Buchanan's Seige (15 page)

"They'll be comin' again tonight," said Weevil.

"Every night."

Cactus called from the bedroom. Buchanan went in and
loo
ked at them, Sutter with his leg bound but seemingly
ab
le to move around.

"Buchanan, we don't like this nohow."

"You forgot the Alamo already?"

"Maybe we don't have to run. Maybe we can palaver
with
'em. Kovacs says they'll let the women go. That's a
start
of somethin', ain't it?"

"It might have been. Now your boss is dead and a lot of
the
m are dead. You don't hear them askin' for a parley."

Sutter said, "We might could all make a run for it after
d
ark."

"That's been suggested," Buchanan told him. "Any
thing
else on your minds?"

“
We just don't like the odds. Ain't enough fighters in
here.
Just about everything's wrong."

"Uh-huh," said Buchanan. "You study on it. Then let
me know what you decide."

"I don't like the way that broke-down wrangler and the
nigger look at us," said Sutter.

"Seems like you're mighty sensitive," said Buchanan. "But I wouldn't mention it to them. They're kinda unhap
py about bein' beat up and all."

He left the discontented pair and went up the ladder
and onto the roof. He needed to be alone with his
thoughts, and he needed action. He waited for a puff of
smoke from the trees and took an offhand shot.

A man came tumbling down. There were savage yells,
and a flurry of shots rang off the stone of the house. He
emptied his rifle at the spots where they came from and
heard howls of pain. The firing from the trees ceased.

Now they opened up from the knoll, which was far
longer range. Still Buchanan persisted, not noticing the
hog farmer who stretched alongside him, watching, eyes
round. Elevating his sights, Buchanan poured lead atop
the knoll. There was enough ammunition for a short siege, and he knew this one could not last long.

Then suddenly he desisted. There was no way to know
if he was doing any damage on that faraway hill. He was
taking out his anger and puzzlement by his action, and it
was not doing any particular good.

Sonny Thorne said, "You sure put it to 'em, Mr. Bu
chanan."

"Uh-huh."

"I ain't sure I can hit a one of 'em. Pa shot at people in
his time. I never did before now."

"Comes a time." He knew here was another less tha
n
hearty fighter. Yet Sonny had not refused duty at any mo
ment.

"It keeps comin' back to me that you ain't got any stake
here. It's just that you're mad at them for hangin' Adam
and beatin' on your friend, the nigra and all."

"It's enough,"

"It wouldn't be enough for me," said Thorne frankly.

The man could b
e right. Buchanan turned over and
stared at the blue Wyoming sky, at the clouds, now whi
t
e
and fluffy, moving gently against the high heavens. "It's
the way things are. Or the way they get to be." He tried to
explain, then knew it wasn't any use. "We're here. We
make a fight."

"Yessir. You mind now if I go down and get a bite in
my belly? Just thinkin' about it all makes me hungry."

"Send Trevor up if he's ready," said Buchanan. He had
to think, he had to work out defenses, a plan, something.
Trevor was clever, he thought, maybe the Englishman
could help. There were just too many guns out there and
too little time to defend the house. He thought again of
Du
rkin and his defiance and his misplaced bravery. It
could happen to any of them who was not careful.

And it could happen from within. He clearly saw the
danger there; he knew that people with the best intentions
could not withstand the terrific strain of continuous bom
bardment.

He turned back to watch the trees and the marksmen
w
h
o were concealed in them. They were beautiful trees,
sn
d now they were scarred with bullets, with climbing up
int
o them ... and falling down out of them. . ..

Trevor was speaking with Amanda when Sonny Thorne
gav
e him Buchanan's message. He nodded, listening half
to
the woman, half to the murmur of voices in the bed
roo
m where Sutter and Cactus spoke together.

Amanda was saying, "Buchanan seems to see it all
cl
early. It is the measure of the man."

""Ah, yes. He has been here and he has been there and
he h
as profited by his coming and going, what?"

"Yes. He is here. He will be gone."

""You divined that. Women! Bless 'em."

"And damn them. According to their lights." She began
to make
a sandwich for Thorne.

“
I say," he began, and paused. "I do know how it
must
have been for you. I mean, Adam burning as he did,
up with his ambition."

H
e said quietly, "It burned him that Bradbury and the
b
ig ranchers looked down upon him. And . . . there
were ot
her factors, of course."

"Yes, quite. It was evident."

"Not to anyone else in Wyoming, I am sure," she said.

"When you left. Should have kept goin', you know.
Wouldn't be in this mess, now, would you?"

"There is a principle here," she told him. "The land
that was Adam's is now mine."

"You'll not live on it."

"No. But I must defend my right to it, to the farm, to
everything. Maybe Adam was wrong-headed. He did not
deserve to be lynched."

The rumble of conversation continued in the bedroom.
Trevor said, "What one deserves and what one gets . . .
ah, well . . ." He gestured. "Those two men. They'll bear watching. And Pieter, what of Pieter?"

"I agree about Durkin's men. And the Kovacs are not
themselves. In shock, perhaps."

Trevor said, "I really had better speak with Buchanan.
Excuse me, please?"

He smiled at her, then went up the ladder with his rifle. Amanda put the bread and meat in front of Thome, wiped
her hands on the apron she had borrowed, and went into
the big room. Weevil was at one window. The other was unprotected for the nonce. Coco was reloading a rifle, gin
gerly but with precision.

"Guns," he muttered. "All the trouble comes with 'em,"

"You're right," said Amanda.

He stared at her. "You the only one believes me."

"There's one small problem," she said. "If we had
guns, and they had all those people out there without gu
ns
... they could come and take us."

"But they couldn't shoot us."

"No," she said. "They would use rope."

Coco bowed his head. "Maybe you right, too. It's jus
t,
I
see so much harm done by the guns."

"Not the guns. The people who handle them." Then s
he
was ashamed for having taken the tutorial stand with
the
gentle black giant. She asked, "Aren't you a champion?"

"I am the champion prizefighter of the entire We
st.”
said Coco. He straightened his back. He popped his e
yes.
"You know what? This champion couldn't stand straight yesterday. That lil ole Indian gal, she said today it
would be different. And it is!"

"Indians have their ways of healing," said Amanda.
"Raven has a reputation in this country. Dan Badger
seems to help her whenever he's needed."

"This here's a queer crowd," Coco said. He looked
back into the kitchen where Raven and Badger were at
tending to the herbs and roots stewing on the stove.
Them two, they truly know somethin'. And that pair, the
Whelans, they stick together like glue, don't they?"

"A queer crowd," she repeated. It was, indeed. "I guess
it all comes down to Buchanan. Either he pulls us out of it or there'll be no crowd."

Coco said, "Tom will think of somethin'. He always,
does. Thing is...." He paused.

"Yes?"

Coco spoke softly, "Ain't no guarantee some of us
w
on't be hurt bad. Includin' Tom Buchanan."

"Yes. Of course." She went again to the kitchen. Nei
the
r Raven nor Badger spoke to
her.

The Kovacses were in their bedroom, now vacated by C
oco
and Weevil. They sat close together, saying nothing.

Only the two cowboys talked, and Amanda could not distinguish what they were saying. She was afraid it was something she should overhear and report to
Buchanan.
S
h
e made more sandwiches and asked Sonny Thorne to
car
ri
e
them out to the Whelans in the barn. Then she went
into the big room and stood beside the unguarded
windo
w with a rifle in her hands. She did not fire at any
thing
but it made her feel better . . . useful . . . to stand

8

Bra
dbury was watching the sun fall toward the western
mou
ntain range, wondering if he would see it rise the next
morni
ng. A wagon driven by Toad Tanner and Dab Geer
pu
lled in. There were ha
lf
a dozen men aboard, singing,
drinking and
waving bottles. There were two barrels of whis
key
in the wagon body.

Fox said, "Got it, didja?"

" Twarn't easy." Old Dab Geer scowled. "Them damn
saloo
nkeepers wouldn't sell us none."

"Not even Noonan?"

"Not neither of 'em."

"You didn't cause trouble?"

"Hell, no." He motioned toward Tanner. "He 'mem
bered the hotel. Just walked in and he'ped ourselves."

"Got it from ol' Weevil's place, huh?"

"You betcha. Had good whiskey, Weevil did, better'n
the saloons. We watered one barrel some
.
Too good for
them bums over there."

"Don't give 'em any 'til dark, you hear?" Fox said.
"Just enough to stir 'em up for the charge."

"Be hard to keep 'em from it."

"Put a guard on it. And don't belt any more of it your
own selves, neither."

"Got enough in us now, Boss."

The wagon lumbered away with its drunken load. Bradbury looked after it, disgusted.

"Damn fool mistake," he said. His eyes burned and he
felt shaky, but he was awake. "Whiskey and war don't go together, no matter what anyone says."

Morgan Crane yelled, "You set there and run down
every damn thing we do. By God, I don't know about you,
Brad. By God, you ain't with us."

"And haven't been for some time." He was no longer frightened. He expected them to kill him sooner or later.
There was always a guard lurking in the trees or sitting
nearby. There had been no possible way he could have
walked away.

"Shut up, Morgan," said Fox. "Let's go over and make sure D
a
b and Toad don't start pourin' rum."

They walked together through the trees. A rifleman
nodded at them and sat watching Bradbury.

"Looks like he'll have to go," said Crane.

"Wait and see what happens when we get rid of them people down there."

"I don't cotton t
o the way he stares at us. Nemmin
e
what he says, which is bad enough. He could turn on
like we said, make a heap of trouble. He ain't fired a
shot
y' know."

"He's with us. He's a member of the association," sai
d.
|
Fox. "He's in it, all right."