King Blood Page 9

  "Well, o' course, we did pass a lot of people between his office an' that saloon. But it does narrow things down a little, don't it? I mean, known' about when you was robbed. So maybe if you was t'go to Marshal Harry an' report the theft..."

  His voice trailed off into silence, his eyes sliding away from Critch's bitter gaze. "Well, uh, maybe," he resumed, after a moment's silence. "Maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea after all. Might get yourself tied up in more questionin' than you could get free of in a year o' Sundays. Ol' Harry, he'd probably want to know just how you came by the money an' why a educated fella like you was carryin' it around in cash, an' exactly how much you had, right down t'the last nickle. An' uh—just how much did you have, little brother?"

  Critch shot him a furious look; again almost maddened to the point of physical violence. Then, getting control of himself, he decided that Arlie quite likely 'didn't' know the amount of the theft. He didn't, since it would have been highly impractical for him to have stolen the money himself. Instead, he had had that Indian youth steal it—I.K., or whatever his name was—arranging to meet with him later for a division of the money. (A division which would profit the Indian damned little.)

  "Yeah, little brother? How much did you say you had?"

  Critch hesitated, a vengeful idea coming into his mind. Suppose he told Arlie that the sum was much larger than it was. Arlie would naturally demand that the Indian produce that amount, and when he couldn't—well, all hell would pop, right? That Apache kid was obviously capable of a great deal of nastiness—as, needless to say, was Arlie. And if the two of them should get in a fight—

  Huh-uh; Critch mentally shook his head to the notion. Revenge he could do without, at least for the present. His pre-eminent need was the money, and his best chance of getting it back was to have Arlie get it. A friendly Arlie—one who believed that little brother, Critch, was friendly toward him and entirely unsuspecting of his duplicity.

  So, now, Critch raised somber eyes to his brother's face; heaved a huge sigh as Arlie prompted him yet a third time.

  "Arlie," he said. "I'll tell you, but I want you to keep it in strict confidence. I can trust you to do that, can't I?"

  "You know you can, boy," Arlie declared warmly. "Just you ask, an' that's the way it'll be."

  "I'd rather you didn't even tell Paw. He'd probably get all upset, like old people do sometimes, so why worry him about it?"

  "Why, sure, sure. No point to it at all. So, how much...?"

  "Seventy-two thousand dollars."

  "Seventy-two thousand dollars," Arlie nodded. "Well, now—"

  He broke off with a gasp, lurched out of his tilted-back chair. He stared at Critch, mouth working wordlessly. Shakily pointing a finger at him as he tried to find his voice.

  "Y-you said...You said—Naw! No, by God!"

  "Yes, Arlie. Yes."

  "Holy howling owls! Where did you get—" He broke off, again; stared at Critch in open admiration. "Critch, boy, I got to hand it to you! Gettin' yourself a whole seventy-two thousand dollars and without gettin' yourself wanted. That's right, ain't it?" he added, a trifle anxiously. "You ain't wanted? Ain't no one comin' after you for that money?"

  Critch shook his head. "No one," he said. "I'm in the clear."

  "No one at all?" Arlie insisted. "You're sure of it?"

  "Positive. I wish I was even a tenth as sure of getting the money back."

  Arlie mumbled commiseratingly. He said that maybe he ought to be sort of looking around for the lousy, lowdown thief. Might just get lucky and run into him.

  "Meantime," he said, putting on his hat. "Don't you worry none about havin' a stake to go home on. I'll see t'that, and you can count on it!"

  "Yes?"

  "You know. You know how danged funny Paw is. Show up there without a nice little stake, two-three thousand dollars, anyways, he'd figure you was a bum. So, by gollies, I'll get you the money, little brother! I know my way around this town, an' I got plenty of friends here. So I'll get it, one way or another."

  Critch murmured his thanks; said he would never forget the favor. His situation suddenly looked brighter to him. Several thousand dollars spent in the right places would practically guarantee his recovering the money. It would take time, of course. He would have to do some traveling, make certain arrangements with certain people; so, naturally, he could not return to the Junction with Arlie. But that was all right. He'd leave a note for the latter, regretfully explaining that he had doubted his ability to adjust to ranch life after so long an absence, and was thus going his own way, gladly forfeiting any claims to an inheritance in favor of his beloved brother. Old Ike would be disappointed, and Arlie might be suspicious for a time. But—

  "...be on my way, Critch, boy," Arlie was saying, as he started toward the door. "Now, how about somethin' t' eat, huh? Want me to send you up some supper from the dinin' room?"

  "Fine, fine!" Critch smiled. "Have to get myself straightened out if I'm seeing Paw tomorrow."

  "No ifs about it," Arlie declared. "Said I'd get you a nice stake t'go home on, an' I'm gonna do it. So you just eat an' get yourself a good night's sleep, an' I'll see you in the morning."

  '"Morning?"' Critch said. "B-but—but—"

  "Yeah?" Arlie looked at him curiously. "What's the matter, little brother? No need t'be botherin' you before morning, is there?"

  "No 'need' to! But—but what about the money you were getting for me?"

  "What about it? You got plenty for anything you need tonight. Soon as we're on the train in the mornin' I'll give you the other; enough to put you on the good side of Paw."

  "B-but—"

  "But what? You sure wouldn't want a lot of money on you overnight, would you?" Arlie frowned. "That wouldn't make no sense at all, it seems to me. You get yourself robbed again after me gettin' you up a new stake, you'd really be out of luck."

  Critch stared at him helplessly, trying to frame some plausible protest; some reasonable objection to his brother's reasoning. There was, of course, none to find. He had been out-thought just as he been outfought. And fraud having failed him, he had nothing to lose by frankness.

  "Arlie," he said quietly, "why do you want me to come back to the Junction?"

  "Why?" Arlie said. "Well, now, why wouldn't I want you to? After all, we're brothers—"

  "We're also Kings. 'King' brothers, Arlie."

  "Well," Arlie hesitated. "I reckon we are a little different from other folks. But—"

  "We're different all right. It was bred into us. Paw was more savage than civilized. Between him and Tepaha we were raised to believe that it was all right to do almost anything as long as you got away with it. As for our mother...well, she wound up selling her ass to all comers. Selling it or giving it away; she really didn't seem to care which."

  Arlie let out a guffaw. "No kiddin'? Well, she was built for it, as I recall. All ass and no brains? Why, I remember one time when—uh—Well, never mind," he concluded uncomfortably. "Reckon it ain't really right t'be dirty-talkin' our own Maw."

  "But it's appropriate for a King. Right and wrong don't enter into the picture. So I'll ask you again, Arlie. Why do you want me at the Junction?"

  Arlie said he just did, that was why. What was so God damned strange about wanting your own brother with you?

  "Maybe we got kind of twisted as kids. Maybe we done plenty of wrong things in our lives. But we can change, can't we? Nothin' that says we got to keep on goin' the way we started out."

  "Forget it," Critch said. "Forget that I asked you."

  "But—well, dammit, I need you, boy! The ranch is just too big a job to handle by myself."

  "And I'll be a great help, won't I?" Critch shook his head cynically. "A city dude—a man who hasn't even sat on a horse in years. Any twenty-a-month cowhand would be ten times as helpful as I would."

  "But he wouldn't be a King! Just wouldn't be fittin' to have no one else but a King runnin' things."

  "Whatever you say, Arlie," Critch shrugged. "Whatev
er you say."

  He yawned elaborately, stretched out on the bed with his hands under his head. He closed his eyes, with a murmur of apology; opening them for a moment with apparent surprise at finding Arlie still present.

  "Something else?" he said.

  "You're God damned right there's something else! I tell a fella somethin', I don't want him callin' me a liar!"

  "Oh, I don't blame you," Critch said earnestly. "I've never liked it either. Of course, there is a way of avoiding it..."

  He allowed his voice to trail off into silence, giving his brother a look of preternatural solemnity. Arlie scowled furiously, started to say something, then turned to the door and yanked it open. On the point of slamming it, he turned again and faced his brother. Grinning good-naturedly; his expression more or less back to normal.

  "All right, little brother. All right. I just might have another reason for wantin' you back at the Junction."

  "You just might," Critch agreed.

  "Course, I ain't sayin' that that 'is' the reason. But it might be I'd feel a lot safer that way. Might figure it'd be a lot easier to look out for you, if I knew exactly where to look out."

  "There's another side to that coin, of course."

  "Meanin', the more distance there was between us the safer I'd be?" Arlie shook his head, grinning. "Huh-uh, little brother. Huh-uh. Because I know something about you that you don't even know yourself."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as somethin' you can't do. Oh, you think you can. Prob'ly thought about doin' it plenty of times. Prob'ly even 'planned' t'do it. But it's God danged lucky you never tried, because you couldn't no more do it than you could rub your ass an' your elbow at the same time. An' the reason I know you can't do it is because I 'can' an' I know what it takes. An' you ain't got what it takes, little brother. You just ain't got it."

  "I ain't got what it takes," said Critch, "to do what?"

  "To kill. You could maybe hire it done. I figure you maybe 'might' hire it done if you was in the proper fix t'do it. So...'Arlie's drawl faded off into the silence, his grin dying with it. And once again he became the concerned big brother, the doer of good deeds. "So," he resumed slowly. "So I reckon it's a plumb fine idea for you to come back to the Junction with me, Critch. Don't you? Don't you reckon it's just about the finest idea a fella ever had?"

  Critch nodded dully. "Plumb fine," he said.

  Interlude

  'Arlie went to I.K.'s sleazy hotel around midnight. The Indian youth had a half-breed whore with him, but he had remained dressed in anticipation of young King's visit; and he promptly handed over a sheaf of thousand-dollar bills as soon as he had dismissed the naked girl. Arlie counted the money; emitted an awed whistle of appreciation. "God damn! A whole ten thousand dollars, huh?"'

  '"I steal good, yes?" I.K. beamed modestly. "Do plenty all right for my ol' frien', Arlie?"'

  '"Uh-hah, plenty," Arlie drawled. "Kinda puzzlin', though. I coulda sworn that Critch had maybe a dozen packets of dough stashed in that coat of his instead of just one.''

  '"Did have," I.K. nodded promptly. "I get bank to cash into t'ousand-dollar bills. Make easier to carry, you know.''

  'Arlie said that that had been real smart of him. And kinda dumb of the bank, when you come to think of it. "They didn't ask you no questions, huh? Didn't want to know how come a God damned greasy-assed Injun kid like you got himself so much money?"'

  'I.K. made a sudden dive for the door. Arlie caught him, and twisted an arm behind his back. Not until the Apache youth was on the verge of having his shoulder dislocated, did he at last gasp out a confession. "Up there! Behin' chimney hole!"'

  'Arlie pried loose the flowered-tin cover of the chimney outlet, and scooped the money out onto the bed. Counting it methodically he discovered the amount to be a hundred dollars short of seventy-two thousand. I.K. sulkily explained the shortage. "Cash bill with dirty "ief bartender. Give me thirty dollars for hundred.''

  "Thirty dollars, huh?" Arlie said, taking out his wallet. "Well, here's thirty more for you. You be real careful with your spendin', an' you can live on it for quite a while."

  'I.K. cursed him vilely. "God damn you, ol' Arlie! You promise me half!"'

  Arlie said, well, that made them both pretty sneaky, didn't it? Anyway, he continued, it would do the youth no good if he was given all the money. It would go into the pockets of smarter thieves, and he would go into jail in less than a week.

  I.K. cursed him at length. He pleaded. Abruptly, he attempted an attack. The cursing and begging accomplished nothing, of course. Anticipating the attack, Arlie fended it off with a suddenly outthrust boot, the spur of which ripped the Apache's pantsleg from top to bottom.

  Arlie whooped with laughter at sight of the ruined trousers. I.K. continued to scowl and curse for a time, then joined in the laughter. Arlie took a pint bottle from his hip pocket, and they drank together. Friends, to all appearances.

  'To all appearances'...

  'For it was not the Apache way—it was not I.K.'s way—to betray one's intentions with a display of enmity.'

  Chapter One

  In her room at the King's Junction ranchhouse-hotel—the room which she had formerly shared with her late husband, Boz—Joshie King drew the window shade tight, stealthily lit the coal-oil lamp and stood facing the mirror. Naked, she shivered a little with the early morning chill; shivered also with the tantalizing, demanding urge which had seethed through her plump little body since the day, three weeks before, when she had seen Critch for the first time. 'God damn, she thought,' thinking the words with the complete innocence with which she would have spoken them, without reference to their meaning. 'God damn, he pound my stuff plenty soon, I betcha! That Critch, he screw me good!'

  Placing her hands behind her head, she examined her armpits—entirely hairless now, painfully denuded a hair at a time. She had seen pictures of bare-shouldered women, women in evening gowns; deciding, after the closest scrutiny, that they had no hair in the pits of their arms. She was not sure whether they were born that way, or whether they had achieved the condition themselves. But she was sure that such swell-lookin' women, with all their little niceties, were the kind that would appeal to a swell-lookin' fella like Critch. And she was prepared to go to any lengths to make herself like them.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked thoughtfully down at herself. Despite her tightly plaited hair, with its concomitant tightening of her facial tissues, her brow puckered in a puzzled frown.

  Well, she thought, were they or weren't they? Were those swell-lookin' women only hairless between their arms, or was the area surrounding their stuff also without hair?

  There was no way of knowing, she guessed. Despite her most earnest searching, she had been unable to find a picture of a woman—swell-lookin' or otherwise—in the nude.

  Joshie scowled, pondering the riddle. Then, hesitantly, her hand went to her crotch, and she began a half-hearted plucking of its tightly curled hair. She ceased almost as soon as she began. It hurt too God damned much, and it also impinged upon a practice which was strictly tabu.

  At any rate, what did it matter, what did it really matter whether she was haired or hairless there? Critch had been pleasant to her since his return to the Junction three weeks before, but he had carefully avoided anything resembling an overture either on his part or hers.

  That he wanted her, she was sure. Wanted her as badly as she wanted him. But he definitely did not want, and was determined not to have, the inevitable result of an intimate relationship.

  Critch would have great plans for the future. A swell-lookin' fella like Critch would 'have' to have. And there would be no room in such plans for an Apache bride.

  He would have no squaw for a wife, not Critch King. He wouldn't, because he had no intention of staying here on the ranch a day longer than he had to. Joshie was sure of it. Everyone else apparently thought otherwise, including Old Uncle Ike and Old Grandfather Tepaha. But Joshie knew better. She had had more opport
unity than anyone else to observe Critch, to study his attitude and read between the lines of his speech. And she 'knew.'

  Bleakly, she turned despairing eyes upon the mirror, looking into it and beyond to a future of loveless emptiness.

  There could be no man for her but a King. This was so, a fact accepted by all. Something that could not be changed, and which she could not contemplate changing.

  She would have Critch or no one. And she could not possibly have Critch. Unless...

  'What if his life depended upon her?'

  'What if she had certain information which could compel him to marry her?'

  She glanced toward the window; noted, in the thin margin between casing and shade, a grayish adulteration of the darkness which presaged dawn. Arlie and her sister, Kay, Arlie's wife, should be awake by now. Awake and talking. That much Joshie knew from her past eavesdropping outside their door. And while she had learned virtually nothing that was of use to her, nothing that she could piece together into the complete and conclusive, she had heard enough to be tantalized. For one thing—one very important thing—she had become reasonably certain that Kay was suspicious of Critch's intentions toward Arlie. And Kay's suspicions, Joshie knew, were not likely to remain merely that. Sooner or later—very, very soon, in all likelihood—Kay would see to it that they were translated into action.

  It had been so with Boz.

  It would be so with Critch.

  'And, by God, she God damn well better not! Joshie thought hotly. Critch gonna be my ol' husband!'

  Still, and despite what she herself was sure of, Joshie had no concrete proof. Most of what she knew was merely instinctive, knowledge born of knowledge of her sister rather than what her sister had said. Kay had said nothing which could be pointed to as evidence, and Arlie had said even less. And until they did say something utterly damning and incriminating, and impossible to explain away...

  Joshie stood up. She pulled a short cotton shift over her head, a garment made of flour sacks. Silently, she left the room, crossed the hall to the door of her sister and brother-in-law. She sank to her knees, then lay flat on her stomach on the carpet runner, her ear pressed tightly against the aperture at the base of the door.