The Sons of Grady Rourke (15 page)

“Yes,” the rancher nodded sadly. Tunstall was Chisum's partner in the town's only bank. “I'm sure they ambushed him. John was a businessman, not a shooter. That story about three empty cartridges in his handiron don't wash with me. At least it don't sound like the House men know you're down here.”

McSween stepped into the morning sunshine. He turned his face toward the red sky and closed his eyes. He let the new sun warm his pale skin. Chisum waited for the lawyer to collect his thoughts.

“I'm going to Lincoln tomorrow.” McSween lowered his gaze to Chisum who stood a head taller beside him. “Dolan won't kill me. At least not on the main street and not on a Sunday. That isn't his style. Bushwhacking suits him better.”

“Brady will lock you up as sure as you're standing here.”

“I don't think so. He's got the horses for security. I'm going to Lincoln. I want to see how many men will rally to our side of the street if there's trouble. Will you ride in with me?”

“Not yet.” The cattleman spoke quickly as if he had already mulled it over. “I'll send some of my boys with you.”

McSween turned and held the door open for his host.

B
Y THE TIME
Patrick awoke, it was Saturday afternoon. He could not remember sleeping so late or being so tired. His feet hurt from sleeping over twelve hours with his soggy boots on.

Liam and Cyrus were not in the house. Patrick found them outside where they were covered with sweat and grime. The gaping breaches in the fence around the house were closed by new posts and rails. Cyrus saw Patrick first.

“Good morning,” the big man shouted as he walked up from the barn. “Did you catch up on your sleep?”

“Yes, thanks.” Patrick held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “Looks like you and Liam have been busy.”

The sergeant still wore his field uniform with the sleeves rolled up. Sweat dripped into his friendly eyes.

“This ain't no one-man operation,” the soldier said cheerfully. “We fixed the fence and Liam is down working on the barn where the wind stoved in the siding.”

“I'm grateful.” Patrick waited for Cyrus to come closer.

“The boy wants to ride into town to find your brother.” Sergeant Buchanan appeared to expect an answer.

“He should see Mr. Shield, the other lawyer. He has Pa's will.”

“I'll tell him. Will you ride in with him?”

Patrick saw Liam coming up behind Cyrus. “Afternoon, Patrick,” the youngest brother waved. He wore his ragged civilian clothing.

“Liam. Thanks for the fence.”

“Sure. Let them cows get their own house.”

Patrick nodded.

“I'm going into town to find Sean.”

“Cyrus mentioned that. You need to look up Mr. Shield in Tunstall's store. Sheriff Brady's men are keeping it closed, but the lawyer lives in the back.”

“I'll do that. Will you be coming, too?”

Patrick studied the youngest surviving Rourke.

“No. I ain't been home for a week.”

“I'll ride in with you,” Cyrus offered.

“Good. I'd like the company.”

“Sean's at the Wortley Hotel this side of town, on the left.”

“All right. I'll just clean up first.”

Patrick looked toward the west, then back toward his brother.

“You ain't got more than four hours of daylight left. You could wait till tomorrow.”

“No. I ain't much for Sundays. Them cityfolks will be going to church and all. I'll go today.”

“Whatever,” Patrick sighed. “But it'll be quieter there tomorrow. The House men probably don't shoot folks on Sunday.”

A
LL OF
L
INCOLN
C
OUNTY'S SADDLE HORSES SEEMED TO BE
tied up at either the Wortley or Ike Stockton's saloon further down the street. The ranch hands on Chisum's huge spread and men from smaller ranches throughout the Pecos Valley were paid on Friday. By the time Liam and Sergeant Buchanan rode into town late Saturday afternoon, February 23rd, half of the cowboys were already broke again and the other half were well on their way. Easy women who usually lived in sutlers' wagons near Fort Stanton began arriving in Lincoln on Thursdays to service the hungry men on Saturdays.

The two riders tied up to the hotel. Cyrus wore his blue cavalry blouse and Liam wore the ragged uniform of a cow-puncher. The sergeant hesitated outside in the bright chill. He looked into Liam's face with its boyish beard.

“What is it?” Liam was anxious to enter.

“The hotel's probably just for white folks.”

“In Lincoln? There's more Mexicans in this town than
Anglos
.” Liam smiled cheerfully. “It's more likely they won't let me in.”

Cyrus shook his head, not very convinced. He outranked Liam by two stripes in the Army, but he deliberately fell in behind the white man as they approached the doorway.

Several men with cow muck on their boots turned around when the door opened. They quickly sized up the two new men and then returned to their business of visiting in the open area or leaning against the long bar. Others came and went through the hallway leading to the cantina. More than half of the faces were Hispanic.

“Like I said,” Liam smiled. “Only your coin has to be the right color on Saturday night.”

Cyrus nodded, gradually becoming more comfortable. The night clerk shuffled toward them.

“
Buenos dias
,” the little man said showing more black spaces than teeth.

“Good evening,” Liam said. “We're looking for Sean Rourke.”

“
Sí, señor
, he's in the cantina—through that hallway.”

“Thank you.”

Liam led Cyrus into the shadows. Cigar and pipe smoke filled the hallway and the cantina was packed with loudmen and the kind of women who do not require their men to have clean fingernails. Only one of the women in the room was not dressed in chorus-girl costume and did not have a face caked with grease paint. Her beautiful face was clean. When she glanced toward the hallway, Liam was struck by her incredibly violet eyes. She stood between two men sitting at a large, round table. One man was Jesse Evans. The other had a disfigured face and he did not look up as the pocket-heavy cowboys came and went during their night on the tiny town.

“There,” Liam gestured with a cock of his head. “That's my brother.”

Sean did not look up until he felt two men standing beside him. When he did, it took a moment for him to recognize the brother who was a pimple-faced boy when last he had seen him. The oldest brother stood. Without a word, he stepped forward and wrapped his long arms around Liam.

“Sean,” Liam said softly. He separated from Sean's embrace and looked into the burned face. Enough sunlight still poured through the windows to brighten the ghastly purple wound. Liam concentrated on Sean's clear, pale eyes. He did not remember the flecks of gray in his brother's hair and whiskers.

“Liam. Damned good to see you. When did you get into town?”

“Yesterday. This here is Cyrus Buchanan. We rode together up north.”

Sean looked at the faded stripes on the black man's blue shirt and quickly extended his hand.

“Sergeant. Thanks for keeping an eye on Liam here.”

“Didn't have to do much of that. The boy's a fine soldier.”

“Retired soldier,” Liam said eagerly. “Gentleman farmer now.”

“Oh?” Sean's face became serious. “You've been out to Pa's?”

“Yes. Staying with Patrick.”

“Oh.” Sean turned back to the five men sitting around him. “This is Jesse Evans and a few of the men who ride with him. And this is Melissa Bryant, a friend of mine.”

Melissa nodded and said nothing. Jesse Evans smiled and made half a salute with a wave of his hand toward Cyrus.

Sean pulled out two of the empty chairs and gestured toward Liam and Cyrus. No one raised an eyebrow when Cyrus sat in the company of half a dozen white men. He was beginning to like Lincoln's easy ways.

“What'll you boys be having?” Jesse sounded cordial. Melissa leaned toward Liam.

“Maybe whiskey,” Liam smiled.

“Same,” Cyrus said firmly.

Melissa turned and pushed through the crowded hallway.

The smoke in the cantina burned Liam's eyes. He reached into the pocket of his long duster and pulled out a black brick of tobacco. During the long chase of Chief Joseph's band through the cold northland, he had given up smoking and took to chewing to keep his throat warm. He bit off a chaw and handed the rest of the wad to Cyrus who did likewise.

“You learned some nasty habits in the Army, little brother.” Sean was grinning and his good cheek bulged with his own chaw.

“Seems so,” Liam chuckled. “Done worse than this even. But you remember how it was.”

Sean nodded silently. He remembered.

“The boy says you was in uniform?” Cyrus looked at the good half of Sean's face.

“The gray,” the older brother said with almost an apology in his voice.

Cyrus looked into Sean's weary eyes.

“Soldiers is soldiers,” the black man said.

Sean nodded. He liked the company his brother kept.

Melissa returned with two shot glasses. Cheap liquor dripped from her fingers. She laid a glass in front of Liam and Cyrus.

“Thanks, ma'am,” Sergeant Buchanan said warmly. The woman nodded and walked to another table.

“She don't say much,” Liam noted toward Sean.

“No. You going to stay with Patrick?”

“For a while, I suppose. Till we sort out Pa's business.”

“We can do that now that you're home.”

“That's what Patrick said. How come you ain't living at the ranch with us?”

Sean looked down at his empty glass. He shifted his chaw from his live cheek to the dead one, which bulged wrinkled and blue.

Liam felt a slap on his shoulder. He looked sideways to see Jesse Evans pulling his hand back and smiling broadly.

“Because the company's better at the Wortley, boy. Ain't that so, Deputy?”

Liam looked at his brother.

“Deputy?”

“Yes. I needed the work. Our brother runs Chisum cattle on Pa's land and I work for the sheriff.”

“I wouldn't have figured you for a lawman, Sean. Guess times change.” There was a twinkle in Liam's blue eyes.

“Yes.”

“You boys come to town in time for fireworks all right,” Jesse Evans slurred his words merrily. “We fought the Revolution all over again this week, boy.”

Liam glanced toward his brother for an explanation.

“An Englishman was killed by a posse on Monday. Nasty business.” Sean was talking to his empty glass but loud enough for Liam to hear over the cheerful noise surrounding them.

“Were you there?”

Sean did not look up.

“Reckon so.” Sean raised his empty glass and held it airborne. In a moment, Bonita Ramos took it out of his hand and left a full glass. Lowering the glass to the wet tabletop, the older brother faced Liam. “You been to the lawyer's?”

“Not yet. My letter was from a Mr. McSween.”

“He ain't around just now,” Jesse answered for Sean. “He's on his way to jailor maybe he's already feeding the coyotes beside the road to Mesilla.” The blond man laughed, heartily amused.

“McSween's partner is Mr. Shield,” Sean said over Jesse's loudness. “His office is across the way in Tunstall's store. Tunstall is the man the posse killed.”

“Does Shield have Pa's papers?”

“Yes.”

“You seen Pa's will?”

“Yes. What did Patrick tell you?”

“Nothing. Just that you wanted to stay in town.”

Sean nodded and sucked down his sour mash in one gulp. He raised the empty glass again. The half-Mexican woman replaced it within half a minute. She paused only long enough to smile warmly at Cyrus who returned the courtesy with a face full of grin.

“Patrick and I saw the will when we rode in five weeks ago.” Sean swigged bis whiskey and laid the dirty glass on the table before he looked hard into Liam's wind-burned face. “Pa left everything to you and Patrick. Cut me out. He ain't had no cause to do me that way.”

Liam looked stunned.

“Why?”

“Must have had his reasons. But that don't have nothing to do with you and me. Blood is blood.”

“What about Patrick? He said you ain't talking to him.”

“I ain't ready for that yet. Besides, there's two sides in this town. Jesse Evans here and the Sheriff is on the side of the House—the mercantile across the street. Patrick took up with Tunstall's side of the street and McSween and Chisum. Chisum cattle are grazing Pa's land. You stay with Patrick and you've chose sides, Liam.”

“But we're kin.” With only one whiskey in him, Liam was already having trouble following the argument, if an argument it was. “Besides, I ain't got any money to move into town. We don't get our government script for another month, if then.”

“You can work for us,” Jesse answered for Sean. “Sheriff Brady can always use another gun.” He looked across the table toward Cyrus. “Even a black one.”

Liam looked down at the soggy table. He blinked as the memory of Indian blood running across the high plains swept through his mind like a river of red.

“I seen enough trouble to last me, Sean. I come home to settle up Pa's affairs and to make something grow. I want to plant or ranch. I want to do something what does no harm.” Liam blinked suddenly moist eyes. “I ain't about to hurt nobody no more.”

Sean laid his large hand upon his brother's shoulder.

“That's all right, boy. I come home for the same thing. I truly did.” The blue side of Sean's face twitched. “But I just ain't got no place to do it right now. Pa seen to that.”

Cyrus studied the youngest brother's anguished face. All winter in a cavalry saddle had reddened his face and hard liquor made it even redder. The big man in Army blue pushed his empty glass away.