“No,” Thompson replied grudgingly. “I wanna go to California, an’ steal enough horses to make myself a rich man.”
Then Smith turned to Bass. “Awright, Scratch. Do you wanna back out of Bill’s plan?”
Wordlessly, he glared at Thompson a long moment before answering. “I’m riding to California with this outfit.”
“If you’re both coming along, then hear me out,” Smith warned. “You two can either have it out right here and now—get it over and done with so’s one of you is dead on this spot … or, you can swear to me an’ Bill there ain’t gonna be no problems here on out.”
“Why—sure, Peg-Leg,” Thompson vowed. “I figger I can let bygones be bygones with this nigger said he’d gut me first chance he got. I’ll make peace with Titus Bass.” And he held out his hand as he took two steps forward across that open space.
The rest of them waited around Scratch as he stared at that hand Thompson offered. Finally he said, “I s’pose if we’re gonna be fighting Injuns and Mexicans, we don’t need be fighting each other.”
He seized Thompson’s big paw and shook it, looking briefly into those eyes where there really was no warmth. Although Thompson’s handshake was firm, although there was a smile on the man’s face, Titus Bass didn’t believe Thompson meant any of it.
Williams turned to Smith. “Now we got that settled, you come up with some broodmares, Peg-Leg?”
Smith nodded eagerly. “I traded for eight of ’em.”
“Where you get ’em?” Mitchell inquired.
Peg-Leg jabbed a thumb in the direction of the nearby village. “Them Yutas are keeping an eye on ’em till we’re ready to ride off.”
“They’ll keep the foals with them?” Williams asked.
“Yep, just the way we planned, Bill. I promised ’em some horses for the use of their mares.”
The bony, angular old trapper turned back to the entire crowd and roared, “Looks like we’ve got a reason to let the wolf out to howl tonight, boys! In two days we’re on our way to California … an’ that means there won’t be no whiskey after we ride outta here!”
It was downright boneheaded of him to expect that no trouble would ignite there inside Robidoux’s stockade after they started mixing liquor with the bold talk of men about to ride off on a daring journey, uncertain of their return.
“Maybeso out to California, we’ll all get a chance to see just how big your
Williams laid a hand on Bass’s forearm without saying a word. After a moment, Titus slid the arm out from underneath the hand.
“You wanna know how big my eggs are, you don’t have to wait till Californy,” Scratch shot back. “S’pose you come find out right now.”
Thompson took a swig of his whiskey, then dragged the back of his hand across his lips. “I don’t figger neither of us is in any shape to have at each other right now, ol’ man. Better we square off when we ain’t been drinking.”
“In the cups or not, you’re a yellow-backed polecat, Thompson.”
The taller man bolted upright, wavered unsteadily a moment as he rocked on the balls of his feet, preparing to lunge across the circle for Bass, when two others caught him by the arms.
“Lemme go!” Thompson snarled as he flailed at those who held him prisoner. “I’m gonna tear out his gullet with my own hands!”
“You heard ’im. Let ’im go,” Bass echoed as he stood and adjusted his belt, his left hand brushing the handles on both knives where they lay tucked at the small of his back. “Man wants me to kill ’im here and now—I’ll oblige the nigger.”
Thompson’s face grew red with more than the flush of whiskey. “Y-you’re the one’s gonna d-die tonight!”
Smith came up to stand in front of Thompson, who danced from side to side as far as he could to keep his eyes on Bass.
Peg-Leg said, “You’ve had more’n your fill of whiskey this night, Philip. G’won to blankets and sleep it off —”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere till I get my hands on that ol’ nigger!” Thompson roared, trying to shove Smith aside.
“I said go to your blankets,” Smith repeated, seizing Thompson’s shoulders in his hands. “Either you go on your own, or your friends can drag you off.”
“No one’s gonna drag me off!”
Scratch hollered, “I said let ’im go so we get this done here and now!”
That’s when Williams stepped in front of Bass. “The son of a bitch gets heavy in the horn when he’s in the cups, Scratch,” Bill explained in a sharp whisper. “He goes and sleeps it off, he won’t even remember any of this.”
“Trouble is—I’ll remember,” Titus warned.
“You ain’t nowhere near as drunk as him,” Williams declared. “Man with as much savvy as you oughtta know he should play out a little more rope for a horse gone wild.”
Bass wagged his head, saying, “One of us gonna get kill’t—”
“First off I’ll kill you, Bass!” Thompson screamed. “Then I’ll go find Joe Walker, Meek, and them others!”
With a sigh, Williams said, “Tell you what, Scratch. You swear to me you’ll lay back and not pull on Thompson’s short-hairs … and I’ll promise you I’ll watch your back till we get out of California and back across the desert.”
“Then what?” Titus asked in a harsh whisper, his eyes glaring at the howling Thompson, who was wildly flailing his arms around.
“Come then … I’ll let you do what you want with the bastard,” Williams vowed.
“Why don’t I save us a lot of time and trouble,” Scratch snorted, “and just let him take me on right now.”
Williams clamped onto Bass’s upper arm and squeezed down hard. “I need Thompson. He’s been to California with Peg-Leg and me before. ’Sides, if’n I throw Thompson out, he’ll take near all the rest of these fellas Peg-Leg had waiting for us here. We can’t do California ’thout Thompson.”
On the far side of the circle Titus watched an increasingly angry Smith suddenly swing an arm back and backhand Thompson. But that only made the drunk madder, lashing out with a foot at the wooden peg leg. Smith pivoted swiftly, then stepped close as he yanked out a belt pistol and cracked Thompson on the temple. The drunk sank between the two men struggling to hold him on his feet.
“Get him back to his blankets!” Smith grumbled. “I don’t wanna see any more of him till morning.”
“His time’s coming, Bill,” Titus reminded the older man.
Williams nodded. “Just say you’ll wait till we get to California and back across that goddamned desert.”
“Maybeso I should just leave off and go my own way.” Bass whimpered with regret that he’d even come this far. Staring in the eye what lay ahead from here on out.
“You didn’t ride all this way with me just to turn back now,” Williams argued. “You gonna try to find beaver this time o’ year? It’s the goddamned high summer, coon! Naw—you come this far with me because you knowed you wanted to do it. Maybe do it for your woman. Maybe do it for your own self. I don’t figger you for one to pull out now.”
He wanted to tell Williams he was wrong, wanted to shout it into his face … but the old trapper could likely see right through him—and already knew why Titus Bass had come this far.
“Awright,” Scratch finally said, some of the tension seeping out of his muscles. “I’ll walk wide around him … for now.”
“That’s all I ask, Scratch. Comes to Thompson and his friends, I promise you I’ll watch your back till it’s time for you to settle this between the two of you.”
“I’ll get my robe and blanket, leave the stockade,” Bass said quietly before he started away. “Better I go bed down somewhere else for the night.”
