Dead Trouble (9 page)

‘No, it’s not OK. But I know you of old and I guess I’m not going to get any more out of you right now. Just have to say, I’ll be keeping my eyes open, wider than usual, from now on.’

Durango’s lips tightened and his eyes flared but he bit back whatever he was going to say as Karen slammed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him.

‘Eat!’ she said flatly, hands on hips, her flashing gaze sweeping from one man to the other.

They ate.

Later, sitting on the porch, both stiff and sore, but now sharing a linen bag of Bull Durham mix and Wheatstraw papers as they built cigarettes and lit up, Durango took one deep draw, then exhaled slowly. He looked down at the burning cigarette between his fingers, turning it this way and that.

As Deke exhaled, frowning, Spain said:

‘You’re gonna be a pain in the butt, I can see that.’

Deke shrugged.

‘Told you before – you’re my pardner, Durango. You’ve got troubles, then I want to share ’em with you.’

Spain shook his head in exasperation.

‘Knew I damn well taught you too blamed well!’ With a jerky motion he took only one more deep draw from the cigarette, then flicked it out into the yard, leaning his arms on the porch rail. He watched a chickenhawk hovering over Karen’s hen-coop, swallows swooping to snatch balls of mud for their nests from the damp spot under the dripping pump, before flying swiftly back into the big barn.

Without turning he said very quietly,

‘I tied up with Danton and his bunch because I can make easy money – fast. And I need to make it fast, Deke, for Karen’s sake.’ He turned slowly, leaning with his elbows on the rail now as he turned haunted eyes to Cutler’s rugged face. ‘I’m a dying man, Deke. Got maybe six months to live – at most.’

It wasn’t until mid-morning, during a session with the blacksmith on the anvil – Deke was determined to pack some muscle back on that wasted arm even if it cost him dearly in pain, and it did – that he thought of
something
he should have brought up with Durango.

But he was still reeling from Durango’s revelation about being a dying man and what should have been an obvious question slipped away and got lost –
temporarily
at least.

Deke had been truly stunned by the news, was unable to speak for some time. Durango leaned his hips against the porch rail, folded his arms, tapping his fingers against his elbows. His jawline was knotted as he ground his teeth, his eyes lowered, thoughts obviously miles away.

Eventually Cutler stood and went to stand beside him, dropped a hand gently to his shoulder.

‘What’s the trouble, pard?’

Spain didn’t raise his eyes, teeth chewing briefly at his bottom lip.

‘Some kind of cancer – in the stomach.’

‘Jesus, Durango! Can’t they operate or something?’

Spain was shaking his head before Deke had finished speaking.

‘Too late. Too far gone.’

‘Well, hell almighty! There’s got to be something you can do!’

He looked at Deke at last, eyes haunted.

‘There is – wait until the pain gets too bad to bear and then …’ He slapped his hand against his gun butt.

‘Damn! I won’t accept that! I mean, even if it got to that stage … well, there’s laudanum. You could take an overdose …’ He paused, looking shocked. ‘
Christ
! What the hell’m I doing! Helping you find a way to kill yourself!’

Spain turned and Deke let his hand drop from his friend’s shoulder. They stood looking into each other’s faces.

‘Deke, when the time comes – no, no, it will, there’s nothing can be done about it. It’ll come and – well, I might have to call on you to – help me out. I dunno if I could – do – anything to myself …’

Cutler swore, feeling totally helpless.

‘Damnit, Durango!’ He sighed heavily. ‘ ’Course I’d – help – you. But there just has to be something we can do!’

‘There’s nothing, Deke. Accept it. It took me some time and when I did – well, I thought about Karen. Sorry, old pard, I have to admit I didn’t think of you much …’

‘Hell, nor d’you need to! No, you’ve got to make sure Karen’s taken care of …’ Cutler stiffened. ‘That’s what’s been missing! I couldn’t quite accept that you’d deal with these outlaws just to make a quick buck! There had to be a damn good reason for you to do that. Now, of course, I know what it was….’

Spain grabbed him by the forearm, the good one, his fingers digging in, bringing Deke’s head up sharply.

‘Deke – Karen doesn’t know.’

Cutler blinked. ‘She – doesn’t
know
…? You haven’t told her about the cancer?’

‘Judas, keep your voice down! No, I haven’t. When the pains troubled me I rode down to Dallas on a pretext of looking for a herd of better cattle and saw an Army doctor I know there. You know him, too: Randy Lansing.’ Deke nodded: a good man, the only truly caring medic he had ever seen in the Army. The Rangers used his services at times: their funds didn’t run to employing a full-time medical officer.

‘Well, if Lansing told you there was no hope, I guess I’d have to take his word for it.’

Spain nodded, seeming a little distracted.

‘You might’ve noticed I don’t eat chilli like I used to, don’t use pepper or Karen’s homemade mustard, them sorts of things. You might’ve even seen me sneaking a glass of cow’s milk, for Chris’sake! It’s just to help put a lining on the stomach and my gullet, Randy says …’ He sobered abruptly. ‘But it’ll start to spread and I won’t be able to keep anything down and then …’

Deke held up a hand.’By that time, Karen’ll
have
to know, Durango.’

Spain nodded jerkily, mouth tight.

‘I – might show my yaller streak and kinda – ask you to help out there, Deke, too.’

That shook Cutler some. He didn’t fancy having to tell Karen that her husband was dying of cancer and she would soon be a widow. But – that was the kind of chore pardners did for each other…. He offered his hand and Spain gripped firmly.

‘I sure won’t enjoy it, but – I’ll do whatever you want, Durango.’

Spain grinned widely, clasped Deke’s hand in both of his. ‘
Gracias, amigo, muchas gracias!
Let’s hope it’s a long time off, huh…?’

‘A
damn
long time,’ Deke said fervently.

It was something he couldn’t shake, even while he was making new shoes for the grey and the blacksmith was showing him how to twist red-hot bar-iron into fancy designs for fireplace and wall ornaments, candlesticks and firetongs. Deke wondered how
he
would take the news that he had incurable cancer of the stomach … well, at least he wouldn’t have any wife or family to worry about. It must be sheer hell for Spain to live with that kind of secret.

He savvied now why the man had thrown out all his ethics: Deke would likely have done the same if he had had Karen for a wife – or any wife. Bending the law a little, even a lot, didn’t matter a damn under such circumstances. There was no other way that she could survive after Spain died: this was a quick way to get some money for her, enough, anyway, to see her through the funeral and maybe pay off the debts so she wouldn’t have to sell Shoestring. Deke sure wouldn’t
stand in her way. Or, maybe she would be glad to get rid of it.

Then what? Maybe she would go back to Denver and her family, start to live how she used to before she married Durango.

Maybe she would be glad of any help he could offer. Maybe whatever might have been between them once would have a chance to blossom and
…

‘Hey, Deke! What you makin’, man? A goddamn broadsword…?’

The smith’s rough voice startled Deke out of his thoughts and he saw that instead of just adding a barley sugar twist to the squared bar-iron he had been forging, he had hammered it out into the semblance of a knife blade, or even the beginning of a broadsword or spear point …

‘Sorry, Mitch. Daydreaming.’

‘Ah, it don’t matter. Can always turn it into a knife, wrap rawhide round the tang and sell it to Ringo for an Injun blade – he’s dumb enough to believe it, bein’ kinda partial to knives.’

Deke was only half-listening. He could have kicked himself: where did he get off even thinking about Karen in that way when Durango would have to die before anything in that line even began…?

You’re a lousy, two-timing son of a bitch, Deacon Cutler! Durango don’t deserve a conniving pardner like you – and you sure as hell don’t deserve him! Now take a hitch in that
hackamore
and rein down, you hear? You’ve got a ranch to run, you and Durango
….

Cutler and Jimmy Taggart went out to gather in some
mustangs, which the wrangler would break in enough to work brush cattle. They rode up into ridge country above the river and Jimmy surprised Deke with his knowledge of horses.

‘Grew up in Wyomin’,’ the kid explained when they stopped for a smoke on a projecting rocky ledge. The river wound away into the mysterious land to the north, though Deke knew the ‘mystery’ part was all in a man’s mind: it looked little different from any other part of the country around here except maybe it was a little greener and the timber was a little thicker. Still, there were arid sections, too, which would make the Staked Plains look like a public garden.

‘My old man never had much, no education, used his fists to settle most arguments, his gun once or twice. But he knew hosses. Folk rode in from three States away for his advice.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Anyway, he taught me plenty and I guess it’s took, because I reckon I get along better with hosses than I do with people at times.’

Deke smiled.

‘Plenty of times I prefer old Grey’s company to other folk, too, kid. You gonna be a wrangler all your life?’

‘Not if I can help it – want my own hoss ranch
eventually
. Meantime, thought I might try some rodeo work after I leave here. Lot of money to be made there.’ He paused as if making some sort of decision about Cutler, then said, quietly: ‘If you don’t mind losin’ once in a while.’

Deke frowned.

‘You mean, throw a ride, just like throwing a prize fight?’

Jimmy flushed but nodded eagerly enough.

‘Yeah. Wouldn’t hurt now and again. Earn some quick money to get my spread.’

‘Well, you could lose one reputation – as a top rider – and gain another – as a man who doesn’t mind selling out.’

Taggart paled, mouth tightening.

‘I don’t see it that way!’

‘Well, most other folk would. ’Course, if you don’t care a damn about what folk think of you, you might last a couple years on the rodeo circuit – before you find you can’t get a decent job anywhere because no one’ll trust you.’

‘Aw! It don’t work like that. Anyways, how about you and Durango? You two’re doin’ deals with them outlaws across the river.’

Deke butted out his cigarette stub against the saddle horn before dropping it to the ground.

‘Kid, you could be right. But Durango has a real solid reason for making those deals.’

‘I would have, too – to make a fast buck!’

‘Your Old Man teach you that it was OK to sell out like that?’

‘No-o. But I kinda picked up on it after he died and I took off and seen how most men made extra
dinero
.’

‘You get your share now, don’t you?’ Deke asked softly.

Jimmy tossed his head.

‘Few dollars, sure, just for lookin’ the other way. But I ain’t in a position to earn real money, like Ringo and Hal Tripp and Jno. They can use their guns …’

‘How many others in the crew are in this deal?’

Jimmy frowned deeper.

‘You’d best ask Durango. C’mon, if we’re gonna catch them broncs down at the waterhole …’

The kid wheeled away and Deke smiled to himself as he followed slowly; Jimmy was either pretty loyal or just plain dumb.

Either way, he could get himself into a lot of trouble.

They were bringing down a bunch of wild-eyed,
mane-flying
mustangs in the afternoon, following a narrow, ragged trail through a series of dry washes that Deke hadn’t seen before. But the kid knew that trail and it was narrow and twisting enough to keep the still wild horses in Indian file. The kid told Cutler that it ended in a small blind draw which would hold the horses overnight. He had already prepared sliding rails that could be pulled swiftly into place after the last animal thundered in.

It worked well and then, after making sure the rails were all tight in their niches, they turned to walk back to their mounts.

‘Judas goddamn priest!’ exclaimed Jimmy Taggart.

It was such an exclamation of surprise that Deke started to draw his six-gun even as he turned. Then he froze.

The Samburu was standing there, only three yards away, his red robe bright against the drab earth-colour of the dry wash, the blade of his long spear flashing in the westering sun. Jimmy glanced quickly at Deke.

‘What’s he want?’

‘Guess we’ll have to ask. Howdy, Sam.’ Deke had an urge to lift a hand, palm out, the way whitemen greeted
Indians but something told him that it wasn’t
appropriate
here. ‘Dutch Pete around?’ he asked instead.

The Samburu warrior, he noted now, was wearing what he thought was a wig, a huge mass of
russet-coloured
coarse hair, swept back, adding at least a foot to his height, held in place with a band that had been worked with strange angular designs and some beads. Later, he learned that the ‘wig’ was the mane of a lion.

‘Sam has earned the right to wear it,’ Dutch Pete told him when they met up on the slopes overlooking the sharp bend of the Red River within spitting distance of outlaw territory. ‘Like the Masai, a tribe they’re distantly related to, the Samburu warriors prove
themselves
by hunting lions on foot, armed only with a single spear. No knife, no
panga
.’

But, right now, Deke didn’t know this, although he thought the mane gave the tall, skinny warrior much more dignity and pride.

‘Come,’ Sam said, pointing his spear at Cutler.

‘Hey, watch that thing!’ cried Jimmy, dodging partly behind Cutler.

‘Where, Sam?’

‘Come,’ the Samburu repeated and this time he pointed up the mountain with his spear hand.

‘Pete wants to see me?’ Deke asked and Sam nodded. ‘OK. Jimmy, I’ll see you back at Shoestring.’

‘You ain’t goin’ with him!’

‘He’s friendly. Saved my life a while back when he speared that outlaw, Salty Shaw. He’s not about to cut my throat now.’

Jimmy wasn’t any too sure about that but he nodded and watched as Deke mounted. The Samburu turned
silently and began striding up the steep slope as easily as he would walk across a room. Deke waved briefly and set the horse after him.

When Dutch Pete stepped out from behind some rocks on a high bench, a little later, Sam simply
disappeared
. Deke knew the man wouldn’t be far away but he hadn’t seen where he went.

Pete shook hands with Cutler.

‘Saw you and the kid catching the wild horses. He’s pretty good.’

‘Yeah. Haven’t seen you around for a few days.’

‘Still looking for bear tracks. I’ve found some but I think they’re a couple days old. And I don’t know if it’s a grizzly or a brown or black. You seemed to know just by looking at the tracks that other time, so I sent Sam down. Can you spare me a little time?’

Deke glanced at the assegai that Van Rensberg held.

‘I dunno as I’d want it on my conscience, putting you on to a bear with only that thing as a weapon.’

Dutch Pete grinned, brandishing the short spear.

‘My favourite weapon. This blade has drunk a lot of blood over the years – lion, leopard, kudu, buffalo, rhino, crocodile – it thirsts for the most feared animal on this continent and that surely must be the grizzly.’ Pete clapped a heavy arm about Deke’s shoulders. ‘Humour me, Deke. Ah! I see you didn’t wince then! Your health has improved, eh, man?’