ReadWest

Stories of the American West

Elmer Kelton

John D. Nesbitt

Don Bendell

Mike Kearby

Steven Law

D. B. Jackson

L. D. Clark

N A S H V I L L E,   T E N N E S S E E

Goldminds Publishing, Inc.

1050 Glenbrook Way, Suite 480

Hendersonville, TN 37075

“The Last Indian Fight in Kerr County”

© Estate of Elmer Kelton.

Published with permission.

“LeBlanc Station”

© 2012 John D. Nesbitt

“Legend”

© 2012 Mike Kearby

“Forsake the Wicked”

© 2012 Steven A. Anderson

“Last of the Cowboys”

© 2012 Dale B. Jackson

“The Handshake”

Copyright © 2012 Don Bendell

“Reapers of the Whirlwind”

© 2012 L. D. Clark

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Printed in the United States of America. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. www.goldmindspub.com

John D. Nesbitt grabbed the attention of the Western writing community in 2009 and 2010 when he won three back-to-back Spur Awards for his novels and short fiction. Regarded as one of the freshest voices in the industry, Nesbitt is a perfect addition to this story collection, which represents the future of a classic genre. www.johndnesbitt.com.

LEBLANC STATION

Del Page rested his horse for a moment on the crest of a small rise. Ahead of him about half a mile, LeBlanc Station was visible in the first grey light of morning. The place didn’t consist of much. The main building was a frame structure where the original trapper post had stood. It faced south, and in back of it sat a stable and a set of corrals. Farther to the left, half a mile due north, a large rock mountain rose almost straight up. Page gave his horse a touch of the heel, and the two of them moved ahead in the stillness.

The sky lightened above the hills in the east, and the huge slabs of rock on the mountainside took on a dull shine. The lines in the surface looked like blue veins on the fat of a hanging quarter of beef.

Page slowed the horse as he approached the way station. The main building had an overhang that kept the front doorway in gloom at this time of day. Page caught a whiff of woodsmoke as he stopped the horse and swung down. Out of habit he touched the handle of his six-gun, and he was about to tie the horse to the hitching rail when the thump and scrape of an opening door broke the quiet of the morning.

A shape appeared in the doorway, and a slender, bearded man in a dark coat and narrow hat stepped into view on the wooden porch. He held a rifle. “Where’d you come from?” he asked.

“I rode in from the west.”

“That road’s blocked.”

“Not that I noticed.”

The man’s eyes went from Page to the horse, where the dark stock of a rifle stood out against the grey coat of the animal. The man’s eyes came back. “What’s your name?”

“Page. Del Page. Who were you expecting?”

“No one.”

Page let a couple of seconds pass. “I’ve told you my name. Maybe you can tell me yours.”

“Snell.”

“Do you run this place?”

“Callahan does.”

Page glanced at the rifle. Judging from Snell’s tenseness, he didn’t think the man wanted to use the gun. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said, “I’d like to turn my horse into a corral for a little while, let him rest and have a drink of water.”

“Out back.”

Page turned away and flicked the reins. The powdery grey horse backed up.

“Put him in the first pen,” said Snell.

Page glanced at the man. “How do you like working for Callahan?”

“I don’t. That is, I don’t work for him.”

Page led the horse around back. The sky in the east had turned scarlet, and the high wall of rock beyond the corrals showed a faint glow of pink. Page found the first pen empty, so he unsaddled his horse, left his saddle and scabbard on a hitch rack, and turned the horse into the pen. Two horses from the next corral snuffled and came close, and a lone horse from the last corral raised his head and looked across. Page spoke low to them, backed out, and slid the latch on the gate. A trough ran between the pens, and it had water, so Page left things as they were and went back around to the front door of the station.

Inside, he found Snell and another man sitting at a small, square table. A longer rectangular table a few feet away had empty chairs around it, so Page took a seat there. In the murky lamplight he made out a counter and a doorway beyond it. Sound came from the area in back—a pan on a stovetop, then a voice. A man came out and stood at the counter.

He was not wearing a hat, and he did not have an outdoor, weathered look about him. He was of middle height and average build, with straight, light-colored hair and a clean-shaven face. He had a rounded nose, a broad upper lip area, and round cheekbones, all with a light, smooth complexion and a flushed underglow.

“’Nother pot of coffee comin’ up,” he said.

Page saw that Snell and the other man had cups in front of them. He wondered if the three men had already finished off a pot of coffee. “Are you the proprietor?” he asked.

“I’m Callahan.”

“My name’s Page. I came in from the west. This man here tells me the road’s blocked.”

“Could be.”

“Why would they have it blocked?”

“I guess they want to.”

“Well, I hope they don’t give me any trouble. I’m travelin’ east, and I’d like to move on in a little while.”

Snell spoke up. “It’s blocked that way, too.” He motioned at the man sitting across the table from him. “Grady and I got turned back yesterday.”

Page sniffed. “From the looks of that mountain to the north, that leaves the south. How far is it to the river?”

“Less than a mile,” Snell answered. “But the bridge is out. And the river’s too high.”

“I believe that. I crossed it at Meyers yesterday. It was high, but I didn’t think it would wash out a bridge.”

“It didn’t,” said Grady.

The man’s surly tone caused Page to look at him. He was a long-faced man with drooping lower eyelids and a three-day stubble across his face. He had reddish-brown hair and a dark hat like Snell’s.

Page sat back in his chair. “Sounds like I rode into a troublesome situation. I think I might want to move on as soon as I get something to eat.”

“No hurry,” said Callahan. “Day’s young.”

At that moment, a dark-haired person came out of the kitchen carrying a coffee pot. In better light, the dusky shape became a woman in a loose-fitting dress and apron. She took a coffee cup from the counter, set it on the table in front of Page, and poured it full. Steam rose from the dark surface and cleared away.

Her eyes flickered toward Callahan and back to Page. “Don’t listen to him,” she said. “He’ll want you to help, and he’s not worth it.”

“Shut up, Claire.”

She raised her chin, and her dark skin reflected the lamp light. “They’ve got you pinned down like a bug, Billy. Who do you think you can fool?”

Callahan moved a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other without touching it. “I don’t have to fool anyone,” he said.

“Well, you don’t.” Claire poured coffee for Snell and Grady, then Callahan, and went back to the kitchen.

No one spoke for the next several minutes. Clattering sounds came from the kitchen, and the smell of fried food drifted on the air. The prospect of a meal stirred the emptiness in Page’s stomach and picked up his spirits.

Claire brought out three plates of fried potatoes and bacon. She set one down in front of Page, then took the other two to Snell and Grady. A moment later she came back with a plate for Callahan, who ate standing up at the counter.

As he caught various glimpses of the woman, Page thought there was something out of the ordinary about her. She was a good-looking woman, as nearly as he could tell with her loose dress and apron, but her posture was a little off. Her complexion didn’t quite fit this part of the country, either. She was dark, but not like Mexican and Indian women Page was used to seeing. He thought she might be Cajun or Creole, a long ways from home.

After the forks had clacked on the crockery plates for a few minutes, Page spoke. “Mind if I ask a question?”

“Go ahead,” said Callahan. “As you can see, people talk the way they want around here.”

Page shifted his glance toward Snell. “Why did they turn you back rather than let you through?”

“They had us bring a message back to Callahan.”

“I see.” Page took a drink of coffee. “Are they waiting for an answer?”

Callahan’s voice came up. “It’s a waiting game.”

Page directed his attention toward the man at the counter. “If they’ve got men blockin’ the road on both sides of this place, I’d say they’ve got the advantage in numbers.”

“Claire says there’s six of ’em. That would be three on each end.” Callahan’s voice sounded matter-of-fact as he poked his fork into a slice of fried potato.

Page looked at his own plate, then back up. “I hope you don’t mind, but it’s in my best interests to know how things stack up.”

Callahan drew his mouth downward. “Go ahead.”

Page spoke to Snell again. “If you fellows don’t work here, then I gather you’re travelin’ as well.”

“We come and go, and sometimes we work out of here. We’re horse buyers.”

“Not for the Army?”

“We sell to a man who sells to the British.”

“I’ve heard of that. They say about three out of ten horses actually make it into service.”

“That’s not our concern.” Snell took in a forkful and spoke around his food. “They tell us what to look for, and we try to find ’em.”

“Sure.”

“They’ve got to be at least fifteen hands high and four years old.”

“Must be a good business.”

“About half the time.” Snell leaned toward his plate and shoveled in another mouthful of grub.

A sound came from the counter as Callahan laid his fork on his plate. “I’m goin’ to go out and feed the stock here. These folks can tell you what they wouldn’t say in front of me. Do you want me to toss some hay to your horse?”

“That would be fine. Add it to my bill.”

“I’ll do that.” Callahan put on a brown hat and went out through the kitchen.

Page turned to Snell and Grady. “Well, who are these men who’ve got the road blocked?”

Snell shook his head. “I don’t know enough to tell you.”

“I take it they know Callahan.”

Grady’s voice rose in a complaining tone. “He used to ride with them.”

“Oh.”

Claire came out of the kitchen with the coffee pot. Page assumed she had been listening, and for a second his eyes met hers. She paused at his table.

“They’re right,” she said. “He used to ride with ’em. But he let ’em get sent up, and he kept the loot. Now they want to settle with him.”

“And he doesn’t,” said Grady.

Claire tossed her head. “He likes to do things his way. And he thinks he can keep on doing it.”

Page frowned. “With six of them?”

Claire’s dark eyes met his again. “It doesn’t sound like a good idea, but that’s the way he is.”

“Are they trying to sweat him out, then?”

“That was their first choice, but he turned it down.”

Page waved at the other two men. “Does he think we’re going to take his side?”

She raised her eyebrows. “He doesn’t care who he pulls into it. If it makes things more difficult, that’s his way.”

“Well, I don’t know if that kind of idea is going to work.”

Claire pushed out her lower lip and shook her head. “Neither does he.” She poured coffee for Page, then for the other two men.

Page watched her figure as she went back to the kitchen. He turned to Snell and Grady, who were cleaning up their plates. “So what do you fellows plan to do, just wait?”

Grady looked up with his drooping eyes. “Might depend on what you do.”

Page didn’t have an answer, so he finished his meal in silence. As he was halfway through his cup of coffee, he heard the back door open. Callahan said something to Claire and came into the main room.

“Pretty nice day outside,” he said as he hung his hat on a peg. “Clear sky, no wind.”

Page addressed his question to the group in general. “Is there any kind of a trail over this mountain to the north?”

Callahan pushed his lips out and shook his head. “Never heard of anyone takin’ it.”

“I’ve heard there’s a way,” Snell said. “But you’ve got to be half goat to try it. Game trails, crevices, narrow paths along the face of the rock.”

“I wonder if a horse could make it.”

“Not with a man on board.”

Page took a sip of coffee. “Maybe a man on foot, leadin’ a horse.” He moved his toes inside his boot and thought of how slick the sole was.

“Lot of trouble,” said Callahan.

“Just as soon have it there as here.”

“You might not have to.”

“Have you got a plan?” said Grady.

“The day’s early. We’ll see.”

Page got up from his chair. “I think I’ll go outside for a little while.”

“You’re not leavin’ already, are you? I just gave your horse some hay.”

“I need some fresh air and some space to think.” Page laid a silver dollar on the table. “Here’s this. I won’t leave without telling you.”

He went out the front way and around back. The saddle and scabbard were where he had left them, and the grey horse was eating loose hay on the ground. Page leaned on the top rail of the corral and gazed off to the north where the slickrock mountainside shone in the sun. He wondered how hard the going would be. Snell had said game trails. There were places a deer could go that neither a man nor a horse could make it. And if he got stuck in a place and couldn’t go any farther, it would be a lot harder coming back down than going up, especially with a horse.

He heard the door from the kitchen open behind him. He turned to see Claire taking a careful step down from the doorway. She wiped her hands on her apron as she walked across the dry, broken grass.

“If you’re thinkin’ of how to leave,” she said, “it’s a good idea. Any way out of here would be. There’s no need for you to get mixed up in this.”

Page let his hands rest at his sides. “That’s the way it seems to me. I don’t run from my own troubles, but I don’t like to take part in someone else’s.” He studied her dark eyes. “You seem to know him pretty well.”

“I was married to a man who used to ride with the whole bunch of ’em.”

“Did he get sent up, too?”

“No, he got shot dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So was I. But they all know it can happen that way.”

“Do you work for Callahan, then?”

“I’m not his woman.”

“I wasn’t askin’ anything that specific, as to whether you were or weren’t.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to know how things are.”

“I suppose that’s true, though I usually don’t care to know any more about other people’s affairs than I have to.”

“He doesn’t give a damn about me, and I wouldn’t want him to.”

“That’s between you two. I don’t mind you telling me, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“To answer your question earlier, I do work here.”

“I did ask that.”

“I just thought there were a couple of things it would help you to know.”

Page didn’t follow what seemed like a peculiar kind of repetition she came back to, but he said, “Well, I appreciate it.”

“I told you the first part. The second part is that one of the men in that gang would like to have me for his own.”

The comment gave him pause. “And Callahan is protecting you?”

“Puh. He’d sell me out in a minute if he thought it would save his skin. I think he’s trying to decide the best way to do it.”

“And I guess it goes without sayin’ that you’re not very fond of this other fellow.”

“I should say not. Brewer’s a pig. He wanted me all the time Pross was alive, and his intentions haven’t gotten any better. So he’s got two reasons to want Callahan dead. The rest have got only one.”

“And you’re telling me this so I’ll have a better idea of why I should want to get clear.”

“That’s pretty much it.”

“How about these other two, Snell and Grady?”

“They’ll go whichever way the wind blows.”

“Why didn’t Brewer and the others let these two go through yesterday? Get ’em out of the way.”

“I don’t think they want anyone going for help until they’ve finished with Callahan.”

“I doubt they’d want witnesses either, would they?”

“That’s the problem. Me, they don’t worry about. I’ve been on the inside, and I know better than to open my mouth. But these other two—I just hope they get gone before these others come for Callahan.”

“You don’t think he’s got a chance, then.”

Claire shook her head. “They gave him his choice. Either he gave himself up yesterday or they came for him today.”

“Is he just bluffing?”

“He hasn’t accepted those as the only two options.” She motioned with her head toward the smooth, pale surface of the mountain. “You’re a fool if you don’t go.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said. “How about yourself?”

“They’ll follow me, and I can’t move fast enough. But I’ll take my chances. Sooner or later I’ll get loose of them.” She held up her hand in a small gesture of farewell. “Good luck,” she said, and she walked back to the building.

Page looked into the corral to see how his horse was doing. A few dabs of hay were left. Page turned away and walked around to the front door of the station. He stepped up onto the board porch, took a look around, and went in.

At his place at the table, he saw where Callahan had left him a ten-cent piece for change. The proprietor was standing behind the counter smoking a cigarette.

“I think I’m ready to go,” Page said.

“Already?”

“Nothin’ to keep me here.”

“You can ride with me,” Callahan said. “Strength in numbers.”

“I’ll go my own way, thanks.”

“You might want to go with me. Best way out.”

“I said I’ll go my own way. Alone.”

“Hah. I thought maybe you’d have a little more decency when someone needed help.”

“It’s not my affair.”

“Oh, you’ve been talkin’ to Claire, haven’t you? I know she went out there.”

“What does it matter?”

“Well, she’s going with me.” Callahan raised his voice. “Claire!”

She came from the kitchen to the doorway and stood there without speaking.

“Why don’t you tell Mr. Page to go with us?”

“Us?”

“Sure. You and me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Sure you are. You just need to convince our friend to go along.”

“If he’s got any sense, he’ll leave on his own.”

Callahan smiled. “I thought you’d like his help, especially in your condition.”

Page narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? She’s knocked up, you know. Oh, not me. And not the fella who’d like to get his hands on her.”

Page looked at Claire, and she shrugged. “I didn’t see the need to tell you that,” she said, “especially when you said what you did about not needing to know about other people’s affairs.”

Page thought she had been a bit selective about what she said and didn’t, but he left it at that.

Callahan spoke again to Page. “Just a poor pregnant widow. I thought you’d like to ride along to make sure the whole exchange goes well.”

Claire’s voice rose in a tone of impatience. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Of course you are. Go get a few things together, and I’ll hitch up my horse while Mr. Page saddles his.”

“I’m not going with you,” she said, firm as ever.

“Neither am I,” said Page.

Callahan made a small spitting sound. “Go ahead and leave,” he said. “If you don’t want to see her through, I’ll do it myself.”

Page glanced at Snell and Grady. They both sat wide-eyed with their mouths open. Page turned to Callahan, who had brushed his coat back to reveal a gun and holster.

“Look, Page. Don’t be a fool. The one way any of us gets out of here is if we all go together. That’s the easiest. These two said they would go if you would. If Claire goes with us, no one gets hurt.”

That was it, Page thought. Callahan wanted to use Claire as a hostage or a bargaining chip. Page kept his eyes on the man. “You don’t want to hand her over, do you?”

“We’ll see how things go.”

Page shook his head. “I don’t like any of it.”

“And I’m not going,” said Claire. “Not with you.”

Callahan’s hand moved toward his gun. “I can make you.”

Page moved his own hand so that his fingertips touched his holster. “Don’t try it,” he said.

Callahan sneered. “How are you going to stop me? You either go with us, or she and I go alone.”

“Maybe no one goes anywhere.”

“That’s just as good. Whether we go or stay, the best is for the five of us to stay together.”

Page looked at the woman.

“Go,” she said. “Don’t be a fool.”

Page nodded. Callahan was counting on him to stay to protect the woman. Widow of one man, pregnant by another, held by a third man, and desired by a fourth. And she was the best of the bunch. Page looked at the three men in the room, and he walked out of the station.

The sun had climbed in the sky and was warming the day as he saddled the grey horse. The stock of the rifle was cool to the touch. When he had everything ready to go, he checked the loads in his pistol. Then leading the horse by the reins, he walked to the back door of the station and rapped on it.

The door opened, and Claire stood in the doorway.

“Well, I’m going,” he said.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated for a moment. “You’re welcome to come along,” he said.

Her face tensed. “I hadn’t thought of it. Like I said before, I can’t move fast.”

“You can walk, can’t you?” His eyes roved over her loose apron and dress. “How far along are you?”

“Less than three months. I can walk all right. I just don’t think I should ride a horse or do anything sudden.”

Page cast a glance at the mountain. “It’s all slow and on foot.”

“You go,” she said. “I’ll remember you asked.”

“All right.” He put his foot in the stirrup, swung aboard, and touched his hat. “So long.”

He felt a pang at leaving her to what might happen, but he didn’t want to buy someone else’s trouble, especially when that someone was a crook. He gigged the horse into a fast walk and rode toward the base of the mountain without looking back. A quarter-mile out, he turned in the saddle to glance at his back trail.

A woman was walking toward him across the flat. The white apron was gone, and she was carrying a small handbag at her side. She lifted her hand to wave, and he turned his horse and waited.

As he looked past her toward the station, he saw a horse and rider coming toward her on a lope. Dust rose, and the faint drumming of hooves carried on the air.

The horse was a sorrel with a narrow white blaze, and the rider had light-colored hair and a brown hat.

Callahan rode past her, then cut his horse around to block her way. As she turned one way and then the other, he lunged the sorrel to each side in front of her. Now he was forcing her back, trying to herd her.

Page spurred his horse and headed toward the station on a lope. He slowed as he came up close to the sorrel, then stopped as he laid his hand on the headstall.

“Leave her alone,” he said.

“You stay out of this, cowboy.” Callahan’s voice became harsher as he said, “Claire, get back!”

Page swung down from his horse and stood between Callahan’s horse and Claire. “Save your breath,” he said.

“You’re a meddling fool.” Callahan jerked his right leg over the saddle and jumped down onto the ground.

Page assumed Callahan thought there might be gunplay and didn’t want to be in the saddle if it happened.

Callahan passed the reins in back of him to his left hand, and with his right hand near his pistol butt he walked up to Page. “Get out of my way,” he said.

“Leave her alone. If she wants to leave, that’s up to her.”

Callahan stopped. “By God, you are a fool.”

“Don’t let that trouble you.”

Callahan raised his head and glanced beyond Page in Claire’s direction, then brought his gaze back as he stood crowding. When Page didn’t budge, Callahan’s tone turned sarcastic as it had earlier, in the station. “You talk about trouble, you’re settin’ yourself up for plenty.”

“That’s for me to worry about.”

“But I guess there’s one good thing about it. Once they’re in that condition, you can’t knock ’em up again.”

Page’s fist came up and connected with Callahan’s cheekbone, and the brown hat tumbled away. The man stepped back, regained his balance, and came at Page swinging. His right fist skidded off of Page’s forearm, but his left came around and caught Page on the jaw. It didn’t have much force, though, and Page didn’t even lose his hat. He stepped back, got his fists up, and moved forward. He landed a right on the side of Callahan’s head and sent him backward again.

Claire’s voice stopped the fight. “They’re coming!”

Both Page and Callahan turned to the east, where three dark riders moved toward the station on fast-walking horses. They were about a mile away.

Callahan took a couple of steps, leaned over, and picked up his hat where it fell. His hand wavered near his gun.

“You’ve got bigger things to worry about,” said Page. “Don’t make me draw.”

Callahan took a deep breath and seemed to take stock of things. He walked toward his horse, which had shied back several steps. He gathered the reins, flipped them in place, and swung aboard. Turning, he said in a loud voice, “I could tell you something, but I won’t.” Then he kicked the sorrel in the flank and headed back to the station at a gallop.

Page got a hold of his own horse and walked to the spot where Claire stood.

“That’s Billy Callahan for you,” she said. “Bluff right up to the end.”

Page glanced at the mountain and then at the station. “I hate to say this,” he said, “but I think at this point our best chances are to go back. If you can’t run, I think we’d better walk fast.”

Page led the horse and kept pace with Claire. She didn’t lag, but he wished she would walk a little faster. The riders were getting closer.

The sound of voices carried from the corrals, and Page looked around in time to see two dark-hatted men swing onto their horses and ride around the west end of the station. Callahan and the sorrel followed on a run.

“Snell and Grady are takin’ off,” Page said. “Looks like he’s tryin’ to stop ’em.”

Claire forged ahead, and Page kept himself at her pace. When they were within a hundred yards of the station, he decided to go ahead.

“Keep walking,” he said. “I’ll put this horse in the corral and get right back to you.” He set his reins, swung aboard, and kicked the grey horse into a lope. He rounded the corner of the corral and drew up in front of the pen he had used earlier. He swung down, knotted the reins so they wouldn’t fall and drag on the ground, and pulled his rifle from the scabbard. He turned the horse into the pen and closed the gate.

Back at the corner of the corral, he waited but a few seconds as Claire caught up. The two of them headed for the back door of the main building. He couldn’t see the riders from the east, so he figured they were on the other side of the station. He listened for shots, but all he heard was the sound of hooves on dry earth. In an instant, Callahan and the sorrel horse came pounding around the west end of the station. Page and Claire kept walking as Callahan jumped off the horse and pushed it into the pen.

“Get inside!” he yelled as he ran past them to the back door.

It did not budge when he heaved himself against it and tried to turn the handle.

“Damn it!” he said. “Someone’s in there, and they’ve got it locked. Come on.” He drew his gun, moved up against the building, and headed for the corner on the west end.

Page followed with Claire behind. When they heard no commotion, they went around the first corner and found Callahan a couple of yards ahead of them. He turned and frowned.

“There must be two outside and one inside. I think we’ve got a better chance if we get in.”

Page did not like the options, but it was too late to change them. “All right,” he said. Holding the rifle at waist level, he moved ahead.

Callahan paused at the next corner and waited for Page and Claire to catch up. He shifted his gun to his left hand, and with no warning he grabbed Claire by the upper arm. She backhanded him with her left hand, and with her right she swatted at him with her handbag. He let loose and grabbed again, this time at the top of her dress. Claire pulled away, and the fabric ripped. Callahan gave up on that maneuver and went around the corner by himself. Again, all was quiet.

Page and Claire followed. Ahead of them, Callahan made a break for the door. At the same moment, a man stepped out from the far corner, fired a shot, and sank back out of view.

Callahan grabbed his right thigh and slumped. Blood showed between his fingers. He took his six-gun into his left hand and limped forward. Up onto the board porch, he hobbled to the door. He passed the gun to his right hand again, and with his left he opened the door inward.

A husky man in a drab-colored, close-fitting pullover shirt appeared in the doorway and shot Callahan dead center. Callahan snapped back, landing in a limp heap on the ground, and his brown hat rolled away.

The man in the doorway swung his .45 around toward Page, who had just levered in a shell. With the stock of the rifle against his hip, Page pulled the trigger.

The man doubled over, and his pistol clattered on the boards of the porch.

Page held his arm out as he turned to Claire. “Let’s get in.” As they stepped up onto the porch, he said, “Who is that?”

“Pearson,” she answered.

“Hold this.” He handed her the rifle, then leaned over and pulled the body clear of the doorway. He straightened up and said, “Go right around him.”

Page stood with his right hand on his pistol butt and let Claire go through the door ahead of him, carrying the rifle and her handbag. As she moved past, motion at the far corner of the building caught his eye. The man who had shot Callahan in the leg stepped into view. He was short, thin, and blond, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a light-colored vest, and he had a gun pulled.

Page drew and shot him in the upper chest, and he spilled backward. Page took a quick look around. Callahan had said he thought there were two men outside, and the other one could come around a corner at any minute.

Page made it through the station door in two quick steps. Claire was standing a few feet from the door and facing it. Page took the rifle from her, set it on the table, and turned to close the door. He slammed it shut, put the steel bar in place against it, and stepped aside. He put his gun in his holster and brought his eyes to meet Claire’s.

“I got the one who shot Callahan in the leg.”

“That was Stovall.”

Page let out a long breath and felt the tension relax in his upper body. “We might be in for a wait now.”

Movement in the back of the room drew his eye. A man rose up from behind Callahan’s counter and held a gun aimed past Claire at Page. He was a slender, brown-haired man of average height. He had taken his hat off, and his hair was ridged all the way around. His face was tight, as if his skin was stretched over his cheekbones, and his straggly mustache looked crooked.

“It won’t be long,” he said. “Claire, get out of the way.”

“What do you think you’re going to get?”

“We’ll settle that later. Get out of the line of fire.”

Claire was standing partway in front of Page and on his right. She still held her handbag, and now she shifted it to her left hand.

The other man’s eyes followed her movement, then rested on her upper body where Callahan had torn her dress. He seemed to catch himself gazing, and when his face hardened again she dropped the bag and stepped to her right.

Page jumped sideways to the left and drew his gun as the other man wavered and tried to pick up his target.

Page fired twice. The first shot caught the man in the left shoulder and lifted him an inch or so as it turned him. The second shot caught him in the lower chest and dropped him.

Silence hung in the room as Page put his pistol in his holster. “That ought to be all of them for right now,” he said. “Was the last one Brewer?”

“That was him.”

Page listened for noises outside and didn’t hear any. “The other three are probably on their way, don’t you think?”

“I would imagine.”

“Then I’d say we’d best get out of here while we can. How about you?”

Claire nodded. “I think I could take my chance riding a horse. You want to go the same way you were headed before?”

“It should get us out of the way.” He moved to the table and picked up the rifle. “I’ll get the horses ready.”

He went out the back way. By the time he got his horse and Callahan’s out of the pens, Claire had changed into a shirt and a pair of trousers. He helped her into the saddle, then mounted the grey horse, and they were ready to go.

They made it to the base of the mountain in short order. They dismounted, and Page went first. The path led upward through boulders for about two hundred yards, and the group came out on an open spot. Page wondered how visible they were from the station. He imagined they looked like insects crawling up the body of an unknown beast.

They went through another series of crevices, then came out and took another breather. They were a good hundred feet above the plain, and Page wondered again what they looked like from a distance. As he gazed at the station, he saw black smoke rising from it.

“Looks like it’s on fire,” he said.

“Sure does.”

He gave her a close look. “Did you drop a match?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I might have. I was in a hurry.”

He tipped back his head and gazed at the rock wall towering above them. “Long ways to go,” he said.

They exchanged another glance, and with the horses in tow, they resumed their trek up the mountain.

****

Page was eating fried beefsteak in a roadhouse near Iron Mountain when a man walked up beside him and spoke in a familiar voice.

“Your name’s Page, isn’t it?”

He turned and looked up at a bearded face and a narrow dark hat. “Yes, it is. And your name’s Snell.”

“That’s right.” Snell held out his hand.

Page shook it. “Where’s your friend Grady?”

“Oh, he’ll be along.” Snell paused and then said, “Well, you never know when you’ll meet up again. When I saw you sitting here, I thought, I know that fella.”

“Small world. By the way, how did things turn out at LeBlanc Station that day?”

“All right for us, I suppose. Grady and I took off not too long after you did. Actually, we saddled up when Callahan went after you, and we got out of there just as he was coming back.”

“I saw that.”

“We went to the river and followed it out east. Rough ride, but we made it.”

“How about Callahan?”

“Oh, I thought you’d heard. He and that fella Brewer both died. Them and two others. The rest of ’em lammed out of there. And someone set fire to the place. Burned to the ground.”

“Too bad for Callahan. Gettin’ killed, that is.”

Snell gave a shrug. “Reap what you sow. At least he got some of ’em.” Snell seemed to hesitate for a couple of seconds.

“How about that woman Claire?”

“I put her on the train in Rock River about ten days ago.”

“That was the long way around.”

“We went over the mountain.”

Snell raised his eyebrows. “That must have been quite a climb.”

“We made it.”

“Uh-huh.” Snell paused again, and Page wondered if he was trying to figure out the sequence. But all he said was, “So Claire took off.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t such a bad one.”

Page didn’t answer.

“Did you ever find out who put the bun in her oven?”

Page raised his eyebrows. “She didn’t say, and I never asked. It was none of my concern.”

Snell seemed to catch the reference. “Just curious,” he said.

“Lots of people are.”

Mike Kearby, like Elmer Kelton, writes with a spirited voice that his fellow Texans love. Winner of the Will Rogers Medallion Award in 2011 and 2012, Kearby is mostly known for his gripping historical novels set in the American West, but he has also dedicated his efforts toward reaching young readers through his collaborative novel project and his graphic novels, Texas Tales Illustrated. www.mikekearby.com.

LEGEND

The Provocation

To the west, an unassuming yet deadly, flat land beckoned. The lone man with the mocking name shaded his eyes and stared into the desolation. Delilah, he mouthed. A slight smile escaped his lips as he remembered the story from his mother’s favorite book. Then, just as quickly, cold annoyance replaced the man’s small pleasure. He readjusted the rifle draped across his right shoulder and gazed over the miles of sand hills that raced toward the horizon. Years of infliction had left him emotionally hardened and sufficiently roused for what lay ahead. “Won’t be that bad,” he murmured into the vastness and remembered the men who had left him here. “Can’t be that bad.”

At first, he figured they assumed he was merely one more lost soul at the mercy of their justice. Afterward, he knew different. Like most towns he traveled through, they had come of specific purpose. But their mistake was this: they didn’t know him.

No one ever had. He had learned early on that a solitary man on the plains always kept his rifle within arm’s reach during the day and hidden nearby at night. It was that knowledge that had kept him upright for thirty years. It was that knowledge that would see him through the retribution he was bound and dutifully obligated to return upon those men that had rushed him from the southwest hours earlier.

They had started on the soles of his feet, cutting diagonal slants across each foot with a castrating knife. Six held him down while the other, a mountain of a man the others called Pete did the knife work. He gritted his teeth during the ordeal and in the soft glow of the fire he studied Pete’s facial features. Studied them like a buyer studies cattle at the railhead. And when Pete was finished, he knew him. Knew Pete’s every feature. How close his eyes sat to his nose, the size of his lips and the cut of his jaw. No matter what else Pete did in this lifetime, he would never be able to disguise himself from him. And each time he took a step from this day forward, he would know and remember Pete.

He glanced down at his bootless, bleeding feet and then took the first step into the sand. The pain was exquisite. A stab of white blinded him momentarily. The man sucked in a breath and remained expressionless. “Not bad at all.” A second step followed the first. The sand worked into the cuts on the bottom of his feet heightening his senses. Like salt on a wound, he thought. The man took a third step and then a fourth. The hurting shrunk into a single point centered in the middle of his forehead directly between both eyes. His smile returned. “Change’ll be coming for the lot of you,” he vowed, and then took a long series of steps. He was moving quickly now. “Yessir, change’ll be coming. That’s for sure.”

The Situation

Mal Connors stared at the men on horseback in the street outside of Taylor's Saloon. He took a quick headcount of the bunch slightly opening his lips as he counted. A riderless horse was tied on a stringer to the lead rider’s saddle. “Appears you all made it back.”

The lead rider, Bob Selden, a smallish man with a bushy beard tilted a wide-brimmed sombrero back off his head and nodded. “Every man one of us, Mal.”

Connors shifted his weight and squinted at the man. “I understand that to mean you found him.”

The smallish man tugged at his ear and thought for a second. “Yes, we did, Mal. Fact is, he wasn’t really that hard a man to find.”

A series of chuckles bounced around the group.

“That his horse?”

“Yep.”

“And?” Connors asked.

From the back, a large man pushed his mount forward, unpinning a deputy’s badge as he came. “And,” the big man said.

Connors waited.

The massive man leaned off his saddle and extended the badge toward Connors. “And he won’t be bothering to come through our town anytime soon.”

Connors took the badge and glanced past the big man back to the smallish man. “That so, Bob?”

“That’s so, Mal. Pete convinced him otherwise.”

Connors let his gaze drift back to Pete Ward. “What’d you do to him, Pete?”

“Just took a little of the gruffness out of him.”

Muted laughter from lowered chins sounded from the remaining posse members.

Connors issued a hard glare at the group and then asked, “What’s that mean, Pete?”

“Nothing bad, Mal. I just cut the soles of his feet, that’s all.”

Connors frowned.

“With a castrating knife, Mal,” Bob Selden added.

Connors shook his head at the large man. “You think that’s gonna make him stay away, Pete?”

“Well, it’ll definitely make his getting here somewhat difficult and a whole lot of painful.”

Connors shook his head. “Hell, Pete. All you’ve done is guarantee he’ll come our way now.”

Selden took a step forward. “Pete cut his soles pretty good, Mal.”

Ward lifted his brow and smiled. “I wouldn’t worry too much. I made the cuts deep and at an angle. I don’t figure a bootless man cut that way is going to want to walk seven miles over blow sand.”

“That what you figure, Pete?”

“That sand will work into those cuts like ground glass.”

Connors pushed Ward’s badge back toward the big man.

“What’s this for, Mal?”

“We ain’t done yet, Pete.”

Ward took the badge. A confused look muddled his face. “What’s left to do? I told you he ain’t coming here. I made sure he got that message.”

“That so?”

The big man smiled. “I’d stake my life on it, Mal.”

“I’d say that’s about right, Pete.”

“Huh?”

“You should have done what I told you to do.”

“Begging your pardon, Mal, but bribing some Billy Yank hard case with a jug of liquor and vittles to go around us—,”

“Go ahead and speak your mind, Pete.”

“Well, it seemed to show us as scared to our women and kids, that’s all.”

“You should be scared, Pete. All of you should be scared.”

“He ain’t coming our way, Mal.”

“So you said.”

Selden looked down at the dirt street. “What’s got you so riled?”

“You put this town in a situation, Bob. You and Pete did. That's what's got me so riled.”

Selden grabbed the front brim of his hat and pulled it back forward so that it rested low on his forehead. “I ain't following.”

“A situation, Bob. That's a state of affairs almost beyond one’s ability to deal with and the situation you've put us in is going to require some great doing to overcome.”

Pete Ward laughed a confrontational laugh.

Connors snapped his head in Ward's direction. “You think this is funny, Pete?”

Ward snapped back on his heels at the call-out. “No,” he said and stared full in the face at Connors. “What I think is that you're overplaying all of this for no good reason. Hell, Mal, he's a nobody, plain and simple.”

“You don't know him, Pete. He would have taken the liquor. He would have taken the food. Probably had a good laugh at our expense, but he would have moved on. He would have ridden past us. But not now. Now he’s gonna be wanting to come straight for us.”

Selden looked at Ward and shrugged. “How can you be so sure, Mal?”

Connors moved for the riderless horse. “Because he’s a man that always does just what you don’t figure him to do.”

“He knows there are at least seven of us to his one.”

Connors untied the reins from the stringer and made three wraps around the biscuit. He pointed the animal east and then slapped its hindquarters.

Selden watched the horse kick both legs back and then race away. “I’ve never known you to be like this, Mal. What’s put such a bee in your bonnet?”

Connors watched the runaway horse raise a trail of dust. “Only that I know him, Bob. I know him as well as any man.”

Ward squinted at the sheriff. “That's so?”

“It's so, Pete.”

“Well, if you know him so well, how come it is you didn't ride out and give him his bribe?”

“I was determined to avoid provoking past agitations in the man.”

Bob Selden frowned at the sheriff's words and turned sideways to glance at the others. “Damn, Mal,” he muttered in a short fuse of a breath. “Don't tell me you two were in Andersonville together.”

Connors stood solidly and let his eyes answer for him.

The others murmured their discomfort at the sheriff's revelation.

“Who is he, Mal?” Selden asked.

“Name's Legend. John Legend. And I can vouch that while most of us struggle daily to stay shut of our inner-demons, John, well, John is one of those rare breeds who not only accepts his madness, but remains duty bound to follow it to its natural conclusion.”

Returned Favors

John Legend stood in the middle of the sand hills and rolled a smoke, still avoiding the natural inclination to brush the fine-sand particles from the soles of his feet as infliction for a man like Legend was as much pleasure as pain.

Beyond, to the west not more than a mile distant, the shacks of what passed for a town rose out of the blow sand. The horse had returned a few miles previously. The animal's arrival however hadn't set well with him. John Legend didn't believe in gifts passed on from the Almighty or even in the Almighty himself for that matter. Spending six months at Camp Sumter during the War had broken him of that childhood imposed belief system and infused him with a new doctrine, one that was more easily accepted when grim rigor set its claws into a man. This new dogma, borne out of the suffocating excrement in that swamp of a Georgia prison, came without heady promises of the hereafter. It was a religion that promised the faithful with the absolute that no matter the manner in which a man lived his life, he would always be guaranteed an earthen coffin.

Legend retrieved a Lucifer from his shirt pocket and struck the match head against the back of his dungarees. He looked at the horse as he enjoyed his first inhalation. They had returned it as apology. He understood that plain enough. Someone in the ramshackle of a town had convinced the others that what they had done was wrong and amends were in order. He exhaled the calming smoke and fitted his bare right foot into one of the horse's cratered hoof prints. The tracks led all the way back to town. He smiled in enjoyment as the grains of rock pushed against one another and forced themselves deeper into the sliced cuts on his feet. He reckoned he'd allow the horse to walk alongside him for awhile. It wasn't that far to the town and the sand helped him keep his focus. He'd be there soon enough. And when he arrived, he was going to be sure and thank those seven boys for their earlier visit. He settled his left foot into the next track and drew deeply on the cigarette. The rolled paper flared red. Yep, that seemed to be a good plan. He was going to walk into town and thank them all, especially that one big fella that called himself Pete.

Sand Hills Palaver

The seven watched the man called John Legend walking out of the sand hills. Short puffs of dust danced around his ankles at each footfall. To their consternation, he was leading the horse out of the desert, something that no sane man would be known to do. And for all the big talk earlier, Pete Ward was first to call Mal Connors' name out. Although Bob Selden's shout was so close in time that Mal who was sitting on the porch outside his office thought it peculiar to hear an echo sound across flat land.

Connors looked out to the assembled posse and then out toward the desert. A hundred yards away, out on the edge of the sand, he watched as John Legend walked leisurely toward the roadway that led into town. Connors inhaled and just as quickly exhaled at the sight of the man. His stomach growled in-between the two breaths and for a brief moment, Mal fretted over turning down the lunch his wife had offered him some thirty minutes earlier. His stomach rumbled again, and he responded by pushing his tongue roughly against the wad of tobacco in his mouth. The action forced a fair spit's worth of tobacco juice to roll down his throat. He reckoned that was as good a way as any to quiet his hunger.

Seconds later, he rose from his stool and unbuckled his gun belt. One thing was certain, he was not going out to face John Legend with a Colt strapped on his thigh. The man was already thoroughly provoked. No need in adding to that arousal.

They met midway between town and desert. John Legend squinted at the man who had walked out to meet him without a gun and seemed troubled in expression as to why a man would do such a thing. He studied the man from boot to hat with a careful eye.

“You weren't with the other bunch.”

“No, I wasn't, John.”

Legend squinted uncomfortable at his name. “Do I know you?”

Connors lifted the brim of his hat and allowed Legend to take a better look.

“Hmmmph,” Legend mumbled after some time. “How come you didn't come out before?”

Connors lowered his brim. “I figured if you were anything like me, it had taken the better part of a decade just to forget that past time.”

“Hmmmph,” Legend mumbled once more.

“I didn't want to be the one that disrupted the little bit of peace that men like us have achieved by having you recall old wounded memories.”

Legend smiled. It was a tight, flat smile, but a smile nonetheless. “You the one who sent back the horse, Mal?”

Connors nodded. “If it means anything, John, I sent them out with whiskey and vittles. They were supposed to influence you to move around us, not cut your feet.”

“I'm sure it means something, Mal.”

“John, can I ask you to go around, now? There's not much to the town, nothing that would interest a man like yourself anyway.”

“A man like me?”

“No offense, John.”

“None taken. Hey, do you still remember how Andersonville smelled?” Legend muttered thickly. “I do, and after all this time.”

Connors inhaled, and now, he could smell the camp again. He felt himself gag slightly as the aroma of human excrement and infected limbs swirled inside his nostrils. After a moment, he realized he was huffing for breath.

Legend tilted his head and observed Connors' discomfort. “Appears you still do, too.”

Connors snorted as the recalled smell saturated his chew. He dug a finger around the inside of his cheek and dug out the tobacco wad. He flipped the chaw to the ground and then turned and spit behind his left heel. When he turned back, he gestured at Legend's swollen feet. “I'll get my wife to doctor your feet, and I promise she'll send you off with a fair bit of food and drink.”

“That sounds mighty neighborly, Mal. And I'll take you up on it just as soon as I thank those boys of yours for visiting with me earlier.”

Connors ran a dry tongue over his lips and nodded back toward town. “John, all of those men, were just that during the war . . . boys. They don't have any idea about how men like me and you think.”

“And how do men like you and me think, Mal?”

Connors grunted, “All of them have wives, John, and most, kids.”

“That's what they used to say about those Rebels sentries in the pigeon roosts at Andersonville.”

Connors squirmed a bit on his heels, but stayed put.

“You remember that one guard, the red-headed one with that Mississippi drawl?”

Connors remained unmoving.

“Remember how he shot William Evers just because William reached inside the dead-line to grab a grasshopper. Shot him dead over a grasshopper. Shot a man that was only trying to fetch a bit of food. That guard was a family man, too. You know how I know that, Mal? He told me so, in fact he begged me with that Mississippi drawl of his on the day I killed him. It was one year to the day after I was released from the swamp.”

After the telling, Connors thought he saw Legend's expression slacken. Maybe all John needed was to share with someone his remembering of that guard. About that guard and William Evers, and that damned grasshopper. Mal had a wife to burden with his nightmares, but maybe John didn't. Maybe John had been walking around for the better part of ten years all buttoned up with the yellow bile. Maybe talking was all John needed to purge himself of his choler. “John, come back with me, forget about those boys. What they did to you was wrong and just plain stupid, but killing won't ever rid the world of stupid. If it could, wars would have ended a long time ago. And to be honest with you, John, I'm tired of killing. I've seen enough and you have too. Let's get shut of it, at least for today. Come home with me and let's just sit.”

“You think I'm crazy, Mal?”

And then a strange thing occurred. Mal Connors burst out laughing. It was one of those things that just happens. One of those things that a man has no control over whatsoever.

Legend stiffened, angered at the outburst and dug his fingernails into the palms of his hand. “What's so damned funny?”

Connors gained his composure and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at Legend and before he knew it, he was laughing again. In-between laughs, he did manage to gush, “Hell, John, I don't even know if I'm crazy.”

Legend unclenched his fists and seemed to think about Connors' statement.

Connors rubbed tears away from his eyes. “Whooo,” he exhaled.

“What'd you say your wife had cooking?”

“I don't know what was stewing, Mal. And to be honest, she's really not that good a cook.”

Legend nodded and allowed a soft chuckle of his own.

Connors lifted his chin and gestured toward town. “How about we go find out?”

Legend took a step forward. Small clods of pebble-packed earth from the roadway poked into his cuts. He relaxed at the pain. “One thing you outta know though, Mal.”

“Yeah, what's that?”

“That big fella, that calls himself, Pete?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“When you and me are done with our palavering, I still figure to give him a beating within an inch of his life for cutting up my feet.”

Connors chewed on his lip and nodded his understanding. “Okay, John,” he said.

Legend took another step. “Just so you know.”

Steven Law’s historical novel Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) was a number one best-seller on Amazon.com, and his fans have referred to him as the twenty-first century’s best new Western writer. The story in this collection goes back to the childhood of the main character from Yuma Gold, Ben Ruby, and his post Civil War upbringing in Missouri. Besides two running series with Berkley, Law has also written two contemporary Western novels, The True Father (Goldminds, 2008), and The Bitter Road, due out by Goldminds in the fall of 2012. www.stevenlaw.com.

FORSAKE THE WICKED

Sixteen-year-old Benjamin Barkley fell hard onto the stall floor from the powerful shove of his stepfather. His hands dug into the straw and muck as he slid on his belly to a jarring stop. The pungent, ammonias dust that quickly scented the air forced him to close his eyes and hold his breath. He flipped over and rose to his elbows and looked fearfully at the silhouette of Rutherford Barkley standing at the stall door. The only light in the barn came in from behind the bull of a man—six-foot, five-inches, barrel chest, and arms that hung outward with biceps as big as stove pipes. The dust that stirred hovered in the light creating an even more frightening image.

God Almighty he hated that man.

“Now you can rethink your highfalutin ideas,” Rutherford said. “We got tobacco to plant tomorrow, and that’s what you’ll be doing. Dawn to dusk.” Rutherford slammed the stall door, closed the iron padlock and turned the long iron key. Ben listened to his shuffling footsteps as he left the barn, then the closing of the main double doors until he sat in complete darkness.

A minute or so passed before his eyes adjusted to the faint light, made from the cracks of daylight throughout the barn. Hints of dust still floated across the thin rays of light. He scooted to where his back rested against the barn wall and he brought his knees up to his chest. The inside of this stall had become all too familiar the past eleven years. Ben was five the first time Rutherford locked him inside, all for the capital crime of spilling a glass of milk at the supper table. He couldn’t remember the next time after that, because there had been so many that the dark memories all started to run together.

Ben never knew how long he would spend in the stall, either. Some times it was just an hour or so, sometimes all night. Those longer times were after he became a bit older and the act more severe. Like the time he raised his voice in protest of how Rutherford was criticizing or scolding his mother. That moment brought an immediate silence to the supper table, and Abigail Barkley’s face revealed her fear of the outcome. His two younger half-brothers anticipated their father’s reaction. Ben’s punishment was their best entertainment. Sometimes Ben encouraged it just to give them their weekly dose. That moment brought out the switch, too, but Rutherford wouldn’t let the boys watch, they just knew it was serious.

Ben rubbed his hand over the rough hewn boards nailed to the stall, which were a later addition, making it darker inside and more like a dungeon. He was about eight when he began to chronicle these episodes by making a hash mark on the board with a sharp rock that he had found and later hid inside the stall. In January the next year, right before he turned nine, he carved “1869” next to the hash mark to indicate the New Year. He now rubbed his finger tips over that date, an aged and duller brown than the fresher marks, and counted fifty-two marks before he got to the latest year, 1875, and the two marks that followed.

Anger and tension boiled as he reflected on the years of ill-treatment, not just to him, but to his mother, which he defended more now than in the earlier years. And the aim was biased. His half-brothers, Rutherford’s own biological sons, never faced the fury of such punishment—never spent a solitary minute inside the stall that, besides Ben, had seen only a few farrowing sows, a milk cow, maybe a foal and its mother, but Ben more than any other. It was designed for him.

Ben reflected back to the day when Rutherford came into their lives. Less than a month before that, a messenger came to their farm in Putnam County Missouri and handed a letter to his mother, signed by General Ulysses S. Grant, that spoke so highly of Samuel Ruby, and how bravely and courageously he led a charge at Chattanooga, and died a hero to the Union. She had to sit down to read it, and later read it aloud to Ben. He could tell that those kind words in the letter did not soften the sense of loss and despair she had felt. Secondly, after reading it the first time, she had walked to the window and looked out at the two hired field hands that she said they’d no longer be able to afford. Once the word got out, bachelors came courting the widow Ruby. Since Rutherford was big and strong they were both impressed with him, but he was also friendly and giving. The second time he visited he not only brought a bouquet of wildflowers, and a stick of peppermint candy for Ben, but a pane of glass to repair a broken window from an earlier hail storm. That was his guise, they later learned. He sank his hooks in quickly.

Six weeks after his mother read that letter, a preacher married her and Rutherford, and that afternoon she butchered a leghorn rooster and made a wedding evening feast. That was the moment of revelation, when his first hollow-eyed stare raced across the table as if it were fired from a Sharps rifle.

“Why isn’t the boy eating greens?” Rutherford had said.

His mother, glancing at his plate, had chuckled a bit and said, “Oh, he never has liked them much. I think it’s the vinegar.”

“What he likes or don’t like ain’t important.”

“But Samuel never made him—”

Then came that look, and he pointed a finger at Abigail. “Samuel ain’t the man of this house no more. That boy eats what is put on the table.” He had then pointed the finger toward Ben, but kept his eyes on her. “Now put some of them greens on his plate.”

Seemingly in shock, she had taken a deep breath and glanced at Ben. Apparently her response wasn’t quick enough, because Rutherford had slammed his fist hard on the thick oak table which made all the dishes bounce and rattle, and his voice startled them like a canon blast. “Now woman!”

His mother had stood quickly and grabbed the stone bowl of greens and put a small portion on his plate.

Before she could set the bowl back down Rutherford nodded toward the plate. “That ain’t enough.”

She had put a double helping on the plate then looked at him for approval, but he never said anything, just shoveled food into his mouth then held a piece of chicken with both hands and tore at it with his tobacco stained teeth.

The only other words that were said at the table that night were the few times when he looked at Ben and told him to take a bite of greens, and he never took his eyes off Ben until he had. Every day after that Abigail had tried to make things that she knew Ben would eat, but Rutherford had too many requests, things that she had never made or Ben had even tried before. Sauerkraut, hominy, minced meat pie, fish soup. Such things were good to eat, but not when they’re young and forced. His mother knew she couldn’t challenge it.

They rarely had a moment when Rutherford wasn’t around. He made them go to town with him, out in the fields, and to do the daily chores. The only time, that Ben could think of, when they didn’t see Rutherford, was when he went to the outhouse. A year had passed since he’d came into their lives, and when he walked out the back door without them, Ben knew that was where he was going. Ben had walked up to a window and watched him all the way, and when he’d shut the outhouse door behind him, that’s when Ben spoke up. His mother was rolling out biscuit dough on the table, and Ben never took his eyes off the outhouse.

“I’m going to kill him some day,” the young Ben had said.

Abigail stopped rolling the dough, her eyes wide and fearful, then walked to Ben, squatted and grabbed him gently by the shoulders and turned him to face her.

“Don’t ever talk like that again,” she said. “That kind of bitterness will eat you alive.”

Though he was only six years-old, Ben had never forgotten the look on his mother’s face at that moment. She wasn’t angry, but very afraid.

“Why can’t we just leave?” Ben asked.

His mother took a deep breath, then reached down and put his hand on her belly. “Because you’re going to be a big brother.”

Ben didn’t know how to feel. His mother pretended to be happy about it, but it was several years later before Ben fully understood that she was trapped. Not only would it have been difficult for a widowed woman to raise and care for one young boy, but two more eventually came, and a third pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage. That should have been a sadder moment than it was, but Ben truly believed his mother was relieved.

Nevertheless, Ben had two half brothers, William and Wayne, just shy of a year apart. Rutherford coddled them, gave them everything, but now at nine and eight years-old, neither of them combined had seen more chores or field work than Ben had seen by the time he was six. Quite often in the spring and early summer Ben would work the hemp or tobacco fields, and later corn, and Rutherford would lay a blanket next to the field and invite William and Wayne to join him. Abigail brought them fried chicken and biscuits, fresh lemonade, apple or peach pie, and when they were finished eating Rutherford would have her read stories to the boys. Ben, often behind the noise of a mule team pulling a plow, or the chopping of his hoe, couldn’t hear what she was reading, nor could he even look their way, because if he was caught by Rutherford it was sure to bring quite a scolding.

William and Wayne soon developed the same kind of hateful manner toward Ben, and he knew it was only natural that they would do so. He enjoyed them immensely when they were babies, if Rutherford let him have the moments, but all it took was for Rutherford to see him happy for him to put a stop to it. He would develop an instant scowl, a look of contempt and distaste, then tell Ben to go do a chore, whether it needed done or not.

By the time they reached five or so years, they were Rutherford’s puppets—miniatures of him. One time Ben was working in the field, and they had ran up to him, each carrying sticks about a yard long, and threatened to hit him with them if he didn’t move faster. Ben caught a glance from Rutherford, standing near the barn mending a harness, smirking.

Since Ben used the field tools more than anyone else, he kept them clean and put them away. He’d use the stone grinder to sharpen the hoes, scythes, and corn knives, then hang them on a wall inside the barn. One day working in the field he hit something hard with a hoe. Thinking it was a rock he lowered to his knee to pull it out with his fingers, but noticed the soil around it was more copper in color and realized it was rusty metal. He looked around to see if Rutherford or the boys were looking, but they were occupied—the boys mock sword fighting with sticks, and metal buckets tilted over their heads imitating the armor of medieval knights. Rutherford sat close, legs crossed, in one of the kitchen chairs that he often set outside, where he’d smoke his pipe and watch Ben work. This time he paid more attention to William and Wayne, laughing at them as they put on a show. Ben dug up what ended up being the blade of an old corn knife. He figured it had been there from when his own father had worked the fields. The wooden handle had completely rotted off, with the old rust-coated rivets hanging loose. Ben glanced around him again to make sure he wasn’t being watched, and once assured he was clear, he put the blade inside his seed bag.

That evening, before he put the tools away, he peeked outside the barn, then sharpened his hoe and did the same with the old corn knife blade. By the time he was finished dusk was settling in and he took another peek outside the barn and noticed that Rutherford and the boys had gone inside. He ran quickly to the stall and brushed away the straw in one of the back corners, then dug with the end of the blade—pulled away enough of the mucky, crusty soil to bury it. He spread the straw back over it and once he was satisfied he left the stall and went in for supper.

Two months had passed since that night, and now Ben sat in the stall, his punishment for sharing with his mother and Rutherford his latest dream of going to Kansas City to work in the stockyards, where he could hook up with one of the cattle outfits that rode in and hopefully join up with a drive. He’d read about that the last time they were in town. It was on a poster that hung on the wall of a feed store. He couldn’t quit thinking about it. Anything to get away from Rutherford, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his mother unprotected. He also had the idea of earning enough money to come back and get her, and give her a living, far and away from Rutherford Barkley. Of course he expected his immediate rejection, and condescending comments, but Ben wanted it so badly, and his patience was too thin, so he couldn’t hold his tongue.

“You can’t keep me here forever,” Ben had said.

Rutherford had the perfect response for everything—perfect for his plan. He set his fork on his plate, wiped the corners of his mouth with his fingertips, then wiped his hands on his trouser legs. “Aw-right. I’ll go stand in that there doorway, and if you’s man enough to get by me, then you’ns can go.”

Abigail just sat there in the silence, looking at them both with more grave fear than she’d ever shown. Ben knew that she’d never seen him challenge Rutherford like this. When Ben stood from the table, Rutherford cocked a grin and stood too, then walked to the doorway.

Abigail jumped from her chair. “Ben, don’t!”

Rutherford pointed at her but never took his eyes off Ben. “Sit down, woman.”

Ben felt the muscles in his jaw tighten—a feeling that had become all too common over the years, but more so when he realized that he was bigger, and stronger, and could eat anything put on his plate and ask for seconds. He even got to the point of eating so much that there wasn’t enough left for Rutherford to have a second helping. It annoyed him, and that’s exactly what Ben had wanted.

Now he had put himself to the real test. He knew that tonight was the night, when it all would end. There was just no confidence in the outcome. All he had was the desire to not let it last another day, and he would give it all he had.

Rutherford stood a good foot in front of the doorway, picking at his teeth with his pinky finger, and smirking at Ben, letting him know how much he enjoyed the challenge. Ben glared at his stepfather and breathed heavily in and out through his nose.

Rutherford shrugged his shoulders. “Well, make yur play.”

Ben clenched his fists and continued to breathe deeply.

Rutherford let out a loud laugh. “I’m sure this was a similar scene to those gray coats down in Chattanooga …before that weasel of a father—”

Rutherford was cut short by Ben’s yelling charge, which went squarely into the man, and not around him.

Abigail also let out a tearful plea. “Ben, stop it!”

Rutherford pivoted then reached around and grabbed Ben by the back of the neck and pinned him against the wall. He laughed and growled simultaneously, and bent one of Ben’s arms around his back. He dragged him neck and arm to the barn and threw him into the stall.

Now he sat there, the old corn knife blade in his hand, ready and waiting for the moment when Rutherford walked back into the barn. Ben was sure he’d be there all night, as he usually was now that he was older, so he was surprised when a few hours later he heard the barn door open. He saw the dull light of the lantern on the rafters above him, and then the sound of the lantern being hung on a hook. It must have been close to midnight, and that worried Ben that Rutherford had some sort of a vile game in his head.

Ben stood, his back to the stall door, the blade gripped firmly in his hands, ready for the final play.

He listened to the light foot steps, making Ben think that Rutherford figured he was sneaking up on him while he slept. It made Ben feel good about his plan, that the bastard wouldn’t be expecting what was in store for him. Then he heard the key enter the lock and turn, and then it was opened. Ben clenched his teeth, raised his arms, and when the stall door opened he started his lunge but held back when the image before him screamed and backed away.

“Ben, no!”

Ben caught himself just in time to stop his swing, but it didn’t stop his mother from falling backward to the barn floor. He stood there for a moment in bewilderment, studying the fear in her eyes, the wool coat draped over her arm, and the cotton sack that lay on the floor next to her, tied in a knot on the top.

He dropped the knife blade then leaned forward and gave her a hand and pulled her up.

She looked at him gravely. “I knew it would eventually come to this. And I knew after you got up from the table that tonight was the night.”

“Ma, you have to get out of here… before he finds us.”

“No, you have to go. You have to leave.”

“I can’t leave without you.”

“No, Ben. You are not my only son. You don’t know what it’s like to be a mother. I can’t leave them. But I love you more than you know. I have to protect you, too, and this is the only way I know how.” She handed him his coat and the cotton sack. “There is another shirt and trousers in there, a pair of socks, and some leftover biscuits and ham. Enough to get you to Kansas City. There’s also a leather pouch in there with five dollars in it. It’s all I had, but it’s enough to get you started.”

He accepted it slowly.

“Go, Ben. Go now.”

He quickly put his arms around his mother and held her tight. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I fear I’ll never see you again.”

She pulled back and looked tenderly into his eyes. “I fear you dying more. At least out there you’ll have a chance—a chance to live your own life.”

Ben looked out the barn door and into the night. “But I can never use his name.”

“You don’t have to. You go out in this world as Benjamin Ruby. That’s who you are and who you’ll always be.”

He put his hand gently on the back of her head and pulled it to his chest. He kissed the top of her head, and with more strength and courage than it took to charge Rutherford in the doorway, he grabbed the sack and his coat and walked out of the barn, not one time looking back.

D. B. Jackson is the author of Unbroke Horses (Goldminds 2012) and They Rode Good Horses (Goldminds 2010). Unbroke Horses is Jackson’s most powerful work to date, and when his work was discovered, his editor proclaimed that they had found the “heir to Elmer Kelton’s audience.”  A previous resident of the Big Sky country of Montana, he and his wife Mary reside on their ranch near Oakdale, California, where he is in the Angus cattle business and a full-time writer. www.dalebjackson.com.

LAST OF THE COWBOYS

The old man, his arthritic fingers twisted and knotted by the years and hard miles, fumbled with the drawstring on the small cotton sack of tobacco he held in his left hand. When he got it open, both hands shook and he scattered the tobacco, and the paper rattled in his grasp. He cursed the circumstances of age that stole the simple pleasures he once took for granted.

He sat on the open tailgate of the Dodge pickup truck with his horse tied to the door handle and a half-grown boy standing at his side.

“Need some help rollin' that, Clayton?”

“Do I look like I need help?”

“Yessir.”

“What do you know about rolling a cigarette?”

“I rolled my share.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen—be sixteen come the fourth of December.”

“Do you smoke?”

The boy shook his head and patted the bulge in the back pocket of his frayed and faded jeans.

“Redman—I chew now and again.”

The old man looked at the boy in the manner of one generation looking upon the next, bound for hell in a hand basket. He looked the boy over and then handed him the makings.

“Here, give it a try—don't slobber the paper.”

The kid tapped out a line of tobacco perfectly centered across the paper. He pulled the drawstring tight with his teeth and used only his left hand to fold the paper around the tobacco and spin off a tightly rolled cigarette he sealed with a light touch of his tongue. He pinched and twisted one end and handed the finished product back to the old man.

When the old cowboy looked the cigarette over and gave it a nod of approval, the boy took a wooden match from his shirt pocket and drew it up the leg of his jeans. A flame blossomed at the end of the match as the kid held it up for the old man, and the old man looked upon it with no particular sign of gratitude or resentment.

The old man nodded and took a long drag as he held the cigarette between his nicotine-stained finger and thumb. He exhaled the smoke through his nose, turned to look back at the small town behind them and then gazed out at the rise of mountains on the horizon to the west.

He started to speak, then shook his head and took another drag from the cigarette.

The boy limped around the back end of the pickup and stood near the horse. The horse tipped its head and the boy scratched it between its ears as he looked out across the mesquite and cholla on the dry plain before them. From the south, the wind carried upon its shifting breeze the heat of the day and the oily scent of creosote where it came in across the high desert, as it had since the beginning of time, as the old man knew it.

The old cowboy coughed and spat. The kid turned and looked at the frail old man with an expression of some concern.

“You riding out?”

“Just got back.”

“I'd like to go with you sometime.”

“I aim to ride tomorrow morning for them mountains yonder.”

“If you could borrow me that sorrel horse of yours, I'd ride with you a ways.”

The old man nodded, as though his agreement was neither an endorsement nor a concession to the idea. He crossed his boots and took a deep pull on the cigarette. He ignored the long ash growing at the end of it, but the boy watched the ash like it was an accident certain to happen.

“What happened to your foot?”

“It ain't the foot—it's the ankle.”

“What happened to your ankle?”

“My daddy backed over it with his car.”

“How'd he come to do that?”

“I was three. He didn't see me in the driveway.”

“They couldn't fix it?”

“They said they could—we didn't have the money for it.”

“Could they still fix it?”

“They could—but it's still too much money.”

“Damn shame, Early. Young man like you already stove up and crippled.”

“I ain't exactly crippled.”

“You ain't exactly not crippled neither.”

“What time you want me here in the morning?”

“I'm leaving at first light.”

The old man coughed again, this time it was deep and his eyes watered.

“You sure you're okay?”

The old man held his hand up in a dismissive gesture and nodded.

****

An hour before dawn, the old man and the kid stood in the cool of the itinerant night air that drifted through the breezeway of the old man's barn. They saddled the horses, and the ancient scent of wood, dust and leather stirred within the boy a primeval calling over which he had no control and no opinion one way or the other. To the boy, that which drew him to the smell of the horse and the feel of the saddle was greater than that which drew him to those his own age.

He watched the old cowboy pull the cinch tight and tie the latigo off in a Texas T knot, and did the same on his horse.

He bridled the horse and looked up at the hardwood timbers and notched trusses, all handmade and joined with mortise and tenon joints secured by wooden pegs.

“They don't make them like that anymore,” the old cowboy said.

“I reckon not.”

The old man fussed with the back cinch, and then lifted the halter from the horse's head. When he slipped the bridle over the horse's ears and the horse took the bit, the old cowboy looked across at the kid.

“I ain't coming back tonight,” the old man said.

“Where you going to?”

“I aim to keep riding until I get to the end.”

“The end of what?”

“Everything.”

The kid laughed an awkward laugh.

“You ain't turning into no old senile bastard on me now, are you Clayton?”

They both laughed.

“You said you was going to ride to the mountains, but you don't look like you got gear for overnight.”

“I got all I need.”

“Well, I just figured to ride with you 'til noon or so anyway.”

When they had both horses saddled, the old man stepped up into the stirrup and swung his leg over in a slow, pained manner, then sat upright and took in a deep breath.

Early took two canteens off the wall pegs upon which they hung, blew the dust from the caps, and filled them from a hose in the yard. He hung one on the saddle of the old man and one on his own, and then he swung easily up into the saddle and nodded off toward the thin, gray dawn. He looked over at the old man and nodded in the direction of the open desert.

“Vamanos.”

They rode a long time in silence, as cowboys do; the importance of one not measured by the importance of the other, but each given to his own actions and his own thoughts. In that half-light of dawn, the air from the cool night had not yet begun to take on the heat of the day and the horses stepped out accordingly, fresh and jigging with their heads high.

The desert vegetation lay sparse and thin upon the dry ground. The two cowboys who navigated it did so with no regard for the reason some things grew there and some did not. Dust from the hooves of the horses hung in the air close to the ground long after the horses passed over it and, when the dust disappeared, the tracks the horses made disappeared with it.

The old cowboy scanned the horizon with a slow turning of his head as he took in the vastness of it, shoulder to shoulder.

“It takes forty acres to run a pair out here,” the old man said. “At that, it's a stretch because there ain't no water.”

The old man nodded in the direction of a distant windmill, its fan turning slowly against the sky that burned with the colors of morning upon the flat line of the horizon.

“We didn't have none of them when we started out.”

“You been here a long time, Clayton?”

The old man nodded.

“A long damn time.”

The sun came full up, and with it the heat that shimmered off the desert floor and slowed the horses to a lazy walk.

“What time you got?”

The boy looked at his watch.

“Half past nine.”

“I came to West Texas a year after I quit the Wild West show.”

“What's the Wild West show?”

“Buffalo Bill Cody—never heard of him?”

“I heard of him. I just never heard of no Wild West show.”

“Well, Early, you should pay more attention in school.”

They rode a long time, rocking easily in the saddle with no hurry about them. In the distant sky to the east, half a dozen buzzards circled high on the thermal columns that seemed to hold them suspended there, awaiting whatever it was the earth had in mind to offer them.

“It was in 1890. I was seventeen years of age at the time. I met Bill—his real name was William Frederick Cody. I'd been cowboying for a while and made a pretty good hand. He offered me a job wrangling horses and I took it.”

“How much did he pay you?”

“I don't recollect—it wasn't much, but it was more than I was making stringing bob wire for the association.”

“How long did you work for him?”

“Well, after I'd been there a couple of months...” the old man coughed long and hard and spat, and then sat there trying to catch his breath. When he did, he continued.

“...he offered me a job riding in the Grand Entry—now that was the top of the heap. It didn't pay no more money, but I rode in right behind Sitting Bull and a bunch of his Indians.”

“No you didn't! I heard of Sitting Bull—I seen him in a Movietone Newsreel once at the show.”

They rode awhile and the old man looked up at the sun that now sat a little higher in the sky, and then motioned toward the boy's watch.

“What time you got now?”

“Half past nine.”

The old man looked up at him.

“You said it was half past nine an hour and a half ago.”

“Yessir. My watch don't run.”

“What the hell you wearing it for then?”

“My momma got it for me for my birthday with Green Stamps—it stopped running a week later and I didn't have it in me to say anything to her about it.”

The old cowboy laughed, took a coughing fit and had to step down from his horse. The boy stepped down with him, took the reins of the old man's horse and watched him as he coughed and spat, and this time the spittle ran red with blood.

“Come on, Clayton—we need to get you back.”

The boy's voice shook and he watched wide-eyed and fearful as the old man leaned against the side of the horse with his head resting against the stirrup leather and his bony chest heaving as he hacked. The old man began to breathe easier and he turned to the boy and smiled.

“It's hell getting old.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. I worked the coal mines some and my lungs ain't been right since—that was forty years ago, but I'm still kicking.”

He stood back, took the reins and gestured for the boy to come to him.

“Take a hold of my leg and help me get back up on this horse.”

Early stood at the shoulder of the horse and, when he took the thin leg in his hands and lifted the old cowboy into the saddle, the weight of him surprised the boy.

“There ain't much to you, Clayton.”

“There used to be.”

Early stepped back up into his own saddle, and Clayton handed the boy his Bull Durham and papers.

“Roll me another.”

The boy did and handed him the makings while he put the cigarette into his own mouth and lit it before he handed it to the old cowboy.

“You didn't slobber on it, did you?”

“No sir—it's good.”

The tobacco seemed to settle the old man and he continued talking as though there had been no interruption at all.

“Well then, I met Annie Oakley.”

“No sir, you did not.”

“She took a bit of a fancy to me, me being young and all.”

“You talking about the one that was the shooter?”

“The same one.”

He reached deep into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a .44-40 casing worn thin by the years. He held it carefully in the palm of his hand for the boy to see.

“She shot the ash off a cigarette I held in my mouth. We did it two times in the show and she gave me the casings from both shots for souvenirs. I carried this one in my pocket ever since—it's been my good luck charm. I have another at the house just like it.”

They rode in silence and the boy wondered exactly where along the way things that were true and those that were not became confused in the old man's mind. The old man looked up and pointed to the sky along the horizon.

“See them clouds?”

The boy nodded.

“They call those cirrus clouds—they're thin and high and move across the sky on the air currents. They're a sign of good weather.”

The boy regarded the old man with grave concern as the old man's talk skipped from subject to subject, as a flat rock cast upon the smooth waters of his mind.

****

Bobby Earl Lee, not by nature given to deep thinking, questioned the purpose for this ride and his reason for being a part of it. He invited himself and that fact alone dispelled any notion he had that his presence had any significance to it at all.

The old cowboy lifted his boot up from the stirrup and snuffed out his cigarette on the sole, and then he flipped the butt into the air.

“You given any thought to getting that foot fixed?”

“Yessir. When I get me a job and earn money enough, it's the first thing I aim to do.”

“Did they give you a hard time about it in school?”

“They still do. I can't go in for sports—they think I'm crippled. But, I ain't—I just can't move my foot right.”

“That bother you some?”

“No, it don't bother me none.”

The old man looked at the kid, but said nothing. The boy looked back at him. The old man's eyes were the eyes of understanding and in them, the boy sensed they saw more than what was on the outside and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

“Well, it does bother me some, I reckon.”

The boy leaned forward and rested his arms on the horn of the saddle as he rocked back and forth with the slow rhythm of the horse's footfalls.

“If it did work right, I'd have a mind to ask Sue Watkins to go with me for a RC Cola sometime.”

“Now you're talking. What else would you do?”

“I'd kick some shit with it—a can, a ball— something.”

They both laughed.

“Would you like to run?”

“Whoa buddy—I'd be a running fool.”

The old man laughed again, and then he grinned at the boy.

“Hell—I'd be happy if I could just stand up straight.”

The kid slapped his leg, laid his head down against the saddle horn and laughed.

“That's pretty damn funny, Clayton.”

“You given any thought to what you're going to do when you finish school?”

The kid looked over at the old man, as though the serious turn in the conversation surprised him

“Some. Get a job, I guess.”

“Are you good at anything?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

“What if your foot worked right?”

“I'd cowboy for one of them big outfits up north.”

“You have to have a good foot to do that?”

“They don't hire cripples.”

“I thought you said you weren't a cripple.”

“You are what they think you are when it comes to that.”

“You got a point there.”

The old cowboy sat up straight and looked across at Early with a serious expression.

“Well, one thing's sure.”

“What's that?”

“If I had a watch, which I don't—mine would damn sure run.”

They laughed until the laughing ran out.

A thin layer of clouds obscured the sun and softened the shadows, and a pair of hawks circled high on the mid-morning thermals as though nothing of the earth pertained to them. Below the hawks, except for the insignificant presence of the two horsemen and the effects of time, the land lay unchanged from the day it came to be. For all who crossed this place and trod upon its primordial plain, they left nothing to bear out their time here beyond the dust to which they returned. The hawks before these and the ones before them, down through the time when hawks first appeared, watched the passing of everything below them and nothing remained as it was for very long, except the land.

The boy, with his head down, turned his eyes to the old man and looked at him a long time. The old man gazed off into the dark blue shadow of the distant line of mountains. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the tobacco sack and papers, and handed them to the kid.

“Can I get you to roll me a couple extras?”

The kid rolled two, both packed tight and rolled firm. He took special care twisting the ends. He handed the cigarettes and makings back to the old cowboy.

“They ain't slobbered on.”

The look on the old man's face was distant and void of expression. The kid spoke softly.

“You ain't coming back, are you?”

The old man turned slowly and looked at the boy, this time with an expression of some divine grace that neither comforted nor unsettled the boy.

“Early, I done been there and back.”

The boy chewed at the inside of his cheek as they rode without speaking. He turned to look across at the old cowboy and watched him. The old man's expression was relaxed and he rode with an easy look about him.

The boy reached across with his hand and touched the old man's arm to get his attention.

“It's been good to be your friend, Clayton.”

Clayton extended his hand and the boy shook it.

“What do you want me to do with this horse?”

“Just look after him.”

“I guess it's time I turned back.”

The old man laughed.

“What time is it?”

The kid laughed only this time his eyes were red-rimmed.

“Half past nine.”

They both laughed again.

They stopped the horses and Early stepped down from his. He slipped the canteen from his saddle horn and hooked it over that of the old man, and then he reached into his pocket, withdrew his folding knife and packed it into Clayton's saddlebag, along with the beef jerky and a cornbread muffin he carried wrapped in a cloth napkin. He stood alongside the cowboy—neither spoke. Finally, Early patted him on the leg and the old cowboy smiled and touched the horse with his spurs.

Bobby Earl Lee stood there, tears running down his cheeks and a knot in his throat. He watched the old cowboy and his horse walk into the blue of the horizon until he could no longer see anything that looked like them. He stepped up into the saddle and sat there another half hour before he finally turned the horse's head toward town.

****

He saw the lights of the town spread out in a small circle before he realized the sun had set. He stood in the barn with its bare bulb hanging from a wire and casting a soft, yellow light just as it had done a thousand years earlier when he and the old cowboy rode out of there.

He tied the horse, removed the bridle and set the saddle and the wet blanket on the rail behind him. He walked the horse out into the gravel yard, hosed it down and watched the light reflect off the water on its back. When he turned the horse out, he locked the gate, and then went back and sat on the downturned tailgate of Clayton's Dodge pickup.

Half a bale of grass hay, a rusty tow chain, a pile of beer bottles and a handful of old cigarette butts—an epitaph for a life lived. He looked over at the clapboard house, darker and emptier than he remembered it to be when they rode past it that morning. The boy looked at his watch and smiled.

When he closed the door of his own house behind him, he heard his mother's voice.

“Is that you, Early?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“We're just about to have supper.”

“Be right there.”

Early hung his hat on a peg on the hall tree and looked into the small mirror ringed by hats of various shapes. He wiped his cheeks, and then walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

“How did you and ol' Clayton do on your ride?” his father asked.

“We did fine.”

“Where'd you go to?”

“Due west, out toward Las Vibras Mountain.”

The boy tipped his head toward the west and filled his bowl with leftovers from the night before.

“How did Clayton hold up?”

“He did fine—he's a top hand cowboy, you know.”

“He's been at it all his life from what I hear.”

“He rode for Buffalo Bill.”

“He told you that?”

“Yessir. He rode in the Great Entrance with Sitting Bull and some others too.”

His mother and father looked across the table at one another. His father flinched slightly to make his point.

“That old story went around a few years ago—it was pretty much just an idea Clayton fancied. Wasn't no truth to it.”

“Well he knew Annie Oakley and he had one of her bullets to prove it.”

His father shook his head and his mother raised her eyebrows.

They ate in silence and the boy's mother sensed the unsettled nature of her son's demeanor.

“You okay, Early?”

The boy looked up at his mother, then over at his father.

“Clayton didn't come back with me.”

“What do you mean?” his mother asked.

“He kept riding.”

“Where?”

“Out there. He just kept going.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said he was just going to keep going.”

His father sat up straight and held his spoon with beans still in it.

“He won't make it out there.”

“I don't think he aimed to.”

“To what?”

“Make it.”

His mother held her hand to her mouth.

“Oh my Lord.”

His father stood.

“We'll go see the sheriff first thing in the morning and have him send someone out.”

“He ain't trying to hide.”

“Can you tell them where to go?”

“Yessir—but Clayton isn't looking to come back.”

****

Bobby Earl Lee and his father sat on the porch of their adobe-walled house and waited for word from the sheriff's office.

Two days prior, the sheriff set off into the desert driving a four-wheel drive pickup, followed by a deputy pulling a two-horse trailer.

They followed the course described by the boy, and the father and the son watched the rolling vortex of dust that followed the two police vehicles across that barren plain. Long after the vehicles disappeared from view, the rising coil of dust could be seen against the dark wall of the mountains.

“They don't expect to find Clayton alive,” his father said, as he leaned against a post on the porch.

“I don't suppose they will.”

The boy leaned forward in his chair.

“Do you think Clayton was crazy?”

“Well, son—I ain't sure you could call him crazy. He was eighty-one years old and I think maybe his memory got clouded some is all.”

The boy stood and walked over to gaze out across the desert that looked more alive to him than he ever remembered. He nodded toward the sky.

“See them clouds?”

His father nodded.

“They're serious clouds—they run high in the sky and they bring good weather.”

The father looked skyward, but he neither confirmed nor denied he knew that.

“This ain't real good cow-country. It takes forty acres to run a pair—and that's if you got the water.”

The boy tried to speak again, but his throat tightened up and he sat down in the same chair and bit his cheek.

He sat there in silence, and then took a deep breath.

“He wasn't crazy.”

It was past dark when the sheriff stopped by the Lee house and spoke to Early's father. They found Clayton's horse, unbridled and unsaddled the sheriff told him. They searched the area but found no sign of the old man. They continued the search the next day, but gave up when they ran out of daylight without finding any sign of the old cowboy.

They would wait thirty days and then file an assumed death report, the sheriff told the father. They shook hands and the sheriff turned to leave. Halfway down the steps, he turned back and told him he was sorry.

In the morning, the boy's father told him the sheriff had stopped by. When he told Early they found Clayton's unsaddled horse, the boy's eyes welled up with tears but he did not cry.

“He couldn't get back up on him,” the boy said.

There was no more talk of Clayton until the day the preacher stopped by and told them they scheduled a memorial service for him on the coming Friday. When Friday arrived, Early rode in the backseat of his father's Buick and stared out the side window. On one side, the modest buildings and irregular rows of houses made up the small town; on the other side the desert rolled out onto the plains, and he saw two horsemen: one young, one old, riding toward the mountain. He heard their laughter and he watched them as they rode in silence as cowboys do. He watched the dust spin up from under the feet of the horses. There was a purpose about the two riders that made them appear important because of it.

He watched them as though he could fly beside them and them not know it. The younger one had no bad foot and the old one showed no sign of age. The horses stepped out, and they showed no sign of the heat, even though the heat itself rose from the ground and shimmered in the distance. Neither cowboy wore a watch, for they had nowhere to be but where they were, and time was of no concern to them.

When Early turned and gazed out the other window, he saw a small group of people dressed in black and standing around a new headstone where no earth had been removed for a grave.

He followed his mother and his father and stood behind them while they shook hands and nodded at those in attendance. He stepped around his father and, when he stood on his toes, he saw Clayton's name on the stone.

The preacher came, dressed in a black cowboy frock coat. He carried a thick, tattered Bible in one hand and used his free hand to touch those to whom he spoke. He prayed and blessed the deceased and bid the Lord grant him a place in heaven, for the old cowboy was a good man.

They sang The Old Rugged Cross. When they finished, a cowboy Early did not know stood near the headstone with a beat up guitar and sang The Strawberry Roan in a whiskey voice long since burned out in all the honky-tonks that were the road signs of his life.

A few people spoke and, when the last one finished and the preacher asked if anyone else had anything to say, the boy stepped forward, stood alone before the gathered crowd and spoke up in final defense of his old friend.

“He knew Annie Oakley,” he said, and then he stepped back and no one spoke and no one moved. The preacher asked them to bow their heads, and when they did, he prayed again. When they opened their eyes and said amen, two perfectly rolled cigarettes lay at the base of the headstone.

Every week after that, the boy walked to the cemetery on Saturday mornings, sat near the modest headstone, and visited with the old cowboy. He touched the name, CLAYTON M. TODD, and touched the dates: JULY 2, 1873 - AUGUST 15, 1954. He smiled at the long life the man lead. Some days he would leave a flower, on others a mesquite branch or a rock from the desert. Once in a while, a passerby would see a perfectly rolled cigarette at the base of the headstone.

He told the old man all the things he planned to do when he got his foot fixed. Then he would look at his watch and laugh.

In the fall, just before the weather turned bad, a man in a suit knocked on the door of the house and his father answered the door.

“Good morning sir. I'm Roland Carson. I represent the law firm of Haskins, Deloit, and Rogers. Is this the residence of Bobby Earl Lee?”

“Yessir, it is. I'm his father.”

“And his legal guardian, I assume?”

“That's right.”

“I have a few documents here for you to sign on his behalf.”

“For what?”

“Clayton Todd left the boy this.”

Carson deposited a heavy burlap sack onto the peeling deck of the porch and tapped an envelope tucked into the breast pocket of his sweat-wrinkled coat.

“I'll sign for it.”

Carson produced a clipboard with several layers of forms and pointed in turn at the line on each where he instructed Lee to sign. With each signature, Carson moved the carbon paper to the next form and Lee signed again until the process was completed.

“Is this going to cost me?”

“No sir, it's just a legal requirement to settle the estate and verify that we executed as instructed. Mr. Todd's estate was modest, I assure you.”

Lee handed the clipboard back to Carson and pointed at the burlap bag.

“So, what's in here?”

Carson smiled for the first time since his arrival.

“It's a saddle.”

Lee shook his head and smiled in return.

“The boy don't even own a horse.”

Carson smiled again, retrieved the envelope from his breast pocket and when he spoke he delivered his words slowly so as not to lose any of the meaning in them.

“This saddle was a personal gift given to Mr. Todd in the year of 1890, and it includes this personal letter of authenticity signed by Wm. F. Cody.”

The father shook his head and smiled. He shook hands with Mr. Carson and Carson reached into his front coat pocket.

“Oh, and there is one more thing.”

He withdrew a small velvet box and handed it to Mr. Lee.

“I have no idea what this one is all about,” Carson said.

Early's father opened the box slowly and smiled.

“It's the casing from a .44-40 round,” he said.

Bobby Lee Earl never sold the saddle. He had surgery on his ankle but never walked without a limp.

He cowboyed most of his life in the high desert country of West Texas and visited the gravesite of Clayton Todd each year without fail.

The month he received his first paycheck he paid $12 for his first good watch.

Don Bendell’s western Strongheart accumulated seventeen five-star reviews on Amazon.com in its first year of publication. His main character, Joshua Strongheart, was also incorporated into his modern military thriller series. The author of twenty-seven books and over 2,500,000 books in print worldwide, Bendell’s writing style has often been compared to the iconic Western author Louis L’Amour.  The sequel to Strongheart, Bloodfeather, will be released by Berkley in 2013. The story in this collection introduces Joshua Strongheart in another original Western adventure.

A 1995 inductee into the International Karate and Kickboxing Hall of Fame, Bendell is a disabled Vietnam veteran and former Green Beret officer, and lives with his wife Shirley on a ranch in southern Colorado. www.donbendell.com.

THE HANDSHAKE

Scottie Middleton was a tow-headed youngster with freckles and an infectious smile. He had a serious set to his jaw when he looked at the imposing three story brick Fremont County sheriff’s office and jail on Macon Street one block over from Main Street. It was 1875, and Canon City, Colorado, home of the Territorial Prison, was a small bustling town enjoying the best climate in the Territory of Colorado, which would become a state in less than a year. Scottie hitched up his homespun trousers, wiped the drainage from his nose, and walked into the big imposing building. In the front he first stopped and looked again at the tall black and white half-Arabian/half-Saddlebred gelding Eagle, which was ridden and owned by the famous half-Sioux/half-white Pinkerton Agent Joshua Strongheart. When he got inside, he saw a large sheriff’s deputy with a mutton-chop mustache.

“Well Saints preserve us!” said the deputy, “It is a leprechaun we have here. Or is it just a strappin’ young lad?”

“I’m a boy,” said Scottie, his jaw set despite feeling intimidated in the strange surroundings.

“I want to see Mr. Strongheart, sir,” Scottie said.

“Well, he is here visiting Sheriff Bengley,” the deputy replied, “Let me tell him you are here. And what be yer name Lad?”

“Scottie Middleton, sir.”

“You stay right here and have a chew on this wee bit a licorice I had back here, an’ I’ll get fetch him,” the deputy replied.

He handed a small licorice whip to the boy, who took it with wide-eyes saying, “Thank you, sir.”

A few minutes later, the deputy had the little boy follow him and escorted him into the sheriff’s office. The sheriff sat behind his desk grinning and the boy looked with awe at Joshua Strongheart. He took it all in with his jaw hanging at knee-level. Strongheart stood and winked at Scottie.

His long, shiny, black hair was hanging down his back in a single ponytail, and it was covered by a black cowboy hat with a wide, flat brim and rounded crown. A very wide, fancy, colorful beaded hat band went around the base of the crown.

He wore a bone hair pipe choker necklace around his sinewy neck and three large grizzly bear claws helped separate some of the rows of bone hair pipes. Just months earlier, the massive grizzly had mauled Strongheart who eventually killed it with his knife and pistol, and he still bore many scars from the attack. They fit in just fine with the many bullet scars covering his body. His soft antelope skin shirt did little to hide his bulging muscles, and the small rows of fringe which slanted in from the broad shoulders in a V shape above the large pectoral muscles and stopping at mid-chest, actually served to accentuate the muscular build and narrow waist that looked like a flesh-covered washboard.

Levis Strauss had two years earlier patented and started making a brand new type of trousers made of blue denim which folks were calling “Levi’s.” They had brass rivets and Joshua had bought a couple pairs from a merchandiser, who bought them himself for $13.50 for each dozen pairs. They were tight, and they too did little to hide the bulging muscles of his long legs.

Around his hips, Joshua wore his prized possessions, one a gift from his late-step-father and the other a gift from his late father. On the right hip of the engraved brown gun-belt was the fancy holster, which held his step-father’s Colt .45 Peacemaker. It had miniature marshal’s badges, like his step-father’s own, attached to both of the Mother of Pearl grips and fancy engraving along the barrel. It was a brand new single action model made especially for the army two years earlier in 1873, and this one was a special order by his step-father’s friend and Strongheart’s new friend Chris Colt, who was a nephew of inventor Colonel Samuel Colt.

On his left hip was the long beaded, porcupine-quilled and fringed leather knife sheath holding the large Bowie-like knife with the elk antler handle and brass inlays. It was left to him by his father.

He wore long cowboy boots with large-roweled spurs with two little bell shaped jingle-bobs that hung down on the outside of each from the hubs and clinked on the spur rowels as they spun or while he walked.

Joshua stuck out his hand saying, “Sir, I heard you were looking for me. My name is Joshua Strongheart, and what is your name, sir?”

A little of the trepidation disappeared while the kid’s shoulders went back a little, and he shook hands with his hero.

He tried to lower his voice and said, “Howdy, sir. My name is Scottie Middleton.”

Joshua stuck out his hand and shook, saying, “I like that. You have a good firm handshake and you look a man in the eye. Now, what can I do for you, young man?”

“Well, Mr. Strongheart,” the tyke said, “I want to hire you.”

Strongheart looked over at the sheriff and grinned.

He replied, “You want to hire me? What makes you want to do that?”

Scottie said, “Yer a Pinkerton agent, ain’t ya?”

Strongheart said, “I am that, Scottie. So, what is this all about?”

“Well, sir,” Scottie said bravely but still nervous, “my pa said that you are the best there is even though you are a blanket nigger.”

Joshua interrupted, grinning, “Son, first let’s start things off right. Do you think calling me a blanket nigger is the kind of language we should use for somebody that does not look like us?”

Scottie hung his head and Strongheart felt bad. He knew this must be tough for him already.

He said, “Go ahead Scottie.”

Well,” Scottie said, “my ma died last year of consumption. Then some bad men come last month and killed my pa.”

“I am so sorry, Scottie,” Joshua said, “Do you have folks to live with?”

Scottie said, “Yes, sir. My Aunt Kathy and my uncle Dave, but he is a drunk and don’t amount to much. She is nice to me.”

Strongheart said, “So what did you mean you wanted to hire me?”

The little boy reached into his trousers and pulled out a small leather bag, He opened it and marbles rolled out on the desk. He reached in and pulled out some change and held it out.

He said, “Mr. Strongheart, I saved me up some money and have four dollars here. I want to hire you to find the man who stole my pony Johnny Boy and get him back for me. Ma and pa gave me Johnny Boy last Christmas, and it is all I have from them. That gang a men burnt our house down when they kilt pa.”

Strongheart winked at the sheriff.

He said, “Well Scottie, you brought too much money. I only charge one dollar to recover ponies,” as he took one dollar in change from Scottie’s hand.

Scottie beamed.

He said, “My pa told me to always sign a paper when you make a deal. But, I heard you was gonna marry that sweet Missus Ebert, the widow woman with the café and she got kilt. But I heard, before, some bad men stole her ring and you give your word you would get it back. Then I heard you went out and tracked each of them down and kilt them and got her ring back. I just want to know if you will give me your word to get me Johnny Boy back.”

Strongheart got choked up thinking about Annabelle Ebert, the love of his life and fiancé who was murdered earlier in the year by a seven foot tall Lakota mass murderer named We Wiyake, Blood Feather. The monster paid dearly for that, his greatest mistake ever.

Scottie’s words snapped him out of it, as he heard the little boy get choked up too while saying: “I can’t have my ma and pa back, but getting Johnny Boy back would be kinda like getting’ part a them back, Mr. Strongheart.”

Joshua stuck out his hand and said, “If he is alive, I give you my word I will get him back for you.”

The little boy proudly shoved his hand into Strong-heart’s, and they shook.

He said, “Scottie, I will need you to tell me everything that you can remember about those men. Sheriff, I remember hearing about this case and believe you had a posse after them for a while. I need to know all the details.”

The following day shortly before daybreak, Joshua Strongheart rode his big, majestic, half-Arabian/half-Saddlebred, black and white pinto, Eagle, out of Canon City headed in pursuit of the killer horse-thieves. First though, he stopped at Scottie Middelton’s house where he lived with his aunt and uncle on River Street. He had to cross the Fourth Street Bridge over the fast-moving Arkansas River. The Arkansas River due west of Canon City, where it churned its way through a rocky canyon for miles, dropped thousands of feet and produced some of the largest and wildest whitewater rapids in the world. After it poured out of the canyon of the Arkansas, which was starting to be called the Royal Gorge, the whitewater rapids disappeared pretty much, but the water still rushed with more power than most rivers in the west.

Seeing Scottie’s place he rode up to the front of the modest home, dismounting, and Scottie rushed out of the house grinning broadly. A middle-aged woman with a kindly but haggard face walked out and Strongheart doffed his hat to her. She was followed by a staggering brute of a man who obviously had been drinking.

As Strongheart walked up to the group, he said, “You have a fine young man here in this nephew of yours. My name is Joshua Strongheart, and he tipped his hat brim again. This brought a big smile on her tired but pretty face.

Strongheart walked straight up to the uncle and said, “And you must be Marcus.”

The man started to say something, but his words were shut off when Joshua suddenly reached out and grabbed him, spinning him around. He then grabbed the back of the man’s unkempt hair, then grabbed the waistline of his homespun trousers in his other hand, jerked up, and gave it a twist. Now holding Marcus up on his tiptoes, he started marching him towards the river in a rapid manner. Reaching the river’s edge, Strongheart pitched the drunk into the cold glacial-fed water. The man went under and came up ten yards downstream gasping and flailing at the water, while his family watched from the house in horror. Strongheart jogged along the river’s edge and waded into the water at a shallower spot.

He grabbed the drunken uncle and pulled him to the water’s edge, dragging him up on the bank. The man lay there gasping and sputtering.

He finally sat up and said, “What dja do that fer?”

As the man flinched, Joshua reached down, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him, screaming, back into the water. He held him by the lapels and shoved his head under the fast-flowing current and held it there. After several more times, Strongheart pulled him out of the water and once again up onto the bank, where the man moaned and groaned and sputtered for several minutes.

“I did all that,” Strongheart said, “Just to make sure I had your full attention. Are you paying very close attention?”

“Yes sir!” the uncle said with great enthusiasm.

Strongheart said, “Good. That is a fine young man, and he recently lost his ma and pa. He needs a strong man in his life to teach him how to grow into a man. Just like me, mister, you cannot hold your liquor. Therefore, just like me, you are making an iron-clad decision today, right now, to stop drinking. If you don’t, every time I am in town and find out you drank, you will go back into the river but a little longer each time. Do we understand each other?”

Now, the uncle’s masculinity had been challenged, so he flexed his whiskey-muscles and straightened his back a little, hand hovering near his pistol, saying, “Yeah, wal, what if ya was to try to throw me in the river, and I yanked my hogleg and put some holes in ya first?”

Joshua stepped forward, his own hand near his gun, saying angrily, “Go ahead, grab that smokepole, and start the dance! Please do. Skin it! Draw down on me, and see if I don’t punch your dance ticket for you!”

Joshua moved in as the man’s eyes opened as wide as the canyon not far from them, and he obviously was in a panic, looking for a place to hide. Strongheart’s hand shot out, grabbed the uncle by the lapels, and by pulling and taking two steps backwards, he flung the uncle through the air one-handed. The man hit the river once more with a splash and came up sputtering and coughing again.

Strongheart walked back up to the front of the house and took the reins from a broadly-grinning Scottie and mounted up. He doffed his hat to Scottie’s aunt and got a slight self-satisfied smirk and almost-hidden grin and nod of gratitude from her. He galloped away from the house, and rode towards the depot. He would telegraph Lucky, his boss in Chicago, to keep him apprised of what he was doing, then book a train to Pueblo and from there north to Denver.

He had gotten information that a few reports stated the gang had been in Denver City and had moved into the mountains northwest of there. The pony which was not albino but pure white had been used as a pack animal. He got a train fairly quickly to Pueblo but had a two hour wait there before he could load Eagle on a car and get a seat himself.

It was night time before Joshua had gotten Eagle fed, bedded down in a livery stable, got dinner, and a hotel room. He was going to be busy the next day, he knew.

The following day, at daybreak, Strongheart went to the Pinkerton Agency office in Denver and started researching all the reports he could find about the gang. He found two of the alerts indicated the gang had been in a place in Denver called the Cowboy Saloon and were nothing but trouble. He would start there.

He rode towards downtown crossing a bridge over Cherry Creek and pulled up in front of the Cowboy Saloon, which was in a two story red brick building with rooms above it. He tied Eagle to a hitching rack and went inside. He was almost knocked over by painted ladies and there was a man with gartered sleeves in the corner playing tunes on a piano. It was raucous, and he saw a number of drinkers giving him dirty looks, probably simply because he was an outsider.

Joshua Strongheart was certainly confronted with racism plenty of times, but in the nineteenth century American West, only one third of all cowboys were white, another third were black, and the final third were either Mexican or American Indians.

That was certainly the case with the six cowpunchers who confronted him: two were white, two were black, one was Jicarilla Apache, and one was Mexican. They came up around him at the bar giving him the evil eye.

The bartender said, “What do you want?”

Joshua said, “I need some information about a gang that was in here causing trouble.”

The bartender grinned saying, “Mister, information does not go across this bar if money is not being spent.”

Strongheart smiled, “Fair enough. There is a new drink just been around a few years I have taken a liking to. It is called iced tea. You serve that?”

The bartender pulled a jug of sun tea from behind the counter and chipped some ice off a block, filling a mug with tea.

He handed it to Joshua saying, “I have taken a hankering to it myself.”

Joshua said, “Then let me buy you a glass, too. Here, this should take care of both of us.”

He tossed ten bucks on the bar. The bartender made himself a glass of iced tea, too, and they touched glasses in salute.

The bartender said, “The gang is called The Teamsters, ‘cause every dang one a them drove a freight wagon in this area. We got over a hundred people moving into Denver every single day, and these boys found out instead of earning honest keep it was a lot easier to steal possessions from innocent families. Their leader is a big man, even bigger than you. His name is Crabs Hamrick. Red hair and big, big frame. He grabs a hold a something, it moves.”

Strongheart said, “That sounds like them. Do they have a white pony they are using as a pack animal?”

The bartender said, “That’s them all right. Suspected in two killings of new settlers lately. They busted this place up and beat up one of our girls upstairs one night just out of meanness. I heard they have a hideout on the Cache La Poudre up beyond Fort Collins maybe ten, twenty miles. You know where I’m talking about?”

Strongheart said, “I have heard from others about it. Have not been up that river myself.”

The bartender looked at the six men who were closing in a lot on Strongheart obviously trying to make him feel uncomfortable.

He gave Joshua a questioning look and Joshua quietly said, “That back door, what is behind it?”

“Just empty fields then trees along Cherry Creek, why?”

Strongheart said, “If I want to get those bad boys, first I will need to take care of these.”

He turned around and faced the six cowhands who had obviously been doing some drinking. They each braced themselves for trouble and two let their hands hover near their six-guns.

Joshua said, “Boys you seem very friendly, so let me buy each of you a glass of iced tea. It tastes great on a hot day especially if you add sugar.”

One of the white punchers seemed to be the leader, and they were all young.

He said, “We don’t need your stupid dandy boy drink, mister.”

He started to say more, but Strongheart’s upraised hand stopped him and Joshua interrupted, “Wait, gentlemen.”

He took a long swallow of iced tea and said, “Hate to see you pass this up. As soon as I walked in I saw what was going to happen. You don’t know me, so you guys want to come up and sniff around, pee on trees, and growl a little, and see if I act like a coyote or a rabbit. Come with me please.”

Curious, but still trying to look tough, they followed him to the back door. He opened it and faced the doorway.

Strongheart said, “Just watch.”

He set the glass with just the little bit remaining of his iced tea on the back of his hand palm down. He balanced it there, and several other patrons gathered around, curious. It was a blur when his hand whipped down and suddenly his Colt Peacemaker exploded and pieces of glass, ice, and tea flew everywhere in the back. He had drawn his pistol that fast, cocked it, and fired shattering the glass before it had even dropped five inches. Colt then smiled, spun the Colt backwards into the holster.

The leader said, “Wow! I have never seen shooting like that anywhere! Sorry to bother ya, mister. We was just going to fun ya a little.”

Strongheart said, “I was just leaving anyway.”

He stopped by the bartender and asked what the glass cost.

The bartender said, “You’re Strongheart, ain’t you?”

Joshua said, “Afraid so. How much for the glass?”

The man said, “No worry on the glass. When you walked in here I figgered you was Strongheart from all I have heard. I am pleased to meet you, sir. Ed LeDoux.”

He stuck out his hand. They shook and Joshua tipped his hat.

“Thanks, Ed. Guess I better get to Fort Collins.”

He went out the door and the six cow-punchers walked to the door and windows and watched him ride away.

The bartender called them over and said, “You owl-hoots better start watching who you try to tangle with. That was the Pinkerton agent Joshua Strongheart.”

The tallest cowboy who was black and had a thick southern accent said, “Y’all hear that? Ah tole y’all he looked like trouble when he come in. I tole ya not to bother him. Ya’ll coulda got me kilt dead. Gimme a whiskey, Ed.”

Strongheart had to take another train north where he could unload at Fort Collins, which was about sixty miles north of Denver.

Scottie’s uncle moped around the house for the next day, and several times he started to head to his favorite saloon on the corner of 4th Street and Main Street. Each time, he thought about his dunking and the look on Strongheart’s face when he braced him and that stopped him. He remembered most being flung through the air, one–handed, like he was a ragdoll.

The second day, he got up shortly after daybreak and his wife noticed he was shaky.

He smiled for the first time in years and said, “I’m going into town and see if I can get a job at the Territorial Prison or driving a stagecoach.”

She had not been so excited and happy in years and made him a heaping breakfast.

Scottie took all this in and thought about what a hero Joshua Strongheart was and vowed he would grow up to be just like him. In fact, Scottie, at first, decided he would become a Pinkerton agent someday, but then decided he would be a town marshal or a county sheriff.

It was two days later, in the Cache Le Poudre river canyon where Joshua rode along the river trail. These mountains on both sides were heavily-wooded with tall timber and were on very steep, very high ridges. High up in several places he saw little white spots moving in the alpine areas and knew these were rocky mountain goats. Twice, he passed bighorn sheep herds watering at the river, and he came upon a pack of wolves feeding on a cow moose carcass near the river. In fact, moose tracks were what made him turn left and head southwest away from the river along a raging whitewater creek with many large boulders and waterfalls in it. Strongheart knew it had to lead to some flat areas maybe a lake because that is what moose like. It had to have good moose habitat, or they would not have turned up this offshoot canyon. He figured that would also provide good opportunities for a hideout for a gang for extended periods, plenty of good graze for horses, water, firewood, and plenty of hiding places both rocky and wooded. He knew what his friend Chris Colt, chief of scouts, already knew; common sense was the most important aspect of tracking anybody or any animal.

Eagle’s ears were where most of Strongheart’s focus remained. They were like radar beacons. If there was a sound off to the side, the ears twisted towards it, if someone approached from behind, they turned backwards. If the big pinto scented someone to the front his ears would go forward listening for any perceptible sound.

Joshua’s eyes swept the ground in front of him in wide arcs back and forth going out twenty yards ahead, then thirty, and forty. He was riding the stream trail on a hill which ran above the whitewater creek with straight drops down of about fifty feet. Joshua noticed the leaves on the trees were being blown from the left to the right and the longer weeds were bending to the right. At the same time he spotted what he had been looking for: a sloping grade down to the stream with a well-worn trail going to and from. This is where somebody had been getting water, as well as watering horses.

At the same time, Eagle turned his head to the left and his eyes looked up the steep vegetation-covered ridge, his ears directed that way, and Joshua saw his nostrils were flaring in and out. He whinnied and far up the ridge an answering whinny came back.

Strongheart patted his neck saying, “Good boy, Eagle. Now we have to keep going because they will watch us to make sure we are not a threat. They heard their horse a lot easier than we did.”

He kept riding up the trail acting like a hunter or trapper and did not act like he was looking for sign of the gang.

Up on the ridge, one of The Teamsters watched through his binoculars and saw the man far below nonchalantly riding down the trail. He kept watching until Strongheart was out of sight and rejoined his friends at their game of poker.

Joshua waited until he was out of sight then turned left and started going up the slope going back and forth in a switchback. He rode Eagle up about two thousand feet, estimating the outlaws were maybe a thousand feet higher than the trail he was on. Strongheart dismounted and let Eagle get rested up after the climb. Directly above him there were cliffs and down below he saw a kind of a broken terrace in the landscape. Apparently, the gang was camped on one of the terraces which were each covered with lush green grass. Unlike the area around Canon City where he lived, which was semi-arid, this was northern Colorado Territory. There was much more rain and snow in this area, and consequently a lot more green vegetation. Right around Canon City there was much vegetation, because the area near the mighty Arkansas River was very fertile and colorful, with numerous apple orchards and grape crops. In fact, years later it would come out that Canon City had a wider variety of types of trees than any city in the entire country. Joshua knew these outlaws could stay up there out of sight for months, like a cat hiding from the dog on top of the china hutch.

Strongheart knew he was up against big numbers and a couple years earlier he took on a gang of want-to-be-gunslingers in a shootout in Florence, Colorado. He got them all but was shot to doll rags himself, and it took months to recover. He decided back then, while he was healing, he would never just wade in like that again, but think things through.

He would first ride along the base of the cliffs and work his way around the many giant rock slides with horse-sized and even house-sized boulders in several places. Then, he would get himself into a position above them and make a strategic plan to take on all these men. He could go and fetch a posse, but that literally would take days not hours, and they might well be gone then. He did give his word and shook hands on it. To Joshua Strongheart, that was like engraving it in stone.

He rode along slowly, carefully for an hour and found a shadowed place among a large jumble of boulders which formed almost a cave with no roof. He let Eagle rest here and nibble on the grasses in the hideout, while he went out and looked down at the outlaw camp. He remained there watching until dusk, and saw they started preparing their cooking fire.

Strongheart retreated into the rocks himself, gathered some firewood and made a smokeless fire. This is easily accomplished by gathering the driest wood you can find. He made the fire and checked to make sure it would not reflect off the rocks where the men to his northeast and far below could see it or any smoke coming out of his rock formation. A plan was forming in his mind.

He gave Eagle a bait of oats from an oilskin bag in his saddlebags, then started his own dinner. He ate, and bedded down early, not drinking any coffee, so he could go to sleep.

Strongheart awakened after midnight and went to his lookout spot in the rocks, glassing with his binoculars. As he figured, they were all sleeping in a circle around their campfire. There was one guard in front of the fire on a log drinking coffee.

Joshua went to his saddlebags and took out four leather horse boots. He slipped these over Eagle’s hooves and tied them in place with the leather things laced through the tops of each. He saddled up without saddlebags. Eagle stood in anticipation of going on another great adventure with his master. He could not actually think that way, but he sensed something exciting was up.

Strongheart took off his boots and spurs and replaced them with his soft-soled porcupine-quilled Lakota moccasins. Mounting up, he rode slowly, quietly down the mountainside, noting that the guard was already dozing off by the fire and getting himself into a more comfortable position. Joshua left Eagle under some tall trees one hundred feet above the camp and started moving down on foot through the shadows. He spotted little Johnny Boy grazing with the remuda. He made his way as only a Lakota warrior could do, silently to the horses. He tied a war bridle on Johnny Boy and led him away from the remuda and up to Eagle. The two sniffed each other, touching noses, and seemed to understand they had to be quiet and ignore normal herd seniority blustering like horses normally do. He let each eat a carrot-flavored horse biscuit he pulled from his pocket.

The Pinkerton Agent then worked his way back to the camp and crawled on his belly from man to man with many snores permeating the silence of the forest night. It took an hour for Strongheart to accomplish his task and sneak away. So far, his plan was working. Not wanting to risk knocking a rock loose, he led both horses up the mountain and returned to his campsite. He did not want to risk sleeping too long, so he poured himself a cup of coffee while he put his boots and spurs back on. He checked his pistol and then retrieved his belly gun from his saddlebag. He made sure it was clean and loaded. He replaced his bedroll and saddlebags behind the seat on his rough-out saddle, then sat and waited while he enjoyed more coffee and a few corn-dodgers.

The birds were starting to sing and some crows started cawing overhead, but it was the blue jay screaming which awakened the first outlaw. He looked up and saw Strongheart astride Eagle grinning at him. Joshua nodded.

“Morning boys!” he hollered.

Within seconds, they were all standing, blinking and rubbing their eyes. Several dropped into a gunfighter’s stance.

Joshua said, “I wouldn’t reach for those guns, fellas. Might be a good way to get shot. You will be The Team-sters, right?”

One large one with red hair and twice the bulk of the others stepped forward.

“Who the hell are you?” he bellowed.

The Pinkerton said, “Joshua Strongheart,” and he noticed several exchange nervous glances.

He added, “I work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, and I was hired by a young boy named Scottie Middleton to get this pony back you boys stole. I assume you are Crabs Hamrick?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Ain’t ya gonna ask me why I’m called that?” The big man fumed.

Strongheart said, “No, I don’t really care.”

“How could that little brat hire ya? What did he pay ya?” Hamrick roared.

Strongheart smiled and said, “One dollar.”

“You come all this way to die over a dollar?” Crabs said.

“No, it was the price we agreed and shook on. I gave my word I would get him his pony back, and a man is only as good as his word.” Strongheart said and his steely stare into the eyes of Crabs unnerved the man.

“Now, which one of you cowards shot that boy’s father?” he added.

Crabs puffed his chest out and said, “I did, but it don’t matter. That pony ain’t going nowhere, and you are gonna die where ya stand.”

His hand flashed first, as he drew, which spurred all the others into drawing, and Strongheart cleared leather before any of them and just grinned as he heard gun after gun make a metallic click sound.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a smile, “I forgot to tell you. I visited your camp last night while you are all sleeping and unloaded your weapons. The bullets are in my saddlebags here, but then again, you won’t be needing them.”

One of the other Teamsters stepped up and said, “Bullets or not, we all got knives. We can rush him boys, and he can’t get all of us.”

He took one step, and Joshua’s left hand gun, his belly gun, fired and half the man’s ear disappeared. The man grabbed what was left of his ear screaming in pain.

Strongheart said, “You are playing a rough game, mister. You can wrap it with your scarf. The rest of you, see if you can grab a handful of clouds. Except you, Crabs. Load your gun.”

Crabs Hamrick felt like somebody stepped on his grave. Shaking slightly, he loaded his gun and kept thinking about a snapshot but decided against it. He had heard about this man over and over. He holstered his gun.

Strongheart said, “You killed an unarmed hard-working man and left his little boy and little girl fatherless for the rest of their lives. You have six shots to kill me Hamrick. You better make everyone count. I am at least giving you a chance. Fill your hand, mongrel.”

Crabs eyes opened wide as he clawed frantically for his gun and had it almost halfway out of the holster when he looked into the two barrels of Strongheart’s Colt Peacemakers and saw flame shoot out of them. They slammed into his chest, and he saw the trees and the sky as he folded backwards and felt a weakness spreading through him. He was going to die and go to hell.

He heard the words of the outlaw next to him say, “Gee, two bullets right in the middle of the chest. Crabs is dead, boys.”

He wanted to scream that he wasn’t, but his mouth would not work, then everything went blank.

Strongheart said, “Drop the holsters and get ready to move. Fort Collins will have nice warm cells for you. You can order a late breakfast there.”

Scottie was playing in front of the house with his sister. His uncle was at his new job at The Territorial Prison.

His aunt was beating a rug, and then with tears glistening in her eyes, she said, “Scottie, here comes Mr. Strongheart, and he’s leading Johnny Boy!

Looking at the tall handsome man leading his pony down River Drive, Scottie wanted to scream with joy, but he puffed his chest out saying, “I knew he would Auntie. A man is only as good as his word.”

Elmer Kelton is regarded as the best author to ever have written in the Western genre. The author of over 40 novels, and published over more than 50 years, three of Kelton's novels have appeared in Reader's Digest Condensed Books. Four of his novels have won the prestigious Western Heritage Award from the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City: The Time it Never Rained, The Good Old Boys, The Man Who Rode Midnight, and the text for The Art of Howard Terpning. Seven of his novels have won the Spur award from Western Writers of America: Buffalo Wagons, The Day the Cowboys Quit, The Time it Never Rained, Eyes of the Hawk, Slaughter, The Far Canyon, and The Way of the Coyote.

Elmer Kelton died in 2009, but his memory lives on, not only through his writing, but with a star on the Texas Trail of Fame in the Fort Worth Stockyards, and a bronze statue of his likeness in the Tom Green County Library in San Angelo, Texas. www.elmerkelton.net.

THE LAST INDIAN FIGHT

IN KERR COUNTY

In later times, Burkett Wayland liked to say he was in the last great Indian battle of Kerr County, Texas. It happened before he was born.

It started one day while his father, Matthew Wayland, then not much past twenty, was breaking a new field for fall wheat planting, just east of a small log cabin on one of the creeks tributary to the Guadalupe River. The quiet of autumn morning was broken by a fluttering of wings as a covey of quail flushed beyond a heavy stand of oak timber past the field. Startled, Matthew jerked on the reins and quickly laid his plow over on its side in the newly broken sod. His bay horse raised its head and pointed its ears toward the sound.

Matthew caught a deep breath and held it. He thought he heard a crackling of brush. He reached back for the rifle slung over his shoulder and quickly unhitched the horse. Standing behind it for protection, he watched and listened another moment or two, then jumped up bareback and beat his heels against the horse’s ribs, moving in a long trot for the cabin in the clearing below.

He wanted to believe ragged old Burk Kennemer was coming for a visit from his little place three miles down the creek, but the trapper usually rode in the open where Matthew could see him coming, not through the brush.

Matthew had not been marking the calendar in his almanac, but he had not needed to. The cooling nights, the curing of the grass to a rich brown, had told him all too well that this was September, the month of the Comanche moon. This was the time of year—their ponies strong from the summer grass—that the warrior Comanches could be expected to ride down from the high plains. Before winter they liked to make a final grand raid through the rough limestone hills of old hunting grounds west of San Antonio, then retire with stolen horses and mules—and sometimes captives and scalps—back to sanctuary far to the north. They had done it every year since the first settlers had pushed into the broken hill country. Though the military was beginning to press in upon their hideaways, all the old settlers had been warning Matthew to expect them again as the September moon went full, aiding the Comanches in their nighttime prowling.

Rachal opened the roughhewn cabin door and looked at her young husband in surprise, for normally he would plow until she called him in for dinner at noon. He was trying to finish breaking the ground and dry-sow the wheat before fall rains began.

She looked as if she should still be in school somewhere instead of trying to make a home in the wilderness; she was barely eighteen. “What is it, Matthew?”

“I don’t know,” he said tightly. “Get back inside.”

He slid from the horse and turned it sideways to shield him. He held the rifle ready. It was always loaded.

A horseman broke out of the timber and moved toward the cabin. Matthew let go a long-held breath as he recognized Burk Kennemer. Relief turned to anger for the scare. He walked out to meet the trapper, trying to keep the edginess from his voice, but he could not control the flush of color that warmed his face.

He noted that the old man brought no meat with him. It was Kennemer’s habit, when he came visiting, to fetch along a freshly killed deer, or sometimes a wild turkey, or occasionally a ham out of his smokehouse, and to stay to eat some of it cooked by Rachal’s skillful hands. He ran a lot of hogs in the timber, fattening them on the oak mast. He was much more of a bagman and trapper than a farmer. Plow handles did not fit his hands, Kennemer claimed. He was of the restless breed that moved westward ahead of the farmers, and left when they crowded him.

Kennemer had a tentative half smile. “Glad I wasn’t a Comanche. You’d’ve shot me dead.”

‘‘I’d’ve tried,” Matthew said, his heart still thumping. He lifted a shaky hand to show what Kennemer had done to him. “What did you come sneaking in like an Indian for?”

Kennemer’s smile was gone. “For good reason. That little girl inside the cabin?”

Matthew nodded. Kennemer said, “You’d better keep her there.”

As if she had heard the conversation, Rachal Wayland opened the door and stepped outside, shading her eyes with one hand. Kennemer’s gray-bearded face lighted at sight of her. Matthew did not know if Burk had ever had a wife of his own; he had never mentioned one. Rachal shouted, “Come on up, Mr. Kennemer. I’ll be fixing us some dinner.”

He took off his excuse of a hat and shouted back, for he was still at some distance from the cabin. “Can’t right now, girl. Got to be traveling. Next time maybe.” He cut his gaze to Matthew’s little log shed and corrals. “Where’s your other horse?”

“Grazing out yonder someplace. Him and the milk cow both.”

“Better fetch him in,” Kennemer said grimly. “Better put him and this one in the pen closest to the cabin if you don’t want to lose them. And stay close to the cabin yourself, or you may lose more than the horses.”

Matthew felt the dread chill him again. “Comanches?”

“Don’t know. Could be. Fritz Dieterle come by my place while ago and told me he found tracks where a bunch of horses crossed the Guadalupe during the night. Could’ve been cowboys, or a bunch of hunters looking to lay in some winter meat. But it could’ve been Comanches. The horses wasn’t shod.”

Matthew could read the trapper’s thoughts. Kennemer was reasonably sure it had not been cowboys or hunters. Kennemer said, “I come to warn you, and now I’m going west to warn that bunch of German farmers out on the forks. They may want to fort-up at the best house.”

Matthew’s thoughts were racing ahead. He had been over to the German settlement twice since he and Rachal had arrived here late last winter, in time to break out their first field for spring planting. Burk Kennemer had told him the Germans—come west from the older settlements around Neu Braunfels and Fredericksburg—had been here long enough to give him sound advice about farming this shallow-soil land. And perhaps they might, if he could have understood them. They had seemed friendly enough, but they spoke no English, and he knew nothing of German. Efforts at communication had led him nowhere but back here, his shoulders slumped in frustration. He had counted Burk Kennemer as his only neighbor—the only one he could talk with.

“Maybe I ought to send Rachal with you,” Matthew said. “It would be safer for her there, all those folks around her.”

Kennemer considered that for only a moment. “Too risky traveling by daylight, one man and one girl. Even if you was to come along, two men and a girl wouldn’t be no match if they jumped us.”

“You’re even less of a match, traveling by yourself.”

Kennemer patted the shoulder of his long-legged brown horse. “No offense, boy, but old Deercatcher here can run circles around them two of yours, and anything them Indians is liable to have. He’ll take care of me, long as I’m by myself. You’ve got a good strong cabin there. You and that girl’ll be better off inside it than out in the open with me.” He frowned. “If it’ll make you feel safer, I’ll be back before dark. I’ll stay here with you, and we can fort-up together.”

That helped, but it was not enough. Matthew looked at the cabin, which he and Kennemer and the broken-English-speaking German named Dieterle had put up after he finished planting his spring crops. Until then, he and Rachal had lived in their wagon, or around and beneath it. “I wish she wasn’t here, Burk. All of a sudden I wish I’d never brought her here.”

The trapper frowned. “Neither one of you belongs here. You’re both just shirttail young’uns, not old enough to take care of yourselves.”

Matthew remembered that the old man had told him as much, several times. A pretty little girl like Rachal should not be out here in a place like this, working like a mule, exposed to the dangers of the thinly settled frontier. But Matthew had never heard a word of complaint from her, not since they had started west from the piney-woods country in the biting cold of a wet winter, barely a month married. She always spoke of this as our place, our home.

He said, “It seemed all right, till now. All of a sudden I realize what I’ve brought her to. I want to get her out of here, Burk.”

The trapper slowly filled an evil black pipe while he pondered and twisted his furrowed face. “Then we’ll go tonight. It’ll be safer traveling in the dark because I’ve been here long enough to know this country better than them Indians do. We’ll make Fredericksburg by daylight. But one thing you’ve got to make up your mind to, Matthew. You’ve got to leave her there, or go back to the old home with her yourself. You’ve got no business bringing her here again to this kind of danger.”

“She’s got no home back yonder to go to. This is the only home she’s got, or me either.”

Kennemer’s face went almost angry. “I buried a woman once in a place about like this. I wouldn’t want to help bury that girl of yours. Adios, Matthew. See you before dark.” He circled Deercatcher around the cabin and disappeared into a motte of live-oak timber.

Rachal stood in the doorway, puzzled. She had not intruded on the conversation. Now she came out onto the foot-packed open ground. “What was the matter with Mr. Kennemer? Why couldn’t he stay?”

He wished he could keep it from her. “Horsetracks on the Guadalupe. He thinks it was Indians.”

Matthew watched her closely, seeing the sudden clutch of fear in her eyes before she firmly put it away. “What does he think we ought to do?” she asked, seeming calmer than he thought she should.

“Slip away from here tonight, go to Fredericksburg.”

“For how long, Matthew?”

He did not answer her. She said, “We can’t go far. There’s the milk cow, for one thing. She’s got to be milked.”

The cow had not entered his mind. “Forget her. The main thing is to have you safe.”

“We’re going to need that milk cow.”

Impatiently he exploded, “Will you grow up, and forget that damned cow? I’m taking you out of here.”

She shrank back in surprise at his sharpness, a little of hurt in her eyes. They had not once quarreled, not until now. “I’m sorry, Rachal. I didn’t go to blow up at you that way.”

She hid her eyes from him. “You’re thinking we might just give up this place and never come back ...” She wasn’t asking him; she was telling him what was in his mind.

“That’s what Burk thinks we ought to do.”

“He’s an old man, and we’re young. And this isn’t his home. He hasn’t even got a home, just that old rough cabin, and those dogs and hogs ... He’s probably moved twenty times in his life. But we’re not like that, Matthew. We’re the kind of people who put down roots and grow where we are.”

Matthew looked away. “I’ll go fetch the dun horse. You bolt the door.”

Riding away, he kept looking back at the cabin in regret. He knew he loved this place where they had started their lives together. Rachal loved it too, though he found it difficult to understand why. Life had its shortcomings back in east Texas, but her upbringing there had been easy compared to the privations she endured here. When she needed water she carried it in a heavy oaken bucket from the creek, fully seventy-five yards. He would have built the cabin nearer the water, but Burk had advised that once in a while heavy rains made that creek rise up on its hind legs and roar like an angry bear.

She worked her garden with a heavy-handled hoe, and when Matthew was busy in the field from dawn to dark she chopped her own wood from the pile of dead oak behind the cabin. She cooked over an ill-designed open fireplace that did not draw as it should. And, as much as anything, she put up with a deadening loneliness. Offhand, he could not remember that she had seen another woman since late in the spring, except for a German girl who stopped by once on her way to the forks. They had been unable to talk to each other. Even so, Rachal had glowed for a couple of days, refreshed by seeing someone besides her husband and the unwashed Burk Kennemer.

The cabin was as yet small, just a single room which was kitchen, sleeping quarters and sitting room combined. It had been in Matthew’s mind, when he had nothing else to do this coming winter, to start work on a second section that would become a bedroom. He would build a roof and an open dug run between that part and the original, in keeping with Texas pioneer tradition, with a sleeping area over the dog run for the children who were sure to come with God’s own time and blessings. He and Rachal had talked much of their plans, of the additional land he would break out to augment the potential income from their dozen or so beef critters scattered along the creek. He had forcefully put the dangers out of his mind, knowing they were there but choosing not to dwell upon them.

He remembered now the warnings from Rachal’s uncle and aunt, who had brought her up after her own father was killed by a falling tree and her mother was taken by one of the periodic fever epidemics. They had warned of the many perils a couple would face on the edge of the settled lands, perils which youth and love and enthusiasm had made to appear small, far away in distance and time, until today. Now, his eyes nervously searching the edge of the oak timber for anything amiss, fear rose up in him. It was a primeval, choking fear of a kind he had never known, and a sense of shame for having so thoughtlessly brought Rachal to this sort of jeopardy.

He found the dun horse grazing by the creek, near a few of the speckled beef cows which a farmer at the old home had given him in lieu of wages for two years of backbreaking work. He had bartered for the old wagon and the plow and a few other necessary tools. Whatever else he had, he and Rachal had built with their hands. For Texans, cash money was in short supply.

He thought about rounding up the cows and corraling them by the cabin, but they were scattered. He saw too much risk in the time it might take him to find them all, as well as the exposure to any Comanches hidden in the timber. From what he had heard, the Indians were much less interested in cattle than in horses. Cows were slow. Once the raiders were ready to start north, they would want speed to carry them to sanctuary. Matthew pitched a rawhide reata loop around the dun’s neck and led the animal back in a long trot. He had been beyond sight of the cabin for a while, and he prickled with anxiety. He breathed a sigh of relief when he broke into the open. The smoke from the chimney was a welcome sight.

He turned the horses into the pole corral and closed the gate, then poured shelled corn into a crude wooden trough. They eagerly set to crunching the grain with their strong teeth, a sound he had always enjoyed when he could restrain himself from thinking how much that corn would be worth in the settlements. The horses were blissfully unaware of the problems that beset their owners. Matthew wondered how content they would be if they fell into Indian hands and were driven or ridden the many long, hard days north into that mysterious hidden country. It would serve them right!

Still, he realized how helpless he and Rachal would be without them. He could not afford to lose the horses.

Rachal slid the heavy oak bar from the door and let him into the cabin. He immediately replaced the bolt while she went back to stirring a pot of stew hanging on an iron rod inside the fireplace. He avoided her eyes, for the tension stretched tightly between them.

“See anything?” she asked, knowing he would have come running.

He shook his head. “Not apt to, until night. If they’re here, that’s when they’ll come for the horses.”

“And find us gone?” Her voice almost accused him.

He nodded. “Burk said he’ll be back before dark. He’ll help us find our way to Fredericksburg.”

Firelight touched her face. He saw a reflection of tears. She said, “They’ll destroy this place.”

“Better this place than you. I’ve known it from the start, I guess, and just wouldn’t admit it. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“I came willingly. I’ve been happy here. So have you.”

“We just kept dancing and forgot that the piper had to be paid.”

A silence fell between them, heavy and unbridgeable. When the stew was done they sat at the roughhewn table and ate without talking. Matthew got up restlessly from time to time to look out the front and back windows. These had no glass. They were like small doors in the walls. They could be closed and bolted shut. Each had a loophole which he could see out of, or fire though. Those, he remembered, had been cut at Burk Kennemer’s insistence. From the first, Matthew realized now, Burk had been trying to sober him, even to scare him away. Matthew had always put him off with a shrug or a laugh. Now he remembered what Burk had said today about having buried a woman in a place like this. He thought he understood the trapper, and the man’s fears, in a way he had not before.

The heavy silence went unrelieved. After eating what he could of the stew, his stomach knotted, he went outside and took a long look around, cradling the rifle. He fetched a shovel and began to throw dirt onto the roof to make it more difficult for the Indians to set it afire. It occurred to him how futile this labor was if they were going to abandon the place anyway, but he kept swinging the shovel, trying to work off the tension.

The afternoon dragged. He spent most of it outside, pacing, watching. In particular he kept looking to the west, anticipating Burk Kennemer’s return. Now that he had made up his mind to it, he could hardly wait for darkness, to give them a chance to escape this place. The only thing which came from that direction—or any other— was the brindle milk cow, drifting toward the shed at her own slow place and in her own good time for the evening milking and the grain she knew awaited her. Matthew owned no watch, but he doubted that a watch kept better time than that cow, her udder swinging in rhythm with her slow and measured steps. Like the horses, she had no awareness of anything except her daily routine, of feeding and milking and grazing. Observing her patient pace, Matthew could almost assure himself that this day was like all others, that he had no reason for fear.

He milked the cow, though he intended to leave the milk unused in the cabin, for it was habit with him as well as with the cow. The sun was dropping rapidly when he carried the bucket of milk to Rachal. Her eyes asked him, though she did not speak.

He shook his head. “No sign of anything out there. Not of Burk, either.”

Before sundown he saddled the dun horse for Rachal, making ready. He would ride the plow horse bareback. He climbed up onto his pole fence, trying to shade his eyes from the sinking sun while he studied the hills and the open valley to the west. All his earlier fears were with him, and a new one as well.

Where is he? He wouldn’t just have left us here. Not Old Burk.

Once he thought he heard a sound in the edge of the timber. He turned quickly and saw a flash of movement, nothing more. It was a feeling as much as something actually seen. It could have been anything, a deer, perhaps, or even one of his cows. It could have been.

He remained outside until the sun was gone, and until the last golden remnant faded into twilight over the timbered hills that stretched into the distance like a succession of blue monuments. The autumn chill set him to shivering, but he held out against going for his coat. When the night was full dark, he knew it was time.

He called softly at the cabin door. Rachal lifted the bar. He said, “The moon’ll rise directly. We’d better get started.”

“Without Burk? Are you really sure, Matthew?”

“If they’re around, they’ll be here. Out yonder, in the dark, we’ve got a chance.”

She came out, wrapped for the night chill, carrying his second rifle, handing him his coat. Quietly they walked to the corral, where he opened the gate, untied the horses and gave her a lift up into the saddle. The stirrups were too long for her, and her skirts were in the way, but he knew she could ride. He threw himself up onto the plow horse, and they moved away from the cabin in a walk, keeping to the grass as much as possible to muffle the sound of the hoofs. As quickly as he could, he pulled into the timber, where the darkness was even more complete. For the first miles, at least, he felt that he knew the way better than any Indian who might not come here once in several years.

It was his thought to swing first by Burk’s cabin. There was always a chance the old man had changed his mind about things...

He had held onto this thought since late afternoon. Maybe Burk had found the tracks were not made by Indians after all, and he had chosen to let the young folks have the benefit of a good, healthy scare.

Deep inside, Matthew knew that was a vain hope. It was not Burk’s way. He might have let Matthew sweat blood, but he would not do this to Rachal.

They both saw the fire at the same time, and heard the distant barking of the dogs. Rachal made a tiny gasp and clutched his arm.

Burk’s cabin was burning.

They reined up and huddled together for a minute, both coming dangerously close to giving in to their fears and riding away in a blind run. Matthew gripped the rawhide reins so tightly that they seemed to cut into his hands. “Easy, Rachal,” he whispered.

Then he could hear horses moving through the timber, and the crisp night air carried voices to him.

“They’re coming at us, Matthew,” Rachal said tightly. “They’ll catch us out here.”

He had no way of knowing if they had been seen, or heard. A night bird called to the left of him. Another answered, somewhere to the right. At least, they sounded like night birds.

“We’ve got to run for it, Rachal!”

“We can’t run all the way to Fredericksburg. Even if we could find it. They’ll catch us.”

He saw only one answer. “Back to the cabin! If we can get inside, they’ll have to come in there to get us.”

He had no spurs; a farmer did not need them. He beat his heels against the horse’s sides and led the way through the timber in a run. He did not have to look behind him to know Rachal was keeping up with him. Somehow the horses had caught the fever of their fear.

“Keep low, Rachal,” he said. “Don’t let the low limbs knock you down.” He found a trail that he knew and shortly burst out into the open. He saw no reason for remaining in the timber now, for the Indians surely knew where they were. The timber would only slow their running. He leaned out over the horse’s neck and kept thumping his heels against its ribs. He glanced back to be sure he was not outpacing Rachal.

Off to the right he thought he saw figures moving, vague shapes against the blackness. The moon was just beginning to rise, and he could not be sure. Ahead, sensed more than seen, was the clearing. Evidently the Indians had not been there yet, or the place would be in flames as Burk’s cabin had been.

He could see the shape of the cabin now. “Right up to the door, Rachal!”

He jumped to the ground, letting his eyes sweep the yard and what he could see of the corrals. “Don’t get down,” he shouted. “Let me look inside first.”

The door was closed, as they had left it. He pushed it open and stepped quickly inside, the rifle ready. The dying embers in the fireplace showed him he was alone. “It’s all right. Get down quick, and into the cabin!”

She slid down and fell, and he helped her to her feet. She pointed and made a cry. Several figures were moving rapidly toward the shed. Matthew fired the rifle in their general direction and gave Rachal a push toward the door. She resisted stubbornly. “The horses,” she said. “Let’s get the horses into the cabin.”

She led her dun through the door, though it did not much want to go into that dark and unaccustomed place.

Matthew would have to admit later—though he had no time for such thoughts now—that she was keeping her head better than he was. He would have let the horses go, and the Indians would surely have taken them. The plow horse was gentler and entered the cabin with less resistance, though it made a nervous sound in its nose at sight of the glowing coals.

Matthew heard something plunk into the logs as he pushed the door shut behind him and dropped the bar solidly into place. He heard a horse race up to the cabin and felt the jarring weight of a man’s body hurled against the door, trying to break through. Matthew pushed his own strength upon the bar, bracing it. A chill ran through him, and he shuddered at the realization that only the meager thickness of that door lay between him and an intruder who intended to kill him. He heard the grunting of a man in strain, and he imagined he could feel the hot breath. His hair bristled.

Rachal opened the front-window loophole and fired her rifle.

Thunder seemed to rock the cabin. It threw the horses into a panic that made them more dangerous, for the moment, than those Indians outside. One of them slammed against Matthew and pressed him to the wall so hard that he thought all his ribs were crushed. But that was the last time an Indian tried the door. Matthew could hear the man running, getting clear of Rachal’s rifle.

A gunshot sounded from out in the night. A bullet struck the wall but did not break through between the logs. Periodically Matthew would hear a shot, first from one direction, then from another. After the first three or four, he was sure.

“They’ve just got one gun. We’ve got two.”

The horses calmed, after a time. So did Matthew. He threw ashes over the coals to dim their glow, which had made it difficult for him to see out into the night. The moon was up, throwing a silvery light across the yard.

“I’ll watch out front,” he said. “You watch the back.”

All his life he had heard that Indians did not like to fight at night because of a fear that their souls would wander lost if they died in the darkness. He had no idea if the stories held any truth. He knew that Indians were skillful horse thieves, in darkness or light, and that he and Rachal had frustrated these by bringing their mounts into the cabin.

Burk had said the Indians on these September raids were more intent on acquiring horses than on taking scalps, though they had no prejudice against the latter. He had said Indians did not like to take heavy risks in going against a well-fortified position, that they were likely to probe the defenses and, if they found them strong, withdraw in search of an easier target.

But they had a strong incentive for breaking into this cabin.

He suggested, “They might leave if we turn the horses out.”

“And what do we do afoot?” Rachal’s voice was not a schoolgirl’s. It was strong, defiant. “If they want these horses, let them come through that door and pay for them. These horses are ours!”

Her determination surprised him, and shamed him a little. He held silent a while, listening, watching for movement. “I suppose those Indians feel like they’ve got a right here. They figure this land belongs to them.”

“Not if they just come once a year. We’ve come here to stay.”

“I wish we hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t brought you.”

“Don’t say that. I’ve always been glad that you did. I’ve loved this place from the time we first got here and lived in the wagon, because it was ours. It is ours. When this trouble is over it will stay ours. We’ve earned the right to it.”

He fired seldom, and only when he thought he had a good target, for shots inside the cabin set the horses to plunging and threshing.

He heard a cow bawl in fear and agony. Later, far beyond the shed, he could see a fire building. Eventually he caught the aroma of meat, roasting.

“They’ve killed the milk cow,” he declared.

Rachal said, “We’ll need another one, then. For the baby.”

That was the first she had spoken of it, though he had had reason lately to suspect. “I shouldn’t have put you through that ride tonight.”

“That didn’t hurt me. I’m not so far along yet. That’s one reason we’ve got to keep the horses. We may need to trade the dun for a milk cow.’’

They watched through the long hours, he at the front window, she at the rear. The Indians had satisfied their hunger, and they were quiet, sleeping perhaps, waiting for dawn to storm the cabin without danger to their immortal souls. Matthew was tired, and his legs were cramped from the long vigil, but he felt no sleepiness. He thought once that Rachal had fallen asleep, and he made no move to awaken her. If trouble came from that side, he thought he would probably hear it.

She was not asleep. She said, “I hear a rooster way off somewhere. Burk’s, I suppose. Be daylight soon.”

“They’ll hit us then. They’ll want to overrun us in a hurry.”

“It’s up to us to fool them. You and me together, Matthew, we’ve always been able to do whatever we set our minds to.”

They came as he expected, charging horseback out of the rising sun, relying on the blazing light to blind the eyes of the defenders. But with Rachal’s determined shouts ringing in his ears, he triggered the rifle at darting figures dimly seen through the golden haze. Rachal fired rapidly at those horsemen who ran past the cabin and came into her field of view on the back side. The two horses just trembled and leaned against one another.

One bold, quick charge and the attack was over. The Comanches swept on around, having tested the defense and found it unyielding. They pulled away, regrouping to the east as if considering another try.

“We done it, Rachal!” Matthew shouted. “We held them off.”

He could see her now in the growing daylight, her hair stringing down, her face smudged with black, her eyes watering from the sting of the gunpowder. He had never seen her look so good.

She said triumphantly, “I tried to tell you we could do it. You and me, we can do anything.”

He thought the Indians might try again, but they began pulling away. He could see now that they had a considerable number of horses and mules, taken from other settlers. They drove those before them, splashing across the creek and moving north in a run.

“They’re leaving,” he said, not quite believing.

“Some more on this side,” Rachal warned.

“You’d better come over here and look.” Through the loophole in her window, out of the west, he saw a dozen or more horsemen loping toward the cabin. For a minute he thought he and Rachal would have to fight again. Strangely, the thought brought him no particular fear.

We can handle it. Together, we can do anything.

Rachal said, “Those are white men.”

They threw their arms around each other and cried.

They were outside the cabin, the two of them, when the horsemen circled warily around it, rifles ready for a fight. The men were strangers, except the leader. Matthew remembered him from up at the forks. Excitedly the man spoke in a language Matthew knew was German. Then half the men were talking at once. They looked Rachal and Matthew over carefully, making sure neither was hurt.

The words were strange, but the expressions were universal. They were of relief and joy at finding the young couple alive and on their feet.

The door was open. The bay plow horse stuck its head out experimentally, nervously surveying the crowd, then breaking into a run to get clear of the oppressive cabin. The dun horse followed, pitching in relief to be outdoors. The German rescuers stared in amazement for a moment, then laughed as they realized how the Waylands had saved their horses.

One made a sweeping motion as if holding a broom, and Rachal laughed with him. It was going to take a lot of work to clean up that cabin.

The spokesman said something to Matthew, and Matthew caught the name of Burk Kennemer. The man made a motion of drawing a bow, and of an arrow striking him in the shoulder.

“Dead?” Matthew asked worriedly.

The man shook his head. “Nein, nicht tod. Not dead.” By the motions, Matthew perceived that the wounded Burk had made it to the German settlement to give warning, and that the men had ridden through the night to get here.

Rachal came up and put her arm around Matthew, leaning against him. She said, “Matthew, do you think we killed any of those Indians?”

“I don’t know that we did.”

“I hope we didn’t. I’d hate to know all my life that there is blood on this ground.”

Some of the men seemed to be thinking about leaving. Matthew said, “You-all pen your horses, and we’ll have breakfast directly.” He realized they did not understand his words, so he pantomimed and put the idea across. He made a circle, shaking hands with each man individually, telling him thanks, knowing each followed his meaning whether the words were understood or not.

“Rachal,” he said, “these people are our neighbors. Somehow we’ve got to learn to understand each other.”

She nodded. “At least enough that you can trade one of them out of another milk cow. For the baby.”

When the baby came, late the following spring, they named it Burkett Kennemer, after the man who had brought them warning, and had sent them help.

That was the last time the Comanches ever penetrated so deeply into the hill country, for the military pressure was growing strongly.

And all of his life Burkett Kennemer Wayland was able to say, without taking sinful advantage of the truth, that he had been present at the last great Indian fight in Kerr County.

Living in Texas again after many years of travel and residence abroad, and thirty-three years as a professor of English at the University of Arizona, L. D. Clark is the author of fourteen books, including seven novels and three volumes of short fiction. He is also a well-known scholar and critic of the works of D. H. Lawrence and a historian, in particular of Civil War times. He is now at work on a book of reminiscences and commentary on the great changes that have taken place in our world during his long lifetime. In this collection, we have provided a special treat, a screenplay by L. D. Clark, “Reapers of the Whirlwind,” based on his novel A Bright Tragic Thing. www.ldclark.net.

Reapers of the Whirlwind

L. D. Clark

Based on his novel:

A BRIGHT TRAGIC THING

Note: This eBook version of “Reapers of the Whirlwind” will not be in proper screenplay format. To view in proper format, please contact the author or purchase the print version of this story collection.

FADE IN:

On a BLACK SCREEN the following TEXT is SUPERIMPOSED for A FEW SECONDS:

They have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind

Hosea 8:7

EXT. RIVER VALLEY - DAY

HIGH ANGLE SHOT of RED RIVER looking upstream.[Suggested Music: "Red River Valley"] Prairie ridges and timbered draws on R. (Indian Territory) and also on L. (Texas). Stream cuts through thick brakes except for a wide cleared section on the Texas side. On a rise in this open ground, a short distance back from the river, stands a PLANTATION MANOR: two-story, oblong, dazzling white, with wide front verandahs on each floor. A flight of steps leads down from the front door, and directly before the house are well-kept grounds.

SLAVE CABINS, BARNS, CORRALS and other outbuildings can be seen spreading out behind the house and off to R. toward the river. To the L. running far back are fields where several slaves are picking cotton. One SLAVE is carrying a full sack over his shoulder toward a big wagon at a field edge. Another SLAVE stands in the wagon emptying his sack. Near the wagon a mounted man in common clothes, an OVERSEER, sits at ease in the saddle but watchful.

EXT. RIVER VALLEY

DOLLY IN to MIDDLE DISTANCE and PAUSE briefly while the following text is SUPERIMPOSED:

RED RIVER VALLEY - FALL 1862

followed in a moment by

OLDHAM PLANTATION

EXT. TEXAS PRAIRIE - DAY

SLOW PAN L. Out of bottom S. Moving over RIDGES and DRAWS onto level Texas PRAIRIE. Widely scattered FARMHOUSES with MID-SIZED FIELDS and PASTURES are seen.

EXT. PRAIRIE- DAY

PAN stops over open prairie for THIRTY SECONDS while the following text is SUPERIMPOSED:

The Red River counties of Texas, with few but powerful slaveholders, still voted heavily against seceding from the Union, and resistance to the Confederacy continued throughout the Civil War. In 1862, Unionists in the region formed a secret league to defy the South, by armed uprising if necessary. When Confederate leaders got wind of this budding conspiracy, they responded with brutal suppression.

EXT. PRAIRIE-DAY

PAN moves on L. Across prairie. As it does, the following TEXT is SUPERIMPOSED:

(NAME OF PRODUCTION COMPANY)

PRESENTS

REAPERS OF THE WHIRLWIND

EXT. FRONTIER TOWN - DAY

PAN continues slowly across a typical frontier town. On a square in the center stands a TWO-STORY wooden COURTHOUSE. The only other TWO-STORY BUILDING is across the STREET E. of the courthouse. One-story frame houses and cabins make up the rest of the town. Ordinary small-town activities are in progress. The FOLLOWING TEXT is briefly SUPERIMPOSED:

MILCOURT, TEXAS

EXT. WOODED COUNTRY - DAY

PAN continues across an oak-timbered region lying E. And S. of Milcourt. and stops on the following scene, identified by SUPERIMPOSED TEXT as:

BLAIR HOMESTEAD

We see A DOUBLE LOG CABIN, LOG BARN and POLE CORRAL etc. in a large glade with woods all around except for the southern downslope toward a stream the cabin faces. A large GARDEN/ORCHARD and a COTTON FIELD with bolls opening are seen partway down the slope.

EXT. BLAIR HOMESTEAD - JUST BEFORE SUNDOWN

NATHANIEL BLAIR (PAP), in his mid-40s, black-bearded, sits in a chair under a big post oak in front of the cabin, playing "Sweet Nellie" on his country fiddle. MAHULDAH BLAIR (MA), in her late 30s, stands over a dishpan at a low shelf built onto the cabin wall, washing dishes.

CORDELIA (SIS), 17, comes out of the cabin carrying a dishpan full of steaming water, sets it down on the shelf next to Ma, begins rinsing and drying the dishes. SCOOTER, age 2, sits on the ground by the cabin doorstep absorbed in playing. TODD, 18, is busy saddling a white horse at the corral.

MONTECRISTO, 12, and JENK, 10, sit on the top rail of the corral fence watching Todd. Everyone in the scene is absorbed in the music.

EXT. BLAIR HOMESTEAD, AREA IN FRONT OF CABIN - NEAR SUNDOWN

Ma sits down on the cabin doorstep and takes Scooter in her lap. Sis stands near. Off to L. Todd is seen leading the saddled horse toward the cabin, accompanied by Jenk and Montecristo.

Pap looks up to see Todd arriving with the horse. He breaks off playing before the tune is quite finished, stands up, hands the fiddle to Sis, takes the reins from Todd.

PAP

(sighing)

Well, I'll see you sometime tonight.

MA

Y'all watch out for them rebels now. They might sneak up on you even away back in the woods.

PAP

Oh, we'll keep a sharp eye out.

As Pap is mounting, Todd speaks:

TODD

Lemme go with you, Pap. Some Union fellers no older'n me're in on this.

Pap looks down at Todd from the saddle.

PAP

No, son. One of us has to stay here with Ma and the kids.

Pap rides away into the woods. The others watch him go.

EXT. BLAIR HOMESTEAD - A FEW DAYS LATER - DAY

A serene fall sky with scattered clouds. [Suggested Music: "Tenting on the Old Campground"]. THREE FIGURES are seen to the L. of the cabin. One is a man standing by a horse holding Sis in his arms. They kiss quickly. He mounts and rides away.

Sis comes running forward, Ma from nearby hurrying after her. Sis halts and begins waving her apron frantically as she looks down the slope. Ma stops beside her. Scooter toddles around a corner of the cabin and clings to Ma's skirt. Ma cups both hands to her mouth and shouts:

MA

Todd!

She peers into the distance, then cups her hands as before and shouts again.

MA (CONT'D)

(louder)

Todd! Todd!

Montecristo and Jenk come running out of the cabin and hover near their mother.

EXT. LOOKING AWAY DOWN SLOPE FROM FRONT OF CABIN

We see Todd on horseback on the opposite slope across a small stream, driving some cows. He sees and hears, and comes pelting home. We observe Todd's horse, COMANCHE, as he rides in: a shaggy brown pony, hammer-headed and churn-legged, but for all that the smartest and fastest horse God ever created.

EXT. IN FRONT OF CABIN

Todd rides up and swings down beside Sis.

TODD

What in the devil's the matter?

SIS

The rebels arrested Pap when he

hit town this morning! Willun Hackett says the militia's

out rounding up ever Union man in the county!

TODD

Great Godamighty!

Todd and Sis rush to Ma, who stands clutching her apron in both fists before her and gazing at them, troubled but

determined. As Todd puts one arm around her waist and Sis takes her hand, she lays her head on Todd's shoulder.

MA

Them rebels're hellhounds! No telling what they'll do to Pap.

TODD

I better go see about him, Ma. Right now.

SIS

No! Supposing they nab you too! What'll become of the rest of us?

MA

(picking up Scooter and hugging him close)

You go ahead, son. Pap needs you.

Todd kisses her cheek, hurries to Comanche, mounts and rides away.

EXT. MILCOURT, MAIN STREET AT CITY LIMIT - DAY

At the E. Limit of the town runs a SMALL CREEK, on the E. Bank of which stands a GIANT ELM, near a low-water crossing. Todd splashes across the stream past the tree as he rides into town and heads W. on Main Street.

EXT. MILCOURT, SQUARE

The TOWN, to repeat, has only two buildings with second floors: the COURTHOUSE in the center of the square and the DAYTON BUILDING across the street E., in which the vacant upper story has been turned into a makeshift prison. The rest of the town is log cabins and a few single-story frame houses, mostly unpainted.

At the SQUARE Todd dismounts and looks in dismay at the uneasy, milling CROWD of men and a few women and children. HORSES, WAGONS AND BUGGIES add to the packed throng.

MILITIAMEN, many of whom look shame-faced, form a

ring around the courthouse and a line in front of the Dayton Building.

EXT. SQUARE

As Todd dismounts and leads COMANCHE to a hitching rail, he

spots COLONEL JAMES TICKNOR giving orders to soldiers, obviously in overall command.

TODD

(muttering near Comanche's

ear)

Old Jim Ticknor! A double-dyed

rebel if one ever was!

He sees COLONEL JOHN OLDHAM coming out of the courthouse and walking away across the square. Todd winds through the crowd in Oldham's direction, calling out.

TODD (CONT'D)

Colonel Oldham! Sir! Wait!

A MILITIAMAN behind Todd yells "Hey, you!" and two more step up to bar his way. He veers around them, but is slowed by the thick press of people. Before he can get within real hailing distance, Colonel Oldham has mounted and is riding away. For a moment Todd is stymied, then sighting someone he is clearly angry to see, he whirls and strides toward him.

EXT. SQUARE

Todd approaches HARVEY WHITMAN, a bulky but not very imposing man. He holds a rifle with stock planted on the ground. Seeing Todd approach, he looks sheepish, even frightened.

TODD (CONT'D)

Harvey, what in the hell's going on

here? Why's Pap in jail?

WHITMAN

(looking around furtively)

We got orders not to talk about this, Todd. Go see Colonel Ticknor. Or else Captain Dexter over yonder.

Whitman points toward the courthouse. On a thick sandstone rock serving as a front step stands HARLEY DEXTER, a hawk-faced, rangy man, gripping his rifle in the stance of the Minute Man, exuding a sense of his own importance.

TODD

Captain! Harley Dexter wouldn't

make a wart on a captain's ass!

EXT. SQUARE

Todd strides away infuriated, then slows, eyeing Dexter. On impulse he works his way through the crowd till he stands beside Dexter, who has not yet noticed him.

TODD (CONT'D)

Harley Dexter, why y'all got

Pap locked up?

Dexter jerks his head around and looks down at Todd.

DEXTER

What're you doing here? You better

scat home before you get hurt.

TODD

Come on! What's this all about?

TWO MILITIAMEN step up behind Todd and have his arms pinned before he is aware of their presence.

DEXTER

You're about to land in big

trouble, boy.

(to the militiamen}

Get him out'a here!

TODD

You'll think boy, by God, if any

harm comes to Pap!

A MILITIAMEN

(twisting Todd's arm)

Shut up and come on!

The two men pull him along, one on each side, and shove him out into the crowd.

EXT. SQUARE

Todd staggers against a woman holding her four-year-old daughter by the hand and falls in the dust. The child whimpers. The woman helps Todd get up and brush off his clothes.

TODD

Oh, it's you, Hannah.

HANNAH SMITH is a buxom young country woman with a kind and cheerful face. The child is a miniature of her mother.

Looking down at the child, Todd softens instantly, strokes her head. She smiles up at him eagerly through tears.

TODD (CONT'D)

Well, if it ain't Cindy!

(then, suddenly anxious

again, to Hannah)

What in the world's going on,

Hannah? I can't find out nothing!

HANNAH

Well, they say a spy got in among

the Union men and heard 'em planning to raid the arms depot and go out on a killing spree, women and children and all.

TODD

Why tarnation, ma'm! Whoever heard the like? My father murder women and children!

HANNAH

I know! Who'd believe that about any of them men? Why, two of 'em're my close neighbors, and they've give me no end'a help since my husband got killed in that

Shiloh battle.

Suddenly sorrowful and gazing at Hannah intently, Todd cups her elbow in his hand and is about to speak. But then his attention is caught by a momentous sight across the square.

TODD

'Scuse me, Hannah. I see Pap over

yonder!

EXT. SQUARE

Todd picks his way through the crowd toward Pap, who with some other prisoners is walking between guards from the courthouse to the Dayton Building. Todd heads that way but on realizing the guards won't let him near Pap, he stands

and stares, watching the men disappear into the Dayton Building.

Fixed on the closed door of that building, his eyes fill with tears. He doubles both fists close to his sides. Then he looks around and speaks to a nearby militiaman.

TODD (CONT'D)

(in a hoarse whisper)

Why're they going in there?

MILITIAMAN

Oh, they're just being fed their

supper, that's all.

EXT. SQUARE - TWILIGHT

Todd is standing by Comanche at a hitching rail, eyes on the Dayton Building. A sob of relief catches his throat as he sees Pap emerge with the same group as before and cross to the courthouse and enter. One bystander near Todd, gazing up at the second floor of the courthouse, points and speaks to a man standing beside him.

BYSTANDER

They're holding a bunch of them in

that west room on the second floor.

Todd brightens. He glances significantly at Comanche, whose shoulder he strokes, then strolls away, stopping on the W. side of the courthouse to gaze up at three second-story windows. The roof of an attached buggy shed slants down from just below the windows. In the growing darkness Todd sees candles being lit behind the windows.

EXT. SQUARE - NIGHT

The darkness is not deep, for a full moon hangs low above the eastern horizon. Moon shadow is thick, however, on the W. side of the courthouse. Quickly Todd crosses the street and skins up a roof support post of the shed

For a moment he lies flat on the roof, waiting. Concluding he has not been seen, he creeps across to the center window and peers in. We see the dim figures of numerous men crowded into the dark space. Candles flicker. Pap is sitting directly across from the window. His bearded face, his whole dark-clothed body, look larger than life.

Two militiamen guard the door. Todd finds a rag wadded in the broken corner of a windowpane, works it loose and pulls it out. A man Todd knows is sitting on a stool near the window. Todd flattens his palm against the glass. The man sees, scoots his stool closer to the window.

TODD

(in a low voice)

Go get Pap. Mr Nathaniel Blair.

The man by the window nods, rises, makes his way over slowly, crouches and murmurs in Pap's ear. After a moment Pap rises, comes over and sits on the stool, resting an elbow on the sill. He and Todd are able to converse through the broken pane under other noises in the room.

TODD (CONT'D)

Why don't y'all make a break for it? They ain't but two guards.

Pap shakes his head emphatically.

TODD

Shore nuff! Why don't you? Or I'll

ride home and get the guns and

we'll give these coots a run for

their money.

PAP

(sternly)

No. And you keep a cool head, son.

Things're gonna be all right. Colonel Oldham spoke to us a while ago. We told him we hadn't done nothing only talk. So he thinks we'll come clear. They've done set up a citizen's court, with a

jury and all.

Todd gasps at the last words. Savvy in the ways of the frontier, he knows the mock official names vigilante committees can give themselves.

PAP (CONT'D)

That sounds bad, maybe, but we'll

have lawyers, just like in a reg'lar court. And if it comes to a hard rub, Colonel Oldham'll step in. He's got a big say among the slavery men. And he can put a quietus to scalawags like Harley Dexter too,

Todd still has doubts but only shakes his head.

TODD

But listen here, Pap! They must be

sump'm I can do!

PAP

I want you to climb down from there

right now! Somebody's liable to see

you and take a shot at you. And I want you to go home and tell Ma and the kids everthing's gonna work out for the best. Believe me it is.

TODD

(suppressing a sob)

All right, Pap. If you say so.

PAP

And be quick about it. Please!

Todd begins to crawl away, then changes his mind, creeps back to the window. Pap is still there, on tenterhooks for Todd's safety.

TODD

Pap, tell me just one thing. Who

was it laid hands on you?

Pap hesitates.

TODD (CONT'D)

It was Harley Dexter, wasn't it?

PAP

Well, it was, yes. But now listen...

TODD

That gimlet-eyed sonofabitch'll pay

For this!

PAP

No! Don't you run onto him. And for

God's sake, get off'a that roof....

Oh, and lead Old Prince home, will you.

Todd crawls away, barely able to keep his emotions under control.

EXT. SQUARE

Todd leads Comanche toward another hitching post, where he unties Old Prince and turns to mount Comanche. Just then

WILL JUDD, a boy about Todd's age wearing an oversize militia uniform, accosts him.

WILL JUDD

Hey! You can't take that horse. It belongs to a prisoner. It's been seized.

Todd whirls to confront him.

TODD

Seized in a pig's ass! This is my horse. The militia ain't turned horse thieves to boot, have they?

Will Judd looks offended but also ashamed. After a tense moment, he turns on his heel and walks away. Todd mounts, and leading Old Prince, skirts the square. He sees Harley Dexter and heads toward him. MATT SCANLON stands near Dexter: a burly man as rough and mean-looking as any on the frontier. Passing close to them, Todd leans down next to Dexter and growls:

TODD (CONT'D)

Be seeing you, Captain Dexter.

Dexter whirls. Todd's mocking grin as he rides away is too much for him. He is slowly raising his rifle when COLONEL JAMES TICKNOR, standing near, speaks sharply. He is a wiry,

assertive man with a hard-set face and eyes that flame in rage at any provocation.

COLONEL TICKNOR

Captain Dexter! Take your men over

yonder and relieve the courthouse guard.

Dexter glares murder at his superior but sullenly turns and snarls his men to attention.

EXT.GLADE AROUND THE BLAIR CABIN - NIGHT

Todd comes riding in on the primitive road that leads to Milcourt. Two dim figures rise from chairs under the post oak in the front yard and come to meet him: Ma and Sis. He dismounts. Sis is about to break out talking but Ma shakes her by the elbow to silence her.

MA

You must be starving, son. I've

got a bite waiting for you.

TODD

I reckon I'll unsaddle first.

Montecristo and Jenk burst out through the cabin door.

MONTECRISTO

Let us unsaddle him. Will you, Todd? Please!

TODD

All right. But y'all be careful now. Water him and give him a bucket of oats.

The boys gleefully lead Comanche away. Ma and Sis enter the cabin, Todd following.

INT. BLAIR CABIN

At a rough board table with a candle at each end, Todd is seated on a bench, drained and dejected yet putting on a brave front. Sis sits in a chair across the table, her eyes on him fierce with love and curiosity.

Ma comes from the fireplace with a plate--beans, a chunk of cornbread, a slice of raw onion; in the other hand a glass of buttermilk. She sets the food before Todd. He looks at it but cannot begin to eat.

Ma sits down in a chair beside Sis. A few seconds of further silence--while Todd picks up a fork, then lets it sink to rest on the rim of his plate--is all Sis can take.

SIS

Well come on! Tell us about Pap!

TODD

(deliberately calm)

Him and a bunch more Union men're

locked up in the courthouse and

the Dayton Building. The charge is

they meant to take over the county,

killing anybody that stood in their way.

(pausing for a moment,

then continuing)

They've got up a kind of a court to try 'em

MA

Who has? Who got up a court?

TODD

The citizens, so-called, agged on

by such as Harley Dexter. They made

Colonel Oldham the chairman. He

appointed a committee, then the

committee picked a so-called jury

In plain English, it's a mob putting on to be legal.

MA

I'm surprised at Colonel Oldham. He's always been thought of as a fair man. Dexter and his bunch ain't nothing but trash. And he's hated Pap ever since we filed on this piece of land ahead of him.

TODD

Colonel Ticknor's ramrodding the military.

MA

A Southern gentleman! Whip a slave to death or hang a poor farmer at the bat of an eye!

SIS

But how can they do that? Just accuse people of any old thing and try 'em however they please? Who says Union men aimed to go out and kill everbody? Just who, I want'a know!

TODD

The rumor's going around that a spy worked in among the Union men, then run to Ticknor saying that killing was their game.

MA

Pap said at the meetings in the woods some hollered for raiding the arms depot and starting their own rebellion. But he was dead set against it, and he and some

others with good sense talked the bug-eyes out of it.

SIS

Go on, Todd! Go on! Did you see Pap? Did you talk to him?

TODD

I had a few words with him, is all.

MA

What does he think about this?

TODD

He told me when Colonel Oldham found out all the Union men've done is talk, he said he doubted they'd face any serious charges.

MA

And naturally Pap fell right in with that. He's too trusting. Always has been.

Todd is now eating slowly. Montecristo and Jenk come in, and subdued by the tension in the room, creep over and sit on the floor in a corner. Sis rises and begins pacing, pressing her temples off and on.

Todd stands up and goes to her, leads her back to her chair and grasping her by the shoulders, gently seats her in it. Then he goes back to his meal.

MA (CONT'D)

This situation looks terrible to me. Don't it to you, Todd?

Todd frowns, looks at her closely. Realizing that the care of the family has now devolved on him, he attempts to be grave.

TODD

It sure does. And I tell you what. First thing in the morning I'm going to see Colonel Oldham. He went home tonight. Maybe I can

catch him there. I want'a hear from his own lips where he stands, and if he really can help us.

MA

Oh, he can... If he will.

TODD

Yes... If he will.

EXT. RED RIVER BRAKES - MID-DAY

Todd on Comanche picks his way through a thicket, wary, stopping often to look around. He comes out into the open and draws rein to sit and gaze in admiration at the Oldham mansion, which he has never seen before. After a short

pause he rides on toward it.

EXT. OLDHAM MANSION

As Todd comes near, two savage dogs bound out, barking, snarling and circling Comanche, but keeping out of range of his hooves.

TODD (CONT'D)

(to the dogs)

You better stay back! He can send

you to dog hell with one swipe of a hoof.

LIEUTENANT BILL OLDHAM, the colonel's son, in Confederate uniform, comes down the steps and halts. He has an arrogant face and a swaggering manner. He holds a pistol at his waist, leveled at Todd.

BILL OLDHAM

Stop and state your business!

Todd pulls up and sits eyeing him. Colonel Oldham comes out the front door, stops at the head of the steps and steadies himself on a bannister. The dogs wait, watchful.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Hold back, Bill.

TODD

(to the colonel)

I'm Todd Blair, sir. Nathaniel Blair's boy.

Bill Oldham casts a smirking glance up at his father, without lowering the pistol. Colonel Oldham is at a loss for a moment before his sense of courtesy asserts itself.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Get down and come in, Todd. You're

welcome.

(to Bill)

Call off those dogs! And put that gun away!

Bill obeys, but abruptly walks away, ignoring Todd, who dismounts as CABUS enters the frame: a grizzled slave well along in years but hale and hearty. He takes the reins from Todd, surveying him with a slight, mocking smile.

TODD

(handing the reins to Cabus)

Okay, Comanche.

Colonel Oldham and Cabus look curiously at Todd, hearing a horse addressed thus. Todd mounts to the top of the stairs. Colonel Oldham holds out his hand, and Todd takes it.

The eyes under the colonel's bushy brows are kindly enough but suggest that any great disagreement with him is nonsense he won't stand for. Yet his hand trembles, and he cannot hide it that age and illness have made inroads. Todd frowns, troubled by the colonel's condition. He ushers Todd into the parlor.

INT. OLDHAM PARLOR

COLONEL OLDHAM

You're just in time for dinner, sir. Lizzie! We've got company.

LIZZIE OLDHAM, a motherly, bustling woman much younger than the colonel, comes energetically into the room.

COLONEL OLDHAM (CONT'D)

This is Todd Blair, my dear.

Lizzie Oldham's eyes and manner show how appealing she finds this handsome young man. She takes his hand, smiling.

LIZZIE OLDHAM

I'd know you for a Blair anywhere.

You have the family eyes.

Todd looks away, embarrassed and shy, surprised that she knows anything about his family.

LIZZIE OLDHAM (CONT'D)

Come in and join us, Todd. We were just ready to sit down to dinner.

TODD

Yes m'am. Thank you kindly.

Todd looks around, then lays his hat on a lacy sofa pillow. They move toward the dining room, Mrs Oldham first, with the colonel insisting that Todd precede him.

INT. OLDHAM DINING ROOM

The room is the picture of elegance, intimidating to country boy Todd. Throughout this scene he tries manfully but with no great success to put on genteel table manners. The colonel shows him to a chair, then he and his wife sit down. At this moment Bill Oldham stalks in and takes his accustomed place.

COLONEL OLDHAM

(to Bill, reproachfully)

Bill, Todd is our guest.

BILL OLDHAM

(with an imperious nod)

How do you do.

TODD

(half-bowing from his

chair)

Sir.

Both parents look embarrassed by their son's rudeness. All of a sudden, THREE TEEN-AGE GIRLS in shirt waists and sweeping skirts enter the room, in high spirits. MILLIE AND CONNIE OLDHAM are pretty, but JENNY TICKNOR is beautiful.

Her long brown hair gives off a sheen of light when her head

moves. Her cheeks are the color of wild plums turned rich ripe. Her hazel eyes rest unabashedly on Todd, all but paralyzing him. [Suggested Music: "LORENA,"as a theme for Jenny throughout].

COLONEL OLDHAM

(heartily)

Ladies, this is Todd Blair. Sir, our daughters Millie and Connie. And our neighbor, Jenny Ticknor.

Todd stands up and bows, awkwardly, The girls coyly murmur their acknowledgments, with arch looks and beaming smiles.

Todd cannot repress a troubled frown when he hears Jenny's last name, assuming that she is Colonel Ticknor's daughter.

Noticing his frown, though unaware of the cause, Jenny blushes deeply. Two slave women begin to serve, but the atmosphere is tense, from Todd's uneasiness and Bill Oldham's arrogance. Determined to relieve the stress, the colonel hits on a topic he feels is safe.

COLONEL OLDHAM (CONT'D)

By the way, Todd, that pony of yours. I've heard about him. I think everybody in the county has.

TODD

(brightening)

Purty near, I expect. I've raced him again so many.

COLONEL OLDHAM

And never lost yet. Is that right?

TODD

Yes sir, that's a fact.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Well, where in the dickens did

you get him?

TODD

A trader from the Territory might

near give him to me. Said he was a

captured Indian pony and not worth

a dime for nothing. Showed how much

he knowed about it. Comanche ain't

only fast, he's might near smart

enough to talk.

COLONEL OLDHAM

(LAUGHING HEARTILY)

Mainly to you, I expect.

Now more at ease, Todd exchanges shy glances with the girls, chiefly Jenny, his face and eyes glowing. Jenny returns every glance with a smile and heightened color in her cheeks. Bill Oldham occasionally darts a withering glance at Todd, and a jealous one at Jenny. She ignores him.

EXT. LOWER VERANDAH OF OLDHAM MANSION - EARLY AFTERNOON.

Todd and Colonel Oldham emerge from the front door and sit down in high-backed rockers facing outward. From here they have an easy view of most of the plantation, from the nearer

cotton fields with busy pickers on their R. across the front grounds toward the river and around on their L. to the barns, stables, corrals etc.

Colonel Oldham and Todd look around from time to time during the following talk, each aware in his own way that this scene is representative of what is at stake in the war.

COLONEL OLDHAM (CONT'D)

Well, my boy, what can I do for

you?

TODD

Uh...it's about Pap, sir. He...

he's not guilty of any crime.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Well, if not, what comes out in

his trial'll prove him innocent.

TODD

Begging your pardon, sir, but that...citizens' court, what's the need of it? The reg'lar fall term of district court begins right away. Why can't the men be tried there?

COLONEL OLDHAM

No sir! We discussed that. Too slow. The situation calls for prompt action. In wartime certain procedures are properly suspended. All the same, the court will observe every legality. Attorneys to defend the accused and so

on. And the jurymen are responsible

citizens. They'll render just verdicts.

Oldham's breath is now coming quickly. His hands quiver as he grips the chair arms in a vain attempt to control them.

TODD

Not to dispute your word, sir, but how can such a court be legal?

COLONEL OLDHAM

Like I say, wartime emergency. Suspension of habeas corpus, for one thing. You ever heard of habeas corpus?

TODD

No, sir.

COLONEL OLDHAM

You see there! My boy, you'd better leave interpretation of the law up to men who understand it?

Todd sits casting about for some reply.

COLONEL OLDHAM (CONT'D)

But I want you to know I admire the way you stand up for your daddy's rights. That's what this war's all about, rights! Southern rights!

Colonel Oldham stops, scowling, troubled by his own ambivalence. Todd does not know what to say. He nevertheless looks the colonel in the eye. Colonel Oldham's brows remain knit, and his gaze does not falter.

After a moment, both men look away. The colonel becomes occupied in surveying his domain. At this moment the three girls appear in the distance toward the river, dressed in fancy gowns and twirling parasols, like the most elegant ladies the South ever bred out for a stroll.

COLONEL OLDHAM (CONT'D)

(chuckling, indulgent)

Oh, those girls! I asked them not to try on their new dresses yet. But the minute my back was turned... Oh, they were eager for that ball Colonel Ticknor was planning, let me tell you! Good opportunity to meet young officers from Confederate units in the neighborhood.

Colonel Oldham becomes visibly aware that the scene before them widens more than ever the gap across which his world and Todd's cannot communicate. Both watch the girls fascinated and frustrated. Todd looks woebegone.

TODD

(rising after a brief pause)

I guess I better see what's going

on in town. The trials're supposed

to commence today.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Well under way by now, I'm sure.

But hold on. Bill came in from town

right before dinnertime. He can give us a full report. Hey, one of you niggers, Go tell Marse Bill to come out here.

Bill Oldham steps out through the door. A suspicious glare from Colonel Oldham makes it evident that Bill has been eavesdropping and expecting to join Todd and his father.

BILL OLDHAM

Yes, Pa. What is it?

COLONEL OLDHAM

We've not had a chance to talk

since you got home. How're the

trials going?

BILL OLDHAM

First session came off this morning. They sentenced the two Childs brothers to hang.

Todd catches his breath. Colonel Oldham is taken aback.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Well, what was it like? What

defense did their attorney offer?

BILL OLDHAM

They had no attorney. Out of the

three lawyers in Milcourt, two

refused to defend traitors. The

other one's a traitor himself. He

skipped town just ahead of the law.

COLONEL OLDHAM

On trial for their lives and no

defense counsel! Well...what did

they say in their own defense?

BILL OLDHAM

(shrugging)

Offered excuses. Admitted belonging

to that order. Purpose of the order

was treason and murder. Open-and-shut cases.

COLONEL OLDHAM

The jury actually convicted men on

such grounds?

BILL OLDHAM

Well, seven of the jury found the

charges convincing enough. They

decide by majority vote.

Todd is overwhelmed, eyes burning with indignation. The colonel grips his chair arms white-knuckled. His eyes bear

down on his son as if to pierce to the core of him. He can scarcely keep his voice steady.

COLONEL OLDHAM

(to Bill)

Would you mind stepping away? I'd

like a private word with Todd.

Bill Oldham leaves offended and as insolent as ever. Colonel Oldham slumps in his chair. His head trembles. He looks more like a sick old man than ever. Todd maintains a respectful silence, knowing how shocked the colonel is.

COLONEL OLDHAM (CONT'D)

We never considered we'd have

trouble finding attorneys for

the accused

TODD

If you turned this over to the

district court, the judge'd have

to appoint defense lawyers.

COLONEL OLDHAM

We can't do that! The case is too

urgent, I tell you!

TODD

(driven to boldness)

You mean Ticknor and his bunch won't let you do it.

COLONEL OLDHAM

I'll tell you this! We never authorized passing sentence by majority vote! I'll reconvene that committee! The Childs brothers must have a new trial!

He starts to stand up but sinks back exhausted. Todd rises

ready to help, but hesitant to offer too quickly. The colonel looks at him defensively.

COLONEL OLDHAM (CONT'D)

I'm all right. Just a little tired.

I...better not try to go to town

today. But I'll come tomorrow for

sure.

TODD

I'd be mighty grateful, sir.

COLONEL OLDHAM

You can depend on it, by George!

Todd is far from satisfied but knows he cannot insist. He reaches out for a farewell handshake. The colonel struggles to his feet and responds, but it is difficult for him to stand.

TODD

I'll be there tomorrow too.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Good!

(to Cabus, who is sauntering by)

Cabus! Go saddle Marse Todd's horse.

Cabus goes, but taking his own sweet time.

EXT. OLDHAM PLANTATION, CORRAL - AFTERNOON.

Todd enters the corral. Comanche walks over to him from a feed trough. Todd takes his saddle hanging over the top rail of the corral and begins to saddle up. Cabus at last appears. He stops and chuckles.

CABUS

What you want'a do's wait. The

kunnel say for me to saddle that

hoss.

TODD

I'm in a fair hurry. And I'm used

to taking care of myself. Ain't yet

discovered I need any slave to wait

on me.

CABUS

I 'speck not, coming out'a folks ain't got a dime to they name.

TODD

(mounting)

See if you can open that gate.

Cabus plods over and opens the gate. As he swings it back and Todd rides through, the girls appear nearby, still on their stroll. They and Todd notice each other at the same time. Todd reacts by touching his heels to Comanche's flanks, who takes off like a jack rabbit.

Todd half turns in the saddle, lifts his hat and swings it in an arc over his head. The girls wave their parasols. Jenny pulls out a lace handkerchief, waves it for a moment, then tosses it in the air. It settles gently to the ground. Cabus looks on scowling. He winces on seeing the flirtation with the handkerchief.

EXT. PRAIRIE RIDGE SOUTH OF THE RIVER - DAY

Todd rides slowly along. In the sky are motionless

ballooning clouds with sunlit edges. Todd looks up and comes to a sudden halt. Approaching him, at a distance, is another

rider. Todd waits. The other rider sees him too, waves. They advance to meet each other. We soon see the rider's face, troubled on recognizing Todd: AFTON THATCHER, a scrawny, beak-nosed individual--no man could look more like a scarecrow on a horse. The two stop facing one another, stirrups almost touching. Thatcher reaches out, Todd likewise, and they shake hands. The look on each face is ominous.

THATCHER

Hello, Todd. I...I uh reckon you

ain't heard.

Todd tenses up, takes a deep breath.

THATCHER (CONT'D)

(continuing)

They hung Henry and Ephraim Childs

a while ago.

Todd grasps the saddle horn for support.

TODD

In the name of God! They only tried

'em this morning!

THATCHER

Why yes! Yes! That ain't no jury,

Todd! No jury to it! Just hang

whoever they take a notion to.

And on a majority vote, mind you!

TODD

I heard about that.

(continuing after a pause)

Who all's on that jury, anyhow?

THATCHER

The clerk tacked a list on the

courthouse door. I writ 'em down.

Here. If you can make out my pore

handwritin.

Afton takes a scrap of paper from his pocket and hands it to Todd, who studies it with burning eyes.

THATCHER (CONT'D)

I'd let you keep this list, Todd.

Only...

TODD

(handing him the paper)

I ain't about to forget a one of

their names. Now or ever...

(hesitates, then)

It figures, don't it. Seven of

them men are slave holders, I know

for a fact. They vote together,

and there's your majority.

THATCHER

Why shore! That's why this has gotta be put a stop to! Why! even as it is, Milcourt'll never be the same again. That tree... You think I can ever go near that tree again?

TODD

What tree?

THATCHER

Why, that big old elem on Pecan Creek.

That's what they hung 'em from!

They look at each other stupefied: neither knowing what to say about a well-known landmark turned all at once into a gallows.

TODD

Why, if this keeps up, it'll lead to bloodshed back and forth till the last man in this county's dead.

THATCHER

That's what I know! That's why I'm

going to see Colonel Oldham. If anybody can put the skids to this, he can.

TODD

Aw, Afton, I hate to tell you, but

I just come from talking to him

myself. He says he'll stand up to

the fire-eaters. But he's a sick man. Looks to me like they just

Used him and shoved him aside.

THATCHER

Shove Colonel Oldham aside! Pshaw,

Todd, you don't know him like I do.

Still I'm right glad you wsnt to see him. I'll go'n add my words to yore'n... And I'd best be on my way too.

TODD

Yaow, I reckon so. Be seeing you, Afton.

Slumped as if almost too weary to move, Todd watches Thatcher ride away.

EXT. ELM FORK OF TRINITY RIVER, WEST LIMIT OF MILCOURT - DAY

Todd on Comanche crosses the stream--shallow, clear and rippling--and climbs the gentle rise of Main Street leading E. toward the square.

EXT. SQUARE/NEARBY STREETS

The square is as crowded as yesterday. Todd in the saddle looks longingly at the window where he spoke with Pap. Seeing nothing, he enters another street, giving the square a wide berth. He comes out on Main Street again farther E. He passes a feed store.

A wagon stands before the store, a BONNETED WOMAN in the spring seat. A BOY about 12 crouches behind her. Suddenly a

SECOND BOY sprints across in front of Todd and leaps up into the wagon beside the first boy. Todd stops and listens.

SECOND BOY

You just orta seen it, Jake! They

stood Mr Henry Childs on the wagon

tailgate. Then Mr Alec Boutwell

fixes up a noose around his neck.

They have this nigger driving the

wagon, see. When they give the signal, he pops them mules with his whip and they jerk that wagon right out from under Mr Henry Childs, and

there he swings akicking. Then they done the same thing to his brother. C'mon, lemme show you the place!

The boys jump down and race away, ignoring the woman's calls for them to come back. Todd sits numb with terror and grief. He is brought to himself by a FARMER coming out of the store and climbing into the seat beside the woman. He glances in Todd's direction.

FARMER

(coolly)

Howdy, Todd.

Todd knows him well, looks surprised at his coolness. Todd only nods in return, flicks the reins and rides on.

EXT. BANK OF PECAN CREEK - DAY

The GIANT ELM looms before Todd. He halts a distance away and stares, petrified. A shifting circle of CURIOUS ONLOOKERS surround the tree. We notice with Todd that a rope has cut through the bark to bare wood on the limb where the men dangled. Todd shudders and groans.

Then he glances away to see a dust devil rising in a dry cornfield across Pecan Creek beyond the tree. Bits of corn stalk swirl toward the tree. Todd sends Comanche splashing

across the stream and runs for a little way. He stops and looks back. The dust devil has dissipated before reaching the tree.

EXT. COUNTRY OUTSIDE MILCOURT

Todd is riding slowly home. The afternoon has darkened, not yet from dusk but from thickening clouds. At the SOUND OF HOOF BEATS, O.S. frombehind, Todd halts and whirls Comanche to face it. A man riding hard sweeps past with no greeting but a wave. Recognizing him, Todd hails him.

TODD

Flem! Hey! What's up?

FLEM NUGENT stops, turns and rides back. He is in his thirties, red-headed, pale and short. He is round-eyed with excitement. He talks as he comes toward Todd.

NUGENT

It's horrible, Todd. Worse'n horrible. Monk Harper, Henry Fields, Wes Morris and Ed Hampton... Four of 'em, Todd.

All tried and sentenced to hang tomorrow! I'm going out to tell Ed's wife. Oh Lord, and her with two little younguns!

TODD

Why Flem! That trial couldn't'a lasted no time!

NUGENT

Time enough for that jury, I reckon. And if it's four in a batch now, no telling when they'll commence scooping 'em up by the dozen.

TODD

Natural-born sonsabitches ride high for a while, but their turn comes around too.

NUGENT

Oh, you watch out how you talk, Todd. Harley Dexter and his pack of blackguards are afrothing at the mouth. And Ticknor, he's hard as ary rock. He won't stop at

nothing to make the Confederacy stick.

TODD

Confederacy! What in the hell does such crap amount to only a passel of cock-eyed fools out to destroy the country. Waving that Stars-and-Farts flag of theirs! Why damn it all! they're the ones ought'a be facing a court of law. A real one!

NUGENT

Go easy now, Todd. Be mighty careful where you say things like that.... But looky here, I gotta hit the road. Ed's place is a fur piece off.

Nugent raises his hand for good-bye and lopes away. Todd stares after him. Then in barely contained outrage, he rides toward home. The western sky is reddening to flame near the horizon. The few clouds of the afternoon have swollen bold and black into thunderheads. Around their edges the low-sinking sun draws a rim of fire.

INT. BLAIR CABIN - NIGHT

The hour is late. The children are in bed. Ma, Todd and Sis sit before the fireplace, in which the fire has sunk to fading coals, the weather being warm even for a Texas fall. A candle stands on the mantelpiece, another on the dining table behind them. Faces and forms appear in unsteady flickering

MA

So Colonel Oldham promises, does he? While the other big bugs team up and hang their neighbors.

TODD

With the help of a jackass or two

throwed in to fool people.

MA

The Reverend Harry Tillman, for one. Just imagine! A preacher sending innocent men to the noose. And just keep in mind that he's taken dinner in this house a many a Sunday.

A hopeless silence settles over them. Ma stands up and trudges to the fireplace, pushes the beanpot on its swinging arm back against the chimney wall, picks up a poker and rakes ashes over the coals to keep them live till morning.

Todd and Sis watch each of her moves as if it is terribly significant. Walking back to her chair again, Ma suddenly collapses in it, covers her head with her apron and breaks

into rending sobs. Sis leaps to her feet, runs to kneel and bury her head in Ma's lap, wailing and moaning "Ma, Ma."

Todd stands up, wild-eyed, lurches toward them, then wheels and heads for the door. He snatches his father's rifle from its deerhorn rack over the doorway, hurls back the door and slams it behind him and rushes out into the night.

EXT. CORRAL

Seen from behind, Todd walks unsteadily toward the corral. The moon has not quite reached the zenith. An erratic play of lightning is seen in a heavy cloud bank along the western horizon. He stops at the corral, the rifle gripped in both hands by the barrel and the stock. He rests his forearms on the top rail, the rifle held horizontal before him. Head

lifted, he studies the looming clouds. Comes a flash of

lightning and a far-off rumble of thunder. He lifts the rifle high, still gripped as before, like an offering to the storm.

TODD

You hang Pap and I'll kill ever

last one of you, no matter if it

takes the rest of my days!

He gives a violent start, turns his head, then in a quivering but softened voice.

TODD

Oh! It's you, Comanche.

Comanche has walked up, nuzzles Todd's elbow. Todd shifts the rifle to one hand and with the other strokes Comanche between the ears, eyes still fixed on the approaching storm.

INT. CABIN

Front door seen from inside opens quietly and Todd comes in. He methodically places the rifle on its rack. Pap's fiddle is seen hanging on the wall near the rifle. Todd studies the fiddle for a moment. Ma is still in the same chair. Sis is seated on a low stool drawn close to Ma's knees. The women watch anxiously as Todd walks over and takes a chair next to them. The mantelpiece candle is seen, burning but consumed to a stub.

MA

Why'd you take the rifle outside,

Todd?

TODD

Ma! I've got to do something.

MA

Yes, but not gunplay. If you start that, Pap'll be a goner for sure.

SIS

And maybe you with him. How could you even dream of winning a shootout against ser'val hundred men?

Todd bows his head and covers his face with his hands.

TODD

I'm not aiming to do it now...Not yet...Not right away.

MA

Put it out'a your mind for good!

Rolling thunder close at hand makes all three of them jump. Todd's eyes rest on the mantelpiece candle then abruptly turn to Ma and Sis.

TODD

Listen, y'all! I ain't got a particle of faith Colonel Oldham's gonna help us.

MA

Me neither.

The sense of another dead end sits heavily on them all.

MA (CONT'D)

(continuing after a

brief pause)

Y'all may think I'm crazy. I hate to even bring it up. But do you suppose it'd do any good to talk to Brother Tillman?

TODD

What for? He's just a piddling preacher doing what they tell him to. Why Ma, three of the county commissioners're on that fake jury.

And the county judge is what you

might call the prosecuting attorney!

Ma and Sis sit speechless. The candle flame is now so low it begins to gutter. Sis goes over and replaces the candle with a fresh one, lighting it from the old stub, which she blows out and throws in a box by the fireplace.

TODD (CONT'D)

Still in all, we have to grab at any straw, don't we?

MA

You know we do.

SIS

Oh God! To think we're down to begging Preacher Tillman. Tillman!

TODD

(hesitantly)

One more thing I ought'a tell y'all. That old elem tree on Pecan Creek's where they're hanging 'em.

Ma and Sis stare at him dumbfounded. Ma clenches her hands together in her lap and bows her head. The landmark tree as a death tree stirs them deeply. Suddenly comes a whipcrack of lightning followed instantly by thunder. The first heavy drops of rain are heard striking the roof.

TODD (CONT'D)

So I better hunt up Tillman as soon as daylight comes... If this storm ever lets up.

Silence again. The rain becomes a steady downpour, punctuated by thunder.

TODD (CONT'D)

I wish we had that cotton in. This rain'll beat it right out of the bolls.

MA

(shaking her head)

I don't see how we can get it picked while this trouble lasts?

(continuing after

a rumble of thunder)

I doubt this weather'll let a body

sleep. But we better get to bed anyhow. Mornin'll be here before you know it.

TODD

(abruptly)

I have to carry a gun! I have to! Them rebels act like they'd just as soon shoot me as look at me. I won't take the rifle though. Pap's musket's better for close range anyhow. The six-shooter too. I'll hide it in my saddlebag.

He rises decisively and heads for the shed room where he sleeps. Sis looks at Ma for guidance, but Ma can only shake her head in fear and sorrow.

EXT. BLAIR HOMESTEAD - NIGHT

HIGH ANGLE SHOT. The thunderstorm is unleashed in all its fury. In utter darkness at one moment, in the next the entire farmstead is lighted by a dazzle of lightning. Heavy sheets of wind-borne rain drift by, while thunder rolls. We watch during two or three of these punishing lightning bolt attacks, which seem to try this human habitation for how much it can bear before being swept into oblivion.

EXT. TILLMAN'S HOUSE, FRONT GATE - DAY

A BUNGALOW with a front porch, unpainted and weathered, surrounded by a wooden-slat fence, also unpainted. A gusty, chilly wind--the norther brought by last night's storm--is plucking shriveled leaves from a pecan tree in the front yard. Todd sits on Comanche a few yards from the house, watchful, hesitant to approach. His musket hangs by a sling from the saddle horn.

PREACHER HARRY TILLMAN comes out onto the porch and down the steps, sees Todd and stops. A strong puff of wind catches at Tillman's derby hat. He clutches the brim with both hands. As Todd rides up and dismounts, Tillman hurries forward and stands inside the gate, Todd just outside.

TILLMAN

I know you think hard of me, Todd. But I'm in that jury-room to save lives, not take them.

TODD

You ain't saved none yet as I know of.

TILLMAN

No, but I've argued myself blue in the face for every man tried. And I'll keep on doing that.

TODD

Being as the seven slavery men hold the majority, what does it matter if you holler your head off.

While Todd looks on, curious, Tillman fumbles in his pants pockets, comes up in a moment with a pearl-handled penknife, which he opens with a flourish and begins scraping under a thumbnail, which is already clean enough.

TODD (CONT'D)

They're just using you to make this look good, same as they done with Colonel Oldham.

TILLMAN

(snapping shut and pocketing the knife)

I've threatened to resign over this majority rule business. But Reese

Culler begged me to stay on.

Said without this jury to kind'a hold 'em back, the mob'll take over and hang every man in custody.

TODD

But dammit! What's the jury after only that?

TILLMAN

The jury'll see reason sooner'n the mob will. I just have to keep harping on how terrible unjust all this is.

TODD

Surely to God you can do more'n just set around and mutter till these maniacs get enough of killing and kindly let you beg 'em to quit!

Tillman resets his hat on his head, as if to level the brim.

TODD (CONT'D)

No wonder they call preachers mealy-mouthed!

Todd turns to mount. Struck to the quick, Tillman opens the gate, comes through and walks forward holding out an entreating hand.

TILLMAN

Wait! Don't go yet! I... Please!

Todd takes his foot out of the stirrup and turns to face Tillman, who clutches the brim of his derby again, as though a gust of wind has caught at it--which none did.

TILLMAN (CONT'D)

There's...something I've pondered and prayed over. I think...I think the time's come to say to the jury again: either change the rules or I resign. And stick to it this time. If Reese Culler'll do the same, we can manage it. They might let just one man walk out. Two I'm pretty sure they won't. That might break up the jury. Drive the mob to lynching wholesale. Ticknor counts

on avoiding that. He wants these trials to be...legal-like.

Todd is calmer now, seeing a possibility.

TODD

Something you need to know. I talked to Colonel Oldham yesterday. He's mighty upset over this majority rule dodge too. He's supposed to come to town today and call on the committee to change it.

TILLMAN

He is!

TODD

You could tell the jury that to start the ball rolling. But...

TILLMAN

But what?

TODD

Colonel Oldham's a sick man. And I ain't sure how willing he is. Or if even he can persuade that pack of mad dogs.

Tillman stands thoughtful, frustrated to have had a hope held out then taken away.

TODD (CONT'D)

You think you can get 'em to go unanimous?

TILLMAN

I'll argue for that, but I won't get it. Two-thirds against a simple

majority's the best I can hope for.

TODD

Which at least would break the slavery men's stranglehold on the voting.

TILLMAN

I'm banking they'll go that far. But if Reese Culler fails me, and I walk out of there alone with nothing changed...

TODD

Then you're in danger from the mob yourself.

TILLMAN

That's right. Some of 'em have me down for a secret Union man as it is. Every word I say in favor of a prisoner, suspicion grows. If I lose the protection of being on

the jury... Well, there's many a dark holler full of tall trees.

TODD

I apologize for calling you mealy-mouthed, sir. You're taking a big risk, and I thank you for it.

Tillman pulls out his watch, pushes a little button to open the case cover, holds the watch at arm's length and squints.

TILLMAN

The jury'll be convening right about now.

Snapping the case shut, he slips the watch into his vest pocket, looks emphatically at Todd.

TILLMAN (CONT'D)

I'll do my level best, Todd.

TODD

I truly believe you will, parson.

Tillman has already turned and is hurrying away.

EXT. MILCOURT STREET - DAY

Todd rides along a street toward the square. Shortly he pulls up, hearing the sounds of a wagon moving. Then he sees it, accompanied by a throng of people on foot and one mounted man: Colonel Ticknor. The first victim today being taken to the tree is knelt in the wagon bed, too far away for Todd to identify. Repelled and furious, Todd turns his back on the sight.

TODD

(muttering to Comanche)

Ticknor! The kingpin. God, I wish Colonel Oldham'd show up!

With the sound of the procession fading, Todd rides to the square. He keeps glancing around seeking Colonel Oldham. After a short time, he dismounts and ties Comanche to a hitching rail, looks up at the second floor of the courthouse.

TODD (CONT'D)

(to Comanche)

Oh, if I could just only have a word with Pap again. Just one....

(he lifts his head, alert)

Hey! Wait! That's Wint Crigley!

He has just seen WINT CRIGLEY on guard at the courthouse door.

EXT. SQUARE

Todd goes over to a scrawny, stooped little man really too old to be in the militia.

TODD (CONT'D)

Whatta you say there, Wint? How's military life suiting you?

CRIGLEY

'I gannies, Todd, it don't suit atall. I don't like this business.

TODD

(in a lowered voice)

Say, Wint...uh, would you lemme go up and speak to Pap for a minute. Sure would mean a lot to Ma and the kids.

CRIGLEY

(darting looks around)

Well now, Todd, I don't know. We got orders again such as that.

But all right. No more'n a minute though. Not to save your blessed soul!

As Todd is about to slip in through the courthouse door, Harley Dexter walks up. Todd freezes.

DEXTER

What's going on here?

CRIGLEY

Aw, just letting Todd see his pa for a little bit. I know...

DEXTER

See your pa, is it? You fool with

me and you'll see him for sure!

Right in there beside of him. Beats me why you're running around loose anyway. Ticknor's too damned easy.

A new idea strikes Harley Dexter.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

You got a gun?Nobody but militia allowed to have guns on the square. Orders from Colonel Ticknor.

TODD

You see one on me?

DEXTER

Oh, I don't mean on you.

Where's your horse?

Todd glares at him. Dexter looks around and spots Comanche.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

I see him. I see that musket too. Step over there and hand it to me. Peaceable! Or I'll run you in.

They go toward Comanche, Todd in the lead. A few feet away, he stops and waits, gazing at Dexter with deadly rancor: a

look that makes Dexter hesitate to think of a gun in Todd's hands.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Stay where you are. I'll get it.

TODD

You may get a hoof in the balls too.

DEXTER

(hesitating, then brandishing

his rifle at Todd)

Then hand over the fucking thing yourself! And don't bat an eye doing it.

Todd steps over coolly, takes the musket and passes it to Dexter.

TODD

I seen Matt Scanlon awhile ago with a six-shooter slung on him. He ain't militia. You gonna disarm him too?

Dexter ignores Todd, stalks away. As Todd is standing by Comanche's head untying him, he mutters,

TODD (CONT'D)

Lord, what if he'd'a thought to look in my saddlebag!

EXT. SQUARE/ TRINITY RIVER BANK

Todd rides away from the square, so as not to be present when the death wagon returns. He soon veers left and angles to the bank of the Trinity. His attention is caught by a movement downstream.

A wagon is pulling onto a smooth grassy expanse of river bank shaded by tall, wide-spreading pecan trees. Todd sees three slaves waiting by an open grave. The wagon stops, a bundle is unloaded, the wagon turns back toward the square. Todd rides hastily down to the site.

EXT. TRINITY RIVER BANK

By the time Todd arrives, the corpse is in the grave and the slaves are filling it. Todd addresses a TALL SLAVE with a stern face.

TODD (CONT'D)

Who're y'all burying?

TALL SLAVE

The nigger driving the dead wagon tole me his name's Ed Hampton.

TODD

Why! He's got a family! You can't just pitch him in the ground like a dead dog

TALL SLAVE

Suh, I doan know nothing about it. You knows I gotta do whatever they puts me at.

TODD

Course you do.

(continuing after

a short pause)

You know Flem Nugent?

TALL SLAVE

Sho' do. Seen him a little bit ago... You know whut?

(stabs the ground

with his shovel blade)

He pled for this man's body, Mr

Flem did. But you think they'd let him have it? N-o-o. Say nobody only kinfolks can claim a body.

TODD

Who said that?

TALL SLAVE

Captain Dexter, mainly.

Todd receives this in scowling silence. The tall slave looks at him inquiringly for a moment then goes back to work, rounding off the grave mound with his shovel. Todd is deeply moved, as if picturing his father's grave. He turns slowly and rides upstream along the grassy bank.

TODD

(to Comanche, looking around)

Widow Yoakum must be turning over in her grave. Left this spot for a city park. Promote community spirit, her will said. Sure! A dumping ground for men murdered by their neighbors.

EXT. TRINITY RIVER BANK

Todd is still riding along, with the graveyard-park well behind him. He stops, looks out across the stream at the prairie between here and Red River.

TODD (CONT'D)

(to Comanche)

I'll go crazy hanging around here waiting for Tillman. Let's go rout out Colonel Oldham again.....And Jenny too, if we can. They say a purty daughter can thaw a daddy's heart. If that icicle in old Ticknor's chest counts as a heart.

Todd sits as if in a momentary trance. He comes out of it suddenly, flicks the reins to guide Comanche into the stream. Once across, he puts him into a mile-eating lope.

EXT. RED RIVER - DAY

Todd rides along a narrow river-bank wagon road connecting the Oldham and Ticknor places. All at once he is startled by men's voices O.S. behind him. He stops. Then two other voices, a woman's and a man's, reach him O.S. from ahead.

He reins into the brush hemming the road. He sees TWO MEN on horseback fording the river on his R.

He loses sight of the men as they enter the brakes. They are quiet. On Todd's L. the woman's voice goes gaily on. The man with her is silent except for an occasional chuckle. Then they appear around a curve: Jenny Ticknor riding sidesaddle on a fine sorrel, Cabus on a mule beside her. Just before they come abreast of Todd's hiding place, the two men appear on the road on Todd's R. edging toward Jenny and Cabus, who halt in fear. The two men are tough-looking customers.

JENNY

(faltering)

Good morning.

The two men say nothing. They inch forward. Strangely, Cabus pulls off his flop hat and presses it tight against his breast, as if imploring or submitting. Todd eases the pistol out of the saddlebag, heel-touches Comanche to send him lunging into the middle of the road between the two parties.

He has the drop on the strangers. One of them, hat hanging

down his back from a thong around his neck, has a round head, protruding teeth and straight reddish hair: a chucklehead. The other man's hatbrim almost hides his eyes.

CHUCKLEHEAD

Hey! Whatta you think you're doing, kid! Put that gun away!

TODD

Drop your reins and put both hands

on the saddlehorn. First man makes a move I don't order's a dead man.

They comply, watchful for any opening.

TODD (CONT'D)

Now get down, but keep ahold of them saddlehorns till you're standing. Then put 'em high!

They obey. Chucklehead carries a pistol in a side-holster and a short-barreled musket on his saddle horn. Hatbrim has

a pistol stuck in his belt at a cross-draw angle, and a strange-looking carbine in a saddle scabbard.

TODD (CONT'D)

(motioning to Chucklehead

with his gun barrel)

You! Unbuckle that pistol belt and let it drop.

Chucklehead does this.

TODD (CONT'D)

Now both of you come my way three steps and stop.

They obey. Todd eases out of the saddle. At a word from him Comanche sidles toward the men and stands. They watch both Todd and Comanche uneasily.

TODD (CONT'D)

(to Chucklehead)

You set down and hug your knees. And if you ever want'a stand up again, you better keep still!

Hatbrim has a grim smile on his lips, aware it will not be easy for Todd to relieve him of his pistol.

TODD (CONT'D)

(to Hatbrim)

You. Step over to my horse. And don't make a bobble doing it.

As Hatbrim approaches, Comanche tosses his head and gives a mean nicker. Todd clucks his tongue. Comanche freezes.

TODD (CONT'D)

Put your hands again his side, then work your feet back till you can't go no futher.

Hatbrim obeys, until he is supported only by his arms braced against Comanche. Todd waits, while Hatbrim's arms become strained and lead-heavy.

TODD (CONT'D)

A signal from me and that horse'll jump aside quicker'n a monkey. And you'll end up with your face mashed. You ever had a taste of Texas dirt?

HATBRIM

All right, God damn it! I believe you! Hurry up!

Todd steps up and whips the pistol from Hatbrim's belt, backs away and clucks for Comanche to sidle toward Hatbrim to let him regain his balance.

TODD

Now go set down beside your partner. And stay thataway!

Hatbrim does so.

TODD (CONT'D)

Cabus, go around there and lead their horses back behind us.

Cabus does so. Todd steps over to Hatbrim's horse and whips the carbine out of the scabbard. A light dawns on him.

TODD (CONT'D)

Where'd you get this gun?

Hatbrim only grunts.

TODD (CONT'D)

I said 'Where'?

HATBRIM

Taken it off a dead Yankee.

TODD

How come he was dead?

Hatbrim only scowls.

TODD (CONT'D)

A Spencer repeater. They say you load it on Sunday and shoot it all week.

He kneels, lays the cocked pistol on the ground beside him, thumbs back the hammer of the Spencer and works the lever. A brass cartridge slides into the chamber.

HATBRIM

(nervously)

Watch how you handle that thing? It goes off easy.

TODD

Bet it shoots straight too.

With the Spencer now trained on the pair, he stands up, picks up and uncocks the pistol and sticks it in his belt.

TODD (CONT'D)

Stand up, you two. Put them hands high and march down to the river. Slo-o-w does it.

Jenny cannot refrain from protesting.

JENNY

You can't just let them go! They may be deserters.

Todd gives her a stern look then follows the outlaws to the river bank.

TODD

You fellers're lucky. The river's down. You might can wade plumb across.

CHUCKLEHEAD

Hold on here! You can't turn a man loose afoot in this country. No gun

nor nothing! At least let us have our horses.

TODD

Can't do it. The rightful owners'll be wanting 'em back. I expect you got friends over there. If you ain't, you better make some purty quick. And listen, you don't know what a favor I'm doing you.

(lowering his voice)

That girl's daddy just lo-oves to

see people he don't like swinging from a tree. Colonel James Ticknor.

You ever heard of him?

To judge from the look the renegades exchange, they have.

TODD (CONT'D)

See that timber over yonder. Once you get across, you make a bee-line for it. You run for cover 'fore you get there, and I'll test out the range of this gun. Now get going!

The two men wade across, thrashing to keep their feet in chest-deep water in mid-channel. But they make it, then walk away as Todd ordered.

EXT. RIVER BANK

JENNY

(breathless)

Oh thank you, Todd, thank you.

Todd does not answer till the men have gone into the timber. He likes hearing her speak his name, but he reacts by turning critical.

TODD

Your father oughtn't to let you ride around in these brakes with no pertection but Cabus?

JENNY

My father? My father's dead!

Todd is struck speechless.

TODD

(after a moment)

Well...uh...Ticknor.

JENNY

Oh, I see. No! Uncle James is my father's brother.

TODD

Oh... Well then...We better make tracks! Them bushwhackers may team up with some more and come back. Let's head for...your uncle's place.

JENNY

Todd...How can I ever thank you?

Todd looks at her enchanted. She gives him a radiant smile. He suddenly busies himself with strapping the Spencer

scabbard onto the flap of his saddle and stowing the other weapons taken from the ruffians.

TODD

Cabus, you lead the horses.

CABUS

Yes suh.

They start. The outlaws' horses do not lead well behind Cabus's mule, so it is slow going.

TODD

How far is it?

JENNY

Two miles, about.

Todd pulls out one of the captured pistols, turns and rides back to Cabus and holds it out to him.

TODD

You know now to shoot a pistol?

CABUS

I kin shoot a pistol.

TODD

Then stick this in your belt. You may need it.

Jenny watches with disapproval. Riding back to her, Todd draws out the Spencer and lays it across the pommel of his saddle.

JENNY

I didn't look...funny because I was afraid.

TODD

What for, then?

JENNY

Well, Uncle Cabus is truly like family. But if anybody sees him with a gun... You may not know this, but...

TODD

I do know. A slave ain't allowed to carry a gun. I know who else the rebels're disarming too.

Jenny gazes at him, perplexed.

TODD (CONT'D)

I had a musket taken away from me in town this morning.

Jenny looks away, troubled. They ride on for a short while in silence.

TODD (CONT'D)

Your folks...your mother...family. They don't live around here, I take it.

JENNY

No. In Tennessee. Mama and me're are the only ones left. When Papa

died, we came out to join

Uncle James and Aunt Mary. That is, Mama sent me on with Uncle Cabus and Mammy Sarah, meaning to sell our land and follow. But with the war going on she hasn't been able to. Then last year Mammy Sarah died...

Todd is trying hard to be sympathetic, but he grows wide-eyed with alarm on seeing tears in her eyes, because he does not know how to react.

TODD

I...I didn't mean to...

JENNY

Oh, that's all right. I want you to know.

Her sudden directness disconcerts Todd further. He cannot look at her.

JENNY (CONT'D)

Aunt Mary and Uncle James lived in Tennessee too when I was little. I stayed with them a whole lot. Papa was gone from home so much on his slave-trading business.

Todd cannot help throwing her a shocked glance.

JENNY (CONT'D)

It's not like you think! Papa was the kindest man alive. He bought any mistreated slave he could. And he only sold to good masters. He even wanted slavery done away with. But just not all at once...

Todd cannot help blurting out.

TODD

A slave-trader but might near an abolitionist.

JENNY

(flaring)

You don't believe me! But I want you to know my father was a good man! And Uncle James is a good man, too!

TODD

Do you know about what your Uncle James is doing, right now? Or about the fix my father's in?

JENNY

I know about the trials. I know that's why you came to see Colonel Oldham yesterday.

TODD

But do you have any idey what

these trials really are?

JENNY

There's a jury, I'm aware of that. If the men're not guilty, the jury'll acquit them...

JENNY (CONT'D)

Of course, all I have to go on is what Uncle James and Colonel Oldham tell me, but they...

TODD

It ain't no legal trial atall. It's a kangaroo court. You know what that is? It's A bunch of vigilantes on a rampage. You might as well say a mob!

JENNY

No! No! There's a dreadful misunderstanding somehow. I only hope...

Having looked at Todd with anguished eyes while they talked, Jenny turns now to gaze straight ahead. She is still on the verge of tears, and Todd is still uneasy about that.

TODD

(softly)

Jenny...

She turns her gaze on him. He takes a deep breath.

TODD (CONT'D)

When I thought your Uncle James was your father...

He looks relieved that apparently she will not cry, that her look is now more of sympathy, and curiosity.

JENNY

Yes?

TODD

I was on my way to talk to Colonel Oldham this morning, yes. But besides that I...wanted to talk to you.

JENNY

Why me?

TODD

Because I had hopes you could maybe...persuade your uncle...

JENNY

Persuade him?

TODD

He...carries a lot of weight with the jury. Plus which, if the prisoners do go free, once they're out'a sight of the courthouse that mob may jump in and lynch 'em anyhow. Ain't nobody could stop that only maybe Colonel Ticknor.

JENNY

Todd! Uncle James is a law-abiding man. That's why he wanted to see this done by a jury. I don't have to ask him. He won't stand for any lynching!

Disappointed and stymied, Todd turns and glowers ahead. Jenny looks confused, but clearly she wishes to reach Todd as much as he does her.

JENNY (CONT'D)

But of course...others, like the militia officers, they might look the other way if the mob took

over. Uncle James could be warned about that. Is that what you mean?

TODD

(it is not, but...)

Yes.

JENNY

And you think if I speak to him...

TODD

Yes.

JENNY

He'll be...displeased. He's very proud of doing his duty... As he sees it.

They both are well aware now that more is passing between them than even the vital subject of the trials. A suppressed eagerness and magnetism come into their every look and word.

JENNY (CONT'D)

I'll mention what you did for me today, too. That oughta help... Yes, Todd, I'll speak to him.

They ride knee to knee now. Each one yearns to touch the other, but they are scared and shy.

TODD

The sooner the better, too. Some way or n'other we have to get you to town.

JENNY

Yes. Because he won't be home till the trials're over.

The sudden nearness between them brought on by the pact they have made is for the moment too much to face openly. They

ride on in thrilled silence

EXT. APPROACHING THE TICKNOR HOUSE

CABUS

(as the house comes in sight)

Whoo-eee! Is I ever glad to see that!

The TICKNOR HOUSE is a two-story plantation-style structure, much like the Oldham mansion, only less imposing and elaborate. Todd stops and wraps his slicker around the Spencer to hide it. Cabus rides forward.

JENNY

We made it, Uncle Cabus, Thanks to Todd

CABUS

Yes'm! He come in mighty handy.

(holding out the pistol to Todd)

Here. They say I ain't supposed to touch no gun.

Though Todd smiles and nods, accepting the gun, Cabus maintains a stern and disapproving face. People now come rushing out to meet them: TWO MALE SLAVES and FOUR OF THE MILITIAMEN here to guard the Ticknor family. MRS TICKNOR herself, a plump and hearty woman, with her TWO DAUGHTERS of eight and ten beside her, stands waving from the back door. Todd, Jenny and Cabus ride up and dismount. Mrs Ticknor effusively invites Jenny and Todd in to dinner.

EXT. TICKNOR FRONT PORCH

The meal is over. Todd and Jenny are just emerging onto the front porch. Mrs Ticknor is following, stops in the open doorway, smiling and rosy-faced.

MRS TICKNOR

Todd, we have so much to thank you for! I only wish my husband could be here to thank you too.

Jenny looks grave. Todd nods and tries to smile.

TODD

Yes'm. And I sure do thank you for the good dinner. But if you'll excuse me, ma'm, I have to get to town.

Todd and Jenny leave her standing in the doorway beaming after them as they walk away. She knows.

EXT. CORRAL

Todd is watering Comanche at a wooden trough. Jenny stands on the other side of Comanche's head, gazing at him.

JENNY

Is it all right to touch him.

TODD

Lord yes! For you it is.

Jenny runs her hand along Comanche's mane.

JENNY

(tenderly)

Comanche.

Todd looks on with enchanted love.

JENNY (CONT'D)

You must be a wonderful horse, Comanche, Todd thinks so much of you.

TODD

Best horse as ever was.

(Lowering his voice)

None too handsome though.

Jenny puts her arms around Comanche's head and kisses him lightly above the eye.

JENNY

Handsome is as handsome does.

Todd looks as if his insides are doing flips.

TODD

Then he's handsome for sure.

Jenny stands back, leans against the corral fence and suddenly takes on a serious tone.

JENNY

To be frank, Todd, Uncle James is not only headstrong, he has a bad temper. He used to be a more generous man, but the war's changed him. He's...He'll stop at nothing to uphold the Confederacy. But I'll try my best to...soften him.

Todd is saddling Comanche, but every glance he can spare he directs lovingly at Jenny.

TODD

I know you will. What we have to think of now is how to get you to where he is.

JENNY

I'll make one of the militia boys take me to town. Tomorrow.

Todd turns and takes her hands in his. They long to kiss, but love at this pitch still frightens them. Todd then slowly lifts one of Jenny's hands, then the other, to his lips. They stand for a moment rapt. The glow in Jenny's eyes is blissful. In another second they would be kissing, but Cabus appears around a corner of the corral shed and stops. Todd can hardly keep his temper, but as Jenny remains calm, so does he. They whisper goodbyes. Todd mounts and rides away without acknowledging Cabus's presence. As Todd turns to look back, Jenny is still leaning against the corral fence. She waves, but no lace handkerchief, no merriment, this time. She moves her hand slowly back and forth, as if losing sight of

Todd is a trauma.

EXT. THICK WOODS EAST OF MILCOURT - DAY

Todd rides into a deep ravine where rocks tower out of thick brush. Dismounting and scrambling up to a crevice in the rocks, he hides the slicker-wrapped Spencer and climbs down.

TODD

(to Comanche, as he

rides away)

Now nobody'll see me with it, but it's handy if I need it right quick.

EXT. MILCOURT SQUARE - DAY

Todd rides slowly around the square, looking now at the courthouse, now at the Dayton Building, hoping against hope, as always, to catch a glimpse of Pap. This time, as if conjured up, Pap appears leaving the Dayton Building headed for the courthouse, flanked by two guards, HARVEY WHITMAN and DAWSE MACKEY. Leaping from Comanche and leaving him with reins dangling, Todd rushes toward Pap.

TODD (CONT'D)

Pap! Pap! Ho!

Pap stops in his tracks. The two militiamen grab him by the arms as he starts toward Todd. Todd rushes up and yells in Dawse Mackey's face.

TODD (CONT'D)

For Christ's sake, Dawse! let us have a few words. Supposing it was yore daddy.

MACKEY

It's again orders, Todd. A man's gotta follow orders!

TODD

Orders! If it wasn't for whining sneaks like you, Dawse Mackey, we wouldn't be in this fix.

HARVEY WHITMAN

(letting go of Pap's arm)

Y'all go ahead and talk. Just be quick about it. Turn loose of him, Dawse.

Mackey looks wildly around but does let Pap's arm drop.

TODD

Pap...

PAP

I know what you're thinking. But no, my trial's not today.

TODD

Pap, I been...doing what I can. I ain't been idle.

PAP

Is everbody out home all right?

TODD

Yes sir. We're making it purty well, considering. And...uh...I been talking to...a couple'a people. I better not say who.

PAP

I know you'll you do ever bit you can, son.

Todd cannot find the words to say more.

PAP (CONT'D)

They tell me Colonel Oldham's been ailing.

TODD

Yeah, he's sick, sort'a. But he swears he'll help.

MACKEY

That'll have to do. Y'all get away from one another before somebody sees you!

TODD

You gonna piss in your pants,

Dawse!

Harvey Whitman snickers.

WHITMAN

Shore nuff, y'all better knock it off. If Ticknor finds out, they'll be the devil to pay.

As the two guards lead Pap away, he speaks to Todd over his shoulder.

PAP

Give all my love and caring to Ma and the kids.

TODD

(calling out)

We got good reason to hope, Pap. Sure nuff we have!

EXT. SQUARE - DUSK

The sun is going down a flaming red among broken clouds. Todd is sitting on a board sidewalk watching the courthouse. In the dimming dusk, Preacher Tillman emerges. After this all-day session of the court, the crowd does not know what to expect. Todd jumps up and pushes through to a few feet from Tillman, who holds up his hand and looks at Todd.

TILLMAN

From now on we'll go by two-thirds in place of a simple majority. So it'll take eight votes to convict a man, not seven like before. They

said I could announce this but not discuss it. So that's all I got to say for now.

He shakes his head sternly to warn Todd to stay away from him. Todd nods. Much of the crowd looks disappointed, not comprehending how such a minor change can make a difference.

They press forward towards Tillman, but the militia quickly forms a guard around him and escorts him out of the square.

EXT. SQUARE - DAY

Todd and WILLUN HACKETT are sitting against a hitching rail, facing the courthouse. Willun is Todd's age, his best friend and Sis's sweetheart. He is a blonde and naive-looking young man, as loyal and honest as the day is long. This is the THIRD DAY since Tillman persuaded the jury to change procedure. A man emerges from the courthouse door, stops, looks around as if he cannot believe he is free

WILLUN

Gilbert Smith. That makes eleven they've let go these last three days, Todd. And convicted nobody.

TODD

Ma told me Gil advised the Union men to go easy, like Pap did.

Surely if they cleared him, they will Pap. But for God's sake, when?

Willun grasps Todd by the shoulder in sympathy and support.

WILLUN

Buck up, man. It'll work out all right.

Now it is the members of the jury who come filing out of the courthouse door. Todd stares apprehensively.

WILLUN (CONT'D)

Aw, they're just going out for a bite to eat. Come on, let's me and you try Miz Collins's place. They say she puts out purty fair grub.

Todd walks reluctantly away beside Willun.

EXT. FRONT OF MRS. COLLINS'S PLACE

Todd and Willun, coming out after their meal, see Cabus riding byon his mule.

TODD

Cabus! Hey Cabus!

Cabus hears, turns and rides over to them.

TODD (CONT'D)

How're you, Cabus?

CABUS

Finest kind, Marse Todd.

TODD

Miss Jenny...?

CABUS

Oh, she all right. Promised she'd come to town, sho', but the militia boys wouldn't bring her less'nKunnel Ticknor say so, and he turn her down.

Todd and Cabus exchange a long look, Cabus poker-faced, Todd deeply disturbed.

EXT. SQUARE - DAY

A few minutes later, as Todd and Willun enter the square, they see Brother Tillman coming along the board sidewalk. He halts in his tracks on seeing Matt Scanlon coming to meet him. Scanlon is carrying a holstered pistol as always. He bars Tillman's way, half-turns toward the courthouse and points an accusing finger at it.

SCANLON

You mean to free ever traitor we caught, and we know it!

TILLMAN

(scared but holding his ground)

The whole jury decides, Matt. Not just me.

Scanlon brings his arm down and begins jabbing a finger almost on Tillman's nose.

SCANLON

Well, you add this to your gospel, Preacher! You may turn 'em loose but they'll still have to answer to us. And that may go for some of the jury, too!

With this, Scanlon wheels and barges off down the sidewalk. Todd and Willun look at one another in trepidation.

TODD

Jenny's just got to reach old Ticknor. You tell Ma and them not to expect me home tonight.

EXT. OPEN COUNTRY NORTH OF MILCOURT - DAY

Todd on Comanche approaches a large farmhouse--the WHARTON PLACE--headed for Ticknor's. He is brought to a halt by seeing FIVE RIDERS appear over a rise ahead: four men and a woman who is riding side-saddle. Todd instantly recognizes Jenny and dashes to meet her. He makes a tight-rein turn to veer in beside her. She stops, holds out her hand, which Todd grasps eagerly and kisses.

TODD (CONT'D)

I was just coming out to see about you!

He glances at the other riders: the militiamen escorting her. They stare at him suspiciously. He turns away at once to keep his eyes on Jenny.

JENNY

(winking at Todd)

Uncle James forbid the militia to bring me to town. I'm just coming over here to visit Jane Wharton.

TODD

(knowingly)

I see.

EXT. WHARTON FARMHOUSE

The Whartons notice their approach and the place comes alive. MRS WHARTON and JANE and FOUR STAIR-STEP YOUNGER

CHILDREN--THREE BOYS AND A GIRL--come out on the porch. Jane rushes down the steps. Jenny dismounts. The two embrace

eagerly. Jane is plump, too full in the face, not pretty.

Her hair is a mousy color. Mrs Wharton is thin and intense, with the harried look of a woman caring for a large family alone: her husband is away in the Confederate army.

JANE

Oh honey! I've been dying to see you.

JENNY

I'd've come sooner, but...oh, I'll explain later. Mrs Wharton, Jane, this is Todd Blair.

TODD

(with a slight bow)

Pleased to meet you, ladies.

Mrs Wharton and Jane, sensing the attraction between Jenny and Todd, begin to treat him special.

INT. WHARTON FARMHOUSE PARLOR

The room is well but not richly furnished. Jane has Jenny sitting beside her on the sofa and will not let go of her hand. Todd and Mrs Wharton are in easy chairs.

JENNY

(with a knowing look at Todd)

Miz Wharton, Jane, listen! I've begged you to move to town and you just wouldn't. But now you've simply got to! Todd, tell them what happened.

TODD

Uh... Well, two bushwhackers tried to ambush Jenny. I happened along.

JANE

You saved her from outlaws?!

Todd looks embarrassed. Jenny, laughing proudly and happily, breaks in.

JENNY

Yes! He did!

Todd sits frowning, uncomfortable yet glad. Then with head ducked he looks at Jenny's radiant face and smiles tenderly.

JENNY (CONT'D)

(to the Wharton women)

So you see, away out here you're in awful danger!

MRS WHARTON

But the house in town is so small!

And with Frank gone, somebody has to look after the farm!

JENNY

Please! I'll help you. So will Todd. We'll gather up some things and leave in the morning. The slaves can bring in the rest of what you need later on.

Jane and her mother look flustered, protest a little but soon consent to go, on top of which they turn AD LIB to gushing invitations for Todd to stay the night.

MRS WHARTON

(rising)

Let me go tell Mandy we have extra folks for supper.

Todd and Jenny sit gazing at each other, exulting.

EXT. WHARTON FARMHOUSE FRONT PORCH - NIGHT

Todd and Jenny come from the front door to a big swing hung by chains from the ceiling. They sit down side by side but not touching. The moon has not yet risen, so it is very dark.

The sky is peppered bright with stars as seen from any angle outward under the eaves. A big pecan tree closeby catches a breeze off and on, the leaves left on the tree stirring to a whisper. Touching a toe to the floor, Todd puts the swing into a gentle arc, the starry sky in the b.g. swaying in rhythm with the motion. They can exchange looks unblushing in the deep shadow. Todd slides his left arm along the back of the swing and lets it rest across Jenny's shoulders. He reaches to grasp her hand lying in her lap. She takes his hand but shifts their clasping over to his knee.

JENNY

(in a low voice)

It'll be easy now. I won't have to ask Uncle James first, if I go into town with Jane and her mother.

TODD

Jenny, this means the world and all to me.

Their heads draw closer together as if magnetized.

JENNY

I'll plead with him. I'll beg him to clamp down on those awful men.

TODD

Yes. And it's needed now most of all, with the jury freeing men

ever day.

JENNY

Yes. I know.

Todd strokes her cheek. She lifts her hand to his face. He tilts up her chin with his forefinger. Their lips come

together in their first kiss. It is long and deep,

heads unmoving, the swing rocking slower and slower then falling still.

Finally coming up for air, they begin to feel with fingertips each other's face, as if the darkness were total and love had to work in blindness. Todd then slips his right arm under Jenny's knee and slides her into his lap. She half resists, passionate yet hesitant. Another long kiss, then she nestles her head in his shoulder hollow.

FADE TO:

EXT. PORCH

A short while later. Todd and Jenny are still in close embrace, busy with exploring kisses over each other's face and neck.

JENNY (CONT'D)

(by degrees disengaging from the embrace)

We better go in now, sweetheart.

(and as Todd squeezes her

that much tighter)

Really we'd better, honey. Jane's made you a pallet on the floor in the parlor. I'm sharing her bedroom.

She gently withdraws from Todd's arms. A stronger breeze through the pecan tree raises the whisper of the wind to a hissing and sighing. As Todd lifts his head to look, a dim vision of the hanging tree is SUPERIMPOSED on the real tree before his eyes, a shadowy body dangling from it. He shudders. Jenny senses what is wrong and draws his head down to wrap it tight in both arms against her breasts.

JENNY (CONT'D)

We'll save him, darling. Don't be afraid. We will. We will.

She kisses the top of his head. No words come to them. Then Todd raises his head. They look at each other for a moment, then Todd stands up and turns away from the tree. They walk together softly to the screen door. Todd opens it. Both slip through.

INT. WHARTON PARLOR

JENNY

(from the foot of

the stairs)

Good night, dear heart.

TODD

Good night. Good night, my darling.

Todd gropes his way to the fireplace mantle and takes down his pistol, then creeps to a pallet of quilts on the floor, and without even taking off his shoes, lies down on his stomach with the pistol close beside him. He clutches the pillow tight under his chin, then buries his face in it.

EXT. WHARTON FARMHOUSE FRONT YARD - DAY

A wagon with a mule team hitched stands before the house. Two male slaves are loading various items: a couple of

trunks, kitchen utensils, bedding. Jane and Mrs

Wharton and Jenny come and go, directing. Todd is just walking away toward the corral when he sees SIX MOUNTED MILITIAMEN coming from the direction of Milcourt. He hurries out to meet them.

TODD (CONT'D)

Where y'all headed?

MILITIA SERGEANT

(riding in front)

Ticknor place. Relieve the boys there now... Somebody moving out?

TODD

The women folks're moving into town. It ain't safe out here.

SERGEANT

Won't be no quilting bee in Milcourt neither. You heard the latest?

TODD

(bracing for the worst)

No. What?

SERGEANT

The jury adjourned this morning, Didn't let on why till one of 'em spilled the beans. They aim to wait a week for excitement to kind'a die down, then turn all the prisoners loose. But let me tell you, a lot o' folks ain't abuying that! Talk about lynching was red hot when we left town.

Todd is in a daze by now. He turns slowly and startstoward the house. The sergeant calls out after him.

SERGEANT

That passel of traitors ought'a get what's coming to 'em, if you ask me.

Todd stops, is about to turn on him, then changes his mind and strides toward Jenny, who is just coming down the steps. He goes up, grips her by the elbows and draws her close.

TODD

We gotta rush to town. No, wait, that won't do: Ticknor seeing us arrive together. I'll go first and y'all come on as quick as you can,

He gives her a hard kiss and lets her go.

JENNY

What's the matter?

TODD

Maybe lynching, that sergeant says. I'm going. I'll see you there.

Todd reaches over and gives her a quick kiss, then strides away toward the corral.

EXT. WHARTON FARM CORRAL

Todd has nearly finished saddling when he notices Cabus, who has come up and is standing at the corral fence. His manner when he speaks is friendlier than ever before.

CABUS

Sump'm I wants you to know. Them outlaws didn't have me buffaloed t'other day. You see this!

He pulls out the longest, wickedest-looking razor ever manufactured.

CABUS (CONT'D)

I had it hid under my hat again my belly. If'n they'd'a come at us,

I'd'a slit one of 'em's throat 'fore t'other'n got me. Give Miss Jenny time to run.

Todd stands looking pensively at Cabus for a moment, then walks over to him, reaches out a hand between the corral rails. Cabus takes it for a firm and heartfelt handshake.

TODD

You know how to watch after her, don't you?

CABUS

I reckon I ought to. Been doing it all her bawn days.

TODD

I'd stay and talk more, Cabus, but I need to get to town in a hurry.

CABUS

Sho' you do.

As Todd is mounting, Cabus comes around to open the gate. His knowing glance at Todd shows he remembers the other time

he opened a gate for him. Todd rides through, then stops beside him and looks down at his face.

TODD

Tell me, Cabus, did you owe Jenny's daddy...sump'm special?

CABUS

(after a momentary pause)

Jis' my life. My wife's too..He bought us from a mean ole devil.

Todd nods in understanding.

TODD

Be seeing you in town.

CABUS

You sho' will.

Cabus stands watching Todd ride away.

EXT. SQUARE - DAY

Todd walks into the square, having left Comanche tied on another street to avoid being conspicuous. Even more people

pack the square than on the first day. Knots of men are talking among themselves. Todd hears 'We oughta take 'em all out and hang 'em' and 'Let's storm that courthouse'.

Some men are leaving while others arrive. In this atmosphere one wrong twitch would turn the crowd into a raving mob. A heavy guard of troops is around both the courthouse and the Dayton Building. Todd goes to the N. side of the square to the window of a barbershop--where he knows there is a wall clock inside. He peers in. We see from Todd's POV it is 12:25. We also see the BARBER, an older man, standing idle by his chair. Todd decides to go in.

INT. BARBER SHOP

BARBER

Hello, Todd

TODD

(nodding, then leaning)

weakly against the wall)

You think they're too yellow to storm the courthouse, or just waiting for...something....

BARBER

Waiting, I figure. Word's around as how when the jury adjourned, the mob leaders rounded 'em up and taken 'em away, and are off somewhere raking 'em over the coals, I reckon. I ain't seen Harley Dexter ner Matt Scanlon. I guess that's why.

We see Todd in a large wall mirror as he turns and heads distracted for the door.

BARBER (CONT'D)

You all right, son?

Todd stops and stares out at the crowd.

TODD

I'll make it.

We see him from behind, and the mob in front of him as he walks out into their midst.

EXT. SQUARE

Todd steps up to the barber shop window again and looks in. We see from Todd's POV that the clock reads 2:35. He turns back to the same sort of scene he has suffered through all these hours. He freezes on seeing Cabus walking toward Colonel Ticknor. A look of relief comes over his face: at least Jenny must be in town. His relief is short-lived, though. During the exchange between Cabus and Ticknor, the colonel stiffens, lifts a hand to shake a peremptory finger. Seeing Cabus leave, Todd hurries off to intercept him.

EXT. SIDE STREET

Todd hails Cabus, who stops and waits till he comes up.

TODD (CONT'D)

The news ain't good, is it?

CABUS

You right. I say Miss Jenny want'a speak to him at Miz Wharton's

house. He say it kin wait. He too

tied up. So what we gonna do next?

TODD

I just don't know. But we gotta come up with something.

EXT. SQUARE

The feeling of arrested action, of waiting for some great change, is still dominant in the scene. Todd walks again to the barber shop window to check the time. We see from Todd's POV that it is 6:15. He sags wearily against the window-facing and stares out over the crowd as if drugged. All of a sudden there is a stir, the crowd shifting as if the numbness has gone out of it. Todd comes alive at once. He looks to his right and sees the jury entering the square single file, escorted by TWENTY OR MORE men, altogether as if the jury is in custody and on the way to prison themselves. Harley Dexter and Matt Scanlon lead the escort. Todd sees they are headed for the courthouse. He quickly shoulders through the crowd, unheeding of glares.

INT. COURTHOUSE STAIRWAY - EARLY DARK

Todd reaches the courthouse door well ahead of the jury procession, enters, leaps up the stairs, slips into a dark

corner just outside the jury room door. He is safely hidden when the jury group reaches the top of the stairs and files into the room. Dexter and Scanlon make motions for the escort to wait downstairs. Only these two follow the jury inside, closing the door behind them.

INT. JURY ROOM - TODD'S POV, LOOKING IN

At first only the dark outline of a closed door is seen. As a shadowy figure Todd approaches, cracks the door and brings his head close. The jury box with some of the seated jurymen is seen through the crack. Lighted candles are spaced about

on tables and the bar separating the jury box from the rest of the room. Facing the jury at an angle, at a table with a candle before him, Harley Dexter stands.

DEXTER

Hanging six traitors and clearing a bunch more ain't much to show for all yore assling around. Then thought you'd turn the rest of 'em loose on the sly. Well, by God! we'll see about that! So...lemme repeat what we've agreed on. We'll hang the ones that need it the most, and let you free the others. Fair as fair can be.

(turning to the

recording clerk)

Hand me that list, Whit.

The clerk, WHIT SANDERS, hands him a list of the prisoners. Dexter lays it on the table, sits down, scoots a candle near, pulls a stub of a pencil out of his pocket, begins reading out names, checking them as he goes:

DEXTER (CONT'D)

C. A. Jones...James Powers...Eli Scott...Thomas Baker...George Anderson...

Todd is so intent on hearing the names that he does not notice people have crowded up the stairs and packed in behind him. Startled, he finds the door is wide open now, and he has been pushed into the room ahead of the crowd. These people are not the mob but families of the prisoners, to judge from the groans and outcries when a name is read.

DEXTER

Abraham McNeese...Henry Cochran... James Ward...William Wernell...

Dexter's eyes have found Todd, who is near desperation, always expecting to hear Pap's name next.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

B. F, Barnes... William Rhodes...

Dexter pauses, running his eye up and down the list. Then he looks up, his eye still on Todd, who stares back, trembling.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Curd Goss...Ramah Dye...Arphax Dawson.

He stops and holds the list up before him for a long moment, obviously for effect. Then he hands it back to Whit Sanders. Todd staggers, is kept on his feet only by the people surrounding him.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

(to Scanlon)

I reckon that'll satisfy us, won't it, Matt?

MATT SCANLON

That'll satisfy us.

DANIEL MONTAGUE, president of the jury, is sitting at a nearby table with a gavel. His eyes sweep the jury. He appears to have no objection to this travesty.

MONTAGUE

I propose calling this a "group trial." Any of you jurymen object?

Todd's eye falls on Tillman, then on REESE CULLER, who sits ramrod straight staring ahead and scowling bitterly. Tillman's head is bowed, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face, in an attitude of prayer.

MONTAGUE (CONT'D)

Well and good! These...

(to the clerk)

Does that make fourteen, Whit?

The clerk nods, a horrified look on his face.

MONTAGUE (CONT'D)

All right! These men are pronounced guilty and sentenced to hang. Tomorrow! And may God have mercy on their souls!

He brings the gavel down hard on the table.

EXT. RAVINE - NIGHT

Todd is climbing down the rocks with the Spencer in his hand, walks over to Comanche standing near by.

TODD

(to Comanche, strapping the Spencer to the saddle)

He don't aim to let Pap live.

He wants to smoke me out so he can kill us both...Oh, I'll be on hand tomorrow, Harley, but not where you think.

EXT. DAYTON BUILDING - BEFORE DAWN

A balcony, Dayton Building second floor rear. The branches of a large tree reach in close. In the first paling of dawn Todd climbs the tree, inches out on a limb and swings over onto the balcony. He climbs then to the balcony roof and on up to the main roof, which slopes a little forward to the building's false front, behind which he can easily hide and to which he now crawls.

He carries the Spencer and a haversack holding ammunition, food and a canteen. He finds drain spouts large enough to spy through. He lies prone next to one of these spouts and peers through it. From his POV we see the courthouse, much of the square, and the street below, blocked off under military guard. The death wagon waits in the street.

EXT. ROOF/SQUARE - DAY

Todd looks up behind him at the lately risen sun, golden among broken clouds. He surveys the whole sky, glad to have the clouds. MURMURS FROM THE CROWD BELOW call him back to

his spyhole. We see Harley Dexter and Matt Scanlon emerging from the courthouse door with a prisoner between them.

TODD (CONT'D)

(in a strained whisper)

Bill Wernell! God in Heaven!

WILLIAM WERNELL weaves along, flanked by Dexter and Scanlon, who often prod him with an elbow to keep him walking straight. He comes up and grasps the side of the wagonbed to climb in, then suddenly collapses and sprawls. Dexter and Scanlon stand back while four soldiers lift Wernell and swing him roughly into the wagon. The sight of Dexter and Scanlon causes Todd to grip and almost lift the Spencer. Wernell lies inert and loose-jointed in the wagon bed as he is driven away between cordons of soldiers. Onlookers crowd in behind to follow. As before, Colonel Ticknor is the only mounted man in the procession. Todd draws back from his spyhole, lets his head sink into crossed arms and lies overcome. We hear the WAGON CLATTERING along below and the CLOPPING of the mules' hooves.

EXT. ROOF/SQUARE

Todd hears the WAGON RETURNING, looks out to see it stop. Soldiers transfer a blanket-wrapped body to another wagon.

Todd takes small swigs from his canteen, shaking it to check how much water is left. He glances at the sun high in the sky. Clouds are breaking, so the sun beats down on him. Weary, sweating, confused, he goes back to his post.

ABE MCNEESE comes through the courthouse door, steady on his feet, accompanied also by Dexter and Scanlon. He climbs on his own, if shakily, into the wagon. He is calm, rigid.

TODD (CONT'D)

(whispering again)

Abe McNeese. Does this make six? Or is it seven?

McNeese is defiant. Once crouched in the wagon, he curses Dexter and Scanlon, words not clear to us, but Scanlon in reaction waves at the slave driving the wagon.

SCANLON

Get this sonofabitch out'a here before I shoot him!

Todd waits till the usual SOUNDS of THE DEPARTING WAGON have ceased. He then takes a hunk of cornbread out of the haversack, tries to eat, slowly, sipping water as he goes. But he can only get down a few bites. The sky has cleared. Todd is heat-stricken, torpid, emotions drained.

TODD

(slapping his cheeks)

Wake up, damn you! Ole Harley might slip Pap in that line-up anytime!

EXT. ROOF/SQUARE

The sun has now slanted down to barely above the courthouse. Todd is drenched in sweat. But at least now the false front affords a narrow shade for him to lie in when not at his

vigil. He is clearly in a daze, hanging on by sheer determination. He is brought out of his lethargy by HARSH VOICES and SCUFFLING FEET heard from below. He crawls weakly to the drain spout, this time clutching the Spencer.

Below, TOM BAKER, a big and powerful man, has turned on Dexter and Scanlon and attacked them. Three guardsmen rush in to grapple with him before he is subdued. As he stands with both arms pinioned, Matt Scanlon steps up and gives him a back-handed slap across the face.

COLONEL TICKNOR

Mr. Scanlon! There'll be no abusing the prisoners!

Baker will not give up. He has to be tied in the wagon, struggles against the ropes as long as the wagon is in sight.

TODD

(in a loud whisper)

What wouldn't I give to help you, Tom Baker!

Todd has not yet tortured himself with watching the death wagon make its trip to the hanging tree, a half-mile east of the square. Fascinated now by Baker's defiance, he crawls to the back of the building to watch.

EXT. ROOF/MAIN STREET (TODD's P.O.V.)

The wagon followed by a long file of people passes along Main Street, under military escort, then pulls up under the hanging tree, halts. A man throws a rope over the huge limb that has received all the victims. The hangman steps up into the wagon to put the noose around Tom Baker's neck, Todd can no longer bear the sight. He turns away, collapses, then in a great struggle lifts himself to hands and knees, head down. Suddenly, uncontrollably, he begins to vomit. After a moment of this he turns and crawls away, dry retching, back to the shade of the parapet, and there he passes out.

EXT. ROOF/SQUARE

Todd regains consciousness. He crawls over and lies on his belly at his spyhole, scarcely able to hold up his head. The death wagon returns with Baker's body. Todd watches as it is loaded on the back of a horse by A YOUNG MAN, presumably his son, who mounts and rides off leading the pack horse.

EXT. ROOF/SQUARE

The sun has sunk lower. Todd watches the death wagon drive up with another body. He is confused, cannot focus attention.

TODD (V.O.) (CONT'D)

They hung a man while I was out!

Maybe the last one. Pap?...Pap?

HARLEY DEXTER

(shouting from below)

Any of Ramah Dye's bunch here?

Suddenly from the crowd, LOUD VOICES are heard. The TWO DYE BROTHERS shoulder their way up to the militiamen unloading their father's body and shove them aside.

WENDELL DYE

Get your goddamn rebel hands off our Daddy!

The brothers carry the body to a waiting ox-cart. Their sister RACHEL crouches there. The three of them lay out the body with ritualistic care, for a time silencing the whole square. Rachel stands up and pulls out a candle and strikes a match and lights it. One brother hands her an open Bible. She

holds the Bible out toward the mob in one hand and with the other waves the candle from side to side. She screams out across the dead quiet of the square.

RACHEL DYE

Ever manjack of you will burn in Hell. And Daddy'll be in Heaven watching it!

She blows out the candle and kneels beside her father's body. The oxcart rolls out of the square, one son walking on either side of it. Todd half collapses again. Then LOUD VOICES and a CONFUSION OF OTHER SOUNDS bring him to. He looks down to see Dexter and Scanlon standing near Colonel Ticknor's horse. Todd becomes instantly alert, seeing Dexter look all around the square. Todd eases the rifle forward and draws a bead on Dexter.

DEXTER

(in a loud voice)

Colonel Ticknor! If you please.

COLONEL TICKNOR

(turning in the saddle)

Yes, Captain Dexter.

DEXTER

Last night at the trial we overlooked one man...

(momentary pause)

Nathaniel Blair!....

COLONEL TICKNOR

What're you saying?

DEXTER

(looking around as if for Todd)

If you got no objection, we'll hang him too

COLONEL TICKNOR

Captain Dexter! This is not a lynch mob. We obey the court. Blair hasn't been tried yet!

(turning to the crowd)

These proceedings are over with for the day. I want this square cleared! Anybody caught here an hour from now will be arrested.

Dexter is left in a state of ferocious disappointment. The crowd begins to dissolve. Todd lies limp, sunk in the torpor of exhaustion.

EXT. ROOF/SQUARE - NIGHT

Todd comes down from the tree he climbed this morning, hides the Spencer in a clump of bushes next to the building and steals away.

EXT. LIVERY STABLE

Comanche has been here for the day. Todd pays the LIVERY STABLE MAN, mounts and rides quickly away.

TODD

(to Comanche)

I just gotta see Jenny!

EXT. WHARTON TOWN HOUSE

A one-story structure with deep porches on three sides, white, a white picket fence around the yard. Todd rides up, hesitates on seeing a large dapple-gray tied at the front

fence, which he rightly fears is Colonel Ticknor's horse. He rides to the yard gate, dismounts and flings the reins over the fence. He enters the yard boldly, clumps up the steps to

the porch, sees in candlelight through the screen door Colonel Ticknor seated in a rocking chair. Todd whacks the brass knocker hard, chuckling to see the colonel start.

EXT/INT. PORCH AND PARLOR OF WHARTON TOWN HOUSE

AN EXCLAMATIONS OF SURPRISE AND DELIGHT is heard from Mrs. Wharton, Jane and Jenny are also in the parlor but have not seen Todd knock.

MRS. WHARTON

Todd! Come in!

Todd opens the screen door and steps inside. Jenny and Jane and Mrs. Wharton crowd forward to greet him. Jenny holds out her hand. Todd takes it and bows to kiss it. Colonel Ticknor scowls like fury. Jane pulls forward a rocking chair for Todd. He is still standing when Jenny turns to her uncle.

JENNY

Uncle James, this is Todd Blair.

TODD

(with exaggerated courtesy)

Honored to meet you, sir.

COLONEL TICKNOR

(with a slight dip

of the chin)

Colonel James Ticknor.

For a moment Todd and Ticknor size each other up. The women look on nervously.

TODD

Nathaniel Blair's my daddy

A bare nod is Ticknor's only acknowledgment.

TODD (CONT'D)

(sitting down, to Mrs Wharton)

Ma'm, I just dropped by to make sure y'all're getting settled.

MRS. WHARTON

Oh Todd, bless you! we're doing very well. And we're so glad to see you're all right!

She stops, but even a brief silence weighs heavily. Trying to ease the situation, she frightens herself into the territory she was trying to avoid.

MRS. WHARTON (CONT'D)

(almost wailing)

But oh, these awful trials are terrible! Thank God they'll soon be over with. Isn't that true, James?

The jury decided to let the rest of the prisoners go, didn't they?

Horrified looks come on the faces of Jenny and Jane. Colonel Ticknor has been paying close attention to Mrs Wharton.

COLONEL TICKNOR

(turning to stare at Todd)

Yes! The jury made that decision.

JENNY

We're so lucky to have you in charge, Uncle James. Without your strong hand the mob might take over.

Colonel Ticknor, not being one to grasp a veiled irony, seems hardly to have heard Jenny. He keeps his eyes on Todd.

COLONEL TICKNOR

Blair? Let me see. You live out yonder in that Bell community, don't you?

TODD

Yes, we do.

COLONEL TICKNOR

And your father belongs to that...league. Or whatever it is. Am I right?

Jenny catches her breath in anger.

TODD

You ask him.

COLONEL TICKNOR

He does. All of you do, the ones in jail and the ones still running around loose. Free to undermine the

Confederacy just as they please... But then, like Martha says, the

jury aims to let the rest of the prisoners go. Traitors! The whole lot of them!

Todd has to bite his tongue, as it were, to keep quiet.

JENNY

Uncle James! Please!

COLONEL TICKNOR

They plotted to go out and slaughter innocent people. But we broke 'em up. Just in time! And now we're setting 'em free! And all because of a spineless jury!...

(slamming an arm of his

rocker with an open palm)

All right then! The jury has so ordered... But you tell your father and that whole crew this. We'll be watching. If a one of you makes a false move, we won't wait for a jury this time. We'll set him down in front of a court martial! And as for you, young man, we have a conscription law, and you'll soon be called on to obey it!

(rising)

Now I must get back to my command!

MRS. WHARTON

James! I think you must not know what Todd did for Jenny.

COLONEL TICKNOR

Certainly I do. All lawlessness is reported to me.

Jenny goes over to face Colonel Ticknor and seizes him by the arms.

JENNY

Uncle James! Todd saved me from being raped!

COLONEL TICKNOR

Please! Watch your tongue. I understand.

(turning to Todd)

I'm obliged to you for assisting my niece.

TODD

(dipping his chin)

Glad I could help, sir!

Having her uncle's attention at last, Jenny makes her appeal.

JENNY

Uncle James! You know how certain men in this town may take the law in their own hands after the jury breaks up. Please do not allow them to do that! Promise me!

COLONEL TICKNOR

My dear! As a military officer sworn to uphold the law, I do not need to be wheedled into doing my duty.

JENNY

You believe what was done today is lawful because the jury ordered it. But they were forced into it by the mob. We know that. And since the jury's also decided to let the other men go, please give me your word you'll protect them from the mob afterwards. Please!

COLONEL TICKNOR

(actually smiling)

All right, child. I give you my word. Does that satisfy you?

(the smile fades)

Now! I really cannot tarry.

Colonel Ticknor firmly disengages his arms from Jenny's grip and steps back.

COLONEL TICKNOR (CONT'D)

Good night, dear. Good night, ladies.

He turns on his heel and leaves, ignoring Todd, all his military stiffness having returned stiffer than ever.

EXT. YARD GATE AT THE WHARTON TOWN HOUSE

A cool breeze stirs the remaining leaves of two big sycamores in the yard. Todd and Jenny stand outside the front gate under dazzling stars, in close-clinging embrace, kissing with passion and tenderness. They pause, still in tight embrace.

TODD

(whispering)

We can't see each other again till Pap's free. We can't risk riling up your uncle.

JENNY

Yes, but it's only for one more week.

TODD

Yes! And then... Darling, darling!

They smother the uncertainty of their future in kisses.

EXT. FRONT OF BLAIR CABIN - DAY

The next morning, bright and warm, a few scudding clouds from the south and a warm, rushing breeze. Todd is sitting in the cabin doorway in socks, a cup in hand, his boots on the doorstep beside him. He looks relaxed. Ma is at work at a spinning wheel under the post oak. Sis, with the help of

Montecristo and Jenk, is winnowing dry beans a few yards away. [This task consists of beating a flattened sack of dry beans with a stick to crush the hulls, then emptying the contents into a pan and while holding the pan high pouring the contents onto a cloth. The breeze blows the chaff away, the beans fall on the cloth.]

TODD (CONT'D)

(taking a sip, making a face)

Call this coffee! Hogpen mud's more like it.

Ma looks at him, relieved that he is less tense now. Sis too looks in Todd's direction, but she speaks in a sharp voice.

SIS

You could stir your bones and help us, big brother. Get the place in shape for...Pap.

MA

Now Sis, you let him alone. He's had a hard time of it these last few days.

TODD

She's right though. More beans to gather. Sweet potatoes to dig. Fall onions to pull. Cotton yet to pick. It looks purty good, too, in spite of the storm.

Todd stands up and sweeps his arm slowly toward the cotton field.

TODD (CONT'D)

Tell you what. I'm gonna hire Willun and them other Hackett kids, plus any other young'un around here big enough to drag a cottonsack. We'll fly in and get it picked right away.

MA

Pap'll be mighty pleased.

Todd rises suddenly and enters the cabin. Sis follows, stops in the doorway. As Todd reaches for his hat that hangs on a wall peg, his eye falls on Pap's fiddle hanging nearby. He stands gazing at the fiddle. "Sweet Nellie" as Pap played it is heard.

SIS

Don't you take down Pap's fiddle!

TODD

(startled)

I wasn't aiming to.

EXT. BLAIR FARM, SERIES OF SHOTS - DAY

VARIOUS SHOTS of three busy days. (1) Todd, in the lower end of the big garden, on his knees wearing heavy gloves, digging sweet potatoes out of the ground. (2) In another part of the garden Ma finishes tying a large hank of onions just dug and heads for the barn. (3) Sis and Montecristo and Jenk and FIVE OR SIX OTHER BOYS AND GIRLS are in the cotton field, bending and picking the snow white bolls. Willun Hackett works close beside Sis (4) Sis and Willun, each with a full cotton sack over the shoulder, head for the barn.

EXT. FRONT OF BLAIR CABIN - LATE AFTERNOON

Ma and Sis sit in chairs with their backs to the cabin wall. Both survey the stripped fields with pleasure. The crops are in. Todd comes riding around the cabin, dismounts slowly, stops and looks hesitantly at the two women.

MA

What's wrong, Todd?

Todd tries to hide his uneasiness under forced cheerfulness.

TODD

Well, everthing's gathered! I paid off the hands. Durn near broke us, but we got two bales of cotton to take to the gin come next week.

MA

Then why so glum?

Todd walks over and lays a hand on Sis's shoulder. She looks up wondering.

TODD

They brought Willun his notice this morning. He's being drafted.

Sis leaps from her chair, shrieking.

SIS

Oh no, no! Not Willun too! Not him too They're taking all of you!

She starts to leave the yard, as if to go to Willun, stops bewildered. Todd steps over and puts his hand on the small of her back. She turns, comes into his arms, clings to him.

SIS (CONT'D)

First Pap. Now Willun. Next you. Oh God in Heaven, where will it end?

She pulls away, gives him a terrified look, and runs into the cabin sobbing. Todd sinks into the chair beside Ma, takes her hand in both of his and holds it against his breast. She leans her head on his shoulder, eyes wide but dry. Todd stares grimly out over the harvested fields. Sis's grieving goes on inside, muffled as if her face is buried in a pillow.

EXT. BLAIR FARM, A SPRING ON THE HILLSIDE - DAY

The next afternoon. Half of a wooden barrel sunk into the ground forms a basin for the spring water, the excess trickling away in overflow. Ma dips water from the basin with a gourd dipper to fill a sprinkling can. She then waters late-blooming flowers in a bed nearby. She looks up at Todd, who is at the corral a little way off currying Comanche: for all the good it does his homely hide, but this is a ritual between man and horse.

Todd lays the curry brush on top of a post, walks to the spring, picks up the gourd dipper, dips from the basin, drinks. Comanche looks in Todd's direction and whinnies. Ma gazes at Comanche, recognizing what he senses, then turns to Todd.

MA

You fixing to go someplace?

TODD

Uh...Yeah. I was gonna tell you. I...I figure I better go check on Colonel Oldham.

MA

What for? So he can make more promises he don't keep.

TODD

Maybe I can coax him to come to town aSaturday...if he's able. Ticknor says he'll rein in the mob

hisself, but I'd feel safer with Colonel Oldham there.

MA

Ticknor says? When'd you talk to him?

TODD

The day of the hangings.

Sis has walked over from the cabin, an empty bucket in her hand, visibly dejected about Willun. Neither Todd nor Ma notices her till she is close. She hears part of "the day of the hangings" phrase, which makes her perk her ears.

SIS

Day of the hangings? What did you say?

TODD

(laconic)

Ticknor told me that day he'd control the mob. That's all.

Both women have begun to intuit--by Todd's look, tone, demeanor: who knows the ways of intuition?--that he is concealing something, and that it has to do with a woman. Sis's eyes grow bright and wide, color rises in her cheeks, but it is Ma who speaks:

MA

You told us what you done for his niece... What's her name?

SIS

Her name's Jenny.

MA

So I suppose he...promised you because he's grateful.

SIS

Oh no, it wasn't you he promised. It was Jenny, wasn't it?.

TODD

(cornered)

All right, durn it! Yes, me and Jenny made it up she'd put in a plea with ole Ticknor. Which she

did... When I went by to see her after the hangings.

Ma takes on the sorrowful look of a mother who has just learned that her son is involved with the wrong woman. Sis is far from resigned.

SIS

Todd! In the name of common sense!

TODD

(flaring)

Name of common sense what! Who asked you to bogue in on this? I was talking to Ma.

SIS

Jenny Ticknor! Why, she's that old devil's niece!

TODD

(shouting)

She can't help that, I reckon!

MA

Todd! Cordelia! Y'all hush!

TODD

Well, plague take it, Ma, make her hold her blame tongue!

SIS

Whose blame tongue? Don't you cuss me!

TODD

What I said ain't cussing, dad blast it!

SIS

Her old daddy was a slave-trader.

TODD

(perplexed)

How in the hell do you know all

that? You might near never go off of this place!

SIS

(indignant)

I guess I'm not a plumb ignoramus! I got friends. We keep up with things.

TODD

Yea-ah, I know! Neighborhood girl gossip!

Todd turns on his heel, goes to the corral and begins to saddle Comanche, leaving Ma and Sis speechless.

EXT. WOLF RIDGE - DAY

Todd is sitting on Comanche looking into the distance

northward, now to the R., now L.. All he can see of habitation is the roof of the Oldham mansion on the L. To the R. he can see only ridges with the brakes beyond. He starts down the trail toward Oldham's, halts indecisive, after a moment wheels and heads to the R.: the direction of the Ticknor plantation.

EXT. NEAR TICKNOR HOUSE

Todd stands just inside a thicket, peering out toward the house. A SLAVE GIRL is drawing water at a well. Mrs Ticknor comes out on the back porch and says something Todd cannot make out to the girl, who pauses long enough to listen, then nods and goes back to drawing water. Then Todd catches his breath sharply, for Jenny appears from around a corner of the house and walks slowly across the frame behind the slave girl. Todd can barely restrain himself. The girl goes toward the house with a bucket of water, her back turned to Todd, who steps to the edge of the thicket and signals Jenny.

She sees, waits till the girl has gone inside, then runs into the thicket and into Todd's arms. Their embrace is like a moment arrested in time: wrapped in each other, kissing. Then a drawing back for their eyes to meet.

TODD (CONT'D)

I held my breath hoping you'd be here.

JENNY

Uncle James made me come home.

TODD

To keep you far away from me.

JENNY

Of course.

Close embrace again. Then they wander deeper into the thicket, moving side by side as one. They come to a small clearing. A tall cottonwood occupies most of it, with a circle of the last green grass of the season beneath it.

Todd has left Comanche tied to a snag nearby. As he tosses his head in greeting to them, Jenny walks over, slips her

arms around Comanche's neck, presses her cheek against

his jaw. Then, to Todd:

JENNY (CONT'D)

Handsome is as handsome does, remember? Comanche, Comanche! You keep my Todd safe wherever he goes. And bring him back safe to me.

They go to each other and begin to kiss hotly again, leaning against the trunk of the cottonwood, sinking till they sit snuggled against it.

TODD

The grass'll stain your dress.

He rises, goes to Comanche, unties his slicker from the back of the saddle, hesitates a moment, then leads Comanche into a thicket out of sight, unsaddles him, takes the saddle blanket and goes back to Jenny. He spreads the slicker on the ground first, then the saddle blanket. In tight embrace they sink onto the blanket. They make hymeneal love as it has seldom

been made before. The right director and actors will know what to do--consulting, if they wish, pp. 215-218 in the novel.... Finally they lie clinging as if always to be united.

TODD (CONT'D)

Will you marry me, darling. I love you, oh I love you!

JENNY

Yes, my darling. Yes I will. I love you. I love you so much. Ever since the first day I saw you.

TODD

Even when you tossed your handkerchief?

JENNY

That's why I tossed it. Here. Look.

Even in the disarray of her clothes, she finds the handkerchief. She hands it to Todd, who brushes it lovingly against his cheek.

JENNY (CONT'D)

It's for you to keep. So a part of me will always be with you...

Suddenly, a shrill and anxious woman's voice sounds in the distance towards the Ticknor house, calling "Jenny!'

JENNY (CONT'D)

That's Aunt Mary!

They both rise quickly. Jenny begins swiftly but not frantically to put on what has been off, and re-arranging the rest: the petticoats and all. We hear now the call of a deep masculine voice from towards the Ticknor house: "Miss Jenny! Miss Jenny!"

JENNY

That's Cabus! He'll come in looking for me! I've got to hurry.

They quickly kiss good-bye and Jenny slips away. Todd lies down as in a state of suspension and wonder. The voices of Mrs Ticknor and Cabus go on briefly, distorted by the distance. Then we hear Jenny call out "Over here! I'm all right"

Todd dresses slowly, distracted, still in the transport of love. He gazes enraptured at the handkerchief, then folds it carefully and puts it in the shirt pocket next to his heart.

EXT. RIVER WAGON ROAD

Todd is riding W. toward the Oldham plantation. He looks around as he rides, as if the world were a new place to him. The sun is leveling out for its last look eastward before

setting among fragments of bold, bronze clouds. Todd starts on hearing HOOVES CLOP behind him. He stops to look back. It is Cabus on his mule. Todd reins in and waits.

TODD

Out for a ride, Cabus?

CABUS

Oh... As you might say.

(pulls up next to Todd)

Fact of business, I was sort'a looking for you.

TODD

Well now, that's surprising!

CABUS

Oh... I reckon not.

After a moment of meeting each other's gaze, Todd turns and rides on. Cabus comes along close beside him. They look mainly at the sunset, as if they might be conducting this operation of nature.

CABUS (CONT'D)

Gonna be hard times ahead.

TODD

Yes indeed. And who'd know that better'n me.

CABUS

You know sump'm? I done changed my mind about you. I had you pegged before as the kind'a folks I don't much caah for.

TODD

White trash. Folks even slaves look down on.

CABUS

(with a bitter laugh)

Evahbody gotta have somebody to look down on, slaves as much as the rest of us.

TODD

Glad to have your good opinion, Cabus.

CABUS

Sho' now.

(then, without seeming to

change the subject)

Me'n my wife we nevah have but one chile. Li'l girl. Six months old when she pass on, same time Miss

Jenny born. So my wife she nurse Miss Jenny. Her own mammy too sickly.

TODD

I see.

CABUS

Yes suh, that young lady, she about all I got left in this old world.

TODD

Maybe not. They say slavery's bound

to end, no matter who wins the war.

Could be then...

CABUS

(breaking in, voice bitter)

Freedom, hah! Whut use I put it to if I get it? Done too old and wore out.

The sunset clouds are catching fire. Cabus reins up. Todd halts. They hold each other's eyes.

CABUS (CONT'D)

I 'speck you knows what I'se fixing to ask. Why don't go you own way and leave Miss Jenny strickly alone?

TODD

You already know the answer to that one.

CABUS

Y-e-es, I figured as much.

Cabus jerks the head of his mule around to go home. As he rides off:

CABUS (CONT'D)

You take caah youself. For Miss Jenny's sake.

TODD

I'll try, Cabus. And you take care of her till I can.

Todd sits and watches the western sky swallow the last rim of the sun.

EXT/INT. OLDHAM MANSION - DUSK

Todd at the Oldham front door. He knocks. In a moment the door is opened by Millie Oldham, the elder sister.

MILLIE

Oh my goodness, Todd! Come in!

From Millie's look no doubt Jenny has talked intimately with her about Todd. From Todd's openly happy face she can guess the most recent turn of events. She blushes hotly, but still her gaze hangs softly on his face.

MILLIE (CONT'D)

You want'a see Daddy, I'm sure.

(walking to the parlor door)

Daddy, Todd's here.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Tell him to step in.

INT. OLDHAM PARLOR - DUSK

Todd enters to find Colonel Oldham rising stiffly from the sofa where he's been lying down. They shake hands, go across the room and sit in easy chairs.

TODD

I heard you'd been laid up, sir. I hope...

COLONEL OLDHAM

Been a little under the weather, yes. Enough so I couldn't get to town. As you see.

He glowers out from under his bushy brows at Todd, who understands that this is as far as Colonel Oldham intends to go toward an apology for not attempting to influence the trials.

TODD

I expect you've heard this trial business winds up on Saturday, sir. Prisoners to be turned loose and all charges dropped.

COLONEL OLDHAM

I know. My son kept me informed all along. Till he left yesterday to rejoin his regiment... We're

fortunate to have Colonel Ticknor in command. He'll see the jury's verdicts are carried out to the letter.

Mrs Oldham enters the room unexpectedly.

MRS OLDHAM

Please excuse me, gentlemen. Millie told me Todd was in here.

TODD

(on his feet instantly, bowing)

How are you, ma'm?

MRS OLDHAM

Very well, Todd. You haven't met with your supper, I suppose. So join us. It'll be ready right away.

TODD

No ma'm. Really, I....

MRS OLDHAM

Fiddlesticks! I won't listen to any objections!

COLONEL OLDHAM

Certainly not! Sit down and visit a minute, Lizzie. We were just talking about the...troubles in town being nearly over with.

MRS OLDHAM

(sitting down)

Yes indeed! What a relief! What a blessing.

Todd looks around embarrassed and baffled. Celebration is not what he came for, but he fears to offend if he speaks his mind. The Oldhams gaze at him, a bit embarrassed also.

TODD

As you say, uh...Colonel Ticknor's a...capable man. I only hope the citizens don't get out'a hand.

COLONEL OLDHAM

(snappish)

No need to fear unruly elements. Colonel Ticknor has sufficient troops to quell any disturbance. And he answers only to the court.

TODD

Well, that "group trial" thing. Yes, the jury ordered it, but the mob forced them to.

COLONEL OLDHAM

What do you mean, sir?

TODD

Nobody told you, then. Well, I seen it with my own eyes. Harley Dexter and Matt Scanlon come in the jury room and demanded a certain fourteen men for the mob to hang, and the jury caved in. Dan Montague covered up by calling it a "group trial."

Colonel Oldham starts as if prodded. He grasps his chair arms and half rises, only to drop back overcome. Mrs Oldham leaps to her feet and runs to him.

MRS OLDHAM

John! Are you all right?

COLONEL OLDHAM

(half-strangled)

Yes...yes. I'm fine.

But his shoulders sink. Mrs Oldham stands over him, stroking his head, her reproachful eyes on Todd. Yet she has to be

aware, as the colonel is, that their son has deceived them. Todd sits scowling at the floor, but not as though he is sorry for what he said. Suddenly Colonel Oldham rises, brushing away his wife's hand. He draws up straight and as firm as possible, walks over to Todd and clutches his shoulder, looking fiercely into his face.

COLONEL OLDHAM

By God! they put me in charge of this confounded affair. Then

pulled the wool over my eyes. But enough is by God, enough! Tomorrow I'm going to town and see this matter put right!

MRS OLDHAM

John! No! You know what the doctor said about over-exertion.

COLONEL OLDHAM

I've known that doctor to be wrong as many times as right. No sir! I feel splendid.

(turning to Todd)

My boy, I want you to spend the night here and go to town with me. First thing tomorrow morning.

MRS OLDHAM

John! You know you can't ride a horse that far!

COLONEL OLDHAM

I reckon there's buggies, if the

case demands it. But no sir! I feel fit to take on the Devil!

With a happy and grateful look on his face, Todd stands up and grasps Colonel Oldham's hand in a firm and hearty shake.

EXT. RIVER BRAKES - DAY

Todd and Colonel Oldham ride in silence along the wagon road, the plantation behind them. The colonel's splendid bay gelding makes Comanche look more rumpled and nondescript than ever.

TODD

(in a tone of making

conversation)

Fall sure is coming late this year.

COLONEL OLDHAM

Old-timers used to say a late winter means a good crop another year. Ah, but weather aside, we could use better days all around. Myself, though, I feel good about the future. I feel like the Yankees'll soon get enough of this blasted war and call for peace. No offense, Todd, but people like you and your dad--loyal to the Union, I know, but yet Southerners. I have faith you'll let bygones be bygones and help us make the Confederacy amount to something.

A sidelong glance at Todd's frowning face and his avoidance of eye contact tells Colonel Oldham that he is on a sore subject. He falls silent. They ride on. After a little while Todd turns his gaze on the colonel.

TODD

Well sir, nobody'll have cause to hold a grudge again you when the war's over. That's for sure.

Colonel Oldham reaches over and grips Todd's shoulder.

COLONEL OLDHAM

I'm happy to hear you say that, son.

(he reins in and stops)

Why, I nearly missed it! Here's a shortcut for us. Kind'a overgrown, but I know the way through very well, and it'll save us time.

Colonel Oldham veers into what looks like solid undergrowth. Todd follows. They wind through the brush.

EXT. RIVER BRAKES, A GLADE

Todd and Colonel Oldham emerge from the brush into a clear and grassy glade. Ahead of them is a little knoll, beyond

which the ground rises to a band of timber then to prairie knobs that level out beyond. Colonel Oldham stops. His breath comes quick and he is perspiring. He takes off his hat, pulls a large red handkerchief from a pocket and wipes his forehead. Todd looks at him uneasily. Then Todd sees three riders emerging from the band of timber ahead and riding toward them. They see Todd and Colonel Oldham. They stop.

TODD

(laying a hand on

the Spencer)

I wonder who that is.

COLONEL OLDHAM

I can't make 'em out. Let's ride over and see.

TODD

We better let 'em come to us.

COLONEL OLDHAM

(riding on)

Pshaw! Can't be any harm in riders coming from Milcourt way.

Todd rides beside Colonel Oldham, reluctantly. As they advance, the hump of the knoll hides the riders for a bit. When Todd and Colonel Oldham top the knoll, the riders, now

about a hundred yards away, have not moved. Todd and Colonel Oldham stop. The colonel raises a hand to wave. Suddenly one of the men brings a rifle to his shoulder. Todd reacts instantly, so that by the time the gun goes off, he has swung Comanche against the gelding, hoping the lurch will spoil the man's aim.

It takes another second for Todd to grab the gelding's bridle and turn him and pull him back down the slope out of sight of the three men. Colonel Oldham is slumped in the saddle. Just as he topples, Todd leaps to the ground, grabs him and lets him slide down easy. Blood oozes through his shirt front.

Todd whips out the Spencer, flattens to the ground, scuttles on knees and elbows to the brow of the knoll. The riders are advancing warily. Todd fires, sees one of the men lurch before they all wheel and make for the timber, the man hit goes drooped in the saddle but hanging on. Todd fires twice more on catching a glimpse of the men in momentary openings, then he rises and runs back to Colonel Oldham--to his body, for a moment's inspection verifies that he is dead. The gelding shies away when Todd tries to load the body on him, so Todd has to load it on Comanche instead.

TODD

(patting Comanche

on the rump)

The load would fall on you, wouldn't it, ole hoss!

Comanches tosses his head. Todd overcomes the gelding's skittishness with stroking and soft words, mounts him and leading Comanche rides back toward the Oldham plantation.

EXT. OLDHAM MANSION

Todd dismounts near the front steps. A slave boy sees the body and runs to spread the word. Four or five male slaves quickly appear. Wailing is heard among the slave women. Mrs Oldham comes out of the house and staggers down the steps. Millie and Connie behind her stop on the porch, stupefied. Connie is whimpering. Todd comes forward to Mrs Oldham.

MRS OLDHAM

(half-wild)

Bring him in the parlor.

(and as the slaves do so)

And somebody hurry to Milcourt after the doctor!

From the porch, Millie sees Todd shaking his head.

MILLIE

(screaming)

Mama!

Connie screeches. Mrs Oldham looks back at the girls, then at Todd, face distraught.

TODD

He's dead, ma'm.

Mrs Oldham goes rigid, face cupped in hands, momentarily frozen.

MRS OLDHAM

Oh dear Lord! Dear Lord!

Then she comes to herself, rushes up the steps and inside. Millie and Connie stand clutching one another, wailing and

sobbing. Todd stands in doubt at the foot of the steps. The girls turn piteous looks on him. He responds by going to them. They clutch his arms, one on each side, lean their

heads on his shoulders sobbing. After a moment he gently disengages their hold, puts an arm around each girl and leads them inside.

EXT. OLDHAM FRONT PORCH

Todd and Mrs Oldham come out onto the porch and stop. Mrs Oldham is now stoic, or perhaps petrified. She leans against the wall for support. She looks at Todd with half-seeing eyes.

TODD

I needed to speak to you out here. Inside it's all mixed up. I...I have to get to Milcourt quick. Beat the news there if I can...

MRS OLDHAM

Duff's already gone. Our slave Duff. For the doctor. And to tell Colonel Ticknor. Why do you...?

TODD

I have to explain it to Ticknor, if I can. He's gonna think I'm implicated.

MRS OLDHAM

But how?...Why? It was bushwhackers, you told me.

TODD

They'll be out for blood, the mob will. They'll conclude Union men

done it. Like maybe I led Colonel Oldham into a trap. Ticknor...it'll be hard to make him believe I didn't.

MRS OLDHAM

But John was on his way to town to help your father, for heaven's sake! Why would you want him dead?

TODD

Times like these, people don't reason. They just pick up a rope.

Mrs Oldham looks dumbfounded: as if nothing makes sense anymore.

TODD (CONT'D)

I have to go, ma'm. Honest I do.

Mrs Oldham steps forward and throws her arms around Todd, gripping him tight. He is too surprised to react at once.

MRS OLDHAM

But you had nothing to do with it. You couldn't! If they won't believe you, surely they'll believe me!

TODD

Your son'll accuse me.

She pauses, draws back, takes both of Todd's hands in hers.

MRS OLDHAM

I'll make him listen. He has to!

She lets go of his hand and steps back in a sudden eruption of sobbing. Todd turns and runs down the steps.

MRS OLDHAM (CONT'D)

(calling after him)

The Lord bless you, Todd!

Todd mounts and is away with a wave of the hand.

EXT. MILCOURT, NEAR WHARTON TOWN HOUSE - DAY

We see the house from Todd's POV as he rides toward it. Colonel Ticknor on horseback approaches from the opposite

direction. Todd hurries to meet him. They stop facing one another.

COLONEL TICKNOR

You were the only one with him when he was killed!

TODD

Yes, I was. We run into three bushwhackers. One of them shot Colonel Oldham dead. And I...

COLONEL TICKNOR

Bushwhackers, hah! Union men!

TODD

No! I know ever Union man around here. I swear...

COLONEL TICKNOR

Swear! Of course you'll swear! But bushwhackers would'a killed you too. Wouldn't they?

TODD

They would of, but I run 'em off shooting back. I hit one of 'em.

COLONEL TICKNOR

You must think I'm mighty easy fooled, feller! But all right. I

won't arrest you till I talk to Lizzie Oldham and the girls. But you better get out'a town before some friend of John Oldham's shoots you down like a dog.

TODD

You're right about that.

He turns to go, but when he is a few yards Colonel Ticknor calls out:

COLONEL TICKNOR

The prisoners won't be freed. They're to stand trial again. Accessories to murder.

Todd halts Comanche and wheels him around.

TODD

In the name of God, why? How could they be involved, locked up in jail as they are?

COLONEL TICKNOR

Every traitor's accountable for what any one of 'em does... Now get going, or I'll lock you up too!

Todd rides off, eyes closed and head bowed. He lets his hand lie on Comanche's neck.

EXT. SQUARE - DAY

Early on the second day of the new trials. The mob has swelled and is seething for revenge. Many from the prisoners' families are present, some leading horses they expected their family member to ride home on, not knowing about the new charges. Numerous WOMEN and a few MEN are openly WEEPING. Now and then a SCREAM is heard. Todd, Ma and Sis sit in their wagon, with oxen hitched. They drove here yesterday. They crouch now exhausted yet spellbound by the turmoil of events around them. Ma looks utterly distraught.

TODD

Yesterday all day, then no telling how many hours today. How long, in Jesus' name, will it take?

SIS

I make it twenty-eight they've let go so far.

TODD

Me too. But who's convicted and who's just not tried yet?

They draw closer together but do not dare to seek out each other's eyes.

EXT. SQUARE

A few minutes have passed. A SCRAWNY MAN with a floppy hat clutched to his breast hobbles out through the courthouse door, looking around dazed.

TODD (CONT'D)

Christamighty! Old Parson Howard! The rebels must be mighty hard up for traitors to grab him.

A YOUNG MAN on horseback leading another horse yells:

YOUNGER HOWARD

Here I am, Pa! Over here!

The elder Howard begins a hobbling run toward his son, who hurries to him and helps him mount. They ease through the crowd and on reaching the edge of it take off at a gallop.

EXT. SQUARE

A moment later Daniel Montague emerges from the courthouse and stops on the front step. Todd and Sis glance at Ma, who seems oblivious, even as they hug her close.

MONTAGUE

The court has rendered its verdicts. The following men, as the prime instigators of this evil conspiracy, are as guilty of the murder of Colonel John Oldham as the one who pulled the trigger.They've been convicted and

sentenced to hang. Today! We'll let one family member visit a prisoner. One!

(he pauses, then begins

reading from a list)

H. J. Esman...W. P. Lock ...Nathaniel Blair...

Ma fights free of Todd and Sis, keels over on the floor of the wagon, draws up her knees and hugs them, her face buried against them. Todd and Sis huddle close over her and she does not reject them. Names of the condemned continue in the b.g., the first few heard O.S. among OUTCRIES and WAILING.

MONTAGUE (CONT'D)

(goes on reading

through it all)

James Foster...Samuel Carmichael... John Crisp...Barnabas Burch...

The SOUND of the names diminishes to become indistinct as:

FADE TO:

EXT. SQUARE

Todd and Sis sit facing one another, petting and stroking Ma. Brother and sister have the same question in mind, each searching for how to express it. Ma senses what it is and cries out.

MA

No! No!. I'm not going! He's not here! He's a long ways off. Too far! Too far!

Todd and Sis look at each other in sorrow.

SIS

You're not doubting I could go in there alone, are you?

TODD

No, Sis. I'm not doubting it.

Sis's eyes brim with tears. She wipes them away furiously with the edge of her shawl.

SIS

But you're the oldest son, so he'll want to tell you about taking care of us. You go. And don't say no more about it.

Todd nods grimly, stands up and climbs out of the wagon.

INT. COURTHOUSE

Todd walks shakily along a dim hallway, following a militiaman, who stops at a door and motions.

MILITIAMAN

In here. You got ten minutes.

Todd gives him a wrathful glance, opens the door and goes in. Pap is already there, seated in a straight chair, big and shaggy-black-bearded, in this obscurity looking remote, mysterious. Todd freezes. Pap meets his eyes with wide-staring firmness. Todd crosses to a another chair, brings it over, sits down facing Pap almost knee to knee.

PAP

You know all about it then.

TODD

Yes. And we...me and Sis agreed I'd come. Ma she...

PAP

(leaning forward, breath short with anxiety)

Yes?

TODD

She's...so broken up she...

PAP

Y'all made the right choice...

He cannot go on. It takes all his will not to break down.

TODD

Pap...

PAP

Go ahead, son.

(but seeing that

Todd cannot...)

Yes, I know. The world and all to say and no words for saying it. I've made peace...the best I know how. I can accept that I'm to die. You can't. Accepting you're to die can't be shared, no more than somebody else can die for you....

Pap falls silent. In a moment Todd breaks out.

TODD

I'll try to understand what you mean, Pap. I'll try, and I'll...

PAP

Taking care of the family, you'll do that without me asking. If you only have the chance to do it.

TODD

Yes. Because they may grab me up accused of Colonel Oldham's murder

too. Or else they'll shove me in their rebel army.

PAP

You'll have to take to the woods for a while.

TODD

I'll go north is what I'll do. Find the Union army, and when they invade, I'll be coming right back here with 'em. Then this town...And these people...

PAP

Well... It's all up to you now, son. I won't put no burden of promises on you. Only for one, and it's not a promise at that. I mean...well...revenge. Think long

and hard, son, before you take that road. Not to forgive. No, never that. I don't mean that. But remember how one killing

brings on another'n. Till it all drops into feuds, and then, before you know it, the whole county's soaked in blood....

Comes a rapping at the door.

MILITIAMAN (V.O.)

Time's up.

Todd and Pap leap to their feet simultaneously. They throw their arms around each other.

TODD

Pap! Pap!

Todd stands squalling like a baby. Pap is hugging Todd vice-tight, tears running down his cheeks into his beard. The door opens. Todd turns and screams.

TODD (CONT'D)

Get out'a here!

The door closes softly. But knowing the time is short, they kiss each other hard on the cheek, then stagger apart, still gripping hands. Then, with sudden resolve, Todd stands back.

TODD (CONT'D)

Oh God, Pap! Goodbye.

Todd turns slowly and makes for the door. As he opens it, Pap calls out in a powerful voice:

PAP

You're a man now, son. God go with you.... And come home with you.

EXT. SQUARE

Pap climbs into the death wagon, steadily, ignoring offers of assistance from two soldiers. ANGLE WIDENS to include the Blair family wagon. Todd and Sis stand beside it. The death wagon begins to move away.

SIS

You stay with Ma. I'll follow Pap.

She sets off without waiting for an answer. The death procession draws away. Todd looks down for a moment at Ma

lying inert in the wagon bed. She moans a little. Todd is afraid to touch her. Unexpectedly he finds Hannah Smith at his elbow.

HANNAH

I'll look after her, Todd. You go with your daddy.

TODD

Thank you, Hannah. Thank you. Bless you.

EXT. MAIN STREET

Todd runs to overtake the procession, locates Sis, falls in beside her. They exchange looks but no words. From their POV we see Pap's back at times through shifting figures of the procession.

EXT. HANGING TREE

As the wagon stops under the tree and the hangmen begin to prepare the rope, Todd and Sis edge in against the guard and around to one side seeking the best vantage point.

SIS

I have to be where I can see him to the very last. It can't be for him to die with none but strangers' eyes on him.

TODD

Strangers! He knows ever man taking part in killing him. But strangers, yeah! Worse'n strangers.

SIS

Can you stand up to it? I don't mean stand it. I mean stand and do nothing but watch. Because watch is everything you can do. For now.

TODD

I can...yes.

SIS

Because grieving to her last breath is all a woman can do. But a man can act! I don't mean now. Hold back and bide your time. The day'll come for to kill 'em all!

They now realize that Pap can see them. Todd raises his hat momentarily. Pap lifts a slow hand then lets it drop heavily to his side. A hangman climbs briskly into the wagon. Pap stands up and submits while his hands are tied behind him. Todd lifts his eyes to the fatal limb.

The rope groove has worn deeper over the days. Todd looks away. Next he fixes his eyes on Pap, while the hangman adjusts the noose. Todd is unaware that he is the only man

present who still has his hat on. A man nudges him. Todd looks at him in rage but then with shaking hands removes his hat. Clutching the hat with both hands, he bites down on the brim, staring at Pap, who is now alone in the wagon except for the slave driving,who is standing holding the reins. The hangman barks an order. The slave makes a swipe with his whip across the rumps of the mules.

SLAVE

H'ya!

The mules lunge ahead. We see a CLOSEUP of Sis with eyes fixed ahead. Then a CLOSEUP of Todd lifting his eyes to the tree limb again, and from his POV the tree limb itself. It trembles and sways from the weight. A instant passes. Still from Todd's POV, the view lowers to the body of Pap suspended still and dead. Then a CLOSEUP of Todd jamming on his hat. Next, from Todd's POV, we look across toward the other side of the tree.

The ox wagon is drawn up to the edge of the circle of onlookers there. Ma stands on the spring seat to see above the crowd, with Hannah's arms wrapped around her legs to

steady her. DOLLY in past Pap's body to a CLOSE SHOT of Ma, whose eyes bore directly ahead above the crowd straight toward Pap's body on the death tree.

EXT. BLAIR FARM - LATE THAT DAY

N. of the cabin, on a knoll open except for a small grove of postoaks and covered with yellowish fall grass, Ma, Sis, Montecristo and Jenk stand at the edge of the grove, Sis holding Scooter. A few yards away Todd and FOUR NEIGHBORS are about to end Pap's burial. Three of the men are shoveling raw yellow clay to make a mound for the grave. The fourth man. with a posthole digger, is punching a hole at the head of the grave. The sky is dark and threatening. A cutting norther has blown in.

Todd picks up a wooden cross about four feet high and places it in the hole. The neighbor fills the hole with a shovel while Todd presses in the dirt with his foot. The finishing touches done, the men shake Todd's hand and leave. The rest of the family come to Todd. They stand in a knot and stare down at the grave. A few wisps of snow touch their faces. They look up at the snow in wonder, turn and walk towards the cabin.

INT. BLAIR CABIN

Todd is on his knees adding wood to the fireplace. The rest of the family sit in numb silence. Dishes and utensils on the table behind them indicate they have had supper. Todd rises, comes over and drops into a chair.

TODD

Snowing or not, I have to leave out'a here tonight.

Scooter jumps down from Sis's lap and comes to Todd, who looks at him strangely for a second, then sweeps him up into his lap in a tight hug, kissing the top of his head. A sob catches in Ma's throat. Sis is stony-faced.

SIS

You reckon they'd come after you in this storm?

TODD

They might. But me and Comanche won't be here. We'll be in that cave on the Grantley place hiding out till morning. Plenty of thick timber from there to the river. We'll be crossing by noontime and heading north.

Ma cannot prevent tears. She sheds them in silence. Todd kisses Scooter's head a couple more times.

TODD (CONT'D)

(gently putting

Scooter down)

I better get a move on.

SIS

I'll rustle you up some grub to take along.

When Todd stands up, Ma leaps to her feet and holds him close. He tries to kiss away the tears but they will not

stop flowing. At last he kisses her hard on both cheeks and hurries out the door.

EXT. BLAIR CORRAL - JUST AFTER NIGHTFALL

Snow has stopped falling and only a light blanket of it half covers the ground. It will give off a guiding glow in the darkness. Todd has Comanche saddled, is busily seeing to all his gear, including a knapsack of food that Sis has prepared. She is now standing beside him. Night comes on darker as they talk.

SIS (CONT'D)

Ma hushed crying just before I left the room. She'll be all right.

TODD

You both will. You're plenty tough.

(turning to her)

And I'll come home to y'all.., Sister, however long I'm gone.

SIS

You will, Brother. I'll pray you home.

They grab each other then and stand in tight embrace, her head pressed in the hollow of his neck. After a long moment he gently begins to disengage from her, ending with a long kiss on her temple. Sis draws near again and plants a hard kiss on his cheek, then squeezes his hand tight and kisses it too, as they draw apart finally. Todd swings quickly into the saddle.

SIS (CONT'D)

Yes, we'll be here when you come back, Brother. Yes, and it'll be time then to settle scores. Keep that in your heart for Pap's sake.

Todd grips the saddle horn and stares down at his clenched fist.

SIS (CONT'D)

(hissing out each name)

Ticknor, Dexter, Scanlon, old Dan Montague... All the hellhounds that murdered Pap!

TODD

Yes, a day of reckoning's on the way. And I don't mean the Last Judgment.

Todd pauses, then bends toward Sis to speak fiercely.

TODD (CONT'D)

It ain't only the men, Sis. It's the whole town. I mean to put a torch to all of Milcourt. Starting with that infernal courthouse.

Todd rides away. Sis watches him out of sight over the shadowy, snow-lightened ground.

EXT. ROAD TO MILCOURT - NIGHT

Todd has gone a little way up the road. He now stops to get his bearings on how to cut through the timber to come out near the Grantley cave. Suddenly he is alert, hearing HOOVES ON THE ROAD. He swerves quickly into cover and waits. In a view along the road we see a shadowy rider approaching. We recognize him about the time Todd does. It is Cabus, as usual riding his mule.

TODD (CONT'D)

Cabus? It's me. Todd. You can put that razor away.

Cabus had whipped out his weapon. He slips it back in its place and rides over to Todd.

CABUS

Lawd! You scared the possum piss out'a me!

TODD

Couldn't help it, Cabus. I had to get your attention.

CABUS

Sho'. Listen, now. Miss Jenny she sent me. She say tell you they's after you.

TODD

I figured that. They're not on the way out here tonight, I hope.

CABUS

Not as I know of. But tomorrow mawnin for sho'.

TODD

By then I'll be...

He stops, thinking hard.

CABUS

Say whut?

TODD

Where's Jenny? Still at Ticknor's?

CABUS

If you thinking whut it look like you is...

TODD

I might could see her. I just might.

CABUS

Lawsy Godamighty! You gonna get youself caught'n hung, dat's all!

TODD

Where'll she be tomorrow?

CABUS

Uh...Well, the kunnel he let her come to town to help Miss Jane. They plans to go out to the Wharton place tomorrow for some mo of Miss Jane's belongings. But now three or fo' them militia mens goin too.

TODD

Listen, you tell her to think up a way to stay out there tomorrow night.

CABUS

(shaking his head)

Man!

TODD

You tell her that now. You hear!

CABUS

Awright!! Awright! It's yo' neck!

EXT. WHARTON FARMHOUSE - NIGHT

Jenny sits in the porch swing, a robe over her nightgown. The weather has cleared. It is only chilly now, with a gusty north wind. The big pecan tree sighs and hisses more than

ever. Todd has left Comanche in the brush and crept very

close. When he says softly "Jenny," she starts. In a second he is on the porch and they are in each other's arms.

JENNY

(whispering in

Todd's ear)

The militiamen are camped down by the barn. We have to get upstairs out'a sight fast. Jane'll keep watch.

INT. WHARTON FARMHOUSE, BEDROOM

Once inside the bedroom door, they stop. Todd strips off his own clothes in a near frenzy, while Jenny slips out of her robe and stands in her nightgown. Todd sweeps her into his arms and carries her to the bed. Once in, he gently removes the gown. They make love. This act should be free and passionate, but through the suggestion that goes with a little naked flesh. Let them not eat each other alive, in the current film fashion. Now and again we hear the wind in the tree. Dead leaves flying sometimes strike a window.

INT. BEDROOM - JUST BEFORE DAWN

Todd and Jenny are wrapped in each other's arms side by side, very still, until Todd says softly:

TODD

Jenny...

JENNY

Yes...

TODD

We know I have to leave the country. As for what lays ahead... I love you, my precious

Jenny. The day I come back, we'll get married. Oh, how I wish we could right now, before I go.

JENNY

Before God we're already married. My husband! My Todd!

TODD

Yes, we are. I'll remember that every minute I'm gone. It may be a year. Maybe more. But I'll come home. Keep your hope strong, because I'll never fail you.

JENNY

I know you won't. No matter how long before we see each other again.

They go into passionate embrace again--for their final love-making of the night.

INT/EXT. WHARTON FARMHOUSE AND YARD. FIRST DAWN

After a last long kiss in the doorway, Todd slips out onto the porch and down the steps. An upsurge of glow in the east dims the flashing morning star. The last we see of Jenny, she is standing dimly framed in the doorway, her hands crossed on her breast.

EXT. WOODS NEAR WHARTON FARM - FULL DAWN

We hear a SOFT WHINNY. Todd follows it to Comanche, pets him, mounts. They pick their way quietly through the timber.

EXT. BANKS OF RED RIVER - JUST AFTER SUNRISE

Todd stands looking at the river in surprise. It is flooded, not a raging torrent but yet a high and swift current.

TODD

(to Comanche)

We would run into this, wouldn't we? That storm shore dropped a lot of water somewhere upstream.

Todd now goes about preparing to cross. First, he spreads his slicker on the ground and kneels resting back on his heels, then starts arranging his goods on it so that with

his lariat he can make a watertight bundle. Coming to the bag containing the Spencer ammunition, he stops, holds it up.

TODD (CONT'D)

This has to last me all the way to Fort Gibson. Plenty for shooting game, but if I hit real trouble--. I wonder how many rounds I got left.

On a corner of the slicker he pours out all the cartridges in the bag. He pulls the spring-loaded tube from the stock and lets the cartridges from the magazine pour out onto the slicker. Then, absorbed as in a game, he begins counting the cartridges into a neat pile. A toss of Comanche's head alerts him. But not in time. He looks up to see Harley Dexter standing a few feet away, covering him with his rifle.

DEXTER

(with a twisted sneer)

Well! If it ain't little Todd Blair ajacking off on his play-purties!

Todd freezes with cartridges in both hands. The Spencer lies beside him on the spread-out slicker. A deadly stillness now.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

The rest of the bunch give up looking. Decided you was plumb

gone. But I knowed better.

Plainly Dexter means to taunt his victim. He eyes the Spencer.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

I've heerd about that Yankee shitpipe. Now who'd have a Yankee

gun only a God-damn spy! And it's gonna get you hung from the same limb as your ole daddy was.

TODD

It ain't no shit-pipe. It's plumb accurate. It's fast handling too.

DEXTER

(guffawing)

If'n it's loaded, that is!

Todd looks at the Spencer longingly, which adds to Dexter's merriment. Then, with a sudden thought:

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Hold on! I'll tell you what. Let's give you a chance not to be hung. Fast handling, you say. I bet it

ain't no match for Old Chief here. Stand up!

Todd does so, slowly, calmly.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Now fill up that magazine.

Todd looks surprised but obeys, with steady hands.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Now pick up that gun and come right over here.

He walks to a young tree nearby, motioning Todd to follow.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Now hold that tube in your right hand and the gun in your left'un. Kinda fur apart.

Todd complies.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Now here's what we'll do. I'll uncock Old Chief and lean him again this tree. When I say 'Go!' you ram that tube in and work the lever. I have to pick up Old Chief, cock, aim and fire...

TODD

(deliberately screeching like a kid who's been outsmarted)

Why, that ain't fair! I'll have to make more moves than you do!

DEXTER

(snickering)

It's a better gamble than a son-of-a-bitching traitor deserves. So get ready!

While Todd stands as if paralyzed for a moment, Dexter cannot help throwing out a last insult.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

You won't never lay eyes on no fucking Yankees. Yo' ass is gonna be buzzard vittles.

Dexter lets the hammer down on his gun and leans it against the tree. Todd stands poised with his rifle in his left hand, the magazine tube in his right. Both men tense up.

DEXTER (CONT'D)

Go!

What Dexter is not aware of--knowing less about the Spencer than he bragged he did--is that Todd left a cartridge in the chamber with the hammer let down. As Dexter reaches for Old Chief, cocking it while he swings it up, Todd drops the magazine tube, lifts and cocks the Spencer and fires. Dexter realizes in the last instant that he was mortally wrong.

But he is truly fast. He gets his shot off. The bullet nicks the lobe of Todd's ear and takes a plug out of the pommel of his saddle. Comanche does not move a muscle. Dexter falls

heavily, dead still. With a tiny trickle of blood down his neck, Todd sinks to his knees shaking like a leaf. He has difficulty pulling out a handkerchief to stanch his wound. After a moment he calms down some and looks at Comanche with a tight grin.

TODD

Wasn't smart enough to figure on that'un in the chamber, was he, ole hoss?

He stands now and hesitates only a moment in deciding what to do with Dexter's body. He drags it a little way to a cutbank

and rolls it off into the river. The roiling current catches it and carries it away. Next he picks up Dexter's rifle and hurls it far out into the river.

TODD

(shouting into cupped

hands downriver)

I'll send you some comp'ny, Harley! Once I cross this river coming back.

EXT, RIVER BANK

Todd has by now wrapped all his goods, including the Spencer, in one tight roll and lashed it on top of the saddle. He fastens a piece of lariat to Comanche's bridle to control him from a few feet away. He gazes at the swollen river with dread, then looks at Comanche again and says:

TODD (CONT'D)

We gotta make a stab at it, ole hoss, want to or not. So let's go.

For a moment Comanche shies back from the stream, but after a little coaxing from Todd, he steps off into the current. Todd enters the water behind him, holding to his tail and the guide rope. Comanche begins to swim for all he is worth, and Todd too with his legs. They are carried a ways downstream then struggle ashore.

EXT, RIVER BANK, INDIAN TERRITORY

Todd stands shivering, his goods repacked and repositioned, now rechecking the Spencer and sliding it into its scabbard. Then he mounts, turns Comanche's head north, bends over to his ear and shouts.

TODD

Yee ha!

Comanche tears out north as if he'd kicked the earth out from under him. We watch them diminish and disappear over a distant ridge.

FADE TO

EXT. RIVER BANK, INDIAN TERRITORY (1865) - DAY

The same scene Todd rode away into in the fall of 1862, at first empty, but in a moment we see FIVE HORSEMEN coming from the north toward us over the horizon. SUPERIMPOSED on this scene first is the phrase:

APRIL 1865

DISSOLVING INTO THE PHRASE:

A UNION TROOP SCOUTING FOR AN INVASION OF TEXAS

As the horsemen approach we see Todd among them, in the uniform of a Union corporal, still riding Comanche.

EXT. NORTH RIVER BANK

The party reaches the river brakes and veers into them. They dismount and creep to the water's edge to study the Texas bank. They all lie prone with rifles ready. Todd still has the Spencer. Their LEADER, a SERGEANT, scans the territory with a spyglass.

EXT. THE OLDHAM-TICKNOR WAGON ROAD

SEVEN HORSEMEN riding single file come toward us along the Texas bank, headed west. Some are still in Confederate uniform, some in rough frontier clothing. They laugh and talk. One of them--a jolly man--shouts for all to hear:

JOLLY SOLDIER

Listen, y'all! This feller comes afogging through camp ayelling, "General Lee done surrendered. The war's over." So I hollers back, "Why, you're the sonofabitch I been looking for fer four years!"

The others laugh and whoop, AD LIB: 'It's over! Going home!' and the like.

EXT. NORTH RIVER BANK

The Union scouts hear some of the words. They look at each other incredulous. The sergeant lays aside the spy glass, stands up and shouts across through cupped hands.

SERGEANT

Hey, you fellers!

EXT. SOUTH RIVER BANK

The horsemen stop and look across, surprised and curious but making no move for their weapons.

JOLLY SOLDIER

Hey yourself! Whatta you want?

SERGEANT

You say the war's over?

JOLLY SOLDIER

Shore as hell is! General Lee done went and caved in!

SERGEANT

We're Union soldiers. You got any grudge again us?

JOLLY SOLDIER

(with a chorus of

assent from the others)

(CONT'D)

Nary a damn' bit! Come on over.

SERGEANT

We shore nuff will! Just let us

get our horses.

EXT. RIVER AS SEEN FROM SOUTH BANK

The men on the south bank dismount to watch while the scouts slowly ford the river. They arrive and dismount. All the men are quiet, looking each other over. They cannot quite believe this is happening. Todd faces the jolly soldier, who is still in Confederate uniform. He becomes grave, as Todd is. Todd reaches out to him. They are the first to shake hands. All the others follow suit, laughing, determined but embarrassed.

JOLLY SOLDIER

You boys et lately?

SERGEANT

Fact is, we ain't. How about y'all?

JOLLY SOLDIER

Us neither. We got some...uh,

Confederate rations.

SERGEANT

Well, we got some Union stuff. What say we put 'em all together?

JOLLY SOLDIER

Suits us. Y'all got any coffee?

SERGEANT

Why yes, we do!

A chorus of whooping, laughing, voices of Confederates AD LIB: "Coffee!" "Real coffee!" DOLLY BACK as ANGLE WIDENS to show the men busy bringing rations out of saddle bags and packrolls. One of them is building a fire. Much joviality

with an air of gladly communing together. The Union sergeant holds aloft a small bag of coffee while the Confederates

cheer.

EXT. RIVER BRAKES - DAY

Todd is riding through the brakes just entering the glad where he and Jenny first made love. He draws rein and gazes around: at the carpet of spring grass under the cottonwood

tree of wondrous memory; up into the tree also. In a few moments he takes the handkerchief Jenny gave him out of his pocket, clutches it in his hand and rides on.

EXT. TICKNOR PLANTATION - DAY

Todd rides across the grounds and up to the edge of the front porch, dismounts and stands with eyes searching the apparently deserted house, the handkerchief wrapped tight around his fist.

TODD

(voice echoing through house)

Hello!... Anybody home?

(after a pause)

Jenny!... Jenny!

CABUS (V.O.)

(from behind the house)

Hold on! I'se coming.

Cabus appears around a corner of the house, halts in disbelief.

CABUS (CONT'D)

Todd! Is that you? Is that sho' nuff you?

TODD

In the flesh, Cabus. In the flesh.

Todd goes toward Cabus with right hand outstretched. Cabus comes to meet him. They grip right hands in a powerful shake. Then each man adds the left hand to the grip. They stand thus in clenched handshake, unable for a moment to speak.

TODD (CONT'D)

(in a choked voice)

Where's Jenny?

CABUS

(releasing the handshake

and covering his face

with both hands)

Lawd God! Lawd God!

TODD

Where is she! Tell me! Tell me!

CABUS

(in a strangled voice)

She gone, son! She pass away!

Todd turns woodenly to Comanche, leans with head in crossed arms on the pommel of the saddle, wailing.

TODD

(in a choked voice)

What took her?

CABUS

(sobs it out)

She die abirthing y'all's little boy... He still-bawn.

Todd looks up at Cabus wild-eyed with terror and shock. They stand arrested for a moment. Then Todd catches and holds a deep breath, letting it go explosively as he weaves towards the porch, where he drops to sit next to a porch post, embracing it as if too dazed to sit upright. Cabus comes over and sits beside him. After a moment, Todd comes to himself halfway and studies the ruined fields of the Ticknor plantation.

TODD

You out here all by yourself?

CABUS

Sho am. Kunnel Ticknor he die

afightin that Sherman army over

yonner in Jawgia. Miz Ticknor

she live in town now. I looks

aftah the place--whut they is

left of it.

Todd suddenly reaches out and grasps Cabus's right hand in both his own.

TODD

You've always her real daddy, Cabus. I'm never gonna forget that.

CABUS

(as they shake their four

gripped hands hard together)

I never gonna forget you neither, son.

FADE TO:

EXT. RISE NEAR MILCOURT - DAY

Todd tops the rise and reins in to look at Milcourt. We see with him the principal buildings, including the courthouse and the Dayton Building. In the b.g. stands the hanging tree. As in a vision, A MONTAGE of scenes swept in RAGING FLAMES, then THE FIGURE of JENNY appearing shadowy beyond flames, with the BABY in her arms. After a pause, magnetized by her presence, Todd allows the visionary flames to fade, the town standing clear again in actuality.

TODD

I'll never burn it now, darling.

Nor kill nobody neither. For your

sake. And the sake of our...son.

EXT. BLAIR HOMESTEAD - DAY

Todd comes riding in on the road from Milcourt. He stops a little way off to look at the cabin. Jenk, much taller now, is at the spring filling a water bucket. He sees Todd, sets the bucket down and runs toward the house yelling.

JENK

Come here! Come here, everbody! Yonner's Todd! Todd's come home!

The whole family emerges from the cabin, with a couple of years' change in evidence. Sis is far along in pregnancy. Her husband guides her through the door ahead of him: Willun Hackett, home some time since with a wounded leg. He limps a little. Embracing each other, vociferous, the whole family goes into a happy tumult of greeting. Then Sis stand backs, turning serious.

SIS

(softly)

It's peace now, Todd. Just think.

(she pauses, eyes tender

upon him)

Peace with everybody. And with everything.

It is obvious that her former desire for vengeance is swallowed up in hopes for the reborn future. The breeze presses her skirts around her full womb. Todd nods slowly:

TODD

Peace. Yes. But...

SIS

Let 'peace' be enough, Todd. Not just for now, but from now on.

Todd does not answer. There is a moment of hesitating silence before Sis takes Todd by the hand and murmurs:

SIS (CONT'D)

Let's go look at the wildflowers me and Ma sowed around Pap's grave.

DOLLY BACK to MIDDLE DISTANCE as the family walks R. toward the grave a distance away, which in a little while comes in view before them, the cross and all surrounded by a breeze-stirred profusion of bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, evening primroses, thelasperma, wild phlox etc.--a ritual abundance of Texas wildflowers.

While the characters move across this space and come to stand in homage at the grave, all the necessary titles and credits are scrolled down the scene, including among others the CAST, DIRECTOR, PRODUCERS, SCREENWRITER etc.

At the end of all other credits, the FOLLOWING should appear:

ADAPTED FROM THE NOVEL

A BRIGHT TRAGIC THING

by

L. D. Clark

FADE OUT.

Table of Contents

LEBLANC STATION

LEGEND

FORSAKE THE WICKED

LAST OF THE COWBOYS

THE HANDSHAKE

THE LAST INDIAN FIGHT IN KERR COUNTY

Reapers of the Whirlwind