchin g rail.

Coolly, matter-of-factly, and withou t hurry, Conagher swung the coil again , smashing him across the mouth as Staple s clawed for his gun.

The gunman never had a chance. H
e had expected a gun battle or a n argument anything but this. Conaghe r stood wide-legged in front of him and , backing the gunman against the rail, h e proceeded to beat him unmercifully wit h the swinging coil of rope.

No matter how Staples tried to turn, th e rope was there to meet him. His nose wa s broken, his lips smashed to pulp, hi s cheeks and ears bloody, and when h e finally got his gun out a sweeping blo w with the coiled rope struck it from hi s hand into the dust.

At no time did Conagher seem hurried.

He whipped Staples coldly, almost casually , as though it were of no importance.

The crowd that gathered watched silentl y and in awe.

When Kiowa went to his knees , Conagher struck him one more swingin g blow that knocked him into the dust, an d then he said , You better ride out of here , Staples. An' leave that gun alone. Yo u ain't fit to handle one. And don't you cros s my trail again. I don't like bein' braced b y no tinhorn .

Picking up the gun, he shucked th e cartridges from it and dropped them int o his pocket, and dropped the gun into th e water trough. Then he mounted up an d rode out of town.

Kiowa Staples sat very still, sure of onl y one thingthat if he moved Conaghe r would come back. He sat there breathin g in deep, shuddering gasps, the bloo d falling in slow drops from his nose an d mouth.

Slowly the crowd filtered away, an d when finally the beaten gunman staggere d to his feet he fell back against the hitchin g rail and stood clutching it, his hea d hanging.

A trouble maker leaned over .
Kiowa , you want to borrow my gun ?

Staples turned his head and stared at th e man blankly, then he straightened u p and staggered away. He wanted only a horse. He wanted only to ride away, out o f here.

WHEN Jacob Teale had bee n gone for two months, Evie ha d her first doubts. Travel wa s hard, and he might have had to go furthe r to find cattle he could buy, but he woul d surely have sent word. He would hav e written.

Jacob had never been a heedless man.

He was not thoughtful about her needs , but he was a practical man who di d whatever needed to be done. Somehow , had he been able, he would surely hav e sent word.

The supplies brought by the stag e company had lasted well, and Evie ha d ordered again. She had even managed t o save two dollars which she carefully pu t away.

It was Laban who worried her. He wa s working too hard, caring for the horses , getting them out to meet the stages , picketing them on grass to make the littl e hay they had last, and cutting wood for th e house. She had tried to help, but h e resented it, wanting to carry on b y himself.

She saw no more of Kiowa Staples.

Charlie McCloud had given her a brie f account of what had happened .
Neve r saw anything like it , he said .
Staple s came a-hunting trouble and Conaghe r gave it to him. It was as bad a whipping a s a man ever got. Have you ever seen what a club forty-five feet of rope will make whe n it's in a tight coil? I can tell you one thing.

Staples may take a shot at Conagher fro m ambush sometime, but he sure won't fac e him again.

Kiowa never expected anything lik e that. He expected Conn to try to dra w against him, but that swinging coil of rop e just knocked him groggy. He'd been hi t four or five times before he even had a chance to do anything, and Conaghe r never let him get set. I figure that's on e would-be gunman who is cured .

It was hard to believe it of the quiet , rather gentle man she recalled. When sh e said as much, McCloud shrugged .
Mrs.

Teale, I figure this Conagher's got a lo t behind him. He ain't come to this of a sudden. He's a man who's had years of i t to put the steel in him. He's seen a-plent y and he just ain't about to be bothered b y any tinhorn who comes along the pike .

And then he repeated what someon e else had said .
He's the kind you just don'
t push, Mrs. Teale. Reminds me of Bill y Brooks over to Dodge. Billy was a gunusin g marshal and a good one. In his firs t two or three months on the job he sho t thirteen men ... I don't mean he kille d them all, but he was engaged in gunpla y with them. Then he crossed horns with a tough old buffalo hunter named Kir k Jordan, and Kirk made Billy take water.

He run Billy clean out of town.

Any gunman who wants to buil d himself a reputation had best steer clear o f men like Kirk Jordan or Conn Conagher , and a few others I could name. They jus t don't put up with foolishness .

The arrival of the stage was the bi g moment of the day, and when it was gon e there was a time of clearing up and takin g stock. The stage brought news, and ther e was talk of politics, gun-fighters, Indians , or range conditions.

When evening came Evie stood at th e door and looked far across the grass , scenting the wind from the distant range s with its smell of hot grass and the fainte r smell of cedar from the ridges beyond.

She never tired of looking out across th e plain, nor of watching the tumbleweed s roll past when the wind blew strong , rolling along like brown, fat cart wheel s across the open country. Sometimes sh e could count fifty or sixty at once, rollin g away, stopping when the wind died, the n rolling on again as the breeze rose.

Where did they go? Was there a fenc e out there somewhere where they coul d hang up and rest? Was there a wall o f brush? A forest? A mountain range? O
r did they just roll on and on forever, clea r around the world, maybe?

She could watch the wide plain from th e window near which she cooked an d washed the dishes; she could see the everchangin g light upon it, the cloud shadows , and sometimes the suggestion of movemen t out there beyond the range of he r sight.

How far was it across that plain? She di d not know, and she never asked, for she di d not want it reduced to miles. To her i t went on forever ... it was like a vast sea.

I wish we had more to read , Laba n said one night .
I need schoolin'
.

Yes, we all need more to read .
Sh e rested her hands from sewing .
I wil l speak to Mr. McCloud. He may be able t o find some newspapers or magazines .

She took up the sewing again, althoug h her fingers were tired, and her eyes ached.

Until then, Laban, you can read th e land .

The land
?

Look upon the land, Labanthere ar e stories everywhere. Study the sky and th e trees, the tracks of animals and the way th e birds fly. You can learn things no boo k will ever teach you .

I saw the track of a snake yesterday , Ruthie said .
It was near the spring .

You be careful , Laban warned.

There's rattlers around .

When they stopped talking they coul d hear the coyotes. And then suddenly ther e was a rushing and plunging from th e corral.

Indians
!
Laban was up, running fo r the shotgun.

Evie had put down her sewing and go t to her feet. She went to the door and too k up the still lighted lantern standing there.

Abruptly, she swung the door wide an d lifted the lantern.

The ranch yard was crowded wit h horses, and among them, striking at th e bars of the corral gate, was a magnificen t wild stallion.