King Blood

someone was more'n a visitor, your youngest son that you hadn't seen in years, what the hell was wrong with makin' sure that he knew he was welcome?_

…The heart is its own master, and Ike dwelt in a chamber where there was room for no other.

And he slept.

____________________

*Chapter Two*

Now, in this first hour after dawn, the village of King's Junction was wide awake and working. A hammer rang on the anvil of the blacksmith's shop. At the feed store a wagon was being loaded. Apache clerks, apron bedecked over their buckskin and levi costumes, were washing windows and sweeping the wooden walk of the general store.

As the two King brothers rode out of town, Tepaha's two granddaughters riding behind them, Arlie was greeted by and gave greeting to the Junction's various workers. But he had not a word nor a glance for Critch. Similarly, Joshie and Kay rode in haughty silence, neither acknowledging the other's presence with so much as a look.

Critch lighted a cheroot, made a tentative gesture of offering one to Arlie. The latter looked stonily straight ahead, and Critch returned the cigar to his pocket.

He knew the reason for Arlie's attitude, or thought he did: Old Ike's cozying up to him, his youngest son. Yet there was nothing new in this: Ike had been behaving thus ever since his return. So why should Arlie take such great offense this morning?

Had Arlie simply had too much of it? Or had something else happened that he, Critch, was unaware of?

He didn't know, but he knew that Arlie's anger could not be allowed to continue. Until he recovered the money, he must stay on his brother's good side.

They crossed the railroad tracks, and took one of the rutted, reddish-loam roads which led out into the ranch proper. Wordlessly, they rode through the fine spring morning, threadily misted with the early sun's lifting of the night's dew. Stalks of young, uneared corn wafted in the breeze like long lines of green flame. The heavy-sweet smell of embryonically budding alfalfa drifted to them from distant acres.

Critch sniffed it with exaggerated interest, hoping to attract his brother's attention. Failing to, he cleared his throat noisily.

'Uh, about that alfalfa, Arlie,' he said. 'How do you find it as a crop?'

Arlie made no answer for a time; seemingly intended to make none. Finally, however, he asked Critch what the hell he was talking about. 'What do you mean, how do I find it?'

'I mean, isn't it pretty hard on land like this? I've heard that it took a lot out of the soil, used several hundred tons of water per acre.'

'Huh. An' just where did you hear that?'

'I'm not sure,' Critch said. 'It's just something I heard or read somewhere. For all I know, it's all nonsense, but I thought you'd know the facts.'

The implied compliment was more than Arlie could resist. He said, with forced grumpiness, that, hell, how would he know what was what? He'd never been nowhere nor read nothin'.

'But I guess it ain't a real good crop for out here,' he went on, his tone warming slightly. 'Not real fittin' for the soil an' climate, an' it can be damned bad for cattle. Bloats 'em to beat hell they get too much of it.'

'Yes?' Critch frowned. 'Then why is it planted?'

'Because that's what the folks that planted it wanted,' Arlie shrugged. 'It's their land, the Indians, I mean, as long as they work it. They got the say-so of what goes on it.'

'That doesn't sound like a very good way of running things,' Critch said.

'It's their land,' Arlie repeated. 'If a man can't do what he wants with his own, he ain't a man. That's the way the Indians look at it. That's the way Paw looks at it.'

Critch nodded, subsiding. He had broken the ice with his brother, which was all he wanted to do. The Indians, for all he cared, could shove the land up their copper-skinned asses.

'I tell you something, Critch… 'Arlie resumed, after a silence of several minutes. 'I, uh, well – I think I'll just have me one of them seegars, after all!'

Critch gave him one, smiling inwardly. Unctuously courteous, he also held a match for his brother. The thaw in their relationship seemingly had its effect on Joshie and Kay. Seemingly. For as the foursome jogged onward, a murmur of sporadic conversation between the sisters drifted up to the two men.

'About this morning, Arlie,' Critch began a low-voiced apology, determined to keep things on their present happy keel. 'I don't blame you for getting sore, and – '

'Oh, hell,' Arlie laughed. 'I can't blame you for Paw's doin'. Anyways, I wasn't 'specially sore about that. I just sort of got my short hairs ruffled about, well, several things. Got myself kinda nervy, you know.'

'I didn't want to come back here, Arlie. It was your idea.'

'An' it still is,' his brother said firmly. 'I just wouldn't have it no other way.'

'Well,' said Critch, 'as long as you feel – '

_'Yeow! Damn' bitch!'_ shrieked Kay.

_'Fix you, mean bitch!'_ screamed Joshie.

Arlie whirled around, cursing. 'Now, what the holy hell -!' Critch also pivoted in the saddle; then, emulating his brother, he scrambled to the road and raced toward the two girls.

Each had her hands knotted in the other's braids. Each tugged with all her might as she screamed obscenities at the other. Each simultaneously released a hand and began slugging and clawing. The wild commotion caused their horses to rear and buck, pitching the two girls to the road. But the fight went on unabated. They tumbled and rolled in the dirt, hitting, scratching and gouging.

Arlie yelled for them to stop, profanely threatening punishment to come. Ignored, he tried to separate them and received a moccasined foot in his face.

'Now, by God!' – he fell back, rubbing an incipiently swelling nose. 'By Christ, that does it!'

He whipped the knife from his boot-top. Hand darting deftly, he made two delicate jabs with the needle-sharp point of the blade, sinking it a minute fraction of an inch into each girl's flaring, pear-shaped bottom.

That ended the fracas. Yipping simultaneously, they came to their feet. Began doing a little dance of pain as they gripped their bottoms. Arlie took advantage of the distraction to seize his wife and hang on to her, and Critch did likewise with Joshie.

'God damn stupid squaws!' Arlie cursed. 'What the hell was that all about, huh?' And as Kay began a sulky reply, he silenced her with a shake. 'Never mind, by God! I reckon I already know. Now, just looky what you done with your crazy carryin' on.'

He pointed. All four horses had bolted during the melee, and were now scattered, grazing peacefully, about the adjacent field.

'So start movin'!' Arlie commanded. 'Get out there an' catch up them ponies. An' no more nonsense neither, or I'll make your ass smoke like a big baked potato!'

Kay backed a step or two away from him, then halted stubbornly. 'Ol' Joshie's fault, too. I go, she gotta go.'

'Now, God damn you, ol' squaw -!' Arlie took a warning stride toward her. 'You gonna move, or you want me to move you?'

Kay moved… a few more steps. Again halted mulishly. 'Is only fair,' she asserted. 'Joshie n' me, we both make fight. Both should go after ponies.'

'Uh-hah! So's you could start yourself another fight, huh?'

'No. No more fight,' Kay promised. 'But Joshie gotta go with me. Is right thing to do.'

'Well, but – ' Arlie hesitated, awkwardly, cast a half pleading look at his brother. 'Critch, I don't want t'do no buttin' in on your squaw – I mean, kind of your squaw even if she ain't really – but – '

'Kay is right,' Critch agreed handsomely. 'Joshie, you go and help your sister!'

Joshie tossed her head. 'Ho, ho!' she jeered. 'Looka who's talkin'. What you say I tell you go to hell?'

'He don't say nothin'!' Arlie snapped. 'He just plops you over his knee and pounds your happy ass off! I mean,' he added hastily, with a deferential glance at his brother, 'I mean, uh, that's right, ain't it, Critch? Paw an' Grandfather Tepaha don't favor beatin' up a woman, but they got nothin' against a good ass-paddlin'.'