“I said to get, mister! Right now!”

  Ball’s gaze swung down to Hawke again and once more Durant saw a fleeting streak of irritation in those dark eyes. He was once again reminded of Ball’s coolness during last night’s confrontation with the Adlers. Then Ball’s face relaxed and he said, “Okay, Mr. Hawke. I sure don’t want to cause no more trouble for you. You’ve been a fine man to work for and if the opportunity comes again, I sure hope you’d consider putting me on.”

  Cameron Hawke said nothing. Ball pushed his horse into a walk and rode straight for Bede and Reg Adler. When only a few yards from them, he hit the horse hard down the side and sent it racing between them. Reg and Bede threw themselves out of the way of the big roan, and then, cursing, wheeled to watch Ball go over the rise and out of sight. Ball’s laughter came back to them.

  Then Cameron Hawke said, “Durant, get that fire going, will you? Since we’re short-handed now, we might as well make the best of it with an early start.”

  Hawke then crossed back to his saddle, picked up the Adlers’ guns and tossed them across the campsite. Without another word, he picked up his saddle and walked to his horse.

  Chapter Two – Homecoming

  THE TOWN OF Cannon Creek lay to the west and Rio Creek to the south. Between the two cattle towns was nothing but bare, unclaimed country. But to the north, where Ed Ball had headed, there was pastureland, fenced into sections and worked by men proud of their independence. In the middle of this lush, prosperous territory the town of Forge held pride of place, a town smaller than most of the settlements on the trails west, but clean and tidy. It boasted one general store, one saloon, some two dozen homes, huge cattle yards, a livery stable and a school-cum-church. The population when Ed Ball rode into it, four days after quitting Hawke’s outfit, was ninety-two. It had no lawman for the simple reason that the greatest disturbance to disrupt the peace of the town had happened two years ago when Solly Crane, loaded with liquor, had emptied his gun at a passing bird thinking it was an eagle come to snatch him away and take him to hell knew where. Since that time there had been no noise louder than laughing in the streets, and no excitement other than the monthly dance at the schoolhouse.

  Ed Ball knew all this when he rode in. In fact, it was precisely because of the town’s reputation for peace that he had headed there in the first place. To get to Forge he had used Hawke’s outfit. To finance himself in his new town he had carefully planned his losses to the Adler brothers during the trip, and then he’d pulled off his big coup. A master at handling cards, Ball had found it simple to cheat the over-confident brothers and get clear with almost six hundred dollars in cash and Hawke’s paper for seventy dollars. With close to seven hundred dollars in his keeping, Ed Ball decided he was on the threshold of a new career which would ultimately make him a rich man—providing he could overcome two obstacles. The first was his temper which, before he’d linked up with the Hawke outfit, had got him into so much trouble he’d been forced to quit a dozen towns a year over the last three. The second obstacle was the suspicions of his brother, Ross, about his ability to do an honest day’s work and live in a community like Forge. But Ed was willing to risk his brother’s scorn, suspicions and dislike for the big rake-off he planned.

  Ross was a quiet, easy-living man, a worker from the day he was born, a man who saved his money, made shrewd investments and gave nothing away. To Ed’s knowledge, his brother, seven years older, had never trusted any man in his life and prided himself on the fact that he was so self-contained that he didn’t have to trust anybody.

  Riding into Forge right on noon, Ed relaxed under the wash of a breeze coming off the river behind the small settlement. The main street was lined with trees and every house and storefront was freshly painted. Reining up at the saloon hitchrack, Ed Ball came slowly out of the saddle. The four days of riding had been a pleasant journey for him, across country the like of which he had not seen in three long, unsettled years. He had taken his time, resting frequently, and now he was in finer condition and in a better frame of mind than he’d ever been. Walking across the boardwalk he cast a casual look around the peaceful town. He saw the big general store on the opposite side of the street, his brother’s name painted on a sign hanging over the front. A smile worked across his lips as he went through the batwings and made for the counter, removing his hat.

  Putting his hat on the counter, he fished out some coins and pushed them towards a small, weasel-faced barkeep whose smile of welcome looked out of place. But Ed Ball noticed that the welcome came from the man’s eyes, too, so he returned the smile, saying, “Something stronger than milk.”

  “Got beer or whisky, stranger. Beer’s good, whisky’s better.”

  “Beer for a start.”

  When the frothy glass was put before him, Ed Ball turned and looked the place over. Four townsmen were congregated at a table, studying a map spread before them. They each gave Ed a quick look and paid him no more heed.

  “Driftin’ through?” the barkeep asked, making a wide sweep with a dry cloth on the counter. Ed studied him calmly, sipped the beer, smacked his lips appreciatively and then shook his head.

  “Visiting,” he said, and took another sip of the beer.

  “Got friends here?” the barkeep asked.

  “Relations.”

  Ed finished his beer and ordered another, aware that the four men at the table and the barkeep were watching him curiously. Intent on making a good impression in his first few minutes in town, he asked, “You gents like to join me when you’re finished? A man doesn’t like to stay a stranger, and I for one don’t want to drink alone if it can be helped.”

  The four studied Ed, one of them frowning uncertainly. But the barkeep said, “Got relations here, he says.”

  “Ross Ball,” Ed told them. “He’s my brother.”

  The barkeep lifted his head from the tap where he was pouring Ed a second beer and said, “That so, mister? Ross Ball?”

  “Haven’t seen Ross for three years now. Last time was in Rio Creek. Our trails kinda went in different directions, but I heard he was out this way and so I decided to look him up before we both got too old to recognize each other.”

  The barkeep’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Hell, you ain’t no more’n a sprat, Mr. Ball, about twenty-two or so, I’d say.”

  “Twenty-three,” Ed said, taking his beer.

  The four men had suddenly lost interest in the map. One folded it and they came across, the man with the map offering his right hand and smiling.

  “Ross is well liked here,” he said. “And I guess that a brother of his is worth drinking with, providing of course that he buys first up.”

  Ed laughed and then he dropped some money onto the counter. The other three introduced themselves as Luke Bevan, a saddler; Ben Sharpe, who owned a freight line servicing the outlying districts; and Ben’s brother, Ty, a timber-cutter temporarily out of work and looking for something to do. The man with the map was Jig Harner, the town banker. They were on their lunch hour and had been discussing the possibility of Ty Sharpe getting backing from Harner so he could prospect in the mountains fifteen miles away.

  When the first round had been drunk, Jig Harner bought drinks. Then, holding his whisky with an air of self-importance, he asked Ed casually, “You mean to stay awhile, maybe help your brother out?”

  “Depends on Ross,” Ed Ball said. “I’ve never been much on working in towns, but if Ross is short-handed, then I guess I can put up with Forge for a couple of months.”

  “Well, if you do and you need any guidance business-wise, my bank is directly opposite this saloon and mostly I’m in to customers,” Harner said. Then he finished his whisky and consulted his pocket watch. “Got to be going.”

  “My buy,” Luke Bevan said, trying to delay him, but Harner protested with a curt wave, gave Ed a parting smile and went on his way.

  As soon as the batwings closed on the banker, Ed Ball moved closer to the counter and rested on his elbows. “Seems like a fine man,” he said.

  “They don’t come better’n Jig,” Bevan said. He was a bulky man with a round, owlish face and a thick moustache that curled upward at the ends and which he continually fingered. “Jig’s helped just about everybody in this town one time or another. Right now he’s backing Ty there for five hundred dollars to get him started in them mountains. I’m gonna throw in some saddles and a couple of mules I ain’t usin’ right now. I guess, come winter, Ty’ll have himself a fortune.”

  Bevan’s good-natured face beamed at Ty Sharpe who gave a grunt and said, “You’ll see, all of you—there’s gold up there.”

  “We wouldn’t turn our noses up at silver, Ty,” put in Ben Sharpe with a wink at Luke Bevan. “And should you strike something big enough to mine, then I’m claimin’ all freighting rights. I’ll get me a dozen new freighters if needs be.”

  “Now cut it out, Ben,” Ty Sharpe said irritably. “Jig figures I’m worth the risk, don’t he?”

  Ben Sharpe was suddenly serious. He placed a hand on Ty’s shoulder and said, “We all think you are, Ty. We’re only joshing. But I guess that’s out of place right now with Ed here not knowing us good and likely to get the wrong impression.” Ben Sharpe turned to Ed Ball then. “Ed, this is a fine town with real fine people in it. We help each other as best we can. So I hope you can find a niche for yourself and become one of us. Soon as I see your brother, I’m gonna tell him I’m right glad to have met you. You need something freighted, come and see me.”

  Sharpe shook Ed’s hand and then the brothers went out, leaving Luke Bevan to buy the last two drinks. When these were finished, Bevan shook Ed’s hand and left. Alone at the counter with the silence of the saloon settling about him, Ed asked where he could find lodgings. The barkeep, who gave his name as Solly Crane, told him the saloon was the only place that catered for people drifting through. But he was curious why Ed wasn’t staying with his brother.

  Ed explained, “I like to do for myself, Solly, and for a time I’ll just be lazing about, so I could be in Ross’ way. You name a room that’s vacant and I’ll find it myself.”

  Solly Crane thought a moment before he said, “You bein’ the only guest at the moment, Mr. Ball, take your pick. All doors are open. Just help yourself. It’ll be better, I guess, if you don’t stay with your brother, him bein’ married and all. Folks ought to be left alone when they get married so’s they can do their hollerin’ in private.”

  Crane’s chuckle stopped when he saw Ed Ball’s face jolt with surprise.

  “Ross is married?” Ed asked.

  “Sure. He came here three years ago with the purtiest little thing you ever laid eyes on. Nola, she helps out in the store all the time. I reckon Ross is real lucky, getting somebody purty and capable to boot.”

  “Nola!” Ed Ball said, looking at his hands. Then he drew himself straight, finished his drink, and without a word left Solly Crane alone in the saloon.

  He stood on the boardwalk, tense, fidgeting with the buckle of his gunbelt. Finally, he crossed to his horse, released it from the hitchrail, and led it around the back of the saloon. In the yard he took off the saddle, let the horse move off into the holding yard, and humping his saddle and blanket roll, went up the back steps towards the passageway. He selected a room that overlooked the street and faced east, where the rising sun would awaken him every morning. Dropping his gear, he stood at the window staring moodily at his brother’s store.

  Nola ... He was positive she could be none other than Nola Shorell, whom he’d last seen three years ago in Rio Creek. He tugged off his bandanna and swore violently, then he paced the room for several minutes before he threw himself heavily onto the bed. He lay there, hands folded behind his neck, staring at the ceiling, for the first time in many years unsure of himself and how to handle what lay ahead.

  Blake Durant worked Sundown into the shade and pulled the yellow bandanna from his weathered neck. He ran the bandanna through his fingers several times before he sighed wearily. The drive was ended. In another hour, Cameron Hawke would be dealing with the cattlemen of Cannon Creek. As soon as he had sold his herd he would pay off Blake, the Adler brothers, Jed Luther and Tom Wright. Blake would then be at a loose end again, with time on his hands to fight off the bitter memories.

  Hawke came up at a trot, face flushed with satisfaction. Since the departure of Ed Ball, Hawke had been constantly worried that Bede and Reg Adler would demand their money and cut out on him. They had, that first day, disappeared for a few hours, but they’d returned close to noon.

  Hawke had not questioned the reason for their absence and they hadn’t bothered to explain it to him. After that they worked better than they had on the whole trip, with the result that Cannon Creek was there before them hours ahead of schedule. So Hawke was happy with himself and couldn’t hide the fact.

  “Done it, Durant,” he said. “Haven’t worried about any drive more than this one apart from my first. You’ve helped plenty.”

  “I’ve done no more than you should expect, Hawke. But I’m glad for your sake, too. Back there a few times I didn’t think it would go so well.”

  “I was expecting all hell to break out,” Hawke said, turning his horse to watch the other four drive stragglers on the far flank back into the bulk of the slowly moving herd. Then, regarding Blake Durant seriously, he asked, “What are your plans?”

  Blake shrugged. “I’ll take things as they come.”

  Hawke continued to regard him with curiosity. He liked Durant. It had been a long time since he had liked another man as much. Yet he didn’t actually know anything about him. And after five weeks of herding, he still didn’t know where Durant had come from, what he had done with most of his life or where he was heading. But he knew that Durant wasn’t like the usual run of hired hand who worked on a drive so he could drink, gamble and womanize. Durant was a man apart, capable, strong, stacked with guts and grit, but with an aloofness that was somewhat disturbing. Durant had even got along reasonably well with the Adler brothers, despite the trouble before Ed Ball left. Through all the dust and the heat and hard work, Durant had taken things as they came, as if hardship was part and parcel of his life.

  Hawke said, “Well, for me it’s a week off and then I’ll scout around for another contract. I’ve got friends in Cannon Creek already checking out likely customers for me. So, if something comes up right away, what about tagging along again?”

  Blake looked at Hawke for a moment before he turned his horse and let it walk a few paces out of the shade. He had a great deal of respect for Cameron Hawke. He liked the way the man handled men and cattle, never pushing either too much, but getting the best from them. He struck a strict but fair bargain in all things he did. And, although he may have been tempted to side with Bede and Reg Adler against Ed Ball, he had given Ball his chance, even at the risk of upsetting the drive.

  Blake said, “I don’t know. It depends on which direction you take.”

  “What does it matter?” Hawke said. “One drive is like another. North, south, east or west, you always run into something interesting.”

  Blake shook his head and remained solemn. “It matters,” he said as he let Sundown pick his way off the slope. Hearing Hawke come up fast behind him, Blake Durant hit Sundown into a run and was soon swallowing the dust of the slow-moving herd. From that point, right into the Cannon Creek yards, he kept to himself, doing his fair share of work.

  When the cattle were yarded and Cameron Hawke was lost in the middle of a crowd of cattlemen, he sought out the livery stable, saw that Sundown was tended to properly, and then headed for the saloon.

  He was a big man and he attracted plenty of attention as he made his way towards the counter, a great deal of it coming from five women seated at a table against a stage at the far end of the room. Blake saw them lean towards each other in a communal huddle before the barkeep came up to serve him. Blake ordered a whisky and turning with the glass in his hand, saw Bede and Reg Adler making their way towards the group of women, with Wright and Jed Luther trailing them, and looking nowhere as sure of themselves as the Adler brothers were. Blake sipped his drink and took in the big room. There were the usual crowd of townsmen, cowhands, businessmen and the occasional drunk.

  Reg Adler pulled a seat up to the table and invited his brother to join him, while Wright, looking bashful, delayed at the edge of the circle of uplifted faces, trying not to look at any one woman directly. Adler was talking. After a moment, a loud chorus of laughter came from the young women, who immediately shifted to make room for Wright and Jed Luther. Blake caught the eye of one of the women, a young, attractive, dark-haired girl whose gaze was fixed on Blake as Reg Adler tugged at the sleeve of her blouse. The girl knocked Adler’s hand away, picked up a beaded purse and, ignoring the others, walked across the room towards Blake. Although a lot of the men spoke to her as she passed, she didn’t respond to their greetings in any way.

  Blake sipped his drink and watched her over the rim of the glass. The girl didn’t remind him of any other woman he had ever known. There was a distinct individuality about her, both in looks and manner. Suddenly his thoughts went back to another time and place and the memory of a dark-haired, slim young woman of twenty-two who walked with the same purposeful steps.

  Then she was standing before him, smiling shyly. “Your friends said you had yourself in a corral and there were no gates to let you out. I don’t believe they know what they’re talking about.”

  “What do you believe?” Blake asked.

  “I believe,” the girl said, “that after five weeks on the trail, the first thing you’d want is a good drink. Then you might want a bath and a change of clothes, then a good dinner, and after that some excitement.”

  Blake smiled faintly. Despite the fact that her approach was direct, he was attracted to her. Her perfume was fresh and not too heady, and after the smells of the range and the cattle he felt a tinge of interest moving through him. “You’ve nearly got it right,” he said.

 

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