The Law at Randado Page 17

  Merl White said, “What’s the matter with you boys letting one get away?” then shut up as he saw the look on Danaher’s face.

  Frye explained to him what had taken place. Then—“He angled across the meadow and right into the timber, Merl. That’s almost due west. If he keeps going he’ll run right into Sun-D land.”

  Merl nodded. “If I was him I’d at least want to take a look around home.”

  “It makes sense,” Frye said.

  “Well, let’s go then.”

  “We got something else for you, Merl.”

  “What?”

  “Taking these two into Randado.”

  “Not me.”

  “You and Ford and Joe’s been riding longer than the rest of us.”

  “We got more of a reason to, Kirby; outside of you. Get somebody else to do it.”

  There was no sense in arguing it. Frye asked two of Danaher’s men and they said they would, gladly in fact. He told Haig that he could go in also, but Haig shook his head and stated that he would rather stay out.

  Before separating, Frye moved his gelding next to one of the men who was going back.

  “Don’t put them in jail.”

  “Why not?”

  “They won’t be going anywhere.”

  Danaher’s man shrugged. “It don’t matter to me.”

  Now they rode on toward Sun-D, watching the four horses move off, more to the southwest, toward Randado.

  When they came out of the timber Danaher pulled his horse closer to Frye’s. For a while they rode along in silence, but Frye knew what was coming.

  Finally—

  “Kirby, that was my fault he got away.”

  “No, you can’t take the blame for something like that.”

  “I got impatient.”

  “Well, you were anxious.”

  “I got to learn to hold on to myself more.”

  “You been doing all right for forty years.”

  Danaher seemed not to hear. “Like with Digo…I beat the hell out of him and nothing happens. You whisper something in his ear and he runs off at the mouth.”

  Frye felt embarrassed for Danaher and he wished that he would stop talking this way. It seemed out of character, not like the rough-voiced, coarse-featured Sheriff of Pima County. But that was Danaher. He was man enough to admit when he was wrong, even if it made him feel like a fool to do it.

  “John, why don’t we just forget about it?”

  “I intend to,” Danaher said. “I just wanted to make it clear that it was my fault he got away.”

  And that was the end of it. After that, Danaher was himself again.

  Within two hours they had crossed the eastern boundary of Sun-D land and an hour and a half later they were in sight of the ranch house and its outbuildings.

  They pulled up in a mesquite thicket a hundred yards behind the main building, then waited while Merl, Ford and Joe went on, keeping to the brush, until they were beyond the bunkhouse and corral. They saw Merl come out of the mesquite far down and as he did, they rode toward the ranch house, splitting as they reached it, circling around both sides of the house to meet in the yard. They saw Merl and his two riders come around the corner of the bunkhouse.

  A dog barked and came running toward them from the barn. The dog stopped, cocking his head to look at them, then went over to Merl as he dismounted and sniffed his boots. Merl reached down to pat him, then came up drawing his carbine from the scabbard. He looked at Frye, who was dismounted now, and Frye nodded toward the bunkhouse.

  They heard the screen door of the ranch house open and close. A Mexican woman came out to the edge of the veranda.

  Merl called, “That’s Digo’s woman.”

  Frye walked toward her touching his hand to the brim of his hat and he said in Spanish, “We are looking for the younger Sundeen.”

  “He isn’t here,” the woman said.

  “When did he leave?”

  “Days ago.”

  “His father is here?”

  “He is ill.”

  “We won’t disturb him…only long enough for a few words.”

  The woman shrugged and moved aside, but as Frye stepped up on the porch, Danaher and Haig Hanasian following him, she asked suddenly, “Where is Digo?”

  “He is in jail.”

  The woman seemed to relax. “For how long?”

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  “Will they hang him?”

  “No.”

  The woman half turned from them touching her breast and closing her eyes as they went inside.

  “Who is it?”

  They looked toward the sofa that was placed at a right angle from the stone fireplace. Phil Sundeen’s father was lying there, a quilt covering him and a pillow at one end holding up his head. His face was still leathery brown, but the skin sagged from his cheekbones and his eyes, lusterless, were half closed. Frye would not have recognized him. He remembered Old Val as a robust, swaggering man always with a cigar clamped between the hard lines of his jaw, and with thick graying hair that always seemed to have a line around it where his hat fitted. Frey remembered that clearly.

  They walked toward him and he said again, “Who is it?”

  “Val, this is John Danaher.”

  His eyes opened all the way. “What do you want?”

  “This is Kirby Frye…. He used to work for you about ten years ago.”

  “I don’t place the name.” The old man’s voice was hard, but with little volume.

  “Mr. Sundeen,” Frye said, “I’m sorry you’re laid up.”

  “If you want a job you’ll have to see Phil. I don’t hire no more.”

  “No sir. I didn’t come for a job.”

  Danaher said, “Val, that’s who we’re looking for. Phil.”

  “You try De Spain’s?”

  “Not yet. We thought we’d try here first.”

  “He might give the boy a job, I don’t know.”

  “Val, was he here this morning?”

  “I remember now we lost some boys a few days ago, so maybe Phil’ll be hiring again.”

  Danaher exhaled slowly. “You didn’t see him this morning?”

  “I don’t know if it was this morning or yesterday.”

  “Val, just try to think a minute. He stopped in here this morning to talk to you.”

  The old man’s head nodded. “I think he did.”

  “Did he tell you what happened?”

  “He didn’t say anything about hiring any more men.”

  Danaher exhaled again. “Did he say where he was going?”

  “But if he was going to hire men, he’d a told where he’d be, so I could send ’em to him.”

  Frye glanced at Danaher, then kneeled on one knee next to the sofa.

  “Mr. Sundeen, I certainly admired working for you that time. The first year we pushed ’em all the way up to Ellsworth. You remember that?”

  “Two thousand head,” the old man murmured.

  “Then the next year we went to McDowell and San Carlos and you let Phil trail-boss the bunch to the reservation.”

  The old man’s eyes rolled to look at Frye. “I don’t remember you. You see Phil, though, tell him I said it’s all right to hire you.”

  “Well, I sure wish I could find him.”

  “You got to know where to look.”

  “Where do you start?”

  “When I wanted Phil I looked where there was women. That’s where I’d start and that’s where I’d end.”

  “Maybe that’s the thing to do.”

  “Hell yes it is. Phil’s got a nose for women. He can smell ’em.” The old man’s mouth formed a weak smile. “Like a hound dog in heat, only Phil’s like it all year round. I used to say, ‘Phil, for cry-sake get yourself a woman and bring her home and be done with it. You’ll wear out your seat ridin’ to town every night.’ And he used to say, ‘I’ll wear out more’n that,’ and just laugh.”

  Frye said, “He’s something.”

 
; “You looking for Phil? Go ask the women. They’ll tell you where he’s at.” Old Val chuckled.

  “Would you look any place in particular?”

  “You want a job pretty bad, don’t you?”

  “Well I’d sure like to find Phil.”

  “Once he said, ‘Why in hell does a man get married with all the women there are in the world just beggin’ for it?’ And I said, ‘Son, when they’re beggin’ you ain’t wantin’ and when you’re wantin’ they ain’t beggin’. That’s why you got to have yourself one handy.’ ”

  Frye said, “Yes sir.”

  “Are you married, boy?”

  “No sir, I’m not.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, it’ll be a long way off. Phil don’t pay more’n forty a month to top hands.” The old man grinned. “And you sure don’t want to take your wife in the bunkhouse.”

  “Mr. Sundeen, I better try and catch up with Phil.”

  “Phil don’t poke along. You’ll have to move.”

  “But you’re sure he was here this morning.”

  “A man’s a fool to say he’s absolutely sure about anything.”

  “He might have been here then.”

  “He might have been.”

  Frye rose. “Maybe we’ll talk again some time soon, Mr. Sundeen.”

  The old man rolled his eyes and Frye could see the yellowish cast to them as he looked up. “You better make it soon if you’ve got anything to say.”

  Frye nodded. “Yes sir.” He turned and followed Danaher outside to the porch. Then he stopped, looking out to the yard seeing Merl and the others standing by the horses. He glanced back at the screen door, then at Danaher.

  “John, what happened to Haig?”

  Danaher looked toward the horses. Haig’s was not there. “I don’t know. He walked out while you were talking.” He called over to Merl, “Where’s Haig?”

  “He rode off,” Merl answered. “Didn’t say a word, just rode off.”

  17

  Sundeen waited in the shadow of the adobe wall until the wagon started down the alley, moving away from the Metropolitan Café, then he crossed the alley to the stairway that slanted up to the back porch.

  He had left his horse in the thicket that bordered Randado’s small Mexican community and had crept from one adobe to the next, keeping close to the walls, occasionally hearing siesta hour snoring coming from within, until he reached the alley that was in back of the café. The wagon had been a small delay, already unloaded when he reached the last adobe wall.

  Now he hesitated before going up the stairs. He moved to the wall next to the back window and looked into the kitchen. Noontime activity. The cook facing the stove, a waitress just pushing through the door to go out front. The door swung back and Edith Hanasian came in with it. She was looking in his direction, but did not see him and he thought: Call her now! But she turned toward the stove, saying something to the cook, and it occurred to him: No. Wait a while, till the rush is over. He was tired, dust-caked and wanted a drink. The best thing would be to go upstairs and wait for her. Have a drink and take a load off your feet, he decided.

  He climbed the stairs and went inside, following the hallway to the living room at the front. He took off his hat and coat, dropping them on the floor, and sank down into a stuffed leather chair stretching his long legs out in front of him. But he had forgotten the drink.

  Phil pulled himself up and went down the hall to Edith’s bedroom. He went directly to her dresser and lifted the half-full bottle of whisky from the lower right-hand drawer, then returned to the easy chair.

  For some time he sat in the chair, his head low on the bolster, and drank from the bottle. Then he placed it on the floor next to him and made a cigarette.

  He felt pretty good now even though his legs were stiff and he had a kink in his back from all that riding. He felt good enough to grin as he thought: Damn room looks different in the daylight.

  He thought of Edith then and wished she would hurry up and get finished with the dinner trade. Won’t she be surprised! He laughed out loud.

  I’ll tell her I saw little Haig.

  Edith, I think that little hairy-faced husband of yours is quit the restaurant business and taken to mining. Him and some others were looking over that Big Beverly claim in the Huachucas yesterday. Edith, why else you suppose he’d be snooping around over there? Phil laughed again and took another pull at the bottle.

  About Haig Hanasian, Phil had no feeling one way or the other. He was indifferent to him, as he was about most things. If a man couldn’t hold on to his wife, that was too bad. He shouldn’t have married her to begin with. If Edith wanted to fool around that was Haig’s own fault. Hell, he got her through a Prescott marriage broker. Edith had admitted that much herself.

  He remembered when Haig had come here to open his café, bringing Edith with him. There had been a lot of talk about them then, but Phil had never been too interested in the talk; he had just watched Edith, waiting to catch her eye as she served him, and when their eyes would meet he would tell her things without even opening his mouth. He never forced his attention on her. He didn’t have to. To Phil it seemed the most natural thing in the world that she should want him; if anything, he considered that he was doing her a favor.

  What fun would she get out of Haig? What was he, a Greek? No…something that sounded like ammonia. Well, he looked like a goddamn Greek. Came over on a boat and opened a restaurant in New Orleans; then packed up and came out here. Probably his health. Or maybe they wanted to send him back where he came from, so he ran.

  Haig had gone to Prescott first. He traveled through the whole southern part of the territory until deciding to locate in Randado. Then he returned to Prescott to find a wife.

  Edith told Phil she had come from San Francisco to marry a soldier in Whipple Barracks, but he had died while she was on the way. Killed in action against the Apaches. She would lower her eyes telling it. To Phil, that was as good a story as any; but he always had the suspicion that the Prescott marriage broker had to raid a whorehouse to fill Haig’s order. One way or another, it didn’t matter to Phil.

  As soon as he saw Haig at the mine he had thought about coming here. Habit, he thought grinning. That comes from duckin’ up the stairs every time you see him ride out.

  Then when he arrived at the ranch and did not find Digo, he was sure he would come here. Digo’s wife did not know where he was; but Edith would know. Only now was the awareness that he was alone beginning to take hold of him. He had been alone from the start. Tindal and Stedman and Jordan had never been a consolation, only company; company he had to force to stay with him, and now he did not even have that.

  As soon as he found Digo everything would be all right. Hell, it wasn’t any fun playing this game by yourself. Digo would have some ideas. Probably he’s out looking for me. But he’d have left word with Edith so we could meet in case I came back.

  With Phil it was that simple. This was something to do; something to relieve the boredom of tending cows all year long. But with Digo along it would be a hell of a lot more fun.

  Only occasionally during the last few days did he try to think what the outcome of this might be; and always he had gotten it out of his mind by thinking of an immediate concern. Hell, don’t worry about tomorrow. It might not even come.

  But just since this morning, since not finding Digo at the ranch, it had crept into his mind more often: How is this thing going to end? And what seemed more important: What if I don’t find Digo?

  But now he had whisky, and he was relaxed.

  He had almost finished the bottle when Edith came in.

  Surprise showed on her face momentarily, but it vanished as she glanced from Phil to the whisky bottle on the floor next to him.

  “Why don’t you help yourself to a drink, Phil?”

  Sundeen grinned. “Edith, you’re somethin’.”

  “When did you get in?”

  �
��About an hour ago.”

  “Alone?”

  “All by myself.”

  “What happened to your friends?”

  “They got sick and went home.”

  “Somebody said Tindal and Stedman were brought in, but I didn’t see them.” She was silent, watching him grinning looking up at her. “What do you want, Phil?”

  “I didn’t come for a haircut.” He winked at her.

  “You could use one.”

  Sundeen laughed. “For a woman affectionate as you are you can sure act cold.”

  “What do you want, Phil?”

  Sundeen’s expression changed. “Edith, you sound funny.”

  “I’m not used to having wanted outlaws in my living room.”

  He straightened in the chair and his mouth came open in surprise as he stared at her. “Well goddamn…ain’t we somethin’ all of a sudden!”

  “Why don’t you just get out?”

  He came up out of the chair suddenly taking her by the shoulders. “What’s the matter with you!”

  “Let me go!”

  “You think I came to see you!”

  “Take your hands off of me!”

  He shook her violently. “You think I came for you!”

  “I don’t care why you came!”

  He threw her away from him and shook his head slowly, saying, “Son of a bitch,” spacing the words. “When I learn to figure out women then I’ll be the smartest man walking this earth!”

  She asked hesitantly, “Why did you come?”

  “To find Digo. God almighty, not to see you!”

  Edith smiled faintly as if taking pleasure in saying, “He’s across the street.”

  “Where across the street?”

  Edith moved to the window and pointed out. “Right over there. They call it the jail.”

  “What!”

  “Take the wax out of your ears—I said he’s in jail!”

  Sundeen went to the next window and pushed the curtain aside roughly.

  “When’d they get him?”