The Bolas Read online

  ‘You did Pa’s bidding, you can do mine,’ Mollie snapped back. She understood the significance and purpose of what Shoeville was saying, but was too crushed to accept readily. ‘I asked Preston Mower to help us through the summer,’ she said, endorsing her memory of events. ‘I told him the creeks would fill when the rains came, but he turned me down. It made no difference that I didn’t already owe him. Then he practically ran me from the store.’

  ‘Goddamn jumped-up peddler,’ Shoeville said angrily, turning away as he heard the sound of approaching riders. A moment later he threw a warning glance at Mollie and Henri when someone called out his name.

  He recognized two of the riders as Far Creek waddies, but the other three were Bolas. They were the hired guns of Bruno Ogden, wanting to look disruptive and dangerous.

  ‘What are you wantin’, Deavis?’ Shoeville called back. ‘Ridin’ in here mob-handed?’

  ‘You should keep this side o’ the Far Creek markers,’ Mal Deavis replied, his lips stretching across darkly stained teeth. ‘Then maybe you’ve been told already,’ he added, his eyes halting momentarily on the body of Redbone.

  ‘Careful you don’t make another mistake.’ Shoeville ignored Mollie, looked hard at the other two Bolas men. They were dressed commanchero, most likely renegade traders from the Llano with prices on their heads. ‘Next time we won’t be meetin’ you empty handed. Now you’ve been told.’

  One of the Far Creek cowhands heeled his horse forward. He nodded at Mollie, his face strained with unease. ‘Far Creek’s sold out to Bolas,’ he said. ‘We meant to come here alone. There’s still some silver in the Casa Grande . . . thought we’d give it a try.’

  ‘Oh no! You can’t.’ Mollie groaned aloud, held out her hand imploringly. She knew that if Far Creek was appropriated by Bolas, all movement south and east would be controlled by Ogden.

  ‘Well, they have.’ Deavis dribbled a thin stream of tobacco juice, raised his eyes to Mollie. ‘We tried to tell your man, but he wanted to make a fight of it.’ He grinned meanly. ‘You need more’n trail hands to hold down this land, lady.’

  ‘Lew Redbone never made a fight of it,’ Shoeville fumed. ‘He was shot twice with a rifle.’ Age had tempered Ben Shoeville, but anger now hardened his features. ‘The murderous scum who pulled the trigger didn’t even have to get close,’ he challenged bitterly.

  Henri turned his back contemptuously to the gunmen, walked over towards Mollie. ‘Best if you go back to the house, Miss Mollie. There’s little you can do here,’ he said.

  ‘An’ pack your traps,’ Deavis snorted. ‘But leave your tally sheets . . . you won’t have need.’

  ‘You’ve one minute to get off this land, mister.’ Shoeville’s voice was now steely, uncompromising. ‘Ride in here again, an’ I’ll blow you from the saddle.’

  One of the commancheros held up his hand, looked at Deavis and shook his head menacingly. ‘We were told to make no trouble,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve not said what you did come here to make,’ Shoeville returned.

  ‘An offer. Hands are needed at Far Creek. Mr Ogden said you would be the best available man.’

  ‘Yeah? Well I’m already that here.’

  The commanchero shrugged. ‘If you say so,’ he said, and gathered in his reins. As the man and his cohorts prepared to move away, Shoeville took a step towards them.

  ‘There’s probably Bluestem beef that’s strayed on to Far Creek,’ he said.

  ‘You been told to stay away from there.’ Deavis hauled his horse around, his gun hand nearest Shoeville.

  Disregarding the Bolas man, Shoeville continued. ‘The brush must be full o’ Bluestem stuff. I’m bringin’ it all back home.’

  ‘How?’ Deavis once more bared his dirty teeth.

  ‘They’re our mavericks an’ I’ve a right. I’ll use a gun against anyone who tries to stop me.’

  Deavis jerked his head towards the body of Redbone. ‘Then you’ll likely get what he got.’ He looked beyond the Bluestem ranch house towards the White Mesa road. ‘Right now this looks a real popular place, an’ a crowd ain’t company,’ he said, indicating that the Bolas commancheros follow him.

  Without further words, the two men from the Far Creek ranch also walked their horses in the direction of the town road. But they headed west, not east. Shoeville watched them for a few moments, wondered what would have happened if he’d goaded the Bolas riders into more than threats.

  When two new riders swung off the town trail and cantered towards them, Shoeville turned and signalled to Henri. He eyed the dusty figures, tried to place them, give them a brand.

  ‘Name yourself,’ he challenged, stepping between them and Mollie.

  ‘William Chalk.’ A four days’ growth of beard shrouded Will’s face. He glanced quickly at Redbone’s body, then out at the three men who were riding on to the dry wash. His eyes read tiredness and his shoulders slackened as he drew rein.

  ‘Latchford Loke. How’d you do,’ Latch said, lifting his hat towards Mollie.

  ‘Got yourselves lost?’ Mollie walked up to them ‘Missed the big trail road I expect. Still,’ she continued nervously, ‘You’re more than welcome to share what we haven’t got.’

  Will frowned, looked at the ranch house. He noted the wind-scoured barns and empty corrals, what appeared to be a starved-out business.

  ‘Is this Bluestem?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Used to be. What’s it to you?’

  ‘Feller back in town said you needed hands . . . helping hands.’ Will dragged the sleeve of his lower arm across his face.

  ‘You’ve already had yourself a good look.’ Again, Shoeville was chewing for a fight. ‘Do we look like we need a helpin’ hand?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Will replied, close to a grin.

  ‘Who told you we needed help?’ Mollie’s cool glance stopped Shoeville saying any more.

  ‘The mercantile man. Him you were having unaccommodating words with. You obviously don’t remember me being there.’

  ‘I do, sort of. I was mainly seeing red at the time.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Will fixed Shoeville in his stare. ‘We brought in a short herd for the cavalry at Tyler’s Post. Got paid off three days ago.’

  ‘So you’re hired. Henri, fix them up in the bunkhouse,’ Mollie directed.

  Shoeville said nothing as Mollie brushed past him and walked to the house. He waited, spoke up when the door had shut. ‘I reckon you’d best ride on. Head for Condor Pass. Bruno Ogden will fix you up.’

  Will climbed slowly from the saddle of his buckskin mare. He looked at the body of Redbone, stared soberly at the wound. ‘With respect feller, you don’t know what’s best for me.’

  Shoeville struggled to keep his anger in check. ‘There’s not enough for us. Even the vermin’s leavin’ for Chris’sakes. No water, no grub. Nothin’.’

  Will looked at Henri. ‘Lady said for you to make some space for us. But if you’ve got another shovel, I’ll help you dig a hole. This heat won’t improve him.’

  ‘I’m tellin’ you, there’s nothing to be made here,’ Shoeville persisted. ‘We ain’t even got stock currency.’ He indicated Redbone with a jerk of the head. ‘That’s about what you’ll earn by stayin’.’

  Latch dismounted, exchanged reins for Henri’s shovel. Then he cursed and spat. Flies had come from nowhere, hummed close to the body, the dark-stained dirt.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Whatever god or goblin you believe in, they’d never have meant the end to be like this.’ Henri’s face was impassive, but deep hurt raged within him. He lifted his gaze from the body at his feet and stared at Will. ‘You’re not from these parts, are you?’ he said.

  Will shook his head. ‘Shows, does it?’

  ‘So it was White Mesa’s good merchant Mower who sent you out here lookin’ for work?’ Shoeville said with continued disapproval.

  ‘He mentioned it . . . certainly didn’t send us out here. That was our decision.’ Will looked
beyond Shoeville, thinking that Bluestem and its land was as bleak and barren as the alkali salt pans that surrounded Tyler’s Post.

  ‘Are you stayin’ or goin’?’ Shoeville asked.

  ‘We’ll get off your range, if you want us to,’ Will offered.

  Shoeville’s eyes appeared to be shut, but he was thinking, watching the nuances of Will. ‘Still lookin’ for work?’ he asked.

  Will and Latch exchanged glances. ‘I guess we are,’ Latch said cautiously.

  ‘Besides, right now, no food or water and little prospect sounds plenty,’ Will added.

  Shoeville gave a thin smile. ‘You left out hunkerin’ down with us.’

  ‘How many’s us?’

  ‘I’m Ben Shoeville, an’ this is Henri. Lew Redbone don’t count any more. You understand the trouble we’re in?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Will said immediately. He thought of Preston Mower, the man who had sought to separate him and Latch from fifty dollars, attempting to get them to ride up to Condor Pass, the nonsense concerning gun work in the employ of someplace called Bolas. ‘Is Mower mixed up in this fight?’ he asked.

  ‘Ogden. It’s just Ogden and his goddamn Bolas company.’ Shoeville turned and looked towards Condor Pass, through the shimmering haze of alkali that rose from the bottom lands. ‘Mower’s the tempting spider. But I’m playin’ a long game . . . waitin’ for the moment to mash him underfoot.’

  Will held out his hand. ‘Suits us. Meantime, we’ll help you with your planting.’

  ‘Thanks. We’ll take a backtrail tomorrow . . . find out where it happened.’

  Shoeville’s jaw clenched as he looked up from Redbone’s body.

  ‘But it won’t be including you,’ Will took off his gun belt, hung it around the saddle-horn. ‘That’s for Latch and me. They don’t know us.’

  Shoeville thought for a moment before responding, then, having considered the futility, he let out his breath and walked to the bunkhouse. Mollie was standing at the corner of the ranch-house veranda, and he stopped, tried to establish her mood before either of them spoke.

  ‘We shouldn’t have taken them on,’ she said. ‘Please ask them to leave in the morning.’

  ‘They’ve work to do. Scoutin’ along the Cholla . . . takin’ a closer look at the pass.’

  ‘You know I can’t afford to take on riders,’ Mollie protested. ‘How are we supposed to feed them?’

  ‘If we’re to chin Bolas, there is a way.’

  Mollie shot her top hand a piercing stare. ‘I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean, Ben.’

  ‘Gettin’ involved was their idea, Miss Mollie. It’s up to them. They look old an’ ugly enough to make their own decisions. But I also happen to think they’re good men. Good enough, anyways.’ Shoeville once more looked to the east, his mien settling firm and tough. ‘I can promise you one thing,’ he added determinedly. ‘I’ll not rest until you an’ Bluestem are safe . . . up an’ runnin’ again.’

  It was full dark when, having passed the guards at the mouth of the pass, Preston Mower rode into Bolas. The bunkhouse was in darkness, but there was low lamplight from a room in the main building. Bruno Ogden came to the main door, and called out as Mower rode up to the tie rail.

  ‘Is that you, Deavis?’

  ‘No. It’s me. Mower.’

  Ogden grunted and led the way into the house, turned up the lamplight in his richly furnished den.

  ‘The girl came in today,’ Mower said. ‘Yeah, she had a list of wants, extended credit bein’ one of ’em. Shame.’ He produced two cigars from a top pocket. ‘Courtesy of Havana an’ Todo Mercantile.’ He handed one to Ogden, raised the lamp globe to light the other one for himself.

  Ogden placed his elbows on his desk and regarded the store keeper. ‘And Far Creek came through,’ he replied.

  ‘I heard.’ Mower slumped into a wing chair, was thoughtful for a moment. He contemplated the glowing tip of his cigar, then grinned. ‘So what’s next? Where we goin’?’

  Ogden smiled coldly. ‘I’m trading Bluestem for three men. Shoeville, Redbone and their Frenchman. That done, I’ll run Hog Flats – the water, the beef, the graze. If any settlers want to buy in, they can farm from the bottoms. We can build a road, you can open another store.’

  Mower nodded. ‘Well, Bolas are sure on the up,’ he commented. ‘Turner Foote will be glad to hear it. Him an’ Marge.’

  ‘Huh, like a runt don’t know it’s a runt until there’s no teat left,’ Ogden offered. He leaned forward, the lamp highlighting his pale grey eyes. ‘When Bluestem’s gathered, I’ll have just about everything that’s worth having.’

  The Todo Mercantile owner stared at his companion, shuddered at what sounded like the sudden onset of trouble. ‘A quarter of everything, Bruno,’ he said. ‘You ain’t the augur of all you survey, just yet.’

  Ogden’s lip curled into a chilling smile as he opened a desk drawer. Without taking his eyes off Mower, he drew out a few sheets of paper and handed them across the desk. ‘A fourth of Bolas,’ he murmured. ‘The agreement says nothing about the others. Read it. I bought Far Creek with my money. Bluestem’s going to need my guns.’

  ‘Ben Shoeville won’t roll over,’ Mower said thickly.

  Ogden laughed. ‘Hah, what’s it to you, Mower? Hell, you only took down Elmer Broad from lying in wait. You’re expert at paying for something you wouldn’t do yourself.’

  Mower straightened up. ‘The Bluestem crew isn’t the patsy you seem to think it is. They’ll fight. Besides, they’ve two more riders. That’s two more guns.’

  Ogden said nothing. He listened and the tight grin remained.

  ‘You’ll have to lodge rights of possession in Silver City,’ Mower went on. ‘How are you going to explain where the money came from? Are you going to tell ’em it’s all from rustled Bluestem an’ Far Creek stock? When Foote hears about it, he’ll forget the niceties of any law. He’ll say you bought out Far Creek with cash you got from the border bank heist.’

  Ogden created a pretend yawn. ‘What did you come here for, Mower? Is that it . . . all you’ve got?’

  Mower bristled with annoyance. ‘You’re not gettin’ away with this. When someone tries to rob me, you think I won’t fight?’ Mower threatened.

  ‘You couldn’t fight your way from a rotten flour sack, Mower.’ Ogden came to his feet and shook his head. ‘You started this, not me. It was you who brought me, then my crew into it. So go see Foote. He’ll have to know sometime. But when he’s in Silver City tell him to remember these.’ With that, Ogden snatched the deeds from the desk and waved them at the trader. ‘Tell him to remember the partnership. That’s him, you and me and a spurned woman who’ll eat your heart out.’

  Mower closed his eyes for a moment. A rage was close to the surface, but he held his tongue. He turned his head and listened. ‘Someone’s just rode in,’ he said.

  Both men were watching the door when it opened and Deavis walked in.

  ‘Hi, Mower,’ the man said. ‘You’re a ways off your patch.’

  Ogden sat down again, pulled out another drawer of his desk, and set out three glasses and a bottle of labelled whiskey.

  Deavis took off his hat and bandanna and wiped his face. ‘Redbone went ridin’ today,’ he announced baldly.

  Ogden put the cigar in his mouth, and eyed his man. He knew Deavis liked to perform little dramas, a sort of justification for payment.

  ‘He won’t be doin’ that again.’ Deavis filled his glass and swallowed the liquor. He rolled the glass between his fingers, looked at Mower with sneering familiarity. ‘How long you been makin’ night deliveries?’

  ‘When are you talking about?’ Ogden asked.

  Deavis refilled his glass, took a slow turn around the room and paused behind Mower’s chair. ‘I just said. He came ridin’ up the Cholla snoopin’ an’ sniffin’ like a goddamn bush dog. I dropped him easy enough.’

  ‘Him and his horse, I trust.’ Ogden suggested.

  Deavis hesitated: ‘Was
I supposed to? Shootin’ broncs ain’t natural,’ he replied warily.

  ‘So it ran back to Bluestem with an empty saddle. Hoofprints from the creek right to their goddamn hitch-rail.’ Ogden’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘Like sending them a guide.’

  ‘Well, that ain’t quite what happened,’ Deavis responded even more diffidently. ‘I’m thinkin’ he died in the saddle.’

  ‘After he likely caught sight of the barrier work. Hell, Deavis, you’ve got one big horse turd for a brain. You let him see the barrier then go home to talk about it. Why didn’t you tuck a little map in his pocket for good measure?’

  The hired gunhand felt the sweat gathering between his shoulder blades, pulled back into the shadows of the room. ‘He’s dead. I watched ’em bury him.’

  Hardiness drained from Preston Mower as alarm grew. He moved uneasily towards the door. ‘Our agreement only covers Bolas,’ he said. ‘If Redbone lived long enough to talk, there’s already worms in the fishpond.’ He indicated the figure of Deavis in the near darkness. ‘You let that loco gunman go blunderin’ around your beaver works. Goddamnit, if Redbone caught sight, the Broad girl will go straight to the Land Offices. She’ll have no trouble gettin’ an injunction against you an’ your Bolas company. Looks to me, mister, like someone’s started to piss in the wind.’

  ‘Just get out, Mower.’ Ogden was seething. ‘Get back to your ribbons and candy. I’ll take some men on to Bluestem tomorrow . . . burn ’em out if I have to.’

  Hardly taking his eyes from the two men, Mower scuttled out to his horse. He saddled anxiously and knee’d it away from the rail. He would have to inform Turner Foote and Marge Highgate about Ogden’s intent, but couldn’t think of a resourceful, safe way of doing it.

  Chapter 4

  At first light, when the qualities of the ground were recognizable, Will Chalk and Latchford Loke picked up the trail of Redbone’s horse. By the time early sunbeams touched the peaks of Condor Pass they were high above Bluestem. The trail headed east, away from the creek towards the cleft in the peaks.