Friends

  FRIENDS

  FRIENDS

  CHARLES HACKENBERRY

  M. EVANS

  Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

  Published by M. Evans

  An imprint of Rowman & Littlefield

  4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706

  www.rowman.com

  10 Thornbury Road, Plymouth PL6 7PP, United Kingdom

  Distributed by National Book Network

  Copyright © 1993 by Charles Hackenberry

  First paperback edition 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  The hardback edition of this book was previously cataloged by the Library of Congress as follows:

  Hackenberry, Charles, 1939-

  Friends /Charles Hackenberry.

  p. cm. — (An Evans novel of the West)

  I. Title. II. Series.

  PS3558.A276F75 1993

  813’.54—dc20

  93-12943

  CIP

  ISBN: 978-0-87131-729-X (cloth : alk. paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-59077-341-3 (electronic)

  ISBN: 978-1-59077-340-6 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to

  Ray Matthews

  former collaborator

  and

  lifelong friend.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter One

  Back in the winter of'77 I was deputying up in Two Scalp, Dakota Territory, waiting for my friend Clete Shannon-who was the Sheriff there at the time-to say the word for us to quit our jobs and head south. The reason I remember the date so well, come the new year they had strung up a banner behind the bar at Clooney's with 1877 wrote out in big numbers, and we drunk a few more than we usually did. At least I did. Every year I get surprised at how high the numbers of the years is getting, and it makes me just thirstier than hell.

  Along about April I noticed Clete'd started riding out in the mornings, scouting around, even before the bad weather was all gone, when fog still hung over the snow and made staying in bed real tempting.

  At first, I thought him riding around like that was just restlessness. I was that way a little too. I used to be a lot more that way myself when I was a younger man. Then for a few days I believed he was trying to find the gold Palmer Wilson and that bunch stole from the bank–either for himself or for the reward of it. But then it hit me–he had gotten pretty friendly with one of the young gals from around there, Mary McLeod her name was. I worried he might be planning on settling down, off looking for a spot for a ranch, and to hell with our plans for Texas.

  Being Clete's deputy give me mighty little to do but think things over, morning or night. Two Scalp's deader'n a sucker in a sandstorm. Not that there wasn't plenty of trouble before me and Clete broke it up that fall–but when Whitey DuShane and Tom Nace took up residence in the bone yard, things got a lot quieter.

  What Clete would get all cold and wet for, riding around those hills, was eatin' at me while I stood at the bar sipping whiskey after sundown one evening. And when I heard him ride back into town, I stepped out on the walk and waited. After a while I seen him lumbering up the street.

  "Come in here and buy me a drink," I told him. "Unless you start taking on more whiskey, you're blood's gonna freeze out on them long rides."

  I wasn't sure he would without an argument, but he followed me inside and we settled into my regular spot at the bar. After he'd tipped his hat to all the folks that said hello to him, that is, which was nearly everone in the place, even the whores. He took a long, careful look around.

  "Somebody trying to shoot you that I don't know about?" I ask him.

  "Just habit," he said, looking at me. Them deep green eyes of his always made me think of wolves I seen on the trail once. "You notice too damn much, Willie."

  Tubbs the barkeep brought us our liquor and wouldn't take Clete's money for it, though he'd had the conscience to pick mine up earlier.

  "I just try to keep my eyes open, but I'm surprised I didn't notice 'til recent how much you've been spooking around out there–must be a couple times a week. Still, early morning ain't my most alert time of day. What I can't figure out is why you're doing it. Is it the reward or what?"

  That surprised him a little. "Well, I don't know either, but I suspect it's the what. You'll be the first to know, after me."

  "And when'll I know about when we're leaving this damn town and going someplace where it's warmer and friendlier?" I asked him.

  Clete rubbed his squared-off chin and then put back his whiskey. "More than I can tell you right now," he said. "I've got some figuring to do, and some other business. It's still too cold, anyway."

  "Sure," I told him. "That McLeod girl ain't the other business you had in mind, though, is it?"

  "You could start off by yourself if you're in such a damned hurry to get out of here," he said, a little sharper than was called for. "I could catch up to you later."

  I put back the bottom half of my rye before I answered. "Well, I guess I'll wait around a little longer, but I ain't waiting forever, you understand."

  Clete just nodded.

  After a while Tubbs came over and we got us two more whiskeys.

  "Anybody new come in today?" Clete ask the round-bellied barman while he was pouring them.

  "A drummer came in on the early stage, but that's all. You could ask your deputy, though. He's here almost as much as I am." The sonofabitch give me a big grin and then went down the bar to tend to the rest of his customers. I never liked that damn Tubbs anyway.

  Clete killed his whiskey in a belt. Lots of men and more than a few of the gals came and patted him on the back or said a word or two of praise to him, about bringing law and order to Dakota Territory and the like, but he didn't let it swell him up much. I started to order another round, but Clete shook his head.

  "Count me out," he said and started toward the door. "I gotta get up early tomorrow, and I believe you know where I'm going."

  "I expect I do, but where're you going now? They let out your room upstairs here to someone who pays his bills regular?"

  "No, I sleep here most nights. But old Nell keeps a room for me out at her
place, you know. And she's been spooked lately. Thinks somebody's fussing with her cattle, though she hasn't missed any." He walked back to the bar. "I almost forgot. Nell asked me to invite you out for supper Sunday after next. Me and Mary are going to be there and some other people. Nell said to be sure to mention she was roasting a chicken. She said she never seen a Texan that wouldn't walk five miles for a chicken dinner, especially a free one." He slapped me on the shoulder and walked out the door.

  "Well, maybe I'll be there and maybe I won't!" I yelled after him. Clete, he just kept on going.

  * * *

  A hollow-cheeked man in a high-peaked hat lay with his long legs splayed out on an oiled scrap of canvas just below the brow of a hill haifa mile from Nell Larson's ranch house, watching. He took three deep swallows of cold coffee from his canteen and then replaced the cork. His skeletal hands rolled a cigarette. He licked it and stuck it between his thin lips. He would wait to light it. He would wait.

  Of course I had to go. Come the Sunday after next, I rode out to Nell's place listening to the prairie larks nearly the whole way. When I got there, I saw a lot more people than I thought there was going to be. The preacher, Mary McLeod and her father Jesse, old Jim Talfer, some of Nell's family from down Yankton way, and other folks I didn't know.

  The women all helped Nell in the kitchen, cooking lots of different things, it smelled like-and it sure smelled good. Ermaline Doughty and her girl were fussing with the big table that Nell had set up in her parlor-all sorts of fancy forks and spoons and such. First I come up here, it was all hardtack and salt pork and sittin' on the ground.

  The men were out beside the bam and I lit my pipe when I got there. The talk was of gold strikes and Indian attacks and cattle ailments and the like. I noticed Clete wasn't saying much, just looking out at the hills.

  "Something interesting out there?" I asked, moving over to the fence beside him.

  "No, not that I can find," he said kind of slow. "Someone was out there, though, but I think Nell's wrong. He wasn't fooling with the steers. He camped right where we did that night we went after Whitey DuShane at the Haney ranch."

  "Yes, indeed, I remember-"

  "So do I," Clete butted in, "but I need you to help me with this." He looked close at that rolling land. "From out where he camped you can see Nell's house through the break between those ridges. You figure that's what he's doing, spying on Nell?"

  "Beats me," I offered. "She got any enemies 'round here?"

  "I don't think so, but I'll ask her."

  "She seems a little old for it to be tomcats sniffing at the door-yard," I told him. "Ain't Indians is it?"

  "No. They're raiding over to the west of here, but it don't smell like an Indian camp. One man by himself–I'm pretty sure of that." He set his jaw and looked at his boots. "How would you feel about riding up there and taking a look around tomorrow?"

  "You asking or telling?"

  "Well, I'm asking because this isn't in town, you know. Just be a favor for Nell."

  Well, that was different. Clete and me hadn't been there a whole year, but she treated him and me both like family right from the start-him especially. My guess always was that Nell sort of saw Clete as the son she'd wished she'd had. "Be happy to," I said. "How old's the sign?"

  "Two, maybe three days. Think you can see anything I didn't, you old fart?"

  "Jest you wait," I said, laying hold of his arm and leading him back to the rest of the fellows, for I seen that Jim Talfer had pulled out a pint.

  After a while someone rung the dinner bell and all the men started down to the house.

  Well, the table looked just grand, I guess you'd say. Nell had these plates with gold leaves in the middle, and cups to match and little plates and finger bowls and I don't know what-all. She said later, while we was eating one of the best chicken dinners north of the Mason Dixie line, that her momma had brought all this fine stuff west in a wagon. And that her momma's grandma had lugged it all the way from Scotland! One of the ladies had gathered a bouquet of purple and white pasqueflowers and had set them on the white tablecloth too.

  The preacher give a short blessing before we all started in. After the soup we had some fish and some vegetables Nell had put up. I had never drunk wine before, and it was curious stuff. Probly had a kick to it if you drank enough. Mashed potatoes and filling too, and plenty of gravy to smother everthing.

  Later, Clete asked me, louder than he needed to, if the chicken in Dakota Territory was as tasty as it was in Texas, and I had to make up some windy about it being better up here. Everbody laughed, I guess they saw clear through me.

  Clete and Mary looked like they was having a good time. She's a mighty pretty girl, is Mary McLeod. Dark hair, and skin like one of them little china ladies setting on Nell's parlor organ. I wondered how much younger she was than Clete. A good bit, it looked like that day.

  Everbody was all talking at the same time, and after we ate our cake, Nell stood up like she was going to give a speech. "Come up here with me, Jesse," she said. "We have some work to do." So he did. "Seeing as how Mary's momma ain't here with us this day, God rest her soul, Mary asked me if I'd stand in her stead," Nell Larson declared.

  "That's a fact," Jesse McLeod said. He didn't look no more comfortable than I felt.

  "Clete Shannon, don't you have something to say?" Nell ask, looking down the table at him.

  "I do," Clete answered getting to his feet. "Though I may be saying those words just a little too early." Right then I knowed what this party was all about. He smiled at Mary, took her hand, and she stood up beside him, all perky and bright-eyed. There was almost as many people standing at that fancy dinner table as there was left sitting. "About a week ago," Clete said, "I asked Mary to marry me, and she was fool enough to say she would, come June."

  "I'm sure Mary's momma would have been real proud," Nell said. "And Jesse is too, ain't that so, Jesse?"

  "That's a fact," Jesse said. Well, everbody clapped their hands, so I did too. But after I had clapped myself dry, I got to thinking the situation over more careful.

  Not more than two weeks ago the plans was that him and me were going to start south as soon as the weather cleared. Now here he had went and done this. Still, Clete looked happier than a well laid out corpse.

  Chapter Two

  Well, I wasn't going to wait 'til next morning to see what I could see out in them hills up behind Nell's house. And I wasn't goittg to tell Clete, either. I determined right then to help out with this business at Nell's and then head south whether Clete was going or no. But I'd swing west first and take another look at them Rocky Mountains. Maybe go down through the Grand River country. Wasn't as warm as I'd have liked it to be, but it'd be warm enough soon.

  Just before midnight I got a whiff of Nell's damned old pigpen, so I knowed I was about where I wanted to be. Now, it would make a better tale, I know, to say right here that I seen someone that night, but the truth is I didn't. Fact is, I rode around out there and almost froze to death. Was darker than a cypress swamp, and I didn't see a thing except a thin slice of the moon for a while and about a million stars. I sat there on my horse, getting what heat from him I could, and waited for more than an hour for the sun to climb up out of his nice warm bed.

  That section of Dakota Territory always reminds me a lot of my part of Texas when the weather's right. Big, billowy swells of land far as you can see, which is pretty far. Once the snow quits the land, as it mostly had last week, the air gets nice and dry. Soon the grass greens out and springs up to the top of your boots. Then stays just that tall, 'til it withers from the drought or dies in the frost, either one. Course, it hadn't sprung to life yet this year much, but it would. Least it had every year since God'd planted it.

  West of here are the Black Hills, where miners were tearing up the streams to get the color out. I seen the Hills once, and it didn't surprise me to hear that the Sioux were killing whites to keep it for themselves. West of that come the Bighorns and wester still, the
Rockies. I wouldn't say this to just anyone, but there are no sights in Texas to compare to them peaks and river valleys over in the Rockies.

  The land tilts up from here all the way to the mountains. You couldn't see it, but if you walked west all day your legs'd let you know you had been going uphill when you laid down to sleep that night. Not that I can see any reason for walking all day–since horses have been invented for some time now. Pretty country, damn pretty country, even here. I watched the sun stick his nose over the hill to the east and wondered what I was going to do now that Clete was getting married.

  I had first throwed my lot in with Clete over that Wilson mess. About the time we agreed to take the sheriff and deputy jobs, we also agreed to take off come spring. It would do all right to hole up here for the winter, we decided, but come reasonable weather, we'd ride downward on the map 'til we found us some strong drink and willing senoritas and prop our feet up in some place where the sun shines strong enough to blister your scalp right through your hat, so you stay in the shade. We didn't work out all the details, but that's what we had spoke about.

  Now, Mr. Cletus Shannon had went and proposed marriage to Miss Mary McLeod. Which looked like it was going to go and change everthing we decided on. I believe I have lost more friends to marriage than to snakes and Indians combined. Course, he had a right to do what suited him, and I had as good a right to hold it against him, going back on his word like he did.

  Soon as I said that to myself, I saw something white in the grass. I dismounted and picked it up. It was some kind of cartridge, but it was nothing like none I ever seen before. Not more than a foot from it, there was its twin. They were shells of some kind, all right. The slugs were real soft and they were about the thickness of minie balls, shaped like them too. But instead of brass they had little white cloth sacks fastened where the brass ought to go.