“Help me up. Brad.”
“Sure you’re all right?”
She nodded, reached for his hands, and got slowly to her feet. Clem picked up the water bucket and disappeared to the back porch, where they heard him snorting and washing away the fight grime. Elena studied Laura and Brad. She seemed to be flaying herself with the sight; a seething light boiled up in her soft blue eyes, and she turned her child-like face away.
Jeffers stood and refilled the cylinder of his righthand gun.
Brad helped Laura to a chair, turned to Jeffers. “Your plans are a little complicated now,” he reminded. “Leave Ed here and hit saddle.”
“I’m not venturing into open country and run the risk of a posse.”
“You can’t hold Laura,” Brad said.
“Why not?” Elena demanded.
Brad gave his head a short shake. “When she doesn’t show up, old man Simmons will get alarmed. He’ll think she’s had an accident. He’ll hunt her. He’ll come here to ask about her. He won’t be long in doing it, either.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Elena said, “I never had anybody feel that way about me. But I guess you’re right.”
“You’ll have the whole strength of the Hammer down on you.”
“We won’t hold her in a way that’ll make that happen,” Elena said. “You’re the strong link binding her to our welfare, Brad. Tonight she’ll eat supper at the Hammer, and tomorrow within an hour of sunrise, she rides back here alone and unarmed unless she wants something to happen to you — something real bad, soon.”
“It sounds like a long chance,” Jeffers said.
“Only because you don’t understand the fool thing called loyalty,” Elena said. She glanced at Laura. “You’ll do it, won’t you, honey?”
“Given no choice, I will. I’ll also find out if that blonde mop is a wig if I get the chance.”
“You’d think somebody had dropped you in with a sackful of wildcats if you try,” Elena said.
“Both of you pipe down,” Jeffers ordered. “We’ll do it that way. You just make yourself at home for the day, Miss Simmons, and when sundown approaches you’ll ride home and act exactly natural — unless you want a bullet in Brad’s brain.”
“Nice deal,” Brad said, “having a woman do your thinking for you.”
Jeffers shrugged without changing expression. “You keep in line, too — or next time I shoot at her instead of a horse.”
Clem entered the room, blood and grime washed from his face. Brad started across the room. Jeffers said, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To wash my face. Then I’ve got stock that needs watering and feeding.”
“Stick with him. Clem,” Jeffers commanded.
With Clem like a shadow beside him, Brad went to the back porch, poured water in the tin basin, and bathed his tender nose. It started bleeding again, and he continued to douse it with cold water until the drippings paled to light crimson and then became clear.
Clem leaned against the wall, thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. “No hard feelings about the fight, Brad?”
Brad shrugged.
“I was in favor of pushing on. I reckon you’ve worked hard here. Seems tough to have your play messed up.” He tore off a piece of plug tobacco and worked it between his bruised lips.
Brad hung up the towel. “What do you hope to get out of this, Clem?”
Clem screwed up his lips and spat brown juice. “A little more living, I reckon. Another hour, day, maybe a year. Just be peaceable with us, Brad. We don’t mean you no real harm.”
Brad wondered if Clem were fool enough to include Elena in the statement.
Brad went back in the house, entered the kitchen, shook up the fire, and put on some beef to make broth.
“For Ed?” Clem asked.
Brad nodded. “The stock can wait that much longer.”
He moved about the stove. Then Clem brushed behind him, reached to the slotted rack on the wall, and drew out the butcher knife. With his puckish eyes on Brad, he snapped the blade of the knife and threw the broken pieces behind the wood box.
“You think I’m a fool, Clem?”
“I sure as hell do. A smart, tough, dogged, determined fool. Now go on fixing that broth.”
When the broth was ready, Brad carried it into the bedroom. Laura joined him, her eyes troubled as she looked at the wasted young giant on the bed.
Brad forced a few spoonfuls of broth past the parched lips. Ed began talking in disjoined, incoherent phrases about a darkened room and the smell of camphor.
“He’s back in Mom’s room, the night she died,” Brad said, a thickness in his voice. “Maybe the beef broth touched off the memory. We were feeding it to her that night.”
“He needs a doctor.”
Brad nodded. He heard Clem shift from one foot to the other in the doorway. “Jeffers would start shooting first.”
Laura reached for the small bowl. “It’s going to take time to get all this into his stomach, and he needs it. Let me do it.” He handed her the bowl, bent and kissed her ear, whispering, “Saddlegun in the barn.”
The pressure of her fingers as she took the bowl showed him she understood.
“See to your stock, Brad. I’ll take care of Ed.”
Brad walked from the room, Clem turning to dog his heels. Elena lazily watched them pass through the parlor. Her loss of sleep was showing in the pallor beneath the tan of her skin. Jeffers stood by the window, looking out every now and then, impassive, immovable. His cheek was turning purple where the poker had struck it.
Brad went out in the cool air of morning. Clem fell in beside him. In silence they moved toward the barn. Brad felt his nerves beginning to crawl tight, a bead of sweat going icy on his forehead. The thought of the gun filled Brad’s mind so thoroughly it was hard to think that Clem didn’t know or suspect something of it.
Closer and closer the barn loomed; then they were in the shadow of its doorway.
“Wait a minute.” Clem laid a hand on his arm.
Brad glanced at him.
“What you got in here needs feeding?”
“Just the milk cow.”
“I’ll bring her out. We’ll graze her by the creek.”
Brad forced himself to laugh. “You needn’t bother with my chore, Clem. It’ll take just a...”
“I’ll bring her out,” Clem repeated. “You’re a damn fool, Brad. You proved it when you jumped the two of us with the poker.”
“No pokers in here,” Brad kidded.
“True,” Clem said, “but I don’t hanker to take chances on a singletree, coupling iron, or pitchfork being handy. Wouldn’t give me any pleasure to shoot you to death, Brad. Now just stand easy and we’ll fetch bossy to some crick grass and milk her down there.”
Brad felt his muscles go slack and loose. Nothing was going to happen, and the letdown made him go faintly sick.
He stood framed in the barn doorway. The cow was in the first stall, beginning to low with the pain of her heavy udder. Clem sidled into the barn, not turning his back completely to Brad.
Brad forced his body into an attitude of careless nonchalance, trying to keep his gaze from riveting to the Winchester leaning against the rear wall in the shadows. A black sense of failure flooded over him. Clem would surely see the gun.
Then Clem was leading the cow from the barn. Keeping his attention on Brad, he had missed the gun. He handed Brad the halter rope, jerked his head toward the creek. Brad led the cow, Clem beside him.
I don’t think I can do it again, Brad thought. I don’t believe I can screw my nerve up a second time to make a break for the gun...
The sun dragged its interminable way across the heavens. Clem sat before the fireplace, whittling and nursing his tobacco in his cheek. Elena slept in the old Morris chair Brad had repaired when he put his few dollars down on the place. Jeffers had cut squares from the pasteboard of a hardtack box and made himself a deck of cards. He sat at the kitchen table playing solitaire.