three abreast, straight at him.
Rafe jerked his pistol, firing as soon as it cleared the holster. The middle horse reared and, toppling sideways, crashed into the one on its left, kicking frantically. Something jerked at Rafe's vest. The
In front of the Cow Palace a man at the edge of its porch staggered upright. Another one's head came up back of a horse trough. Motionless, legs tangled, lay the horse Rafe had shot. There were three more still shapes between the bank and the harness shop.
Sparks, talking over the barrel of his rifle from one of the knocked-out windows behind Rafe, said, 'All right, boys. Any pistol-bangin' jasper wantin' a fair shake from me had better tromp into sight with both a paws up an' empty.'
The feller back of the horse trough let go of his hog-leg and, raising his dew-claws, got to his feet. The gent by the edge of the Cow Palace porch didn't appear to be heeled and had already stuck up his hands. Rafe, gun in fist and still cruising the street, didn't pay Sheriff Ed no more mind than a gopher. All his bitter attention when he slogged to a stop seemed glued to the third downed shape so shrunkenly huddled in its bottle-green coat with an arm twisted under it, the yellow curls fluttering in the dust of the street. It was Duke and he was dead. And the pair with their hands up cringed away from Rafe's stare.
Rafe looked back into that dead face and thought of all the times he had covered for the boy, all the scrapes he'd pulled Duke out of, all the risks so recently grappled—wasted, gone like a gutted candle.
Firm steps drew near, an arm came out, a hand clamped warm and hard on Rafe's shoulder. 'You've nothing to reproach yourself with,' Pike wheezed. 'You done more than most would—'
Rafe shook off Pike's arm. 'Who killed him?'
Sparks said, coming, 'That damned crooked Spangler. We're well rid of both of them; and you sure cut the ground out from under Alph Chilton. He's still in there lookin' like the sky fell on him. Mebbe we can have a little peace around here now.' His glance cut from Rafe to Pike and back. 'Wouldn't consider a job as my deppity, would you?'
Rafe pushed past him, walking away from them. Sparks, looking after him, shook his head. 'Still thinkin' about that worthless brother.' He fetched his scowl to the pair with their hands up. 'All right, you two, find your horses an' drift. I don't want to see your ugly mugs again.'
*****
But Sparks was wrong about Rafe. His mind was on Spangler. Even hollowed out like he was and half groggy, the range boss' killing of Duke made a kind of queer sense.
The guy had had to hit something, and to him it must have seemed Duke had been party to the terms of Bender's will. The thing that kept banging around in Rafe's head was Spangler clearing out like that while the man responsible for most of his hard luck was still above ground. It wasn't natural.
He said as much when Bunny, a little breathless, caught up with him.
She looked at him big-eyed. 'But he did—I saw him! Right after he shot Duke and Sheriff Ed knocked that second fellow, Kramer, out of the saddle. Spangler flung himself flat on his horse and dug steel; it was him quitting that way that took the heart out of the rest of them. He's gone, all right. He's probably halfway to Carlsbad.'
'I dunno,' Rafe said, continuing to scowl while his scrinched-up stare smoldered into the southern distance.
'Is killing all you can think of?' Bunny cried. She jerked her hand from his arm with a withering look. 'Go on! Take after him! I don't know why I should be worrying about you!' Wheeling away she went off, stiff-backed, to join her father who stood talking by the Mercantile with Bender and the sheriff.
Rafe guessed with a shrug she likely had the truth of it. Spangler, whatever else, was certainly no fool. He would have seen the cards weren't coming his way with Duke's big brother sitting tall in the leather. He probably figured what he had from stealing Gourd and Vine horses was at any rate better than a hole in the head.
Peering around for Brownwater, Rafe appeared pretty disgusted when he spotted Bill and Luce with their heads bent together. Godfrey Moses! More of that love gush!
But when Luce stepped back, straightening, he could see she had the rock in her fist, the one he'd tossed Bill in the woods this morning while they'd waited for Bunny to fetch her pa to the bank. Luce, he thought, looked pretty excited as, arm linked in Bill's, they struck off for the augmented group around Bender. Most folks, Rafe reminded himself sourly, rather tended to get their wind up when gold came into the conversation.
He reckoned he might as well go hunt Bathsheba and head for the ranch.
*****
The low-hanging clouds bulged fatly, dark with rain. The dank pungent smell of it grayly clung to the town's grimy buildings, the warped false fronts, the spur-scarred planks and hoof-tracked dust of the windless street.
Too tired really to sort out his thoughts, Rafe decided this weather was enough to depress anyone, and let it go at that. He whistled two or three times the signal he'd taught the skewbald to answer and, when this failed to fetch her, set off for the bosque. She'd either gone too far to hear, seemed like, or was too busy foraging to pay him any mind.
He couldn't remember when he'd been so whipped out. This clammy air stuck the shirt to his shoulders and brewed a discomfort where the belts crossed his belly, and the dreary look of that droopy woods pressed down like the lid of a coffin.
God, he was cheerful!
Luce, he reckoned, would probably marry that puncher. With what she'd come into when the Old Man kicked off they'd be pretty well fixed—a heap better than most in these parlous times. Not that he envied them! He'd traveled too long by himself, been too free, to look with much favor on being pinned down with the problems of as ranch—not to mention the gold or the burdens—he grimaced—of double harness! Nope, he sure wasn't cut out for that.
