Davey even more.
He forced himself to go to the cook stove to pour out cold coffee, refusing to look when Miss Katherine did not step away from English’s chair. He heard a deep groan that echoed inside him. Davey drained the cup clean of the stale coffee and stared at his opponent over the rim, unable to look at Katherine. He attacked, with words for once, never having done that before. “No man worth his salt’ll take a good woman’s reputation so light,
White with effort, English rose from the table. Katherine’s hands went to her face. English placed both hands on the wood table. The raised, damaged knuckles shimmered against the mesquite grain.
“You got a bad mind, Hildahl. To think this woman’d do anything wrong.” Then he pushed away from the table’s support. Miss Katherine stepped back in anticipation. English’s voice was harsh. “I can’t fight you, Hildahl. Not now. But I can hold you to a settlement, come a month or so. You’re mean wrong.”
Katherine Donald started forward, hands raised as if to soothe over the conflict, but English shrugged to stop her and Davey witnessed what the simple gesture took from him, saw a long spasm cross the bony face and settle deeply in the mouth’s drawn corners. It took a strong will, but English managed to reach the hall doorway
English’s voice was soft, pleading. “Ma’am, it’s not what you been doing out of pure kindness. It’s his thinking.” English steadied himself against the door frame a moment before he disappeared into the dark house.
Davey was left to face Miss Katherine’s anger.
In the morning, when the crew came for breakfast, Red announced that the boss’s favorite traveling horse was gone from the pens and asked whether Meiklejon had gone out this early. Miss Katherine put down the wooden spoon she was holding and said very quietly that Burn English was also gone.
Souter took a drink of coffee. Davey’s face was red.
Katherine looked clearly at him while talking to Souter. “He left a note. Said he took the grullo as it was easy riding, and that he would leave the animal at Quitano’s as soon as he could. Said he’d been here long enough.”
Jack Holden
Chapter Sixteen
He slowed the quick-stepping dark bay and held himself quietly, listening, cocking his head to question a sound, drawing in quick gasps of air to check what else he could learn. He’d ridden the canon often before. Its walls were high and narrow so that even in the hot summer heat the sun barely greened the few trees and scrub bushes. It was not a safe place for any man to be caught, even more dangerous for a man with a warrant on his head.
Jack Holden released his hold on the dark bay. The horse bolted, spooked by the walls that hung in on either side. Laughing, head thrown back, body rocking with the frantic horse’s stride, Jack let the handsome bronco run.
The canon widened abruptly, spread out to a small valley covered with sparse grasses and low juniper. Finally in agreement, horse and rider stood, motionless, both sweating, winded, skin and hide black with soaked dust. It had felt good to run, good to risk everything on a turned rock, an unseen coyote den.
Jack guided the bay to a pool of water glistening in the afternoon sun, its surface rippled by invisible life. He let the bay drink sparingly, then got down and hobbled the animal, slipped its bit,and turned it loose for some graze. He shucked off his clothes, hung them on a bush, and shivered as he put one foot into the water. Holden was tall, lean, battered, yet well-formed and handsome. His dark curly hair touched the back of his neck; he felt its weight and knew he was in need of a shearing. Ranchers didn’t treat a man with long hair well—could be hiding the sign of a notched ear, the badge of a known horse thief.
Jack laughed as he stepped deeper into the pool and felt his groin and belly shrink back from the cold. Caught out now by an irate rancher, he would be mocked and ridiculed, and hung naked for a horse thief, cattle rustler, lover. All titles belonging to his sins, any of which would lead to his inevitable early death.
He wanted only to breathe the clean hot air and feel the pool’s cold water cleanse him. It didn’t matter that the bay gelding, now grazing peacefully, wore the familiar brand of Son Liddell. The old bastard hated everyone. Jack knew he’d never hang for stealing that particular man’s horses. Most likely it would be an irate husband quick to fire as Jack climbed out of a bedroom window.
He’d changed his habits lately, out of laziness. It was easier to take cattle locally than to make an effort of riding west, or north, to find contributions to his way of life. He didn’t take many; these locals couldn’t complain of his excessive thieving. He needed only enough cattle to buy necessities. Women didn’t cost much in actual coin. They wanted
He rolled over in the water, let his long body float in the shallow pool. He looked down his chest and belly, hollowed out by being too long on the fugitive trail, and saw his genitals floating on the water’s surface. Beyond them were the two white columns of his thighs, the bony protrusions of his knees, and his feet sticking up in the air, white and pale, toes shaped by the narrow boots he wore.
Men weren’t much to look at naked, Jack decided again. Now a woman had her curves and softness, a pleasurable sweep to her buttocks, a loving roundness to unburdened breasts. But a man was angles and planes, thickened muscle too easily led by the passions of weak flesh.
He laughed while forgetting he lay on a fragile surface, and immediately half sank, took in water, and, choking, rolled over, struck out with his hands, kicked with his feet and legs, and scraped his hip on a submerged rock. Once he extricated himself from the churned water, he lay gratefully on the rocky ground, still laughing and choking from the immersion, spitting out sand and mud. After he stood and gathered his clothing, he saw the bay was far down the valley, hopping valiantly on tied legs, desperate to get away from the monster that had emerged from the once safe watering hole.
Jack dressed quickly, caught the bay that seemed grateful to come to Jack once it recognized its master. Jack unhobbled the animal, led it back to the pool. Then he kneeled down, leaned out, and studied his reflection in the moving shadows. The face was long, with flat cheek bones and a straight nose. The eyes were a bright blue, blue enough to shine in the water’s mirror. The curly dark hair fanned out in back of the flat ears. The mouth was too wide, the lips full, the teethwhite and strong. A handsome face, Jack was often told.
He grinned at his wavering reflection and stood up. The bay side-stepped quickly, shook its head, then its whole body, dust spinning in a fleeting cloud. Saddle strings popped, stirrups banged, and the bay jumped from the noise, broke wind, and jumped again. Jack laughed, and mounted. He sure wasn’t much of a horse thief if this bay was the best he could steal.
He was to meet a man to discuss the sale of someone’s twenty head of longhorn cattle. Jack’s hand rode close to his pistol, but he didn’t touch the weapon, nor did he pay much attention to any side noises—leaves rustling, birds suddenly flying up from nesting trees. His mind catalogued these sounds and knew their meaning. The bay walked quickly, carrying Jack’s weight easily.
Motion in a stand of pinon spooked the bay. Jack patted the horse’s neck and let the animal whinny. If it was his man, he’d soon know. If another, they would fight or pass pleasantries. He pushed back his hat, wiped his damp forehead, and remembered with great clarity the taste and feel of the cool water, the force of its current over his flesh, and he smiled to himself.
Jack spoke toward the pinon. “It is funny for you,
“That,
