Max Collins - The Legend of Caleb York

Finally, around noon, he opened that damn bottle, chugged down several slugs of it, enjoying the burning in his belly, then capped it and went over to the livery stable and talked Hitchens into selling Gert back to him for three dollars.

When Tulley was riding out of town on Gert — no saddle, just an Injun blanket — Ralph from the telegraph office started in, yelling at him.

Tulley pulled back on Gert’s reins (Hitchens threw them in).

“You want to make half a buck, Tulley?”

“Sure.”

The clerk delivered the coin and also a slip of paper. “Run this wire out to the Cullen place. I think it may be real important. Can I trust you to do that?”

“Well, sure you can.” Wasn’t he already headed out there, anyway?

“If you drink it up, I won’t be pleased.”

“I ain’t just on this mule, friend. I’m on the wagon.”

So he had delivered the wire to old Mr. Cullen, who give him two bits more for his trouble. Actually, a ranch hand took the wire because the old man was blind and needed someone to read it to him. Tulley stood there while the man rattled it off to his boss, but the thing was just some business nonsense that Tulley couldn’t follow.

“Mr. Cullen,” Tulley said, on the porch of the ranch house as its owner and his man were about to go in, “you know that stranger? He wanted me to offer to help you look for your cows in them foothills.”

“What?” The old boy seemed kind of out of sorts since he heard what was in that wire. “Oh, uh... they left hours ago, Tulley. I doubt you could find them. But I thank you for the offer.”

Then Tulley remembered something he’d overheard back in town that might be of interest to the rancher, and he shared it, the news upsetting the blind man even more than that wire, though Tulley didn’t really understand why.

Things in and around Trinidad had been happening so fast, since the stranger come to town, that an old sot like him could barely keep track or make sense of it.

After that, part of him wanted to head back to town with his bottle and sell the mule to Hitchens again. But Tulley liked the stranger, looked up to him like he hadn’t anybody for as long as he could remember, and for no reason he could understand, Tulley just didn’t want to let the man down.

So he left the road into Trinidad and started out overland, toward the foothills. After a while, he saw the dust of horses not too far off and headed that way.

Before long, he intersected with those riders, who turned out to be Willa Cullen, Whit Murphy, and a mess of Bar-O boys and some men from town, too. A regular posse.

“ Whoa there, Gert!... Howdy, Miss Cullen, Mr. Murphy.”

Whit Murphy, yanking back on his reins, frowning curiously, said, “What are you doin’ out this way, Tulley?”

“Well, sir, that stranger asked me to throw in with you, if I was lucky enough to run into you.”

This seemed to amuse Whit. “Why would we want you to join us?”

“Well, you might. See, I done a good share of prospectin’ in them foothills in my day, Mr. Murphy, and there ain’t nobody nowhere who knows every draw and gulley out there like this old bird does.” He patted his chest, raising some dust. “Thought maybe I might help you look for them cows you folks misplaced.”

Whit still seemed uncertain. “The stranger entrusted you with this?”

Tulley grinned, scratching Gert’s right ear. “Well, I don’t think he put all his money on this horse, or anyway mule. But he knows I see and hear things. I ain’t always drunk and asleep in the street like some folk think.”

Willa, smiling, said, “Listen to him, Whit. Tulley’s a good man.”

The desert rat beamed at her. “Thank you kindly, Miss Cullen. You warm an old feller’s heart.”

“Whit,” she said to her foreman, “you take Tulley here and the rest of the men and follow his lead in those foothills. If Tulley can help locate the herd... well, we might be able to stall those buyers until we know we’ve actually got something to sell them.”

Whit narrowed his gaze. “What about you?”

“I’ll take Dave and Pete and head back to the Bar-O, and make sure Papa’s safe from Gauge.”

Tulley said, “That’s a right good idea, Miss Cullen. I seen your daddy not long ago, maybe an hour? And he was pretty damn upset. Excuse the language.”

She gave him a sharp look. “How so, Tulley?”

He told her about the telegram he’d brought her father from town, and apologized for not remembering what was in it.

Then he added, “And I also told your daddy how Gauge and his deputy got together some of their outlaw bunch and beat it on up the trail. They was headed toward the Brentwood Junction relay station.”

“When was this?”

“Right when I was ridin’ out of town.”

Whit said, “How do you know where they were going?”

Tulley grinned. “Heard him talkin’. I hear all sorts of things. You be surprised.”

Willa and her foreman exchanged troubled glances.

“Tulley,” she said, “have you seen anything of the stranger? He might have cut across your path on his way to... well, any sign of him?”

“Not since this mornin’ in Trinidad.”

Whit said, “And you haven’t seen Banion since?”

Tulley chortled. “Seen Banion since when ? What, on angel wings? Though I doubt that’s what he’s wearin’ right now, unless they’s asbestos.”

Whit snapped, “What the hell are you goin’ on about, you old fool?”

Shaking his head, Tulley said, “You people keep talkin’ ‘Banion this, Banion that.’ Wes Banion was shot down and killed dead over Ellis way, two month ago.”

Whit frowned, saying, “You heard this where?”

“I didn’t hear it. I seen it. Seen it happen, right in the street, afore these very eyes. You see a lot of things happen from under a boardwalk.”

Willa said, “You sound sure it was Banion.”

“Sure I’m sure. I’m one of the only ones who knew the man by sight back when he was still breathin’. Banion, he was a careful sort. Though, I guess, not careful enough.”

“But the stranger,” Willa said, frowning so hard it must have hurt. “Who is he, then?”

“Beats me, ma’am. I kinder think he was just passin’ through, you know, and took an interest? Maybe an interest in you, Miss Cullen... if you’ll tolerate my liberty sayin’ so.”

Willa swung her horse around, glancing back at Whit. “Get going. Locate that herd!”

Nodding to Tulley, he said, “And let him lead the way?”

“Yes.”

Tulley said, “Sometimes a young fool can learn things from an old fool, sonny.”

Whit sighed, but nodded dutifully at Willa, and Tulley fell in with them as they rode off.

Keeping up on the mule took some doing, but for the first time, in a long time, Jonathan R. Tulley felt like he was part of something.

Something that mattered.

Willa and the two Bar-O hands rode hard and fast, and soon she was rushing into the ranch house, calling out for her father.

No answer, just the sound of her own voice ringing off the walls.

Then she saw the telegram, discarded on the floor in the middle of the front room. She bent and picked it up, reading it before she’d even gotten to her feet:

To George Cullen, Trinidad, N.M. Mister Parker in California on extended business. Not available to comply with request. Will hold money awaiting further instructions. Nellie Peters, secretary, Parker Company

She stood, and the house seemed terribly empty. And she knew why it was, as surely as if a note had been left for her spelling it out.

Then one of her men rushed in and came to her side, saying, “Nobody around. The buggy’s gone. What’s goin’ on, Miss Cullen?”