The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [192]
Hassett thought it over the length of time it took him to strap on his holster and take a Winchester down from the wall rack. Then he rode out to Phil Treat’s place. Entering the yard, he heard a hammering sound coming from the adobe. He saw that a new ramada had been constructed. As he reined toward the adobe, Phil Treat stepped out of the doorway, a Henry rifle under his arm.
“So you’re rebuilding,” Hassett said. “I heard about what happened.”
His eyes held on Treat as he stepped out of the saddle, letting his reins trail. He brushed open his coat and took a tobacco plug from his vest pocket, bit off a corner of it, and returned the plug to the pocket. His coat remained open, the skirt held back by the butt of his revolver. He had been a law officer for more than two dozen years and he was in no particular hurry.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” said Hassett. “But something told me to find out.”
“You’re not looking for me,” Treat said.
“No; two of Mr. Kergosen’s boys.”
Treat called toward the adobe, “Come out a minute!”
Hassett watched as Grady and Sandal appeared in the doorway, then came outside. Grady’s bearded face was bruised, one eye swollen and half closed, and he limped as he took the few steps out to the end of the ramada shade. There was no mark on Sandal.
“These the men?” asked Treat. Hassett nodded.
“Ivan reported them lost.”
“Not lost,” Treat said. “They quit him to work for me.”
“Without drawing their pay?”
“That’s none of my business,” Treat answered.
Hassett’s gaze moved to the adobe. “Grady, I didn’t know you were a carpenter.”
The bearded man hesitated before saying, “I’m swearing out a complaint on one Phil Treat.”
Hassett nodded, moving the tobacco from one cheek to the other. “It’s your privilege, Grady; though I’d say you got off easy.”
“This man forced us—” Grady began.
Hassett held up his hand. “In my office.” He looked at Treat then. “You come in, too, and state your complaint. I make out a writ and serve it on Ivan. The writ orders him to court on such and such a date. You’re there to claim your wife with proof of legal marriage.”
“And if Mr. Kergosen doesn’t appear?” asked Treat.
“He’s no bigger than I am,” Hassett said. “I see that he does next time.”
“But that doesn’t calm his mind, does it?”
“That’s your problem,” Hassett said.
Treat almost smiled. “You said it as simply as it can be said.”
“All right,” Hassett said. “You’ve been told.” He moved around his horse, stepped up into the saddle, then looked down at Treat again. “Let me ask you something. How come Grady looks the way he does and there isn’t a mark on Sandal?”
“I talked to Grady first,” Treat said.
“I see,” Hassett said. “I’ll ask you something else. How come Ivan didn’t come here looking for these two?”
“I guess he doesn’t know I’m still here.”
Hassett looked down at Treat. “But he’ll know it now, won’t he?” He turned and rode out of the yard.
That afternoon, after they had finished the inside repairs, Sandal and Grady were released. They rode out, riding double, and watching them, Treat pictured them approaching the great U-shaped adobe that was Mr. Kergosen’s home, then dismounting and standing in the sunlight as Ivan came down the steps from the veranda.
Sandal would tell it: how they were ambushed riding back from Dos Mesas, how Treat had appeared in front of them, coming out of the trees with the Henry; how Grady’s horse had been hit when they tried to run, and had fallen on Grady and injured his ankle; how they had been taken back to his adobe and forced to rebuild the ramada and patch the furniture and the stove. And Sandal would describe him as some kind of demon, a nagual who never slept and seldom spoke as he held them with a Henry rifle for two days and two nights.
Ivan Kergosen would turn from them, his eyes going to Ellis sitting on the shaded veranda, reading or sewing or staring out over the yard. She