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Dally Press Gazette
Desert Destinations |
FELLING OF THE SONS
An excerpt of the Bonanza novel Ben looked up from his beer to see Clete Van Remus standing in the dining room, still wearing the clothes he'd crawled from the mine in. Clete surveyed the room with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrow and his mouth set in a damnable tight-lipped grin, a grin Ben had seen years ago in his nightmares. Ben had stood Van Remus down the day he charged at the house with a gun after finding out the truth about the stampede, ready to take the bullet for Adam. Clete had pulled the trigger, not caring who he killed, but his aim had been way off. The way Clete handled the rifle that day made Ben think that he'd never handled one before and couldn't even see his target. And now there he was, squinting as he looked around the room. When Ben caught Clete's eye and nodded, Clete walked closer before grinning broadly. He held out a hand. "Ben Cartwright! You old scoundrel! After all these years. I wasn't sure I would believe it even when I saw you." Ben hesitated but shook Clete's hand. He let it go quickly, distaste crawling into his mouth. "It's been a long time, Clete. Sit down. We've got some catching up to do." Clete's smile vanished as he sat across from Ben. "Catching up? Is that what we're calling it?" He looked into Ben's face, seeing the man from years ago.... "What is this, Mr. Cartwright, the Inquisition? I merely staked my claim on a parcel of land, is all. I mean to homestead it and make a living, is all." Clete backed up into his freshly painted doorway and felt the soothing presence of his wife Winnie behind him. "Sutter has the right to sell or not sell any parcel to anyone as it pleases him. We've been watching you and we know what you plan to do. You're going to tell everyone about the gold here and see to it that the Americans take this land right out from under Sutter—you'll ruin all of Sutter's hard work by starting a stampede!" "You have no right telling us what we plan to do, Mr. Cartwright." Winnie stepped in front of her husband and crossed her beauteous arms in front of her chest. "Is there something else on your mind?" "Yes, there is." Ben thundered. "You two want to take everything Mr. Sutter worked for and turn it into dust." "You've no proof of that," Clete whispered. "Why would we deliberately...." "I don't know!" Ben shouted. "But I intend to stop you." He mounted his horse. "Even if I have to kill all of you to do it!" Clete shook off his reverie. "You intend to accuse me of trying to kill your sons." "Let's get one thing straight. This is your dinner party, not mine." Ben folded his napkin on his lap. "Why don't we order? I hate to talk business without some hot food in me." Clete looked at the bill of fare in front of him. "I've had a tough day, Ben, let's forget business and keep this little meeting to the amenities, how are you, how has life treated you all these years, which from what I've heard, it's damn well." "Damn well." Ben didn't look up from the menu. "I've heard the same about you." "Did you really think you had that much influence over me in the old days?" "What happened between the two of us was your doing." Ben let his finger trail down the list of items on the menu but didn't read them. "And for the record, we were never friends." Two of his sons almost died, the red blood oozing from their wounds filling his mind, and he wondered briefly how he could have changed what happened so long ago.... "John, I don't know what more we can do, short of having them thrown in jail. They'll take that gold and tell everyone whether you give them the land or not." Ben faced John Sutter at the small wooden table they ate at together after a morning in the field. They heard the galloping hooves of two horses and went outside. Winnie Van Remus rode up ahead of her husband Clete, a more cautious rider. "How dare you tell us we have no right?" "Ma'am," John began, "this is my settlement by right of deed—" "To a foolish Mexican name of Juan who doesn't exist! How long do you think that will stand up?" "I am a Mexican citizen, Mrs. Van Remus, so it stands for today." Sutter stepped toward her horse. "Is that what this is? A takeover by the American government? If you get title to that land you'll—" "Don't you try to accuse US of anything!" she screeched. Ben caught Clete's eye as he rode up and recognized the look he'd given Ben when the Russians laughed at him. "If that particular piece of land is set aside for another purpose, John has every right to deny you title." "That's the piece we want!" "What Winnie means," Clete began, "is that we have our heart set—" "They heard me." She turned back to Ben. "Have you appointed yourself Mr. Sutter's bodyguard? Or should I say Senor Agosto?" Sutter stepped forward. "I don't need protection, my dear. And Ben's right, I do have other plans for—" "You let the Mexicans pan! What are you, anti-American? You, Ben? You denying your Yankee roots now? He's an immigrant but I would expect more from you." "This is Mexican land, my dear. I answer to them here, not to the Americans. And you're forgetting that I allow anyone to settle here, regardless of their roots or how the Mexicans feel about it. I've given you the land I want you to farm." "Think you can have everything your way, don't you? Dear gentlemen, watch your backs. I'm not easily crossed." She whipped her horse away, and after a moment, Clete followed. "Do you know what it cost me?" Clete's voice broke into Ben's reverie. "You could have backed off when you had the chance." Ben lowered his voice. "The land you had was prime property." To his ears their voices reverberated through the dining hall. Clete lowered his menu. "We wanted that parcel and you killed Winnie to stop us from getting it." "It was an accident!" Ben bit off the words, keeping his voice low. "Roast pork looks good to me. How about you?" Clete threw his bill of fare down. "Cow meat, raw and throbbing, barely dead. Still kicking, as a matter of fact. Maybe just needs another bullet, this time to the head." Ben looked up, his heavy brows furled. "Don't rile me, Clete. In my temper I could take you down in a second, right here, right now." Clete smiled as Betsy came over to take their order. "The rawest meat you can find, my dear. With hot black coffee and plenty of sourdough. And a bottle or your best red wine so I can toast my old friend here." Ben gave his order and swallowed the rest of his beer. His throat had gone terribly dry. His sons lying in the ground covered with dirt was an overwhelming image that played with the strength he needed to stand on. "What do you want, Clete? After all these years?" "I want what you took from me—my land and my wife. I want those 18 years back." "You blamed fool. Make your demands within the reason of the day and the hour." "Make me an offer. Say, the Ponderosa." "For my sons' lives? You admit you tried to kill them?" Ben leaned back when Clete smiled. "Do you know why Winnie came to see me the day of the stampede?" The server girl delivered the wine and Clete poured them both a glass, the rich red liquid not pleasing to Ben's eye. He picked up his glass and studied the liquid, waiting for Clete's response. "No. Do you?" "Why don't I believe you?" Clete took a heavy swallow of wine. "How did the stampede start?" "It was an accident." Ben stared down into the wine, seeing the life of his boys in his hands. "I told you then and I'll tell you now. If you know more than that, why don't you fill me in? You think I stampeded the cows deliberate because I knew she was too foolish to get out of the way?" "My wife was not foolish! She was intent.... "Clete clamped his mouth shut and sat back. "Intent on what?" Ben smiled as Clete looked away. "If she hadn't been foolish enough to think she was safe on that big horse of hers, we wouldn't be here now. So let's put the blame where it belongs. On foolish Winnie." Clete stood, furious, heart pounding. "On your eldest brat cub!" With a furtive glance around the restaurant he sat again. "Well. Now we both know. You knew all along how the stampede started and the attacks on my boys is vengeance for an accident eighteen years old." "You can't prove that." "Adam told me you threatened him when he was only twelve years old. He remembers, Clete, and he can convince the sheriff and even a jury how real that memory is." "Won't stand up as evidence of anything." "Evidence. You're clever with the law now, aren't you? But not clever enough. Because I know one more thing now than before. Before I only suspected you. Now I know it. And I'll tell you this. No one threatens my family and gets away with it." The men plastered aching smiles on their faces as their platters of food were placed in front of them. The smell of Clete's red cow meat made Ben dizzy, freshening the image of newly dug graves in his mind. He tried to eat his well-cooked pork but the smell made him nauseated—or was it the company? Finally he leaned back and held his coffee in front of him. Clete ate like a vulture over a rotted corpse, like a wolf with no guilt over the killing of innocent life. "Have you seen the sheriff today?" Clete stopped in mid-bite and looked up. "No. Why would I? I'm not causing any trouble. I had a rough day, saving lives." He put a slow drawl on those last few words. He chewed hard and swallowed fast, punctuating his words with his fork after every bite. "You don't scare me, you know. I have the town's support and I have nothing more to lose. But you ... you have plenty. You can try and kill me but I'll be sure to take at least one of your sons down with me. And that third wife of yours as a bonus." Clete shoved his last piece of red meat in his mouth, swallowing it almost whole. "In fact, maybe I should go after her next. I'm in a playful mood." Ben narrowed his eyes, studying his prey. He knew he should admit that Joe's mother has long since passed, but a sudden realization hit him. "Where's your son, Clete?" That young lawyer, Clete's associate.... "Took ill with the typhoid and died two years after my wife." Clete paused, staring down at his plate. "Damn near destroyed me." Ben couldn't tell if this man was capable of telling the truth. "You have no right to take your grief out on my sons." He felt slightly put off, just the same. He had been sure Clete did not know how the loss of a son felt. "You want the truth, just between us?" Clete lowered his voice to a whisper. "I've hated you from the moment you set foot on my claim in Sacramento Valley to tell me I was trespassing. I've hated you and Sutter since you thought you had the right to keep it all to yourself. I've hated you, and those bastards you sired, and now it's a disease eating away my insides." Ben leaned forward, stabbing his finger at Clete. "A moral man controls his hate and recognizes his own responsibility. I'll be watching you every minute, Clete. Step out of line, just once, and you'll be nailed faster than a squatter on a porcupine!" "Without the sheriff?" Ben sat back, trying not to show alarm. "What do you know about Roy Coffee?" Clete pushed his plate aside. "Only that you say he's missing. I practice law now, Ben. After I moved to San Francisco in '41, I vowed to get back at you one way or another. I've got you both ways, legally, because there is nothing you can prove against me, and I know it. And unethically, because you're still going to see every one of your sons die. They're sturdy, I'll give them that. But even a redwood can be felled. You will never take a safe breath again. Not until you're alone and the Ponderosa is mine. And not a soul overheard me say that to you." He stood, threw several coins down on the table, and left the dining room. As Clete reached the door that led into the street, Ben grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. Clete's eyes went wide but he couldn't stop the blow aimed for his face, and on skin-splitting impact went flying through the door, over the walk and out into the street. As he struggled on his back in the dirt, he saw Ben charge at him. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun too big for his inexperienced hands. He fumbled and aimed up at Ben, squinting. Ben drew and shot it from his hand. "Still can't handle a gun, can you? Get up here and fight me, you coward. Or do you prefer shooting men in the back? Come on!" Clete got to his feet, swaying, holding the hand nicked by Ben's bullet. "You know I'm no match for you." He glanced around at the crowd that gathered. "Why don't you tell me straight what's eating you so we can talk civilized?" "Civilized?!" Ben stormed over to Clete and delivered a clean right to his gut. Clete dropped to his knees and vomited. The sight of the red meat coming back up eased Ben's temper a bit, as though Clete's loss of dinner loosened his grip on his sons. Clem and another man grabbed Ben from behind. "That's enough, Ben, or I'll have to lock you up. You been drinking?" "Clem, you don't know him, he tried to kill two of my sons!" Clem let him go. "You pressing charges, Ben? If you do, I'll throw him in jail." Ben straightened his vest, as sweat dripped into his eyebrows. "Not yet, Clem. I got to find Roy. You seen him yet?" Ben wanted nothing more than to get Clete behind bars, but without Roy he wouldn't be there long. "No, but I came across a note that says he's taken to his bed with the ague." "I'll come have a look at it." They turned to walk to the sheriff's office. "Hold on, deputy!" Clete's voice was gravely, thick with bile. "I'm pressing charges." "For what?" Clem looked curiously between the two men. Ben faced Clete down, his silence stronger than anything Clete could think of to say. Clete sat back. "Ah, what the hell. Just a friendly quarrel, that's all. Ain't that right, Ben?" Ignoring him, Ben followed Clem to the sheriff's office.
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