to Tame a Land (1955) (7 page)

The next morning after breakfast I rode away. Liz a did not come out to say good-bye, but I could hear he r in the next room. It sounded as if she was crying. I sor t of felt like crying myself. Only men don't carry on.

When I was turning into the lane she ran out an d waved. I was going to miss her.

It was thirty miles to Willow Creek, and it was fa r away from anywhere. Once there, I scouted along th e creek and picked a likely-looking bench. It was my firs t time to try hunting gold, but I'd heard talk of it, an d around Pollard's place in California they had taken thousands from the creeks.

The work was lonely and hard. The bench was on a curve of the Willow, and I found a little color. I san k a shaft to bedrock, which was only eight feet down, an d I cleaned up the bedrock and panned it out. After tw o weeks of brutal labor I had taken out about ninety dollars.

Not much, but better than punching cows. It wa s harder living alone now than it had been in the mountains before I met the Hetricks. They were good people , and I'd liked staying there with them, and I though t a lot about Liza. It was Liza I kept remembering. Th e way she laughed, how she smiled, and the warm way he r eyes looked sometimes.

The next week I cleaned out some seams in the bedrock and took out more than two hundred dollars in twenty minutes.

It was spotty. There was a lot of black sand mixe d in with the gold and it was hard to get the gold out.

Twice in the following week I moved upstream, workin g bars and benches to the tune of a little color here and a little more there.

My grub ran short; but I killed an elk and jerked th e meat, then caught a few fish from time to time. Livin g off the country was almost second nature to me by thi s time.

Nobody came around. Once a couple of Utes cam e by and I gave them some of my coffee. When they left , one of them told me about a bench upstream that I s hould try.

Taking a chance that they knew what they were talkin g about, I went upstream the next morning and found th e bench. It was hidden in the pines that flanked both side s of the stream, and it was above the water.

There was an old caved-in shaft there, a shovel wit h the handle long gone, and a miserable little dugout i n the bank. I found some arrowheads around. Whoeve r had mined here must have been here twenty years ago.

This was Indian country then.

When I cleaned out the old shaft I panned some of th e bottom gravel and washed out twelve dollars in a fe w minutes. The second pan was off bedrock and ran t o twenty-six dollars. Working like all get-out, I cleane d up a good bit of dust. Not enough make a man rich , but more money than I ever had before.

When I finished that week I loaded my gear and saddled up. Old Blue was fat and sassy, so we drifted bac k to the Crossing.

The old black hat was still on my head, and I wa s wearing buckskins. It wasn't trouble I was looking for , but I remembered Hetrick's warning. Outside of tow n I reined in and got out the old Shawk & McLanahan an d belted it on.

When I swung down at the bank, Burdette was coming down the street, and when they had finished weighing out my gold they counted out my money and i t came to just $462. And I still had $50 of my wages fro m Hetrick.

"Doing well," Burdette said.

"Not bad."

"So you killed Rice Wheeler?"

"Uh-huh."

"That was what you meant, then? When you sai d I should know the look of you?"

I shrugged. "Read it any way you like."

He watched me as I walked out to my home an d stepped into the leather. When I rode toward Hetrick's , he was still watching. I could feel his eyes on me an d I'll admit I didn't like it. At a store on the edge of tow n I bought some ribbon for Liza, and I'd also saved he r a small gold nugget.

She ran out to the gate to see me, recognizing Ol d Blue from far down the road. She stepped up in my stirrup and rode that way up to the house. Mrs. Hetric k was at the door, drying her hands on her apron, and Hetrick came up from the corral, smiling a greeting. I fel t all choked up. I guess it was the first time anybod y felt good about seeing me come back. Most of my lif e I've been a stranger.

It was good to walk around the place again and to se e the horses. One of them, a tall Appalousa, followed m e along the fence, whinnying at me, much to Old Blue'
s disgust.

While we waited for dinner and talked about th e horses, Hetrick suddenly asked, "Did you see Burdette?"

"I saw him."

"Bother you?"

"No."

"He wanted to buy a horse from me, but I turned hi m down. I've seen the way he treats his horses."

That gave me some satisfaction, but it worried me , too. I wouldn't want any of the horses I had broke n so carefully to get into the hands of Ollie Burdette, wh o was as Hetrick said, a hard man with a horse. But it worried me because I knew that Hetrick, a stiff-necked ma n and stern about such things, would not have hesitated t o tell Burdette what he thought.

It was pleasant inside the house, and Mrs. Hetric k put on a linen tablecloth and had the table fixed up rea l fancy. When I had my hair slicked down as much a s it would ever slick, which isn't much, I sat down to th e best supper I'd had.

Kipp rode in while I was there, all excited about th e gold I'd panned out, but I knew he wouldn't be so muc h excited by the work. It was a good supper and there wa s good talk around, and had I been their own son, I c ouldn't have been treated any better.

"That Burdette," Kipp said suddenly, "I don't thin k he's in your class. He's fast, all right, but not as fast a s you."

Hetrick frowned. He never liked talk about gun fighters , but Kipp was always talking of Clay Allison, the Cimarron gun fighter, or of the Earps, Bill Longley, Langfor d Peel, or John Bull.

"You'd match any of them," he said, his excitemen t showing. "I'd like to see you up against Hardin, or thi s Bonney feller, down in New Mexico.

"Why, Kipp," Mrs. Hetrick was horrified. "A bod y would think you'd like to see a man killed!"

He looked startled, and his face flushed. "It ain't that,"
h e said hurriedly, "It's just . . . well, sort of like . . . I d on't know," he finished lamely. "I just like to see who'
s best."

Talk like that worried me some, and I didn't want an y more of it. Loose-talking folks have promoted more tha n one fight that would never have happened otherwise.

Kipp wasn't the only one. When I was around tow n I'd heard some talk, folks speculating on who would win , Burdette or me. The talk excited them. It wasn't tha t they were bloodthirsty, just that they liked a contest , and. they just didn't think that a man would have to di e to decide it.

Or maybe they did. Maybe they figured the sooner w e killed each other off, the better.

It nagged at a man's mind. Was he better than me?

I didn't want to be better than anybody, not at all. Bu t it worried me some because I wanted to live.

Even nice people warned me, never realizing that eve n their warnings were an incitement. It was on their minds , on all their minds, so how could it be different with me?

Or with Burdette? The sooner I got out of town, the better.

"I'm taking out," I said suddenly. "I figure to go East.

Have a ride on the cars, maybe. I want to see St. Loui s or Kansas City. Maybe New Orleans."

"Will you look up your family?" Mrs. Hetrick asked.

"I reckon not. They never tried to find me."

"You don't know," she protested. "Maybe they thin k you're dead. Maybe they don't even know about you."

"Just as well. They didn't set much store by Ma, o r they'd not have thrown her over like that."

"Maybe they were sorry, Rye. People make mistakes.

You have some money now, why don't you look the m up?"

No matter about that, I was getting out of here. I d idn't want to hear any more talk about Ollie Burdette , or whether he was faster than me.

So we talked it out, and I made up my mind to leav e Old Blue behind. He was all of eleven years old, mayb e even older. It was time he had a rest. I'd ride one o f Hetrick's horses over the mountains to the railroad and sel l him there. We agreed on that.

Hetrick wanted Old Blue. He was gentle enough an d would be a good horse for Liza to ride, and she liked him.

I said I'd rather see her have him than anybody else, an d she flushed a little and looked all bright-eyed. She was a nice little girl. And I was going to miss her. I was goin g to miss her a lot.

Come daylight, I saddled up.

Burdette was standing on the street when I rode int o the Crossing with Hetrick. He saw the bedroll behind m y saddle.

"Leavin'?"

"Going East," I said. "I want to see some country."

"Better stay shut of Dodge. They eat little boys dow n there."

It rankled, and suddenly I felt something hot and ugl y rise inside me. I turned on him. "You hungry?" I said.

It surprised him and he didn't like it. We were clos e up, and he didn't like that. We weren't four feet apart, an d neither of us could miss. Right then I stepped closer. I t was a fool thing to do, but right at the moment, I wa s doing it. I crowded him. "You hungry?" I repeated. "Yo u want to eat this little boy?"

He backed up, his face gray. He wasn't scared. I kne w he wasn't scared. It was just that nobody could win i f the shooting started. It was too close. It was belly to belly.

He wasn't scared, he just wanted to win. He didn't wan t to get shot, and he was older than me, old enough to b e cautious. Later I would have better judgment, but righ t then I was mad.

"Any time," I said. "Just any time."

Those gray eyes were ugly. He hated me so bad it hurt , and he wanted to draw. He wanted to kill me. But h e laughed, and he made it sound easy, though it must hav e been hard to do.

"You got me wrong, kid. I was just foolin'."

But he was not fooling. It just wasn't the right time, an d Ollie Burdette figured he could wait.

"Sure," I said. "Forget it."

So I left him like that and I rode out of town and dow n the trail.

Maybe I would look up my relatives, after all.

When I looked back,
Ollie Burdette still stood there, bu t Hetrick was gone.

Right then I had a hunch. "I'll see you again, Olli e Burdette, I'll bet on it."

And there was an unspoken thought that it would b e the last time . . . for one of us.

Chapter
7

MARKET SQUA
RE in Kansas City was hustlin'
and booming when I first walked down the street. Tome i t was a big town, all crowded with people, all seeming i n a big hurry.

I liked seeing the beer wagons with their big Perchero n or Clydesdale teams, and I liked watching the fancy carriages with their fine driving horses all neck-reined up an d prancing along. And right away I noticed that nobod y carried a gun where you could see it, so I stached min e away behind my waistband.

For hours I just walked the streets, looking at all th e things I didn't want. I never saw so much I could do without, and never so many people. Right away I saw I'd hav e to do something about my buckskins. Even the new blac k hat I'd bought looked shabby, so I went to a tailor an d had him make me up a fine gray suit and one of black , and I bought a fine white hat, some shirts with ruffle d fronts, and some black string ties. When I'd found som e boots of black calfskin I began to feel mighty dressed up.

Almost nineteen, I could pass as several years older. I w as weighing one hundred and eighty now, and no ounc e of fat on me. Once in a while I'd pass some girl wh o would look at me, then turn to look again. And I alway s saw it because I'd usually turned to look myself.

The old Shawk & McLanahan was still with me, bu t seeing some of the Bisley Colts, I longed for a new an d more efficient gun. Several times I almost went in to bu y one, but each time I hesitated. Right now I needed n o gun and there was a lot I wanted to see on the mone y I had left.

One day on Market Square I saw a bunch of men sittin g or standing around a bench. Some of them looked Western, so I walked over, and when I go there they were talking about shooting. It was warm, and most of them ha d their coats off. One tall, finely built man with long hai r to his shoulders and a mustache interested me. He wa s wide across the cheekbones and had gray eyes.

Several times I saw him studying me, and whenever I w as around, I noticed he knew where I was.

There was a young fellow standing near me and h e whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Wild Bill'
s trying to figure out who you are."

"Wild Bill? Is that Hickok?"

"Sure thing. He's a fine shot."

This fellow stood there listening to the talk of guns an d shooting, and then he turned to me. "Have you eaten yet?

I'm hungry."

We walked along together. He was a buffalo hunter, h e told me, and he had come into Kansas City with nearl y three thousand dollars from his hides. "My name's Dixon,"
h e said. "Billy Dixon."