Hubert Alderman
Hubert Alderman walked home with a swagger in his step. He was on top of the world.
“Where you been, in yer best bib and tucker?” Growled his Father as Hubert sauntered into the main lounge. He was well used to the old man’s foul temper and took no notice.
“I’ve been to see Big Nell, Pa,” he said, still smiling. “She’s got a redhead working for her. Skin like snow and a tight cunt. She was a delight. Reminds me of her mother.”
Old Man Alderman sneered, his whoring days long gone.
“You may remember her, the Whites’ girl. Judith or Jeanette or something...”
“Jolene, she’s called Jolene,” snapped Old Man Alderman, “a man should have the manners to know the name of the woman he’s just bedded!”
“Whatever,” said Hubert, waving his hand dismissively, “best twenty dollars I ever spent.”
“You paid twenty dollars, twenty, to plough some tart’s field? You’ve more money than sense! Ya didn’t part with cold hard cash when you did her mother!”
“If you get yer skinny ass into town once in a while and take yerself a look, you’d see. Worth every cent.”
“Well someone has to keep an eye on things round here, while you’re off dropping your kecks.” There was real venom in Old Man Alderman’s voice; he was in a worse mood than usual. “While you were gettin’ inside a frilly skirt, that useless fat brother of yours was dealing with our wolf problem.”
“All right pa,” conceded Hubert suppressing a sigh, “I’ll get me riding breeches on and go out and find him.”
“Aye, and make sure you do. Did ya bring me some whiskey? Not the gut rot they sell in yer fav’rite bordello, the good stuff!”
He had had such a good time with the White girl that he had completely forgotten to pick up a bottle of rye for his pa. “Sorry pa, completely slipped my mind. I’ll ride back into town tomorrow.”
“Is that all takes fer ya to forget yer pa? Some cheap tart dropping her cheap, perfumed panties!”
“It ain’t like that,” he said, knowing full well that it was. “Besides, she ain’t cheap.”
“They’re all cheap sooner or later!”
This was indeed true, reflected Hubert, but by the time she was charging a dollar a go, she would be old beyond her time, stinking of red-eye and with breasts down to her navel not to mention the unmentionable diseases. By then there would be another beautiful woman whose name he could forget after an overpriced evening of joy.
“You need to cut out the whores and find yerself a new wife and get yerself another son. It’ll be your fault if the range ends up in Dwayne’s fat hands. And you need to remember my whiskey!”
# # #
Out on the ranch, Dwayne sat on a natural mound sunning himself. Not one for exercise and with a big appetite he had gained weight over the past couple of years. Hubert watched him as he rode closer. There was no evidence of any recent wolf activity. It had taken over an hour to find him.
Dwayne must have heard the horse cantering towards him. He sat up and greeted his older brother. “Hubert, where’ve ya been? Had some wolf trouble.”
“Don’t see no wolves now.”
“Chased ’em off.” Dwayne picked up a rifle and waved it in the air. “They’re gettin’ bolder, they are.”
Hubert was sceptical: wolves stayed away from men. It sounded like his younger brother was bigging it up. He dismounted and led his horse towards Dwayne.
“So what ya doin’ sittin’ ’ere on yer big fat ass?” Hubert asked. “In fact, where’s yer horse?”
“Ah yes,” said Dwayne, “wolves took it down. Fell off. Bust me ankle.”
“Bust yer ankle?” Asked Hubert, doubtfully. He used his foot to check, causing his big brother to scream in pain. “So you did bust yer ankle. Pa won’t be pleased about the loss of a horse.”
“He’ll care more about that than my busted foot!” Dwayne punctuating his bitterness with a spit.
“I guess you’ll be wanting my horse to get back home. Don’t you worry, I can walk home.”
“Thanks bro. I knew you’d come and get me.” It would seem that Dwayne had missed Hubert’s sarcasm.
“Let’s get you onto the horse. And yer payin’ for my next visit to Big Nell’s.”
“Isn’t that where you were today?” Dwayne asked as he got to his feet favouring his left ankle, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“Aye. I’ve got meself a new favourite. Beautiful redhead. She costs twenty dollars and you’re payin’ for my next fuck.”
Dwayne yelped. “Twenty dollars?”
“Aye, twenty dollars. Perhaps you’d prefer to walk back?”
“Help me onto the horse,” replied Dwayne through gritted teeth. Hubert did not know whether it was the pain of coughing up twenty dollars or his busted ankle that hurt him more.
Dwayne braced himself on his brother. Hubert took his weight rather than his busted right ankle while he tried to get his left foot into the stirrup. It took five attempts with a lot of pained screams and swearing before he was on horseback. Hubert watched him ride off.
“Might as well have a look round while I’m here,” Hubert said to himself. Sure enough, there was some blood on the ground but no sign of Dwayne’s horse. Wolves would not be able to drag a corpse that large away. There was no sign of them now but he was troubled by it. There was no sign of any cattle either, presumably scared off by Dwayne’s gunshots and the wolves.
In the distance, in the opposite direction of the ranch house, was the territory of the local Indian tribe, Navajos. Everyone knew that wolves stayed away from human settlements so why were they here, where the civilised men had settled? There was more good pasture to the East. At some point, he would have to get rid of the Indians. That was for the future. His immediate concern was the wolf problem.
He should have headed back but he decided against it. The sun was about to set and being out here enjoying a bit of solitude seemed a better option than going back home. Another angry tirade from his father awaited him there. He thought about what it would be like to bring the White girl out here, Judith or whatever she was called. It brought back memories of her widowed mother. During that encounter, no money changed hands but some persuasion had been required. She died not long after though he could not recall what, not that it was important. He could not imagine Big Nell agreeing to allow him to bring the White girl out here, even if there was no wolf problem.
The sun sank lower painting the sky on the western horizon a brilliant red. It was rare that he made the time to watch a sunset but he was aware that he was some miles from the ranch house and there were wolves active in the area, brave wolves unafraid of men.
“Better get back,” he said to himself. As he was about to set off, his eye caught some movement. A group of three, no four Indians skulking about. He ducked down out of sight and watched. This was unusual. He wondered what they were doing, trespassing on his land.
They spent a couple of minutes scouting around. They found a body, a dead member of their tribe. It must have been in a dip, out of sight. Two of them picked it up and the four of them headed back to their territory.
Dwayne never mentioned Injuns! Hubert pondered what might be going on. Why would Dwayne lie? Why would he say he shot a wolf when he shot an Indian? It made no sense. Was he protecting them? A pack of Indians stealing his horse was rather more plausible than a pack of wolves carrying it off.
# # #
“Took yer time gettin’ back,” barked Old Man Alderman, “where you been?”
Hubert ignored his father’s foul temper and walked past him into the house. Dwayne was laid out on the couch with a bandaged right foot. “How’s your ankle?”
“Hurts like Hell,” replied Dwayne, “but I’ll live. You can guess how sympathetic Pa is.”
“Sympathy! Ha!” Old Man Alderman came back into the house, “you’ll get sympathy when you deserve it! I’m going to bed with my nightcap.” He glared at Hubert.
Hubert waited for his pa to go upstairs. He sat next to Dwayne and said, “I saw some injuns after you rode off.”
“Injuns?”
“Yeah, injuns,” replied Hubert, “did you see any injuns?”
“Nope.”
“You sure?”
“I’d’ve noticed some stinkin’ redskins.”
“Well that’s strange,” pressed Hubert, “’cos I saw four of ’em come lookin’ for one of their’s who was dead on the ground.”
“There were just wolves. Shot one of them. Scared off the rest. They may be animals but I can tell the difference between an injun and a wolf.”
“This makes no sense,” said Hubert, “why would the wolves leave a dead body untouched? It was fresh meat. There is something you ain’t tellin’ me?”
“Like what?” Dwayne sat up to better face his brother and grimaced in pain as he moved his ankle.
“I don’t know,” said Hubert, “if Pa thinks you’ve been dealin’ with the injuns, he’ll skin you alive.”
“I ain’t been dealin’ with no injuns,” said Dwayne, getting angry, “why would I?”
“Then what were those injuns doin’?”
“How the Hell should I know?” Dwayne asked, “I didn’t see no injuns.”
Hubert put is head in his hands. He was beginning to believe his brother.
“Maybe the injuns are training the wolves to attack us?” Suggested Dwayne.
Hubert looked up at his brother. “You think so?”
“I don’t know,” replied Dwayne, “you got a better explanation?”
Hubert sat back and closed his eyes. No, he did not have a better explanation. He rubbed his face with his hands and then looked back at his brother, “the sooner we drive them redskins away the better.”
“Well, I won’t be doin’ that anytime soon,” said Dwayne indicating his bandaged foot.
No you won’t, thought Hubert. He felt like saying something but relented; his father had probably said it all already and much better than he could have done. “You work on gettin’ your ankle fixed and I’ll figure out what we’re gonna do about our injun problem.”
# # #
It was quiet in Big Nell’s the following morning. Josiah was behind the bar chatting with a cowpoke. Three men were playing a friendly game of Faro. Of the White girl, there was no sign. It was too early for whiskey but a coffee would wash the dust of the road from his throat.
“Quiet this morning, Josiah,” said Hubert as he moseyed up to the bar. The barman and his companion stopped their conversation and turned to face him.
“Good morning, Mr Alderman,” said Josiah. The other man, Hubert did not recognise him, tipped his hat to him.
“Good morning, Josiah,” said Hubert, “like I said quiet this morning.”
“Gets this way sometimes,” replied Josiah, “it’ll pick up later.”
“Coffee,” said Hubert, “strong. I’ll be sat at the table there. Have the White girl bring it to me.”
“Jolene don’t serve tables.”
“I said, have the White girl bring it to me.” Hubert was used to getting his own way. He walked over the table and sat down.
“All right...” sighed Josiah.
The man by the bar joined Hubert at the table. “People say you’re the big man in town.”
“People would be right,” replied Hubert, deliberately sounding as bored and uninterested as possible.
“Name’s Henry,” persisted the man, “could use some work. I work hard...”
“They all say they’re hard workers,” said Hubert, giving the man a cold hard stare, “even the slackers.”
“Give us a chance. I’LL prove myself,” said Henry, “I won’t let you down.”
“This is your lucky day, Henry. As it happens I need some good men. How good are with a gun? Any good at huntin’ injuns?”
“I can shoot as well as the next guy,” he said, though Hubert was less than convinced, “never hunted me an injun though.” At least was honest about that.
Hubert reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar. He flipped the coin over to Henry. “That’ll buy you a fuck with one of the cheap whores at the army base. If you want to earn enough to fuck one of the whores in this joint you’ll get me together a posse. We’re ridin’ out to sort out an injun problem I have at the edge of my land.”
“What’s this about you wanting my best girl serving you?” It was Big Nell. Talk was she was a good looking woman when she worked back east but Hubert found that hard to believe. Big Nell was an overweight woman with a ruddy nose and a permanently angry scowl on her face. “She ain’t no two-bit serving girl!” Only two people could talk to him like that. The other was back home awaiting his bottle of whiskey. That reminded Hubert to not forget the whiskey.
“Nell,” he said, smiling from ear to ear, “a man rides into town. He wants a coffee. Is it too much to ask that it comes with a pretty face?”
“So you want a pretty face with your coffee do you?” She stood glaring at him with her hands on her hips.
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” replied Hubert, refusing to be intimidated.
“And which pretty face would you like. Is this not good enough for you?” She pointed to her face.
“Did Josiah not tell you who I wanted?”
“Perhaps you could remind me...” Big Nell thundered, “if you want access to one of my girls, you come to me!”
“All I want is a coffee served by the White girl.” He had enjoyed stoking Big Nell but now it was getting tiresome.
“The White girl?”
“Yes the White girl, Judith.”
“So you want Judith to serve you ya coffee.”
“Yes,” growled Hubert, “send Judith down here to serve me a cup of coffee.”
“Well, Mr Alderman sir,” said Big Nell glaring at him, “we ain’t got no Judith. P’raps I could interest you in another girl?”
“Damn you, Nell,” he slammed his fist onto the table, “just send the White girl down. The one I had last night.”
“That would be Jolene,” said Big Nell with an evil glint in her eye, “why didn’t you say so in the first place. Thing is being an upstairs girl she don’t wait on tables in the morning. You don’t expect a girl to work for nothin’, do you? If you want her waitin’ on ya hand and foot, you’ll have to pay her wages.”
“A dollar.”
“Two.”
“One fifty.”
“Done,” said Nell, holding out her hand.
“That’s for the coffee,” said Hubert, “and that...” he put the money he had got from his brother earlier this morning into her hand, “...is for my next night with the delightful young lady.”
“You’re in luck,” said Big Nell, “I’ve a cancellation for tomorrow night. Seems someone likes cards more than redheads.” She pocketed the money and disappeared upstairs.
Hubert sat back and anticipated enjoying his coffee. Truth be told, the coffee in Big Nell’s was terrible but he would enjoy being served it, at least. He did not have to wait long before he saw Jolene (he remembered her name!) followed by Big Nell coming down the stairs. Jolene was not wearing the fine dress she had on last night; it was just a simple everyday frock. She had no make-up on but it did not matter. She was a natural beauty.
He stood and greeted her with a slight bow: “Good morning, Jolene. It is a pleasure to see you again. I believe you are being kind enough to serve me my coffee.”
She curtsied and smiled. It was the smile that got him. The eyes were not smiling. He could see the cold hard resentment in them. He was going to enjoy breaking her spirit.
“Good morning, Mr Alderman,” she said, not as convincingly gracious as she perhaps thought, “Big Nell tells me you have ridden all the way into town for a coffee?”
Tomorrow night seemed like a long way off but he could wait. It would not be easy but he could wait. He sat back down. “That is right Miss, and I have been waiting rather a long time for it.”
Big Nell nudged Jolene and the two exchanged a look. Jolene returned her attention to Hubert. “I am sorry about that sir but we girls don’t normally come downstairs in the mornings.” This was delicious, far more so than the coffee that was for sure. Big Nell had had to coerce Jolene to serve him. She went over to the stove and brought back a steaming mug of coffee. Hubert watched as she bent over and put the coffee on the table in front of him. It was a shame that her frock covered her chest completely. He recalled the dress she wore last night. It was low cut and showed more than enough to arouse his interest. He satisfied himself with the thought that he would see it all again tomorrow night. The anticipation made it all the more delicious.
“If you need a top up, I’ll be waiting for you by the bar.”
He thought about insisting she stay with him but reconsidered. Her presence might be a distraction; he had the serious business of a posse to organise.
# # #
Hubert was a little disappointed with the size of his posse but five men armed with rifles plus himself should be more than a match for a bunch of savage primitives. He rode ahead of the others preferring his own counsel. He liked it out here in the open. It was a place where a man could truly be himself.
One of the horses caught up with him. On its back was Henry. The moment was ruined. The idiot wanted to talk. “Hey, a few more jobs like this and I’ll be able to afford a night with Jolene.”
“Oh you will, will you?” The look he gave to Henry must have been enough. He fell back and the conversation was over. The moment was still ruined. A few seconds ago he felt at one with his surroundings, now his mind was on women and one in particular. Out here was no place for a woman, at least not one like Jolene. It was a shame she had become a fallen woman before he knew about her; she would have made a mighty fine looking wife. How much use she would have been on the ranch was moot now.
He pushed such thoughts out of his head and recalled the four Indians he had seen last night. Over and over he had gone over what he had seen but could make no sense of it. It did really matter, they would be dead or driven away before long.
“There is a brook just up ahead,” he said, turning to face the others, “we can rest there a spell and water the horses.”
The horses drank while the men stretched their legs. One of them got a fire going and put a pan of water over it. Hubert welcomed the thought of coffee. He said, “We are all clear? I want those dirty redskins cleared from the land. Fifty cents for each confirmed kill of a man. Ten cents each for women and children.”
“Oh, we are clear,” said one of the men whose name he had not bothered to learn. The evil grin on face showed that he understood.
“Good,” replied Hubert, “the injuns’ village is a few miles beyond that rise on the other side of this stream. We split up into two groups of three. One rides round and attacks from the North side, the other from the South. I hope you brought plenty of ammunition. There’ll be plenty of huntin’.”
“Coffee’s nearly ready,” said another of the men, “a mug of this inside ya and you’ll be ready for anything.”
“What was that?” It was Henry. Hubert released the man was getting jumpy, probably cold feet. Better have him with me, he thought, where I can keep an eye on him.
“Relax,” said the man who had said he was clear, “it's just the horses gettin’ skittish.”
“What’s making the horses nervous?” Asked Henry, looking just as nervous as the horses as he grabbed his rifle.
“That’s a good question,” remarked Hubert also picking up his rifle. The others needed no other prompt to pick up theirs.
The horses reared up, one pulled itself free from the bush to which it was reigned and bolted. There was gunshots and screaming. Hubert whirled around just in time to see the wolf about to leap from Henry’s dead body. He had just enough time to get a shot off. The animal whelped in mid-air but still managed to knock him off his feet and into the water.
He shook his head to clear it. He could feel the cool of the water but he was aware of blood. He hoped it was the wolf’s and not his own. He got to his feet and took quick stock of his situation: a wounded wolf cried in pain in the stream, two more ripping what was left of his posse to pieces. He raised his rifle to shoot one of them but a terrible pain in his leg ruined his shot. He fell into the brook, his leg still in the wounded wolf’s mouth. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pointed the rifle at the thing’s head and squeezed the trigger. Wolf brains sprayed everywhere. His leg was freed but it was ruined.
Hubert tried to turn round to get a shot on one of the other wolves when his eye caught sight of an Indian stood looking down at him from the top of the rise at the other side of the brook. “Damn you!” he cursed, the wolves forgotten, he swung the rifle round but before he could take aim he felt the same pain in his left shoulder that he had just felt in his leg. The shot went wild into the air.
The last thing Hubert saw was the Indian looking down on him. There was no emotion on the old man’s face. The wolves feasted one more time.
No comments:
Post a Comment