The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [100]
“And I do skinning,” the boy added. It was like What are you going to do about it! the way he said it.
Clyde laughed again. Wylie just grinned.
“So you’re Matt Gordon’s boy,” Wylie Foss said.
“We met once before.”
“We did?”
“In Leverette, four years ago.” The boy made himself say it naturally. “A month before you met my dad in the field and paid him for his hides with whiskey instead of cash… the day before he was trampled into the ground….”
THE FOSS BROTHERS met his stare, and suddenly the amusement was gone from their eyes. Clyde no longer laughed, and Wylie’s mouth tightened. Clyde stared at the boy and said, “If you meant anything by that, you better watch your mouth.”
Wylie said, “We can’t stop buffalo from stampedin’.” Clyde grinned now.
“Maybe he’s drunk… maybe he favors his pa.”
“Take it any way you want,” the boy said. He stood firmly with his fists clenched. “You knew better than to give him whiskey. You took advantage of him.”
Wylie looked up at the rumbling sound of the wagon string coming in, the ponderous creaking of wooden frames, iron-rimmed tires grating, and the never-changing off-key leathery rattle of the traces, then the sound of reins flicking horse hide and the indistinguishable growls of the teamsters.
Wylie moved toward the wagons in the dimness and shouted to the first one, “Ed… water down!” pointing toward the creek.
“You bedding here?” Leo Cleary asked after him.
“Just water.”
“Moving all night?”
“We’re meeting a party on the Salt Fork… they ain’t going to stay there forever.” Wylie Foss walked after the wagons leading away their horses.
Clyde paid little attention to the wagons, only glancing in that direction as they swung toward the stream. Stoop shouldered, his hand curling the brim of his sweat-stained hat, his eyes roamed lazily over the drying hides. He rolled a cigarette, taking his time, failing to offer tobacco to the boy.
“I guess we got room for your hides,” he said finally.
“I’m not selling.”
“We’ll load soon as we water… even take the fresh ones.”
“I said I’m not selling.”
“Maybe I’m not asking.”
“There’s nothing making me sell if I don’t want to!”
The slow smile formed on Clyde’s mouth. “You’re a mean little fella, aren’t you?”
Clyde Foss dropped the cigarette stub and turned a boot on it. “There’s a bottle in my saddle pouch.” He nodded to Leo Cleary, who was standing off from them. “Help yourself, Leo.”
The old man hesitated.
“I said help yourself.”
Leo Cleary moved off toward the stream.
“Now, Mr. Gordon… how many hides you say were still dryin’?”
“None for you.”
“Forty… forty-five?”
“You heard what I said.” He was standing close to Clyde Foss, watching his face. He saw the jaw muscles tighten and sensed Clyde’s shift of weight. He tried to turn, bringing up his shoulder, but it came with pain-stabbing suddenness. Clyde’s fist smashed against his cheek, and he stumbled off balance.
“Forty?”
Clyde’s left hand followed around with weight behind it, scraping his temple, staggering him.
“Forty-five?”
He waded after the boy then, clubbing at his face and body, knocking his guard aside to land his fists, until the boy was backed against his wagon. Then Clyde stopped as the boy fell into the wheel spokes, gasping, and slumped to the ground.
Clyde stood over the boy and nudged him with his boot. “Did I hear forty or forty-five?” he said dryly. And when the boy made no answer—“Well, it don’t matter.”
He heard the wagons coming up from the creek. Wylie was leading the horses. “Boy went to sleep on us, Wylie.” He grinned. “He said don’t disturb him, just take the skins and leave the payment with Leo.” He laughed then. And later, when the wagons pulled out, he was laughing again.
Once he heard voices, a man swearing, a never-ending soft thudding against the ground, noises above him in the wagon. But these passed, and there was nothing.
He woke again, briefly, a piercing ringing in his ears, and his face