Judgment at Red Creek (21 page)

“I know,” she replied, “I'm very lucky—I mean, we all are—you being here safe now, means so much to everybody.” Recalling what he had said to her earlier, “I guess Red Creek is getting a little tight around the shoulders for me lately. Maybe it's time I got out and looked around a little,” she forced out self-serving words that she was unable to contain.

“Everybody is praying that you'll take your father's place now. They need somebody to look up to—to make them feel safe. You do that—for everybody.”

She thought his silence meant that he was annoyed but when she started to move away he caught her arm and linked it through his. She hesitated, then removed it gently. He pretended not to notice. Instead, he placed a hand in the middle of her back. “Come on,” he said, “I'll walk you. I'm going to fill the woodbox and turn in. This has been more day than I need.”

At the house, Kate found Mary and Nelda seated at the table having a goodnight cup of Mormon Tea, made from the mesa plant's leafless stems. Refusing a cup for herself, she sat across the table from them but something in her manner discouraged much talk. Clayt had left her at the door and disappeared in the direction of the community woodpile. Ten minutes later when he returned to drop the load in the box, he too, seemed strangely removed. He stood for a moment, then gave them a cursory nod. “I've used up this day,” he said. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Three days after Jake Harmer and T.K. Oakley had been buried in rough pine coffins in the unclaimed deceased section of the Las Vegas cemetery, Mike Whittaker ran a front-page story describing in detail the events that had terminated in the deaths of the Gavilan superintendent and his foreman. In a box he reproduced Harmer's confession. He ended the story by reporting that the Gavilan's new owners, Tom Garner of Chicago, Illinois, and Sir Charles Freebairn of London, England, had offered to pay reparations to the Red Creek settlers and, as a gesture of “Christian concern,” had ordered two wooden crosses bearing the names of the pair and date of death erected at the grave sites. Sir Charles was quoted as saying, “We feel it is only common decency that the resting places of these two men be properly marked in the event relatives wish to locate them and take their remains to a final resting place. We regret deeply the actions that have tarnished the Gavilan name and wish to reassure everyone in the territory that under our new ownership, violence will never play a part in the operation of the ranch.” On the fifth day Buck Tanner paid a surprise visit to the settlement. He had started before sunrise and he seemed excited.

“I ain't stayin',” he told Clayt, as Henry and Oss and several of the others gathered around. “I'm ridin' back just as soon's I water my horse. Tom Garner and Sir Charles is hopin' that you'll come ridin' back with me. They sent me to tell ya they want mightily to talk to ya.”

“About what?” Clayt asked.

The old trail boss shrugged. “Durned if I know. They took a lot of time askin' me questions about ya, but they sure didn't tell me what fur. They's friendly enough,” he added, “but they sure play close to the vest.”

Clayt studied Buck Tanner long enough to make the old man uncomfortable.

“I truly don't know what's on their mind, Clayt,” he added defensively, “But I figgered it might have sumpthin' to do with makin' things right with you and your people here.”

“They offered and I turned them down,” Clayt replied.

Tanner nodded. “I know. But I do know they want you to keep the horses.”

“I'll buy the buckskin and the chestnut,” Clayt said, “but I don't want Harmer's piebald. You can take it back with you.”

Buck Tanner ducked his head in resigned agreement. “If that's how you want it, but I sure wish you'd ride back with me. You'd only have to stay long 'nuf to do some talkin'. Like I said, Clayt, they sure don't ask me to set in on their powwows, but I'll stake my life on one thing, 'less I've plumb forgot how to size up a man, it's nuthin' bad!”

Clayt pondered for a moment, then excused himself and went into the house.

“Mom, will you and the girls set out some coffee and biscuits for Buck Tanner? I want to talk privately with Henry and Oss for a few minutes. I'll come in and have a cup with him in a bit.”

In the yard again, Clayt took Buck's reins and tied them to a ring post. The old trail boss cocked an eyebrow.

“You gonna git ready to ride?”

“I don't know yet, Buck. You go inside. Mom and the girls have some coffee and biscuits for you. I'll be there in a minute.”

Still a bit puzzled, Buck stomped his boots and undid his chaps.

“Hang them on that peg by the door,” Clayt said as he turned toward the others who were waiting a few yards away.

“You heard him. What do you make of it?” he asked as he approached them.

Henry fingered the short stubble of beard. Finally he looked up. '“Better safe than sorry' keeps running through my mind.”

“I know,” Clayt said, “but I don't see any danger down there now. I trust Buck and I need to know more about those new owners.”

Jakob Gruen, who had walked over still carrying a silversmith's hammer, wagged it for emphasis.

“Say what you want, Clayt, but you can't always tell about a man from his looks or his words. I'm an expert! My darling little wife and I got taken in by such a man—John Henry Noyes. He started Oneida Colony. He had the notion that men with pretty wives should make them mate with the strongest men in the community in order to produce a super—race of people. He looked like the finest gentleman you could ever meet, but he was for breaking nine of the Ten Commandments as our sacred duty!” He wagged his head. “You can't tell!”

Clayt tried hard to keep from smiling. Noyes was the reason Jakob and Hilde had deserted and come west.

“I think they're only interested in breeding cattle at the Gavilan,” he said, “and making money. What I want to do is find out just how far they are likely to go to do that.”

“How long will you be gone?” Oss asked.

“If I ride now I should be back tomorrow around sundown.”

Henry nodded. “I know you're set to ride, Clayt, so why don't we say that if you're not back by then, one of us will be looking to see why?”

John Bates, who had been standing quietly, listening, stepped closer. “I'll make a guess. Those men won't try to get what they want with bullets. They'll try with dollars. I'll bet they're going to make a proposition to buy us out, take over everything—the houses, the barns, the water—everything. If they're thinking of thousand-head herds, they'll need out-camps. They can put gathering pens up on top and feed the range stock around here into the main drive.”

“If that's what they have in mind,” Jakob asked, “what would you say, Clayt?”

“It's not my say.” He turned to Henry. “You'd call a meeting and put it to a vote I expect?”

“I would,” he agreed.

“I'm not 'specially speaking for me,” Jakob put in, “but there are some who would still take off for a share of the money—even with Harmer and Oakley dead and gone."

“They could do that,” Clayt agreed, “if there was enough money to make it worthwhile—and if the decision was to sell out.”

Henry was growing impatient. He waved a hand. “Let's quit this palaver! Clayt knew he was going before he asked us. The sooner he goes, the sooner we know.”

Henry and Oss followed Clayt inside.

Addressing the women, he said, “I don't want to hear any hemming and hawing. I'm riding to the Gavilan in a few minutes with Buck. I'll be back by sundown tomorrow. If you have any questions, Henry will tell you why. It's a peaceful trip. I won't even buckle on my rig.”

Turning to his mother, he said, “Put a half dozen of those biscuits in a cloth for us, Mom. I don't want us riding into Gavilan with our ribs showing.”

An hour before suppertime the following evening Clayt appeared at the top of the trail and “hallooed.” Within minutes settlers began to appear, some wearing expectant expressions and others showing obvious concern.

By the time Clayt crossed the dam and turned the Gavilan chestnut loose in the corral, Henry had them assembled in the meeting house. Without wasting time on preliminaries, he turned the lectern over to Clayt.

Deliberately baiting their curiosity, Clayt regarded them with a serious face as he apparently searched for words. Even his mother, who used to say that she knew him very well—even before he was born—could not read his intention. Nelda and Kate with Oss between them, were equally puzzled. Henry refused to let himself guess the outcome. Jakob Gruen sat resigned to whatever the decision. He was a skilled artisan. He could work at his craft anywhere. San Francisco seemed attractive. John Bates privately bet on a sellout that would give him several thousand dollars. Mike Nathanson and Thad Jones, the most seriously wounded, could not move themselves from the edge of despair.

“I said I'd be back safely by sundown,” Clayt began, “and I am. When I rode down yesterday with Buck Tanner I did not know what to expect'—he paused—“and it's just as well that I didn't.”

An uneasy rustle ran through the room.

“I say 'just as well,'” Clayt continued, “because I could never have guessed what Tom Garner and Sir Charles were up to.”

He let them sit anxious on their seats for a long moment, then without changing his tone or his expression, he said, “I can guarantee you that we will never again have anything to fear from the new owners because“—he paused again—”because, after a lot of learning from our friend Buck, you'll be looking at the new superintendent of the Gavilan.”

Stunned, they sat in silence until the full import of the news began to sink in. Suddenly the big room was filled with exclamations of surprise and shouted questions.

Raising both hands, Clayt called, “Hold on! Hold on! There's a little more to tell!”

When the room quieted, he resumed his explanation.

“First of all, Buck Tanner is the new foreman.” There was a burst of applause and pleased exclamations. Clayt waited for the reaction to subside. “He'll look after things and hire on new hands until I start in a week or so. They are going to pay me four hundred dollars a month and an overwrite on each head that is safely delivered to the railroad. I'm going to split that with Buck. He doesn't know that yet. Also, I will have my living and food.”

The implication caused Mary to gasp quietly. If Clayt lived at the ranch, she would soon be alone, unless Kate could be persuaded to stay. Oss and Nelda would certainly marry now, as soon as the house was finished. With no more threat to the dam and the community, Henry would see to it that the men got back on the job as soon as possible. Only Kate greeted the news with no change of expression.

Later, at the supper table, when Clayt had supplied as many sensible answers as possible, Mary turned to Kate who had eaten in silence. “Well, at least until Nelda and Oss set up their own housekeeping, I'll have both of you here.” She reached for Kate's hand. “I hope, dear, that you will consider this your home—as much yours as ours now. We feel that way, Kate. We love you like our own.”

When Kate lowered her head and did not reply, Clayt spoke up from the head of the table.

“Mom means that, Kate. We all do. You're safe and welcome. You'll have everything you need.”

Without lifting her eyes from hands clenched in her lap, her only response was a nod.

“By the way,” Clayt added, “The buckskin mare is yours now. They wouldn't let me buy it...or the chestnut either. They are gifts from the owners—no strings.”

Kate seemed to brighten a bit. She looked up. In a small voice she said, “I thank you, Clayt—and I thank them. Please say so.”

As he got up, Clayt said, “Maybe you can tell them yourself one of these days.” As he started to move away, he added, “And maybe you'd better get a name for her, too.”

When the kitchen work was done, Kate left without saying goodnight and retired to the little storage room that had been fixed up for her. Carefully, she folded her few personal things. The new clothes that Oakley had sent Buck to buy for her were still at the ranch. Mary and Nelda had stitched some simple things together. These she folded—two plain dresses, two underskirts and drawers, and a cotton sleeping gown—and packed them in a flour sack pillowcase. A pair of huaraches and a pair of good slippers that Nelda had given her, she would put in the saddlebag together with a buckskin bag containing a brush and comb and some small tortoiseshell side combs that had belonged to Fern. When she had finished she concealed the lot under her bed and returned to the kitchen-living room.

“I think, if you'll excuse me,” she said to Mary and Nelda, “I'm going to take some air and get to bed early.”

Mary looked at her closely. “Do you feel all right, Kate? You seemed a little quiet and peaked at supper.”

“I feel fine, thank you. I guess so much has happened in the last few days”—her shoulders bounced in a little shrug—“I'm a little tuckered out.”

Mary continued to look at her closely for a bit longer, then smiled sympathetically. “I guess we all are. If we're not up when you come in, have a good night's rest.”

Kate responded with a quiet, “Thank you,“ and returned to her room. For a time she sat on the edge of her bed, lost in a confusion of thoughts: She was welcome there. They all meant it. They were good people, so like her own. She did not want to leave them, but to stay knowing that Clayt would only be an occasional visitor, that he would be making the new life for himself that he had alluded to when he said he thought Red Creek and the settlement were becoming too confining, meant that he would be growing farther and farther away as he moved deeper and deeper into hard new work that she sensed he was well suited to.