Little Sam's Angel (2 page)

That other shoulder still pained him if he forgot and moved it the wrong way too fast, but that would pass. Something else the doctor told him was the pain would lessen with time, the same way the memories would, the same way the weakness from being shot to hell would. All of it would pass in time, but Gabe was going to have to learn to find middle ground for himself, somewhere between useless rage and false indifference.

Those were the doctor's descriptions, not Gabe's. He agreed readily enough that the rage was useless. It just plain didn't have a direction to go in with no one to take the anger out on. He didn't feel like the indifference was false.

If he didn't give a damn, he didn't give a damn. There was nothing false about it. Of the two, he figured indifference was best. At least it didn't make him sick. Either that or maybe he should just go back and blow a few heads off. Maybe in the end, that was what he needed to clear his head of the betrayal from that night.

When Gabe woke up, it was dark outside, and Hedges was shaking him.

"You was plumb tuckered out," he said, watching Gabe shrug the sleep off and figure out where he was.

"More than I knew. Thanks," Gabe said and grimaced with the stiffness of his still healing wounds when he swung his feet to the floor.

"You look some better. Once you get some vittles in your belly, you'll look even better." He had hold of Gabe's arm again, leading him to a table well set with plates and bowls containing enough food for four men.

"You carry your apologies to the limit, but you don't—"

"This ain't no apology. I want the company," Hedges said, pushing Gabe gently to a chair.

Put that way, Gabe didn't see how he could refuse, but he said, "I'm not much company, Mr. Hedges."

"Better than Burns is. Sit down, boy." Hedges walked around the table to take the other chair. "I usually eat in here. Burns always manages to come in for coffee and sit with me if I eat out in the dining room." He scooped a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate and then handed the bowl to Gabe. "Ask me, he watches through the window for me. Pompous ass. He gets some kind of pleasure out of baiting me."

"He new to this country?" Gabe asked, taking a second bowl from Hedges.

"Noticed that, did ya? Yeah, he's new, all right. Came in the same time the new Homestead Act did, and he arranged to have a passel of them farmers following him. Big Sam stopped them cold, but Little Sam saw to it permanent without a bunch of fighting. That's why Burns is always baiting me. It was my advice for them to file on all their own land."

"You mind if we talk about something else?" Gabe asked, fighting to hold down the anger building in his gut again. He'd given the same advice in Crystal Creek, only no one had taken it.

"Sure," Hedges said quickly. "Talked to Garbo over at the stage company while you was napping. They won't have that wheel done till tomorrow late sometime. Smithy's got to build them a new one. That old one was too beat up."

Gabe nodded, not caring one way or the other. His stomach wasn't too receptive to the food he was swallowing, but with each bite it seemed to settle a little better. There certainly wasn't anything wrong with Hedges' stomach. The old man gulped down the food and kept a running narrative going at the same time. He went from why the stage line didn't bother with upgrading their equipment—they expected a railroad to come in at any time—to another subject, then to another, and another. His talking took them all the way through the meal to the last cup of coffee.

"Reckon that's the thing that burns me the most about Burns," he said, smiling at his own corny pun. "He never lets me talk enough. Always does me good to share a meal with a man that lets me talk his ear off."

"You didn't, and I appreciate the meal as well as the place to sleep."

"Good, now we can go have that poker game." Hedges pushed his chair back. "Burns won't be there, so's there won't be any fool's fight. His wife won't let him out at night. Say, you any good at the game?"

"Poker? So-so."

"There's a particular gent I'd like to see beat. Tell you what, I'd like to see him beat so bad, I'll stake you in the game tonight just for the chance to see it done."

"Is he a professional?"

"Nope, just better than me and good enough to beat any of them cowboys that gets too drunk to know what they're doing. He owns the saloon, but before that he was just a lucky cowboy." While he talked, he pulled his money poke out.

"I don't want to be responsible for your money," Gabe said, shaking his head and refusing to take the poke Hedges held out to him.

"Why, boy, it don't make no difference if you lose it or I do," he said with a chuckle. "Ya see now, what my problem is, I get too much drink in me and forget to watch what I'm doing. You do that?"

"No, but—now look, I've not—" he began as Hedges grasped him by the wrist and pressed the poke into his hand.

"Make you a deal. We'll split anything you win. Then you won't just be playing for me."

"It isn't that, Mr. Hedges, I—"

"You just call me Hedges. I don't care for that mister stuff, and you'll be doing me a favor."

"It won't be any favor if I lose."

"Sure it will. Then I'll know for sure it ain't just that I'm a dang fool. If you win, I'll know I am and quit bucking him."

Gabe didn't quite follow that reasoning, but since Hedges had walked out leaving the money in his hand, he didn't have much choice but to follow.

Hedges was right about Burns not being there, but Gabe doubted he was right about the saloon owner not being a professional gambler. Professional gamblers seemed to have a dress code they all adhered to religiously, and that man was definitely adhering. Dressed as a dandy, he had the look of a professional in his eyes and in his well-kept, smooth hands as well. If he'd ever been a cowboy, which Gabe doubted, it'd been a long time since those hands had ever had a rope in them or worn the calluses that went with it.

The way he handled the cards belied the fact that he had ever done anything else with them. Gabe had to concentrate on the game, not allowing his thoughts to drift, both because he was playing with a man who knew cards inside and out and because it wasn't his money he was playing with.

Besides Hedges, Gabe, and the saloon owner—Scott by name—there were two other players, a rancher called Buck and a cowhand by the dubious name of Smith. Gabe wondered a bit about the cowboy. He didn't seem to fit with the others. The only time a cowhand had money to blow was payday, and by the absence of a bar full of drunken cowhands, Gabe was sure it wasn't payday.

Then he shrugged his curiosity away. Smith was probably a hand who'd collected his pay and pulled up stakes, either out of boredom with the job or a hassle with the boss. It was odd to see a cowhand in a game with ranch, saloon, and hotel owners, but then Gabe felt he didn't belong there, either.

For Gabe the game was boring. He won enough to stay in, but nothing to bring him or Hedges a profit. Hedges lost steadily. The rancher stayed about even, but the cowhand lost even worse than Hedges. Not too surprisingly, he was the first to run out of a stake.

"I want to stay in the hand," he complained when he couldn't come up with enough to cover the bet.

"You can't, so just fold your cards," Scott said without pity.

"I got something that's worth some money," he said, digging into his pocket. "Little Sam will give you a hundred for that easy." He laid down a piece of paper neatly folded so the boldly printed word 'deed' showed up plainly.

"Ya cain't gamble that deed off. It's Little Sam's," Hedges exclaimed.

"It's worth a hundred. I'm just using it as collateral to prove I'm good for it. Little Sam will give me the hundred tomorrow for it."

"If I win it, I'll get the hundred direct from Little Sam. Sign it over," Scott said, signaling to the bartender to bring pen and ink.

"If you win it, you'll jack the price up on it," Hedges retorted.

"We can just agree right here that whoever wins it won't sell it back for more than a hundred," the rancher said. "The rest of us will see that it's upheld."

"It ain't right," Hedges muttered.

"Everyone knows it's Little Sam who has the right to it. Rocking M paid the filing fees for Smith and paid for the improvements to make that claim legal," Buck said.

"And everyone knows that a hundred is what was promised me for doing it," Smith put in eagerly.

Smith seemed to be sweating blood, but then Gabe figured he'd be feeling the same way if he was gambling someone else's property on the chance of winning a big pot.

Since Scott's bet was the one being called, he showed his hand first, a pair of jacks and two fours with a king kicker. The cowboy hung his head while he threw his cards to the center of the table in defeat and reached for the pen the bartender held. Hedges muttered a curse at not being able to take it when it was his turn. Scott reached for the pot as soon as Smith scribbled an
X
on the deed; the deed being the first thing to touch his greedy hand.

"I got you beat," Gabe said quietly, as surprised as the rest of them. He laid down his two pair, one of queens and one of fives with an ace kicker.

Hedges whooped with glee, slapping Gabe on the back. Gabe winced, turning himself so the slaps didn't hit him on the left shoulder, though it wasn’t necessary. Hedges was busy writing Gabe’s name on the deed.

"Wait a minute," Gabe said as the cowhand stood up to leave. "You got some change coming."

"Huh?" Smith said, staring at him in confusion.

"Everyone agreed the value of that deed is a hundred dollars. You only put in for fifty."

"He put it in for what was necessary to stay in. You don't owe him anything," Scott said coldly.

"Hell, give it to him. He earned that much," Hedges said, picking the amount out of the pile.

"You're damned generous with another man's winnings," Scott retorted.

"Why, I reckon I am. What d'you say, Gabe? Do I give it to him or not?"

"Give it to him," Gabe said, looking at the gambler and not liking what he saw.

"There you go, Smith. Now you vamoose out of here before Scott takes you for that, too."

"Thanks, mister," Smith said, gratefully shoving the money into the pocket of his pants. He took Hedges' advice and left without stopping for a farewell drink.

"Come on, Gabe," Hedges said, gathering up the remainder of the pot. "We'll finish that bottle off to celebrate."

"He can't quit a winner," Scott protested.

"He can quit any dang time he wants," Hedges shot back, taking Gabe by the arm again.

"Most of that money is mine, and I say it ain't right of him to pull out now."

"You can just call it getting back some of what I done lost to you," Hedges said, punching a finger into Scott's chest.

"Did you stake him, Hedges?" the rancher asked.

"Yep."

As far as the rancher was concerned, that put an end to the argument. "Nice to have met you, Mr. Taylor."

Gabe suffered a momentary irritation at being led around by Hedges, but like everything else, he shrugged it away. Hedges had paid for the privilege, and when he thought about it, he was glad the game had come to an end. He was tired and looking forward to going to bed. Thanks to Hedges and the pot he'd just won, he could even afford one for the night. Things might even look up a little if it weren't for the damning past hanging over him.

Chapter Two

The only trouble with being tired was it didn't mean Gabe would sleep any better. A man figured if he was tired enough to want to do nothing more than curl up in a ball and let the world go by without him, he ought to be able to sleep soundly.

Gabe didn't. The one drink he'd had with Hedges before he begged off and went on to bed hadn't helped any, either. He dreamed about that night all over again, waking up with his fists clenched and grinding his teeth. Not only that, he was drenched in sweat. How many times was he going to live through being shot down before the memories left him alone?

Like all the times before, he didn't want to go back to sleep, but his body was still weak, it demanded the sleep, and his body won. No dreams came after that.

When he woke again, the sun was pouring in through the window. His suit was on the chair, somewhat neater that it had been when he'd left it there the night before with a pressed look to it that it had never had during the time he'd owned it. More of Hedges' doing, he figured, but why did the old man bother? For that matter, why had the old man bothered doing any of the things he had?

Busting up a card game with an argument hardly called for all the generosity he'd handed out in the name of an apology. Why had the old man insisted that Gabe take a stake and play in another game? Gabe shrugged again, physically and mentally. What difference did it make? He'd won for him, hadn't he?

The bed creaked when he got up, and right behind that sound, Hedges opened the door and peeked in. "Beginning to wonder iffen I was going to have to roust you out. Shake a leg, boy. We barely got time to get out to the Rocking M and back before they figure to have that stage ready to roll out of here."

"Why would I want to go there?" Gabe asked, stepping into his pants.

"That's where Little Sam is. Best way I know of to sell a thing to someone is to go where they're at." He ambled into the room and stood a few feet away. Gabe reached for his shirt, neatly pressed the same as the suit, looked up at Hedges and saw that Hedges' eyes were locked onto the fresh scar on his side. He knew Hedges had to have seen the scar marring the smoothness of his back shoulder, too.

"Well?" he demanded with hostility, that flash of rage building.

"Well what, boy?" Hedges said, raising his eyes to meet Gabe's.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I got them?" he demanded.

"Nope, ain't none of my never-mind, but I can sure see why you're tuckered out. Bad place to catch a slug. Sure you ought to be traveling so soon?"

The throbbing behind Gabe's temples eased off. He shrugged and said, "Wasn't anything else to do."

"You could have rested up some, got your strength back. You take on too much too soon and you never will be back to top shape. Why don't you stay on here a few days?"

Gabe shook his head for several reasons. He didn't have the money to take it easy, and he didn't have the strength to work to make more. To top it off, even though Hedges had said it wasn't any of his business how Gabe came to get shot, and even though he hadn't asked any questions, he was too damned curious, and he was too damned smart. He'd already seen more than Gabe cared to have anyone know about him, and he was trying hard to leave all that behind. The throbbing in his head increased again just worrying that someone would recognize him and bring it all up.

"No, well, reckon you got something important to get to, even if you ain't in no hurry to get there," he said, then turned away before Gabe could make any comment. Hedges added as he left the room, "Got you some breakfast on. It'll be done in the time it takes you to shave and finish dressing."

Gabe fought down the building rage, wondering if the old man had seen that anger coming up in him before he'd turned away. Though there was no sense to it, it was there just the same, quick as a flash, making his face feel hot and all the veins in his head throb with the blood that pounded in it.

The old man got under his skin. That's all it was. He'd sign that deed over then get away from him, even if he had to spend the rest of the time in the stuffy stage station to do it. Trouble was Hedges insisted he couldn't do it that way.

"Hell, boy, you'd have to sign it over to me, then I'd have to sign it over to Little Sam. Damned sight easier just doing it once. 'Sides, I ain't got that much cash. You'll have to get it straight from Little Sam."

"You ain't got that much?" Gabe asked in puzzlement. "You had more than enough in that pot last night."

"That was last night." Hedges put a plate heaped full of steak and eggs in front of Gabe. "Had me some bills to pay this morning, and with what I lost last night, I used the cash and left the deed for your share." He added quickly, "Just till you get it from Little Sam."

"There was over three hundred in that pot altogether," Gabe said, still puzzled.

"Sure was. Sweetest little pot ever, and did Scott burn when you took it away from him," Hedges said with glee.

"But even after you took your stake back and paid that cowboy the difference, there was over two hundred left."

"Yep, yep, and after I took out my fifty percent of the—"

"Fifty percent?"

"Figure that was too much, boy?"

"It wasn't enough. You just take that deed and give me the cash left. We'll call it square."

"I cain't do that. You're the one that won it. You got your full share coming. It won't take us long to get it for you from Little Sam, and you ain't got nothing else to do."

Gabe had to agree with that last part and slipped back into indifference. "No, guess not," he said with another shrug.

"You ever seen a geyser, boy?" Hedges asked, laying the deed and cash on the table in front of Gabe.

"No," Gabe said, looking at the money. With that little bit he could afford to hole up and rest up some, but not in Crossings. The town was in cattle country, with problems too close to what he'd left behind, the kind that had nearly got him killed. With the additional cash from the deed he could get himself set back up, decent clothes, boots, and a horse. With a horse he could go anywhere he wanted, as far as he wanted.

"Ever heard tell of them?"

Gabe had to pull himself back to the conversation, not that it made much sense to him. "They shoot water in the air."

"Sit all quiet-like, sometimes for days, then when you least expect it, they go off."

"The one I heard about, they can time," Gabe said, pocketing the money.

"Cain't with all of them, though," Hedges said, looking at him in a way that made Gabe uneasy. "I heard if you knew where that angry water was holing up, you could drain it off so it wouldn't explode like that."

"Why would you want to?" Gabe asked, puzzled again, thinking the old man was getting at something without coming right out with it.

"Explosions like that comes without warning and innocent people could get hurt."

"Then they ought to stay away from it."

"Yeah, I reckon," Hedges said, smiling suddenly. "Guess maybe I ain't got that much sense though. I'll hitch up."

Whatever the old man was getting at, he didn't make it any clearer. Fact was, after the way he had been in all the short time Gabe had known him, he went amazingly quiet. They'd been driving for well over two hours before he spoke again.

"Up yonder there," Hedges said, pointing off into the distance, "is what you won last night. It starts down here in the valley, running for half a mile, then goes straight up into those mountains for two more. Got all you need for growing feed down here in the valley soil, good grazing mid-way, then there's a fair sight of timber on up there."

"For a cattle ranch, not a farm," Gabe said with appreciation in his voice and a touch of bitterness. The sight was too beautiful to be the cause of blood spilled, just as desirable as the land had been at Crystal Creek.

"Reckon that's what it's going to be used for. Them homestead laws don't say it all has to be put under a plow. Some don't call for any at all. Little Sam used them laws right, having each man file on all four parcels that the law allows per person. This here section is on the outside edge of the ranch. Main ranch buildings for the Rocking M are on the next one, and the other six sections run out behind it."

Gabe turned around to look at him when he said six. With eight men filing four claims, each at one hundred sixty acres per claim that meant one ranch would be five thousand one hundred twenty acres when it was all through.

"See why Burns burns?" Hedges asked with a chuckle. "Rocking M runs for eight miles down this valley, two miles thick. The rest of the claims take a jog up there and run the sixteen sections at four thick, two deep. What with each section half a mile square, that takes up a mighty parcel of land."

"Yeah," Gabe said, looking away again.

"Lost a sight of land from what Old Sam originally claimed, but it wasn't worth much more than being able to say it was his. A-Bar-B Ranch was what we just come off of. He'll have twenty-four sections when his men prove up on them. Other side of him is Buck. He took eight between him and his son. Land starts running poor over that way. There's a few more little places scattered around, but it's easy to see that Rocking M has to kinda lead things around here. Little Sam had to make arrangements to claim near all, even if it wasn't all needed or wanted. Filed on the best so's the others would do the same. Won't be no range wars here."

"The farmers stay away?" Gabe asked distantly.

"Some come in, but once they see what's left, they move on. No one would care if they took what's left anyway. Ain't worth nothing; no water on it. We're on what you won now. That's the house there. Smith's been living in it till he let go of that deed."

Gabe looked up, surprised at what he saw. He'd expected a one-room shanty, the bare minimum required to qualify as a dwelling to prove up on a homestead claim. Instead he found himself looking at a large and tidy frame house, painted a sparkling white and set back in the timber Hedges had mentioned earlier. Gabe didn't have time to wonder over it, though.

"Riders coming. Must be the Rocking M hands," Hedges said, pulling the team to a halt in front of the well-constructed gate of the homestead yard. "Don't see Little Sam, though."

Gabe didn't see anyone particularly little. The average bunch of cowhands had a share of smaller than average men in it, but this one didn't. The leader in front of the five men was bigger than most men, mean-looking on top of it, dark and swarthy with the look of a brawler. He was the one Gabe watched. The man looked mad clear through.

Riding down hard on them, he got so close to Hedges' team that the horses pranced and fought the traces when he jerked his mount to a halt not three paces from their heads.

He hit the ground running and didn't stop until he had Gabe by the front of the coat, jerking him off the wagon to his knees. "Give me that deed," the man shouted as he jerked Gabe up and threw him into the gate.

"What the hell are you doing, Pierce?" Hedges yelled. He fought to keep his team under control, but when he saw Gabe being dragged to his feet and Pierce's fist cocked and ready to drive into Gabe's face, he forgot about them and jumped off the wagon.

Gabe didn't see the fist. He didn't see much of anything but a red haze. He let the man lift him far enough to get his feet on the ground, then he drove himself up with both legs, his one strong arm swinging.

A counter-attack was the last thing the bully called Pierce expected. The knuckles caught him across the nose, making a noise that let everyone know without a doubt that his nose was broken. His eyes watered so fast, he was blind and helpless to protect himself as the first punch was followed by another, then another and another until the other riders could get off their horses to help him.

Pierce rolled off to the side and held his nose until the others managed to get Gabe pressed up against a fence post to hold him, and Hedges was dragged back out of the way. One man each held one of Gabe's arms along the fence rail and one crawled through the fence to hold Gabe to the post with both hands by the collar. One man held Hedges back with an arm around his neck.

"You're gonna pay for that," Pierce promised with a twisted grin, closing in to repay some of those blows. He was stopped painfully short of his goal by Gabe's foot in the middle of his gut. "Hold him, damn it," he gasped.

"Get a rope," one of them ordered while he fought to keep his hold on an arm that refused to stay still.

"Rope, hell," another muttered. "I ain't gonna get my teeth kicked in trying to hogtie him. Bean him, Joe."

Joe was trying to oblige, but he had a difficult time working his gun free while still holding on to Gabe's collar with only one hand. He finally had the weapon raised above Gabe's head, waiting for a clear whack at him when a new voice joined the chaos, coming from a rider racing in. The words carried over Hedges' wild shouting and made Joe jerk erect and stiff in obedience, even if the voice was female.

"You hit him, Joe, and you'll draw your time in about five seconds flat."

"Little Sam, there wasn't no call for this," Hedges cried, wiggling himself free from the man that held him.