| Tilman had followed the trail for an hour or more and climbing into a forested area when he caught the smell of cigarette smoke on the breeze. Close! He reined up, almost blundering into them among the trees. Did they know he was following them? Had the two men stopped to wait in ambush for the unknown rider behind them? He had no fear of the kind of men who would bully women. He’d dealt with such men before and besides, he had plenty of cartridges if they wanted to take it to gun play. He climbed out of the saddle and saw his horse looking in the direction the men had ridden. Placing a hand over his horse’s nose to keep him from nickering a call to the other horses, Tilman led the now quiet animal to a clump of green grass. He loosened the girth and left the horse munching contentedly. Carefully Tilman made his way closer to the men. He had not gone far when a windowless log cabin came into sight, partially dug in on the side of a gentle slope surrounded by scrubby oaks. Probably some rancher’s line shack. Two saddled horses, tails swishing at flies, stood three-legged in a pole corral that joined one side of the cabin, and two men, one wearing a black patch over his right eye, sat on logs near the circle of rocks surrounding the cold ashes of a fire pit. They were passing a bottle between them, smoking and talking. The men hadn’t the look of working cowboys. Drifters they were, perhaps, or a couple of cheap guns, for neither of them looked exactly prosperous. “When are we going back down there?” the hefty man whined. “Let me think on it,” the younger man growled back at him, his good eye flashing angrily. “I didn’t expect her to have company calling today.” “She’s a good-looking woman, but she’s too proud. I reckon I’ll take her down a notch or two.” “Yeah? You better make sure that old gal don’t get the drop on you or you’ll end up like me.” With a snort, he added, “Whyn’t you take that old ‘un? She’s more like the gals I’ve seen you with!” “Now, don’t talk like that. Naw, I’ll just knock the old hag on the head first.” Tilman stepped into view. “No sudden moves, boys, and keep those hands where I can see ‘em,” he said. The young man’s good eye narrowed, the whiskey dulling his judgment. Tilman guessed this one would try to draw even though the Winchester was leveled on his chest. “Go ahead. Reach for it. If you think you can clear leather before this slug lets daylight through you, then give it a try. The young man shook his head. “Naw. I’ll not try it.” “That’s the first smart thing you’ve done all day. You, ease that left hand down and unbuckle that gunbelt.” When the young man’s gun fell to the ground, Tilman had the other man do the same. “Are you the law?” the older man asked. “You got a badge?” “What business do you two have at Stone’s?” Tilman asked. “Are you one of the Regulators?” the man asked again. “I’m not part of the range wars around here. Now, answer my question,” Tilman barked. “What you talking about? Who’s this Stone?” the young man snarled. Two quick strides forward and Tilman slammed his gun butt into the man’s chin, knocking him to the ground where he sprawled unmoving in the dirt, jaw already swelling and turning a dark purple. “Easy there, fellow,” the older man pleaded in a quaking voice, hands up as if to ward off any blow from the big angry man facing him. “Are you going to answer me?” Tilman demanded, “Or do you want a taste of the same thing he got?” “We was just looking for a little fun,” his voice croaked with fear. “We seen that Mex woman in town and thought maybe she’d be right for a little fandango.” “What else?” “Honest, mister. That’s all it was.” “You two from around here?” “Just passin’ through, riding the grub line, looking for a little work.” “Listen to this. You know what’s good for you, you both keep on riding. If I catch you on this land again, you’re going under, you get me?” The one-eyed man Tilman struck let out a moan and reached one hand up to feel his throbbing face. “Oh,” he mumbled through clenched teeth, “my jaw’s broke,” he spat tooth fragments into the palm of his right hand and held them up close to his face, goggling with his one good eye, “and you broke my teeth too.” Tilman tapped the muzzle of his Winchester in the center of the man’s forehead. “A broke jaw’s better than waking up dead.” He turned out the men’s horses and sent them running with a slap across the rump and a couple of shots fired into the air. He turned to the men. “Give me those boots.” “What?” “Shuck ‘em. You’re drifting by way of shank’s mare and unshod.” “That ain’t right, mister!” the old one protested. “You’re still able to draw breath. Be glad for that. Now get going.” Tilman gathered up their guns and boots and rode away, leaving the two to their complaining and protesting mincing walk on tender feet. Riding back to the Stone place, Tilman thought about what he’d done. Catherine would be shocked. She’d say he ought to feel some remorse, but that was crowded out by the thought of what those men would have done to Esperanza had he not showed up when he did. He had no doubt they would have had their way and showed no mercy. Once again, Tilman thought, how near the surface his old ways could be found. Would he ever leave those ways? |
The Search For Justice
| Judy and Ronald Culp |
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