Return of the Outlaw (24 page)

“Yes, Mrs. Marcellin?
”

“Introduce me to your guest.”

The two men moved across the yard to where Catherine Marcellin stood.

“Mr
s. Marcellin, this is Bob Webb,” Said Reef.

Unconsciously
, Jeff reached up to tip his hat and remembered he had no hat. He shook Catherine Marcellin’s proffered hand, noting she had a strong grip.

“How do you do, Mr. Webb?
”

“Pleasure, Ma
’am.”

There were Kitchen smells sliding out through the doorway past Catherine Marcellin
’s body, and they made Jeff’s stomach growl. It had been a long time since he had sat at a table and eaten a home cooked meal, and he craved the experience as much as he did the food. But not here; he would accept no hospitality from these people other than a cold supper, a bunk, and a ride into town tomorrow.

Catherine asked
, “Have you men eaten?”

“We were just on our way to the cook-shack for sandwiches
,” responded Reef. Then he added significantly, “Cold sandwiches.”

Catherine Marcellin smiled
. “Dolores is putting together a hot meal right now. If you two would like to wash up, it should be ready by the time you’re back.”

Jeff felt distinctly uncomfortable with the invitation. H
is clothes were ragged, he hadn’t bathed in weeks, and he was unshaven and covered with trail dust.

“Ma
’am,” he said, “I don’t think I’m presentable enough for your kitchen. I’d better go to the cook shack.”

“That doesn
’t bother me at all, Mr. Webb; I raised four sons.”

“I appreciate that ma
’am, but I would be awfully uncomfortable.”

Catherine directed a glance at Reef, who could see a good thing about to slip away from him. He acted quickly.

“Dolores is as touchy as a teased snake about this sort of thing, Webb. Why, I once saw her whack off a man’s thumb just for turning down a third helping of her rattlesnake head soup. I fear and tremble at what she might do if a man rejected a complete meal.”

Jeff knew when he was beaten. He grinned and made a show of clasping his fingers protectively around his thumbs. 

“Follow me,” said Reef triumphantly. “We’ll wash up.”

The kitchen was
large and homey and filled with the kinds of smells Jeff hadn’t experienced in a very long time. A Mexican girl, whom Jeff correctly assumed to be Dolores, was busy at the stove. She was of medium height for a woman, round and sturdy looking. Her jet black hair was parted in the center with a braid on either side hanging down to her mid back. Her pleasant face glistened with perspiration from the heat of the stove.

For the second time, Jeff started to reach for a hat to tip. Instead, he sniffed the savory air and gave her a nod of his head and an approving smile, which spread her own smile even more broadly across her round face and deepened the dimples in her cheeks.

It wasn’t until Jeff had taken a seat at the long, pine table, that he got his first good look at Catherine Marcellin’s face. She was looking at him with a penetrating gaze through deep blue eyes. Her gray hair still showed vestiges of its former red hue, and the glow on her cheeks and the shallow diagonal lines at the corners of her eyes lent her countenance an aspect of kindness and wisdom. It was a face Jeff immediately liked, and one in which no animosity toward him could be read.

The meal was a memorable one, the atmosphere relaxed and pleasant. When they had finished, Reef slid back his chair and said, “I always said if I ever found a woman who could cook as good as my mama I
’d have to marry her.” He winked and threw a glance at Dolores, who blushed and threw a flour-sack dishcloth back at him.

“Well, I guess it
’s time to head for the bunk house,” said Reef, rising. “I’ve been in these boots so long they’ve growed to my feet.” Jeff started to rise too, but Catherine said, “Mr. Webb, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.” Jeff sat back down and Reef did likewise, whereupon Catherine fixed him with a stern-eyed look of the type used by mothers and school teachers. “He’s not a prisoner now Reef; you don’t have to guard him.”

Reef suddenly go
t the idea and with a sheepish look excused himself and slipped quickly out the door. Dolores, too, laid down her dishcloth and left the room.

When they were alone, Catherine turned to Jeff and smiled, “He
’s a fine boy.”

Jeff agreed with her.

“He likes to talk,” she continued,. “You spent the whole day listening to him, didn’t you?”

“
I didn’t mind the company.”

Her smile faded, and
sadness came to her eyes. “I was very sorry to hear about Gordon and Billy. I always liked Gordon, but he wanted things to come easy, and life isn’t that way. Billy was just a follower who followed the wrong person.”

“I hated to see them hang,” admitted Jeff, “but that
’s the law of the range; they knew the risks.”

“I wish it didn
’t have to be that way,” she said. “If women ran the world, it wouldn’t be.”

Jeff gave her an indulgent smile
. “I don’t doubt it, ma’am, but how would you handle rustlers and other criminals?”

She responded without hesitat
ion, giving him the idea she had thought about this before. “They would all be made to join the army and they would be the ones who would fight the wars, and if some of them died in battle it would be no great loss to the world.”

“The idea has it
s merit,” admitted Jeff, “but they would probably refuse to fight.”

Catherine smiled as if this also had occurred to her before. “
Then we would have no wars. How about you, Mr. Webb, if you could run the world how would you change things?”

“That,” he said slowly, “is something a man would need to think about.”

“Tell me the first thing that comes into your mind. No one can hold you to it. If you could change this world, what would you do?”

He felt
that somehow he should be uncomfortable with this strange conversation, but he was not. This woman had a disarming way about her, and without thinking much about it, he trusted her. He said, “I would make it so a person could go back and change things; relive his life and do things differently.”

“Maybe,” she asserted gently, “we would make the same number of mistakes, just different ones.”

“Maybe so,” he admitted, “but maybe . . . ” He looked beyond her, traveling for just a moment to another time and place, then he swung his eyes back to her face, and felt her trying to penetrate his thoughts. He smiled. “Don’t tell me this is what you wanted to talk to me about.”

She laughed
. “No, I wanted to apologize for the way you have been treated by the Circle M.”

As she spoke he knew she wasn
’t telling the whole truth, but he said, “Don’t mention it ma’am; no harm was done, and I got a good meal out of the bargain.”

“Y
es, Dolores is a marvelous cook; I trained her myself.”

There was a pause,
and Catherine said, “I understand you have met my grandson, Eli.”

“Yes,”
replied Jeff, I’m sorry . . .”

“No need to apologize. I
’m sure he had it coming. I wish someone had done it a long time ago. Who knows, maybe you knocked some sense into him.” There was another pause. “He wasn’t always this way, Mr. Webb; he used to be a sweet boy. He had an older brother whom he idolized, and Todd was a fine boy, too. Their father worshipped them both. Todd was more like Jim. Eli is like his mother.”

“What happened to Todd?”

“He was killed in the war—at Chancellorsville.”

“I
’m sorry,” said Jeff sincerely. He too had fought at Chancellorsville, but he had no desire to discuss it.

“Eli changed after that. He and Jim began having terrible fights. Later, Eli started hangi
ng around with Al Tannatt and his bunch; bad company the whole lot of them. Soon afterwards, he moved out. He’s never been back even for a visit. They say he drinks a lot now.” She lowered her eyes for a moment then looked up again. “You know, Mr. Webb, it’s harder to lose a boy that way than it is to lose one in a war.” She smiled and drew a deep breath. “Life has its sorrows, but the good Lord gives us many blessings to compensate, don’t you think?”

Jeff nodded.

She grew somber, looked him in the eyes and began to speak, and Jeff sensed she was coming to the real purpose of this meeting.

“My son
’s life has not been easy,” she began. “First he lost his wife, then Todd, then Eli. This ranch is his life now. It would be very hard for him to lose it; he’s worked so long and hard to build it. It seems so unfair that evil men can come in and steal and destroy all the fruits of a good man’s labors.”

Again Jeff nodded, waiting.

Catherine seemed to hesitate. She looked away, her brow furrowed, tapping her fingers pensively on the table. When her eyes returned to him he saw she had made up her mind. “I’ve been praying, Mr. Webb, for an answer to our problems. Seems I pray a lot lately. Three nights ago I had a dream. In it I saw my grandmother who has been dead for nearly thirty years. She told me everything would be all right; that a man would come to help us. I saw the man. I didn’t see his face, but I saw that he walked with a limp. It was a very vivid dream and . . .” she looked down at her hands, and her voice lost some of its confidence, “and . . . well, I couldn’t help noticing your limp.”  She raised her eyes to meet his. “So, now I’ve told you. You probably think I’m just a foolish old woman.”

“No
, ma’am,” said Jeff, groping for something to say, “but I think . . . I think it was probably just a dream. I don’t know how I could possibly help you, though I wish I could.” He was sincere in this. He felt a deep friendship toward this woman whom he had just met, and was reluctant to disappoint her. “I truly wish I could help, ma’am. I can see your problem clear enough, but I don’t know what I could do about it.”

Catherine smiled. “I
’m sure you’re right, Mr. Webb. It was probably just a dream. Still, I’m glad to have met you and I’ve enjoyed our conversation. I feel I’ve gained a friend, and a friend is always a valuable thing.”

“I agree,” said Jeff. But he felt dissatisfied, as though he had received something and given nothing in ret
urn. He looked at her for a moment, debating in his mind. Catherine was watching him with her discerning eyes, saying nothing.

“
My name,” he said, “is not Webb; it’s Havens. Jeff Havens.”

“It
’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Havens.” After a brief pause, she added, “You must be in trouble with the law; otherwise there would be no need to use a false name.”

“Yes
, ma’am.”

She said nothing more, and for a l
ong moment he watched her face. Finally he said, “Thank you for not asking.”

“Sometimes it isn
’t necessary,” she said, and her smile deepened the diagonal lines at the corners of her eyes.

He slept on the ground that night, wrapped in a blanket he ha
d borrowed from the bunk house. There were plenty of extra bunks, but the dark looks of the men told him he was not welcome there. He awoke early the next morning and walked to the top of a small hill behind the ranch headquarters. From there he got his first view of the Circle M in the daylight. It was situated at the head of a large, dish-shaped meadow that overlooked a vast expanse of open country. Pine trees fringed the meadow and there were several brooks flowing to the center where they formed a larger stream which flowed away from the meadow and was lost from view. It was a fine place and he could see why the Marcellin’s hated the thought of losing it. He thought of his own ranch and of Amado, and hoped the year would pass quickly. He promised himself once again, that somehow he would get the Rafter 8 back.

He ate breakfast in the cook-shack with the other men, during which time the only one who spoke was Reef. Afterwards, one of the punchers, a sour-faced, stick of a man named Cliff, who
made no secret of the fact he was displeased with the assignment, announced to Jeff that he was driving him to town.

Jeff waited outside the bunk house while Cliff readied the wagon and team. The smell of breakfast still lingered in the sharp morning air. Felipe, the young Mexican boy who helped around the ranch, was behind the granary, rhythmically chopping wood. Shorty Grange, the hostler, and another man could be heard laughing and exchanging good natured banter over by the barn, and from the direction of the back corral came the sound of a cowboy singing as he
saddled his horse. It was a good place, thought Jeff. He wished circumstances could be different and he could linger a while; it had been too long since he had lingered anywhere.

As he was thinking these thoughts, he saw Catherine Marcellin emerge from the back door of the kitchen, descend the three steps
, and walk toward him. Her gray hair was freshly brushed and it shone in the clear morning light. For an instant as she walked toward him with the morning sun at her back, he caught a glimpse of how she must have looked as a young woman and it occurred to him that, except for the gray in her hair, the lines on her face, and the bulkiness of her body, time had probably changed her very little. He experienced a moment of admiration for Catherine Marcellin. It was this quality he thought; this changelessness that people must find most appealing about her. She was a person who had possessed the strength to pass through the storms of life and receive all their buffetings and wounds without being altered. He could not say the same for himself. He wondered if she knew how remarkable she was. As she drew near, he saw the smile on her face, and knew it was genuine. She watched him for a moment and he smiled back, warmed by the feeling that she considered him her friend.