He turned and walked through the circle of ranchers. I heard Pat Roark saying, “Well, I'll be damned. I never figured the marshal would back down on his own people when it came to a fight with the bluebellies.”
Then Bucky Stow came out of the barn leading a saddled bay over to where we were. Slowly, the circle begin to break up and the men went, one and two at a time, to get their horses.
I said, “Thanks, Bucky,” as I took the bay's reins. “Take good care of Red. I'll want him when I get back.”
Bucky shuffled uncomfortably. He was a quiet man who never said much, and I'd never known him to carry a gun, much less use one. He said, “Tall, I guess you know how I felt about your pa. I'd be glad to...”
“You stay here, Bucky. You look after the womenfolks.”
His eyes looked relieved. I led the bay over toward the corral where the ranchers were getting their horses cinched up. I hadn't taken more than a dozen steps when Laurin came out on the front porch.
“Tall?”
I wasn't sure that I wanted to talk to Laurin now. There was only one thing in my mind—a man by the name of Thornton. But she called again, I paused, and then I went over to the end of the porch. Her eyes had that wide, frightened look that I had seen in Ma's eyes a few minutes before.
“Tall,” she said tightly, “don't do it. They'll kill you in a minute if you go into town looking for trouble.”
I tried to keep my voice even. “Nothing's going to happen to me. You just stay here and take care of Ma. There's nothing to worry about.”
She made a helpless little gesture with her hands. Even through all the bitterness that was in me, I thought how beautiful she was and how much I loved her.
“Tall, please, for my sake, for your mother's sake, don't do anything now.”
“I have to do something,” I said. “Don't you see that?” “I just know that there's going to be more trouble, and more killing. It will be the start of a war if you go into town bent on revenge.”
I tried to be patient, but there was something inside me that kept urging me to strike out and hurt. I said, “What do you want me to do, turn yellow like Ray Novak, and turn myself over to the bluebellies?”
“It wouldn't be turning yellow, Tall.” Her voice was breathless, the words coming out fast, stumbling over each other in their haste. “Tall, can't you see what you'll be starting? If you can't think of yourself, think of others. Of me, and your mother.”
The ranchers were waiting. They had their horses saddled, and the only thing holding them up was myself. I started backing away. “This is man's business,” I said. “Women just don't understand things like this.” Then I added, “Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right.” But the words sounded flat and stale in my own ears.
We rode away from the ranch house with me in the van, and Pat Roark riding beside me. There was about a dozen of us, and we rode silently, nobody saying a word. I concentrated on the thud of the bay's hoofs, and the little squirts of powdery red dust that rose up, and a lazily circling chicken hawk up above, cutting clean wide swaths against a glass sky. I didn't dare to think of Pa. There would be time enough for that.
We traveled south on the wagon road that we always used going to Garner's Store, across the arroyo and onto the flats. We reached Garner's Store, a squat boxlike affair made of cottonwood logs and 'dobe bricks, about an hour after leaving the ranch house. It set in the V of the road, where the wagon tracks leading from the Bannerman and the Novak ranches came together. As we sighted the store, we saw two Negro police leave in a cloud of dust, heading south toward John's City.
There was no use going after them. A dozen armed men couldn't very well ride into town and expect to surprise anybody. We pulled our horses up at the store and let them drink at the watering trough. After a while Old Man Garner came out looking vaguely worried.
I said, “Those were Davis police, weren't they, the ones that fogged out of your place a few minutes back?”
The old man nodded. “I guess they was kind of ex-pectin' something out of your pa's friends, Tall. Anyway, they stayed here until they saw you comin', and then they lit out for town.”
Pat Roark said, “Did they mention what outfit they was out of?”
The old man thought. “They mentioned Hooker's Bend. I reckon they come from around there.”
Pat looked at me. “You ready to ride, Tall?”
“I'm ready.”
Chapter 5
AS WE RODE, Pat Roark seemed to be the only man in the whole group who was completely at ease. He rode slouched over to one side of his saddle, grinning slightly, as if he was looking forward to the excitement. He's just a kid, I thought. Nothing but a damned green kid who doesn't know what he's getting into. But then I realized that he was as old as I was. Maybe a few months older. I'd never thought of him before as being a kid.
“Cavalry,” Pat Roark said, as if he had been giving it considerable thought. “They're the ones we've got to watch out for. The police don't amount to a damn.”
“How much cavalry is there?” I asked.
He shrugged. “There's a detail up north somewhere, about a half a troop, I think. They come and go in John's City, but they've got too much territory to cover to stay there all the time.”
“But the police will be there,” I said.
He looked at me. “They'll be there. This Thornton I mentioned—Jake Thornton, I think his name is—probably we'll find him in the City Bar. It's the only place in town that caters friendly to carpetbaggers.”
I kept my voice level. “Do you know this Thornton when you see him?”
“I know him. I'll point him out to you when the time comes. It'll be a pleasure.”
I knew then that Pat Roark was the only one I could really depend on when things got down to shooting. The others, mostly, were just coming along because they didn't have the guts to stay back. They were all good men, and I didn't have anything against them, but this was my fight, not theirs, and they knew it better than anybody.
When we sighted the town, Pat took out his pistol to check the loading. I said, “Do you mind if I look at that?” He grinned and handed it over.
It wasn't much of a weapon—an old .36-caliber Gofer revolver. It was mounted on a brass frame and had a naked trigger without any guard. I recognized it as one of the guns that the Confederacy had bought from some outlaw arms dealers before the war, probably because the Yankees were afraid to shoot them and they were cheap. Across the top of the frame and barrel there was the mark: T. W. Gofer's Patent, Portsmouth, Va. I figured it was about an even bet that the cylinder would explode before you could get off the third shot.
I handed the pistol back to him. Then, on impulse, I drew one of those new, deadly .44's that Pappy had given me and handed that over too.
“You'd better take this,” I said, “in case you need a pistol.”
He took it, admiring its velvety finish and fine balance. Then he grinned again and shoved it into his waistband. “Thanks, Tall. I guess with a pair of these between us, we haven't got anything to worry about.”