Reilly's Luck (1970) (3 page)

Their arrival had been muffled by the snow, which covered and banked the cabin. Reilly's knock brought sudden silence within. He pounded on the door. "Open up in there! It's cold! I've got a boy out here."

There was the sound of a bar being removed, then the door swung inward. Will Reilly pushed the door back further and walked in, holding Val's hand in his left one, then releasing it.

He pushed the door shut behind him, still facing the three men who sat around the room. They stared at Reilly, then at Val.

"Looks like I drew a pat hand," Reilly said quietly. "Val, this is the Tensleep Kid. He's one half Irish, one quarter Dutch, one quarter Sioux Indian, and he's four quarters bad. But he's a strong man and he's honest with his friends."

Tensleep chuckled. "I'm not all bad, kid. I got a liking for kids and gamblers." He looked up at Reilly. "How'd you find this place, Will?"

"I grubstaked Ebbens a couple of times."

"Anybody else know of it?"

"I doubt it. Ebbens wasn't a talking man, you'll recall."

"It's mighty cold to be travelin'," one of the others said. "Maybe you'd like to tell us how come?"

"This is Myra's boy. Van left him with me when they skipped town, and the sky pilot down there was going to take him away from me. I like the boy, and I don't like Dunker."

The man was heavyset, with powerful shoulders. "I don't buy it," he said, looking hard at Reilly, "and I don't like you."

"Your privilege, Sonnenberg. I don't like you, either."

"Then get out."

"No." Val was afraid of that thick, bearded man, but when he looked at Will he saw his friend was smiling. Will Reilly was not afraid. "We're staying, Henry."

Sonnenberg started to rise, but Tensleep's voice cut the movement short. "Let him stay, Hank. We'd put no man out on a night like this, would we, Tom?"

The third man was tall and lank. He looked around lazily, "No, we wouldn't. Forget it, Hank."

Sonnenberg swore. "How do we know he ain't a spy?"

"Reilly?" Tensleep chuckled. "Reilly's a gambler."

There were bunks enough. The outlaws had added bunks when they chose the place, and Ebbens had had several in the beginning. He had always planned to hire help.

"We'll leave when the storm is over," Reilly said. "I'll make some runners for the buckboard."

"I don't like you, Reilly," Sonnenberg said again. "I never did."

"Nobody asked you to, Henry. I'll try to keep out of your way, and you keep out of mine."

"Or ... ?"

Will Reilly smiled. "I can shoot as quick and as accurately as any man in this room ... and it's a small room."

"He's right, Hank," Tensleep said. "I've seen him shoot. I've also seen him use a bowie. I saw him carve three men into ribbons before they could get off a shot ... and they were sent to the table to get him."

Henry Sonnenberg looked thoughtfully at Reilly. "Well, now, maybe I underrated you. Maybe you're better than I thought."

"It's kind of close in here," Reilly said. "I think we'd both get hurt, Henry."

The heavy man stared at him with reluctant admiration. "All right. You got nerve. Only don't cross me."

Val had edged close to the fire. He was beginning to get warm all the way through. Though he had not admitted it to Will Reilly, he had been cold for hours. He was still afraid of these men, although Tensleep smiled at him.

"I didn't know Myra had a kid," Tom said suddenly.

"Nobody did. She kept still about it and the Schmitts cared for him until Emma died. Then Myra told Van to get rid of him."

They were shocked, and showed it.

"That's right," Reilly continued, "only Van wasn't up to it. So he brought him to me to keep overnight, then they skipped out."

"I knew Myra had a streak of mean," Tensleep said, "but akid ! She'd do that to a kid?"

"She's a strange one," Tom said, and added, surprisingly, "I knew her family."

Reilly glanced at him. "Where was this?"

"Back east. She came of good people ... well-off. But she was always a mean one. She skipped out and never did go back."

When Val woke up the cabin was light and he was lying on a bunk with blankets tucked around him. Tensleep was sitting by the fire with his feet propped up on a stump that did duty for a chair. He glanced over when Val moved. "Mornin', boy. When you get right down to it you're an almighty good sleeper, you know that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sir. Now that's right nice. Who taught you manners, boy?"

"Mr. Van did, sir."

"Well, I reckon he was good for something, after all. But a pleasant man, too, a right pleasant man. I never did talk to anyone who was easier with words ... unless it was Will Reilly. You got a friend there, boy. You stick to him. A man never has many friends in this life and he had better hold onto them."

"You have friends."

Tensleep chuckled dryly, and gave Val a quick, sidelong glance tinged with ironic humor. "Yeah? You might call 'em that. We work together, boy, and they're good at what they do, but I was talkin' of friends you can turn your back on."

"Mr. Reilly likes you."

"Reilly does? Now, why do you say that, boy?"

"I can tell by the way he talks to you and looks at you. He likes you, all right."

"I'm honored. Will Reilly is a man sparing of his likes. And what about you, boy?"

"Yes, sir. I like you."

"How about Hank? An' Tom?"

"I don't like Hank ... Henry. I don't think he likes me, either. I don't know about Tom."

"Nobody knows about Tom. Not even Tom." He got up and added wood to the fire. "You keep shut about your likes an' dislikes, boy. Though I don't s'pose it will make much dif'rence, one way or t'other."

The snow had stopped, but outside the window, which he could scarcely see through because of the frost, everything was white and still. He could hear an axe being used, and from time to time the sound of voices. He could see big chips lying on the snow, and a couple of long poles, curved on one end. Will Reilly had chosen young saplings with a slight curvature for the runners. Now he was trimming them to smooth the surface that would ride on the snow.

Sonnenberg, Tom, and Reilly wheeled the buckboard into view and Reilly went to work to remove the wheels. The buckboard had been built so that runners could be mounted for winter use.

After a while they all came in. Tom went to work preparing a meal, and Reilly tilted his chair back against the wall. "I've got some extra grub," he said, "and we're obliged for your help. If you stay here until you get a chinook, or spring comes, you'll need more than you've got."

"It would help," Tensleep agreed.

"I can leave you a couple of slabs of bacon, some frozen beef, maybe half a dozen cans of beans. We didn't pack flour because we didn't figure to have any place to bake."

"See?" Tensleep said. "I told you he was all right. You never lose anything if you stand by Will Reilly."

Reilly drank coffee, and then nodded to Val. "Get bundled up, Val. We're pulling out."

"You got a long drive." Sonnenberg studied him warily. "How do we know you ain't just goin' out to meet the sheriff some place?"

"If you knew Daily Benson," Reilly answered, "you wouldn't worry. You couldn't get him three miles from town in this weather for twenty thousand dollars. He's a warm-weather sheriff ... and he isn't looking for you boys, anyhow."

Reilly put down his cup and got to his feet. "Come on out, a couple of you, and I'll give you what I can."

Outside he loaded Sonnenberg down with the bacon and beans, and while the outlaw went inside, Reilly said, "Thanks, Tensleep, I'll remember this." He dug into the buckboard and came up with a ten-pound sack of dried apples. "Take this for an added benefit."

"Thanks." Tensleep started to turn away, then came back. "I just recalled, Will. You be careful down to Helena. The Gorman boys are down there."

Henry Sonnenberg stood by sullenly, but Tom stepped forward and picking up Val, placed him in the buckboard, and tucked the buffalo robe around him. "You ride warm, son. You've got a cold drive ahead of you."

"Thank you, Tom," Val said. "Thank you very much."

Will Reilly stepped up into the buckboard and sat down, then he clucked to the horses and slapped them with the reins. "You boys take care," he said. "And scatter some snow after I'm gone."

He drove down the trail toward the main road, and Val saw his coat was still unbuttoned and the flap loose on Reilly's holster. Will Reilly was a gambler, they said, but he did not gamble in every sense, and it was only when they had put two good miles behind them that he buttoned his coat.

For a few miles they rode in silence, and then Will glanced down at the boy. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"A little."

"Did you watch what happened back there, Val? It is always important to watch ... and listen."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know why we're alive now, Val?"

"They were afraid of you."

"No, they weren't. Especially, Tensleep wasn't. But neither were the others. What was important was that they knew I wasn't afraid of them, and that they couldn't injure me without being injured themselves.

"And there was something else, Val. A man who is strong has to know when to use his strength. I did not challenge Henry Sonnenberg. If I had challenged him he would have felt he had to prove me wrong. There would have been a fight, and some of us would have been hurt. In such a case it is a fine line one must draw, Val. I accepted Sonnenberg as a dangerous man, while not yielding in the least."

"Yes, sir."

"Of those men back there, Val, Sonnenberg is the toughest and meanest. Tensleep is the best with a gun, and by far the most cunning, but Tom is the most dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because he is not right in his mind. He looks all right, and most of the time he acts all right, but you can't count on what he will do under strain when it comes to a tight spot. He could very easily go wild and kill everybody around him. Afterward he might be sorry for a little while, but more than likely he would forget all about it."

After that they rode in silence again, but presently Reilly said, "Val, you are alone in the world. Don't ever forget that, and don't forget that he who stands alone is the strongest. It is a wonderful thing to have friends, but you must know who your friends are. Learn to judge men, Val. If you do, you will live longer ... and better."

The air was crisp and clear, and the horses moved briskly. Val burrowed down in his warm clothes and watched the ears of the horses. From time to time Will Reilly talked of one thing or another.

This was only the first of many rides, in buckboards, on trains, on steamboats, and on horseback, and on every occasion Will Reilly talked. He liked to talk, and Val was a good listener.

It was only a long time later that Val began to realize that Will Reilly was doing his best in his own way to teach him the things that he himself valued. Among these things were to have responsibility and courage, to be a gentleman always, and to realize that a man's word is his bond. There were many other things, too, little things about working at various jobs, getting along with people, noticing the mannerisms that men develop, the tricks of expression or gesture that may indicate when they were lying, or when they are uncertain or afraid. In the hit-or-miss way of the gambling table, the steamboat and the mining camp, Will Reilly's own education had been gained the hard way.

On that first night in the strange hotel in Helena, Will Reilly dressed to go out. As he turned away from the dresser he opened a fresh pack of cards and handed them to Val.

"Take these. Shuffle them a hundred times tonight. Learn the feel of them, learn how to handle them easily. Even if you never play cards it will make your fingers more agile, your eyes quicker." Reilly went out then, and Val was alone.

He went to the window and listened to the crunch of footsteps on the snow, remembering what Tensleep had said about the Gormans. Would they find Will? Would they kill him? Would he never come back?

He watched the lights on the snow, and he thought of all that had happened--of Myra and Van, of Tensleep, Henry Sonnenberg, and Tom ... did Tom have another name?

Then he began to shuffle the cards. He shuffled, dealt, gathered them up again ... a hundred times, and a few more.

And so it was to be, night after night. He learned to handle the cards smoothly and with dexterity, to deal, second-deal, to deal off the bottom. He learned to cut cards and shift the cut, to build up a top stock or a bottom stock from which the hands he wanted could be dealt.

"A gentleman never cheats, Val," Will Reilly told him the next night while brushing his hair, "but you will not always play with gentlemen, and it is well to know when you are being cheated; and to know that, you must know what it is possible to do.

"If you suspect a game of being crooked, get out. Use any excuse, but leave it. Don't call a man on cheating, because if you do you'll have to kill him, and a dead man doesn't rest easy on your mind.