Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) (40 page)

“Oh, sure, I know that, Clem,” Tatum replied. “It wasn't your fault, any more'n it was my fault that Dell pushed the Double Z herd faster than we'd figured on, trying to get to railhead before it started snowing too heavy.”

Longarm said, “I still don't know what happened. Suppose you do what Hawkins told you to, Tatum. Start from the first.”

“What happened first was that Clem's hands got slowed down when this damn snow come along,” Tatum explained. “Then Dell, here, pushed my herd faster than we'd figured on moving. Clem's boys had made a dry camp just north of where those goddamn Glidden wire fences these nesters have put up narrows down the trail we've been using ever since there was ranches here.”

Hetter interrupted. “I was leery about trying to push the herd on to the shipping pens because it was getting dark and we couldn't see shit for the snow. I didn't want to see our steers tangle with them fences in the dark, in bad weather. I sent a man back to tell Mr. Hawkins what I'd done.”

“You didn't know the Double Z herd was pushing so close behind you, either, did you, Hetter?” Hawkins asked.

“Of course not. How could I?” Hetter asked.

“All right. I'm beginning to get an idea of what happened,” Longarm said. “But you men go on, set it all straight.”

Tatum said resignedly, “Clem's men had made dry camp, like I just said. No fires, and with the dark and the snow, Dell didn't know he was about to run into the C Bar H herd.”

“It was about that time the wind got to willywawing,” Hetter put in. “Our critters was blatting and restless, and we just plain didn't hear Dell's bunch coming.”

“So the upshot was that the herds come together,” Tatum went on. “Hell, we didn't know. I was riding drag, way back at the tail of my herd. Our flankers tried to turn my critters, but they couldn't see to work.”

“Neither could my night herders,” Hetter said. “There was a dozen mills begun in no time at all. We tried to break 'em up, but we couldn't.”

“Then something spooked 'em,” Tatum said. “Long, you know how easy a herd can get spooked?”

Longarm nodded. “I know, Tatum. Before I took this job I'm on now, I worked awhile as a hand. I've made a trail drive or two. It sure doesn't take much.”

“Hell, I've seen herds stampede in bright sunshine just because one of the hands in front of 'em flipped out his bandanna to wipe off some sweat,” Hawkins volunteered.

“We all have,” Tatum agreed. He brushed snow off his face before continuing, “Well, by the time the steers up at the front of Clem's herd caught the panic from my bunch at the back, about all anybody could do was let 'em run. Clem's flankers went wrong, I guess, when they tried to keep his herd headed the way they was supposed to go. The critters got jammed into the trail between them goddamn Glidden wire fences.”

“There wasn't any way to go but straight ahead,” Hetter said indignantly. “Those damn fences kept my flankers from going alongside the critters to turn 'em. By the time we'd worked through the herd as best we could, the steers had spilled out all around the church.”

They fell silent, remembering how it had been. They needed no reminders other than the dying flames' orange light that flickered off the glistening backs of the cattle still passing along the trail toward Junction, the thudding of their hooves, the occasional shout of one of the flank-riders who now held the animals under control. At one side of the trail, where the corner fencepost of the wheatfields adjoining the church had been, the Brethren huddled compactly. There were a few men in the group, but most of them were women and children, helplessly watching the flames and occasionally turning their eyes to the group that stood talking.

All six men in that group were chilled and uncomfortable as well as still angry. The wind had died and the snow, falling straight down, mantled their hatbrims and spilled down to their shoulders. After Hetter's remark, no one seemed anxious to speak. It was Mordka Danilov who finally broke the silence.

“What you have said is that our fences were to blame.” His lips set in a firm line for a moment before he went on. “No. This is not true. Mr. Hawkins, you have cursed us and our fences since we first settled here. You have too, Mr. Tatum. But we will not take upon ourselves a responsibility that is yours. They were your cattle, and your men who failed to control them.”

“Damn it, our boys did the best they could!” Hawkins asserted. He waved a hand at the carcasses of the steers that lay around the still-burning church. “When I got here, most of the harm had been done. I saw the critters were about to push your building over, and I told my hands to start shooting the ones closest to it.”

“More than animals have died,” Mordka reminded them. His voice was soberly accusing. “A woman over there is holding the body of her murdered child, and weeping for its death. How can you compare that with the loss of a few of your steers?”

Tatum said quickly, “Clem wasn't trying to do that. And my brand's on some of them dead steers, but I'm not trying to do what you said, either. We're all sorry the baby's dead, but I don't see—”

“She was to blame?” Mordka asked. “The mother whose child died because she was praying in our church when your animals destroyed it, set it afire?” His voice lashed them with scorn. “Is that what you ask us to accept?”

Hawkins opened his mouth to reply, but could find no words. Before any of the others could speak, a rider loomed through the snow. Until he came closer to them, they could not see that it was the sheriff. Grover reined in and dismounted. He went directly to Hawkins's side.

“What the hell's going on out here, Clem?” Grover asked. “One of your boys said you was having trouble. Them damn nesters acting up again?”

“Shut up, Grover!” Hawkins snapped. “And where the devil were you an hour ago, when you should've been out here?

“I was doing my work in town. Then, when your man found me and I got outside the saloon, I could see the fire. Thought at first it was just one of them nester houses, so I didn't pay it much mind. And I got here as fast as I could. Now, will you tell me what's happened?” He saw Longarm and added, “And why are you stepping into my jurisdiction again, Long?”

Disgusted, Longarm grunted, “You tell him, Hawkins. He's your man.”

Hawkins told Grover, “Long was here when the trouble started. He's not trampling on your toes, so don't get riled.”

“I still don't know what's been going on out here,” Grover complained.

“Keep your prick in your pants and I'll tell you,” Hawkins replied curtly. “Bill Tatum's market herd ran over mine in the dark. The damn steers stampeded and knocked the nesters' church building down. It caught fire. That's about it.”

“Not quite,” Longarm said sharply. “Finish the story, Hawkins. You haven't said a word about the baby being killed.”

Danilov spoke up. “I will tell the sheriff what happened, if Mr. Hawkins is ashamed to speak. Aleksandra Toletof's small child was killed when the cattle pressing against our church broke down the walls and the roof dropped in. Mr. Hawkins's and Mr. Tatum's cattle they were, Sheriff. We hold them responsible.”

Grover looked at Hawkins for a clue. When Hawkins said nothing, the sheriff asked, “Is that the way it was, Clem?”

“Pretty much, I guess. But hell, none of us knew what was going on inside that place. It was already on fire.”

Tatum spoke up quickly. “It was all a damn accident, Grover. You know a man can't be held to answer for something a bunch of dumb animals did.”

“A man should be held to answer if his animals were not properly guarded by the men whose job it was to control them,” Mordka observed sternly.

“Wait a minute, now,” Grover said as he turned to Mordka. “Is that right? You people was all inside the church building when it caught fire?”

“Yes, Sheriff,” Mordka said patiently. “That is the way it was. We had been praying when the cattle surrounded the church.”

“If you was all right handy there, why didn't you put out the fire?” the sheriff asked.

“We had no water,” Danilov answered. “The walls all around us were being pushed in. Already, before the fire, the roof was threatening to fall. We were trying to save our lives.”

“I can vouch for that,” Longarm said. “I was inside the church when it all started.”

“If I want anything from you, I'll ask you, Long,” Grover said, without bothering to hide his irritation.

Longarm swallowed his anger and kept quiet.

Danilov told Grover, “Marshal Long was there at our invitation. We were afraid Mr. Hawkins's men might continue the trouble they have been giving us since we settled here.”

“Now, that's a lie!” Hawkins flared. “It ain't my men's fault they don't like you nesters! Damn it, you people just don't belong in cattle country, with your wheat patches and your Glidden wire fences!”

“They've got as much right to be here as anybody, Hawkins,” Longarm said. “At least they paid for the land they're planting, which is more than you and your bunch are doing for half of the land you run your herds on.”

“All we want is our rights as citizens,” Mordka Danilov said quietly. “We do not wish any favors.” He looked around at the others. “We have let our feelings make us forget what we were talking about. I will remind you again, Sheriff, a child was killed in the church because of the cattle belonging to these men.”

“That was an accident, like Bill Tatum just said,” Grover replied impatiently. “I don't see that it's got anything to do with the matter.”

“We
Bratiya
would not expect you to see anything that might harm the interest of your masters,” Mordka replied. “But we will—”

He broke off suddenly and looked to the north. The others turned to look also. A score or more of lighted lanterns were bobbing, moving down the lane on the north side of the church, the lane that led into the cattle trail. The lanterns illuminated the figures of the men carrying them, men of the
Bratiya,
and light danced off the blue steel of the guns they carried.

Chapter 19

Grover asked of no one in particular, “Now just what the hell is that?”

No one answered him. They were all too interested in watching the progress of the lanterns. Suddenly, from the
Bratiya
who still stood at the opposite corner of the churchyard, a chorus of shouts rang out.

Longarm asked Mordka in a whisper, “Do you know anything about this?”

The Russian shook his head, a look of concern on his face. “No. But I have a thought of what can be happening.”

“Maybe you better tell me,” Longarm suggested.

Danilov took Longarm by the elbow and led him a few feet from the others. Absorbed in watching the progress of the lanterns, the ranchers and Grover did not miss them when they stepped away.

His voice a loud whisper, Danilov said, “Since you and Fedor Petrovsky were shot, the men of the
Bratiya
have been very angry. They have tried not to show this, but I know of it. Yesterday and the day before, I heard whispers that they might come to the services tonight carrying weapons.”

“Afraid the ranchers might start something while you were all packed inside the church?”

Mordka nodded. “Yes. When I heard what they might do, I told them they should not bring weapons to a service of worship. Now I think they have gone quietly to their homes and fetched their guns.”

“Would they do that without telling you?”

“My friend, I do not rule over the
Bratiya
. No one of us does. Most of them look to me for advice, perhaps guidance, but I cannot order them to do or not to do anything. I can only suggest.”

“If they're really coming back loaded for trouble, what are you going to do about it?” Longarm asked.

“I do not want shooting and killing.” Mordka's voice was somber. “Still, we must protect what we have built with our hands, with our sweat. And there is both deep sorrow and great anger in their hearts because Aleksandra Toletof's child was killed.”

“That ain't what I asked you, Mordka,” Longarm said gently.

Mordka looked sad. “I cannot give you an answer, my friend. I can only wait until the men get here and see if they will listen to me.”

The tall deputy regarded him silently for a moment, then sighed and said, “I guess you'll do your best.”

“You know that I will. I still live for the day when the
Bratiya
can renounce violence and return to the beliefs our fathers held.”

Longarm looked at Mordka for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously calm. “Just remember, those hands working for Hawkins and Tatum have all got guns. If any shooting gets started, this could turn into a fight worse than Bull Run!”

Although the flames of the burning mass of wreckage that was once a church were almost gone by now, the mass of coals still threw out a bright glow. The glow provided enough light for the men who carried the lanterns to be seen clearly while they were still twenty yards from the point where the lane joined the cattle trail.

Longarm recognized Fedor Petrovsky in the front rank of the marchers, and in spite of the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't repress the beginning of a grin. He liked the feisty little Russian, who never admitted to being whipped. Behind Petrovsky were others whose faces he remembered but whose tongue-twisting names he couldn't recall. All of the men carried rifles or shotguns, and a few of them wore pistols. From the belts of a few others dangled the same kind of long, curved Cossack swords that Tatiana's fiancé had wielded when he attacked Longarm.

“That's a goddamn nester army!” Hawkins gasped. He turned to Hetter. “Get our boys rounded up, fast! If the nesters want a fight, we'll damned well give them one!”

“Dell!” Tatum commanded. “Get our hands here, too. We'll back up whatever play Clem makes.”

“Just a minute!” Longarm's voice crackled out. “There's not going to be any war started. Not if I have any say-so.”

“You haven't!” Grover told him. The sheriff was almost frothing with anger. “I'm in charge here!”

“You sure as hell weren't a while ago, when you ought to've been!” Longarm shot back. “We can argue about who's in charge later. If you've got a nickel's worth of brains in that skull of yours, you'll tell your friends here to hold back.”

“This is as good a time for a showdown as any!” Hawkins grated. “It's got to come, sooner or later!”

None of the others were quite sure how it happened, but Longarm's Colt was suddenly in his hand. “If you want to argue it out, I'll help you,” he told them. “If you figure on shooting it out, I'm ready for that too. Hetter, you and Dell stand where you are!”

Hawkins said quickly, “Do what he says, boys. You too, Grover.” A broad smile crept over his face. “You boys don't have to call anybody. Our men are already here. Long, just look behind you.”

Longarm looked around. He knew before turning his head what he'd see, from the ring of triumph in Hawkins's voice. The C Bar H and Double Z hands had seen the
Bratiya
approaching, and had ridden up to investigate. Behind him, Longarm saw at least a dozen ranch hands sitting their horses. A number of them had already pulled rifles out of their saddle scabbards and were holding the weapons ready to shoulder them.

Knowing before he spoke that neither Hawkins nor Tatum would listen, Longarm said, “Tell your men to put their guns away, Hawkins. You do the same, Tatum. One shot fired by your men, or by that bunch coming up, even accidental, this whole thing's going to explode.”

“Let it bust, then!” Hawkins retorted. “Those nesters have got their guns out, and if they shoot first, we'll sure as hell give it right back to them!

“I'm standing with Clem,” Tatum put in.

Longarm turned to Danilov. “Mordka! Can you talk some sense into your folks, to keep this thing from blowing up into a war?”

Danilov shook his head. “I am not sure, but I will try.”

“Hawkins? Tatum?” Longarm looked at the ranchers. “Is that agreeable with you?”

After a quick exchange of glances, both ranchers nodded.

Hawkins said, “Go talk to your men, Danilov. I'll hold my boys back.”

“I wish Marshal Long to go with me,” Mordka said. “We of the
Bratiya
have trust in him.”

“No, by God!” Grover rapped out. “I'm sick of having him push in every place where it's my job to be! If anybody goes with you, it'll be me!”

“I am sorry, Sheriff,” Mordka said, shaking his head. “If you go, I will be able to do nothing. All of our people know that you are on the side of Mr. Hawkins and the cattlemen.”

“We ain't so damned sure the marshal's not on your side,” Tatum said. “I feel about like the sheriff does. It's his place to keep the peace, not some damned outsider wearing a federal badge.”

Longarm didn't bother to raise the Colt he still held in his hand. He said quietly, “I don't want to use this argument-settler I'm holding, but I will if I have to.”

Over Longarm's shoulder, Hawkins called out, “Ed! Put your rifle sights on the marshal's back!”

“I had him covered for five minutes, Mr. Hawkins,” one of the riders called back. “Figured you might be in trouble when I seen him pull that pistol out.”

“Take his gun, Grover,” Hawkins ordered the sheriff.

Longarm stood motionless and said nothing. He'd heard no trace of bluff in the voice of the cowhand behind him. When Grover reached down and plucked the Colt from his hand, Longarm released it. Grover stuck the pistol in his belt and looked at Hawkins. “What you want me to do now, Clem?” he asked.

“Go with Danilov, you damn fool! Try to help him talk some sense into the nesters. You'd better shake your ass, though, because if you don't, it's going to be too late for talking.”

Hawkins jerked a thumb at the marching
Bratiya
. They had now reached the end of the lane and turned onto the cattle trail. They were spread out across the trail, advancing at a slow walk toward the group that included Longarm, Mordka Danilov, and the ranch owners.

Longarm asked Mordka, “Can't you stop them from getting up too close? Some of those cowhands are going to get skittish if your folks come too near their bosses.”

Danilov called, “Fedor! Fedor Petrovsky!
Tam ostanova, pojalosta!
”

“Ya nipanimauy!”
Petrovsky called in reply.
“Pachimu?”

“Damn it, cut off your foreign lingo!” Hawkins told Mordka. “Talk so we can understand what you're saying!”

Longarm hadn't understood Petrovsky's words any better than Hawkins had, but he gathered from the tone used that Petrovsky was asking Mordka to give him a reason for halting the
Bratiya
. He called, “Fedor! Those cowboys up ahead have got rifles on your men. Stop 'em where they are! If you don't, a lot of folks are going to get hurt!”

“Ve vill hurt them vorse as they hurt us!” Petrovsky threatened.

“No need for anybody to get hurt!” Longarm replied. “Stop where you are a minute, Fedor! Mordka's coming to talk to you!”

Grover swept his arm around, and shoved Longarm to one side. “Keep your damn big mouth outa this! I got a bellyful of you butting into my business!”

“Just be sure that bellyful don't give you a case of gripe-gut,” Longarm told the sheriff. His voice was dangerously quiet. He pointed to the
Bratiya
. They had stopped and were looking expectantly at Danilov.

Hawkins told Grover, “Settle your fuss with Long later. Get on out there and do the job we're paying you for!”

The marshal flicked a cold blue glance at Hawkins, but said nothing.

Mordka tapped Grover's shoulder. “Come, Sheriff. Let us go and speak with them.”

Danilov and Grover crossed the trail and stopped in front of Fedor Petrovsky. A number of the
Bratiya
clustered around them at once; the others kept their eyes fixed on the ranch hands, who had not advanced their horses from their position on the south side of the burning debris. Longarm and the ranchers were between the two groups, too far from both of them to hear what was being said by either.

They could catch an occasional word from the men around Mordka and Grover. One word in particular was repeated:
“Boey! Boey!”

Hawkins turned to Longarm. “You've been around the nesters more than I have, Long. What's that word mean?”

Longarm shook his head. “I wouldn't know. I ain't been around 'em all that much, no matter what you think.”

If the ranch hands were talking, it was in whispers, for only an occasional nicker from one of the horses came from that direction.

Those members of the
Bratiya
near the riders were silent too, watching their fellows for some sign of action. The flames of the fire were almost completely gone; only a tiny, pale tongue shot up here and there from a board that still had not been consumed. The glowing heap of dying coals gave little light to supplement that provided by the lanterns of the Brethren. The snow had tapered off; only an occasional stray flake floated down. The wind had changed direction, and was blowing from the east, bringing warmth. Underfoot, an ankle-deep white blanket crunched when anyone took a step.

To those who waited, it seemed that the discussion among Mordka, the sheriff, and the Brethren lasted a long while. At last the men who were crowded around them stepped away. As they backed off, the faces of Mordka and Grover were pink blurs silhouetted against the yellow of the lantern light, but there was no need to see their expressions. Dejection was in the slumping of their shoulders, their slow, deliberate walk. Behind them, the Brethren were re-forming their ranks.

“Well?” Hawkins asked when Grover and Danilov reached the group. “What'd they say?”

“You could hear them,” Mordka answered. “Though you may not have understood. Their cry was
‘boey'
. It means ‘fight'.”

Grover said, “That's the stubbornest bunch of bastards I've ever run into! They don't seem to know more'n only two words,
boey
and
nyet
. I heard them words so many times I don't guess I'll ever forget 'em.”

“What're they saying no about?” Hawkins asked.

“They say they ain't going to let another steer pass along this trail till they've been paid for their church and that woman whose baby got killed is made some kind of payment too.”

“That won't hurt us,” Tatum said. “Our herds are already in the shipping pens at Junction.”

“They don't just mean now,” Grover explained. “They mean from now on. Next year, the year after that, till hell freezes over, from the way they talked.”

“Hell, they can't close this trail!” Hawkins sputtered. “It's public, which means us! We've been using it as long as there've been ranches here. It's not their land, anyhow. It's Santa Fe land.”

“You think I didn't tell 'em that?” Grover asked. “They said to bring on the Santa Fe, they'll fight them and us both.”

“Wait a minute, Clem,” Tatum broke in. “Don't they know we can just drive our herds around east of their homesteads and get to the railhead that way?”

Grover answered before Hawkins could speak. “They know that. But they figure it'll cost you money to do it.”

Hawkins nodded. “It will, too.” He looked at Tatum. “Figure it out, Bill. We'd add better than twenty miles to our drives, twice a year, spring and fall. That's two or three more days' wages for the extra hands we always hire. Comes to a week a year for every extra man. And covering that much more distance will take a lot of weight off our steers. We'll get less for them at the shipping pens.”

“I hadn't looked at it that way,” Tatum said. “But you're sure right.” He asked Grover, “What's the law say about blocking up a public trail like this one?”