Together they got the trunk to the to p and lashed it in place. McCloud dusted hi s hands, looking at Conagher thoughtfully.
I heard you were stopping over at Mrs.
Teale's. I kind of thought you two woul d get together .
Conagher stared at the ground, flushing.
Aw, Charlie, you know I ain't th e kind to stand hitched. I'm a drifter .
How long have you been tellin g yourself that? You're no more a drifte r than I am. Look, Conn, if you're smar t you'll find yourself a piece of ground an d settle down. That there's a fine woman .
She is that. But she wouldn't have th e likes of me. What have I got to offer a woman ?
McCloud chuckled . Don't ask me. Le t her tell you. A woman can always fin d something in a man worth having. I thin k you're a no-account saloon brawler who'd rather fight than eat, and the only things I can say good about you is that you do you r job, you're honest, and you never backe d off from trouble .
Yeah. You can put that on my marke r when they bury me. 'He never backed of f from trouble.' That's just what'll kill me , one of these days .
Speaking of that, have you seen Kri s Mahler? He's carrying a chip on hi s shoulder over you .
It's one-sided. I've got no fight wit h him .
Wasn't he one of the Parnell crow d there for a while ?
I wouldn't know, but that's all ove r now, and I left that fight behind me .
What are you aiming to do now ?
McCloud asked.
Charlie, I'm going to get drunk. I'm going to get mean drunk and then sleep y drunk, and when I wake up I'm going t o ride clean to Montana or Oregon o r somewhere far off .
He crossed the street and entered th e cantina.
Pedro, he said , give me a bottle an d that table over there. I'm going to ge t drunk .
But senor, Pedro protested , you d o not get drunk! I have never seen you ge t drunk !
Nevertheless, I think?
The door behind him swung inward.
Conagher turned slowly. It was Kri s Mahler.
I heard you were in town , Mahle r said . So I came over to see what a n honest man does when he's away fro m home .
Conagher felt a sudden, vast impatience.
He stood with his back to the ba r watching Mahler with an expression o f disgust.
Mahler came on into the room an d stopped, legs spread apart, staring at him.
There were only two others in the cantina , Pedro and Charlie McCloud, who ha d come in through the side door.
Mahler, I'm minding my own business.
I'm not looking for trouble .
What's the matter? You turned yellow ?
No, I just want no trouble. You've go t it stuck in your craw because you rode of f and I didn't, so what does it matter? Tha t was your business, so let it lay .
Suppose I don't want to ?
Mahler was a big man, a broad, stron g man, powerfully made and rugged.
Ever'where I go , he said , I hea r what a tough man Conn Conagher is.
Well, I've never seen any of your graveyards .
Conagher deliberately turned his bac k on Mahler and, taking up his bottle , crossed to the table he had chosen. He pulled out a chair and straddled it. The n he filled a glass.
Damn you. Conn ! Mahler shouted.
Listen to me!
When you make sense, I'll listen.
Come and have a drink .
Mahler took two long strides and swep t the bottle and glass from the table , knocking them into a corner.
All right, Conagher said mildly , i f you don't want to drink, pull up a chai r and I'll order some grub. Or we'll jus t talk. I'm not going anywhere .
That man you shot up in the hills bac k of Teale's, that was Hi Jackson. He wa s my saddle partner .
Conagher lifted his eyes. His smile wa s gone and his eyes were bleak . That ma n was a damn rustler and a thief, and he trie d to shoot me in the back .
Mahler grabbed for his gun, an d Conagher, whose foot was lifted agains t the under frame of the table, shot the tabl e out with one smashing kick, knocking i t into Mahler.
He got up then and unbelted his gun s and put them on the bar in front of Pedro.
Kris Mahler had gone down hard, bu t now he was getting up and Conaghe r walked up to him and hit him with a wor k hardened fist. The blow caught Mahler i n the mouth and staggered him, but he cam e in swinging. Conagher caught one an d went to his knees, started up and caugh t another, a straight left that stabbed him i n the mouth, and a right cross on the chin.
He feinted, then crossed another righ t to the jaw. There was a smoky taste i n Conagher's mouth, and he knew a toot h had been broken. Mahler could punch , and not only that, but he knew how to figh t with his fists.
He came at Conagher, feinting, rollin g to let Conn's right go by, then smashin g him with two wicked punches in the belly.
Mahler half stepped back then, expectin g Conagher to fall, but Conn merel y weaved, threw a left and a right tha t missed, caught a stiff left in the mouth , and then suddenly he ducked his head an d lunged in.
The sudden attack when everything wa s going his way startled Mahler. He tried t o side-step and bumped into a table, an d Conagher smashed into him, knocking th e table over and Mahler with it.
Conagher dropped swiftly, his kne e driving into Mahler's stomach; the n Conagher started to rise and as Mahler di d the same Conagher's knee smashed hi m under the chin, knocking him back to th e floor.
Mahler rolled over and Conaghe r sprang free, and as Mahler came up , Conagher went into him, hooking shor t and hard with both hands to the head an d body. Shaken, Mahler backed up and trie d to get set, but Conagher plunged into him , whipping up a wicked right to the wind , hooking a left that missed at clos e quarters, but smashing Mahler with a n elbow.
They fought toe to toe, coldly, furiously.
Conagher lost all track of time. He caught smashing blows to the head and th e body, but grimly he dug in, hanging i n there like a bulldog, taking Mahler's bes t shots and smashing back with bot h hands.
He backed Mahler against the bar, too k two driving blows going in, and the n leaned his head against Mahler's shoulde r and ripped at his belly with short, wicke d punches.
Conagher could taste blood in hi s mouth, and he knew there was blood o n his face. He was knocked down, and the n again. He got up, and felt a hammer-lik e blow on the side of the face, but as h e swung he caught Mahler's arm and thre w him hard against the piano. There was a thunder of sound and Mahler brace d himself, but when he threw the punc h Conagher went under it and ripped bot h hands to the wind, then moved back an d brought up a right uppercut that brok e Mahler's nose and showered him wit h blood.
Kris moved away. He kicked a chair ou t of the way for room in which to box. He jabbed, and jabbed again. He feinted , hooked a right to the chin, then tried th e left, but Conagher had been waiting for it.
He knocked the punch aside and whippe d a lifting left into the solar plexus. Mahler's knees buckled and he started to fall, an d Conn hit him again with a right. Mahle r fell and Conagher caught him by the colla r and jerked him upright and hit him thre e times more before the bigger man coul d fall again. He went down then, and he la y still.
Conagher stood over him, weaving an d bloody, his shirt torn to shreds.
At last Conagher turned away and fel l against the bar.
You can have that bottle , Pedro said.
I give you the bottle .
Don't want it, he mumbled, thro
ug h broken lips . I don't need it .
He was thinking. He was putting thing s together. The hammering he had take n left a confusion of ideas in his mind tha t suddenly began to be less confused; the y began to fall into place.
Four hundred and twenty dollars in gol d . . . Jacob Teale riding to buy cows . . . Jaco b Teale never came back . . . a skeleton abou t one day's ride east. . . a dried-up saddle an d saddlebags . . . it had to be.
He had both hands resting on the edg e of the bar and drops of blood were wellin g from his nose, and there was blood in hi s mouth. He spat.
His head was buzzing from the punche s he had taken. He reached for his gunbel t in a staggering daze and buckled it on.
Somebody handed him his hat .
Mr. Conagher?
It couldn't be. Not here. Not in Socorro. He turned his battered fac e toward the glare from the door and there a woman stood, framed against the sunlight.
He could not see her face. Only a dress, a right pretty dress when you thought o f it.
Mr. Conagher? I think you shoul d come home .
He stared at her. Home? He had n o home. He took a step toward her and hi s knees buckled, but she caught him unde r the arm.
Mr. McCloud? Will you help me? I a m afraid he's hurt .
Him? You couldn't hurt him with a n axe. There's too much mule in him .
Conagher drew himself up . Why di d you come here ? he asked, swaying a littl e on his feet. He hel d his bandana agains t his bloody lips.
She was a plain woman, some had said , but she was pretty now, Conagher wa s sure of it.
I... we need you, Mr. Conagher , we all felt lost ... I don't know what ...
There's the Ladder Five , he said , that's a good outfit. I mean with thi s money . . . it's yours rightly . . . with thi s money we can buy some stock from Tay.
We can make a start .
Kris Mahler rolled over and got up , his face twisting with pain. Holding hi s side he watched them go out the door.
I hit him, he said , I hit him wit h ever'thing I had, and he still came a t me .
He staggered against the bar, staring a t the still swinging doors.
Outside Conagher fumbled in hi s pocket. He pulled out a small handful o f shabby notes . You . . . you wrote these , didn't you? I remember out there tha t night you said something about the win d in the grass, and?
I was lonely. I had to talk ... t o write to somebody, and there was n o one .
There was. There was me .
Back at the saloon Mahler shook hi s head . I hit him , he said again . I hi t him with ever'thing I had. What sort o f man is he ?
He's Conagher, McCloud said , an d that's enough .