MOFFATT ONCE MORE
Towards nightfall on a day in June the boss of the Anvil rode in to
headquarters from a tour of some water-holes that required patching. His
son accompanied him, astride a mouse-colored bronco that, a month
before, neither Lafe nor myself would have suspected him capable of
handling. There was nobody near the stables, which was unusual, but Mrs.
Horne met them at the corral gate. She was very collected, but so white
that she frightened Lafe.
"Well," she said distinctly, "it's all over now. He's dead."
Johnson had just stepped out of the saddle. Still holding his horse by
the cheek of the bridle, he said in amazement: "Ma'am?"
"Yes," she repeated, "he's dead."
Then she began to sway on her feet, and before Lafe could reach her,
Mrs. Horne had fainted. With his son's help he bore her to the house.
There he found everything in confusion. Two native women were padding
about, wringing their hands and wailing for help, while Manuel knelt
beside a sofa in the dining-room and bathed Horne's face and forehead
with water. Lafe gave Mrs. Horne into the care of these females and bade
them sternly to be silent. He then turned his attention to his employer.
In her distraction and first outbreak of grief, Mrs. Horne had been too
hasty. The cowman was not dead. He had a bullet through his neck and
another in the region of the stomach, but he was still alive and Johnson
did not give up hope. Well he knew what a tough person this same Horne
was, and he calculated that his indomitable spirit would help nature to
pull him through. To Mrs. Horne, now revived and tearfully anxious to be
of use, he said: "Pshaw, don't take on so, Miz Horne. It'll take more'n
two bullets to kill the ol' man. How did it happen?"
In a gush of words she began to tell him, but Manuel rose from the floor
and interrupted. The Mexican was almost hysterical, but from the two of
them Lafe was able to piece together a fairly accurate picture of what
had transpired.
Headquarters had been deserted except for the owner and Manuel, who was
working in the stables at the time, and the three women. Old man Horne
was dozing in a hammock, when a rider came to the corral and turned his
horse inside. Horne woke in time to perceive the stranger throw his
saddle on one of the Anvil horses. The cowman called out to him to know
what he meant by it, and getting no reply, descended from the veranda
and hurried to the corral.
Manuel was cleaning out the stallion's stall when he heard loud talking
in the corral. Hardly had he laid down his fork in order to go to
ascertain the cause of the disturbance, than there came two shots. He
reached the door of the stable in time to see a man ride off at full
speed. In the corral he had found Mr. Horne lying unconscious, and he
heaved him on to his back and carried him to the house; all alone he did
it.
In about half an hour the cowman opened his eyes.
"Hello, Lafe," he said.
The boss despatched his son to Badger to fetch Dr. Armstrong and himself
set to work to ease the cowman's pain. The wound in his neck gave Lafe
no concern, but that in the stomach caused Horne acute agony and Lafe
feared internal hemorrhages.
"It was that skunk, Steve Moffatt," Horne told Lafe in a whisper. "He's
come back after all these years."
"Don't talk," said Lafe.
"I will talk," said the cowman. "I'm not going to die for a long while
yet."
"What was the trouble about?"
"I didn't know him at first, on account of he looks so much older. And
he's grown a beard. He wanted a horse and I wouldn't give him one. Then
he plugged me. Plugged me in cold blood, he did. Just as he did it he
told me that would square us for me and Floyd offering that reward way
back fifteen years ago."
In the course of nine hours Lafe, Jr., returned with the doctor. By
that time Mrs. Horne had taken to her bed and was almost as much in need
of Armstrong's services as was her husband. He made a brief examination
and reported that the wounds were dangerous, but not necessarily fatal.
The patient's advanced age was his greatest concern. Reassured on this
point, Johnson and his son went to sleep.
The cowman sent for his manager in early afternoon.
"Lafe," he said, "I'm going to get all right. I've got enough nurses
here, and I want you to go get Steve Moffatt. He's always tried to give
me and you dirt, and I'm beginning to think that the Lord intended you
to round him up. Take what money you need and go fetch him."
"I'll get him," said the boss.
"And, say," the cowman called after him, "when you catch him, bring him
here to me. Whether he's living or dead, bring him here to me. I want to
see Steve Moffatt for what he did yesterday."
Lafe promised and went out. He found his son near the corral, repairing
a cinch with a bit of twine.
"Where're you going?" the boy asked.
The boss paused in his walk and surveyed him critically for some
moments.
"I'm going after a man I've hunted for sixteen years," he said.
"Steve Moffatt?"
"Steve Moffatt," his father replied. "How did you know? Him and me have
been shooting each other up since we were old enough to carry a gun."
Lafe, Jr., turned to his task of repairing the cinch again, and said
nothing more for a few minutes. His father was inside the corral, roping
a fresh mount.
"You might catch me ol' Beanbelly, Dad," Lafe, Jr., cried to him.
"What for?"
"Why, you're going to take me along, ain't you? You're going to give me
a chance at him, too, ain't you?"
"You're damn whistlin' I am," said his father. "Come and get your
horse."