7
They came in sight of the ranch, and
Matt almost looked disappointed when it sat quietly on its site,
with a big new corral filled with livestock, and Curly standing
outside against the ranch-house porch railing, smoking a
cigarette.
“Quiet sort’a raid, ain’t it?” Jason
heard Rafe mutter.
“The kind ol’ Matt usually gets out
here.”
“Now, just a minute, Fury!” Matt
barked. “They might not be here yet, but they‘re coming! There were
signs, I tell you, signs!”
“Think we oughta go down and look, just
in case?” Rafe asked around the cigarette he was lighting. “Gotta
start coolin’ these horses down, one way or the other.” He was
right. The horses were lathered and blowing, a fact abetted by
Matt’s having pushed them into an all-out gallop once they got
clear of town.
“I suppose,” Jason admitted, and
started his horse walking toward the ranch.
“Finally!” Matt muttered, just loudly
enough that both Jason and Rafe heard him, and exchanged glances.
Apparently, a walk was too slow for Matt, and he kicked his gelding
into a canter.
Jason shrugged. He and Rafe held it
down to a walk.
Matt reached the porch ahead of them,
and immediately started hollering at Curly. He kept it up until
Jason and Rafe were within three lengths of them, and then Rafe did
the unthinkable.
Quicker than lightning, he pulled his
sidearm and fired. It nearly scared Jason to death and he was about
to draw on Rafe when he realized that nobody was dead or even
injured.
Except for a fat, six-foot sidewinder,
thrashing its last in the dust three feet from Matt’s right
boot.
“Hate them damn things,” Rafe said by
way of explanation. “Sorry if I scared anybody, but by the time I
saw it comin’ into the lantern light . . .” He
shrugged.
“Thanks, Rafe,” Jason said, and his
words were echoed by Curly and a grudging Matt. The snake, in its
death throes, lashed Matt’s leg, and he vaulted up on the
porch.
While Jason stifled a grin, he heard
Rafe say, “You gotta watch them suckers. They’ll keep thrashin’
around for a hour, sometimes, even if you shoot the head clean
off.”
Jason leaned forward and squinted
through the dim light at the snake. “Believe you shot the head
clean off that one, Rafe. Good goin’.”
“Try to do what I can,” Rafe said, and
swung down off his horse. Jason followed suit, and hid his chuckle
behind his saddle.
“You got somebody to walk these horses
out, Matt?” Jason asked. He’d be damned if he’d ridden clear out
here on some fool’s errand only to end up with a colicky horse for
his trouble. And come to think of it . . . “I think we could all
use a drink, too.”
“Best idea I heard all night,” said
Rafe. And after he roared, “Get a hot walker up here, now!” down
toward the barn, he added, “Y’know, I believe I could use a
couple’a whiskeys, too. I’m pretty dadgum parched! Chasin’ ghost
Apache wears me out. Don’t it wear you right down to a nub,
Matt?”
He handed his reins to Curly, climbed
up on the porch, and put his hand on Matt’s arm, like Matt was his
new best friend. “I heard rumors in town that you’re purty
well-stocked out here, Matt. Hope they were right!” And he
proceeded to lead a confused Matt inside the house.
Jason and Curly just looked at each
other until Curly shrugged and took Jason’s reins from him. “Man
wants a hot walker, he gets a hot walker. Steve!” he shouted toward
the barn. “Come up here and get these horses!”
To Jason, he said, “Have one for me
while you’re in there. Y’know, I don’t believe I’m ever gonna
understand him so long as I live.”
Careful to avoid the dead snake, Jason
stepped up on the porch. “You’re in good company, Curly,” he said,
then turned and followed Rafe and Matthew into the
house.
Two hours later, a drunken Rafe and an
only slightly more sober Jason threw wide the door to Matt’s house,
and stepped out on the porch (or, as Matthew liked to call it, his
veranda) and took a couple of good, deep breaths of the
night-chilled desert air. Jason came away from the experience still
thinking that Matt was an asshole of the first order. He didn’t
know what Rafe thought. He was one tough fellow to
read.
Their horses had been properly walked
out, then watered, and stood tied to the porch railing, dozing.
Rafe said, “Let’s walk or jog ’em back, all right?”
“Good idea.”
They both checked their girth straps
and their bridles, and mounted up, while Jason puzzled over what
had just happened. And then, out of nowhere, Rafe said, “He’s sure
one peckerwood box’a tricks, ain’t he?”
Jason laughed out loud. “That he is,”
he said when he could. “That he is. Just never heard it put quite
that way before. The only reason we didn’t get a bigger crowd at
the house was that everybody else owes him money.”
“Oh, yeah. He owns the bank, don’t
he?”
“Yup.”
“And his sister, Miss
Megan?”
“She runs it for him. Does a damn good
job of it, too!” Jason was proud of Megan, and sniffed at people
who thought women should stay out of business. He knew that Matt
sure couldn’t do the job!
Rafe nodded. “I think she told me that.
Strange job for a female, but if you’re good at somethin’, you
ought’a do it, I figure.” He rolled himself a cigarette as they
rode along, which put Jason in the mood. He pulled out his fixings
bag, too.
When they were both smoking, Jason
asked, “Rafe, how’d you get started on your so-called life’a crime,
anyhow?”
Rafe shrugged. “That thing with my
daddy, I reckon. That was the first. And once there was paper out
on me, it seemed like there was some dumb cluck hidin’ behind every
tree tryin’ to kill me for the bounty. Didn’t seem fair, somehow.”
And then he paused for a half second. “Shit. My smoke went
out.”
As he dug into his pocket for a new
match, he said, “After I killed a couple of bounty-happy kids in
self-defense, I got to thinkin’ what I just told you. Y’know, if
you’re good at somethin’, do it. So I hired myself out to a rancher
who was havin’ troubles with cattle thieves.” He stopped again, to
light his cigarette.
“What happened?” Jason asked
him.
“The trouble with the rustlers stopped.
They don’t get put on wanted posters, y’know, unless they’re on ’em
already. I mean, unless they get tagged for doin’ some other crime.
My boys were fairly new to the trade, I reckon. That, or fairly
good at not gettin’ caught.”
“How many?”
“Three. Killed the bossman and his
ramrod, sat down with the kid helpin’ ’em and threatened to
castrate him if I ever caught him thievin’ cattle again.” Rafe
smiled. “He agreed, and I let him go. You ain’t never seen such a
quick exit in your life as that kid made!” He broke out into
laughter again, just picturing it.
Jason smiled, his head shaking. If he’d
been that kid, he would have beat it, too!
The rest of the ride into town proved
uneventful, except that by the time they came in sight of Fury,
they had both sobered up to a large extent. Several of the people
who’d been at the house came up while Rafe was putting his gelding
away, asking if there’d been any Apache, and all received the same
answer.
When Rafe had seen to his horse, he
walked along back to Jason’s house, where Jason put his palomino up
alongside Jenny’s.
“Two palominos?”
Rafe asked, surprised.
Jason shrugged. “Well, Jenny needed a
horse, and she’d always admired Cleo, so . . . I thought I’d keep
it in the family, y’know?”
“So, what Jenny wants, Jenny gets,
right?”
Jason nodded and laughed. “That’s about
right. Now, if we don’t get up there and demand dessert pretty damn
fast, there’s gonna be hell to pay. At least for me. You get to run
off and hole up down at the saloon, but I have to live
here!”
They found the girls in the living
room, playing checkers.
“Well, it’s about time!” Jenny said
before Jason had time to open his mouth.
Megan looked up. “No
Indians?”
Jason said, “Nope,” and she looked
satisfied when he did. He continued, “Jenny, we’re here for some of
your world-famous dessert!”
“You’re lucky I didn’t toss it out,”
she said as she stood up.
“Miss Jenny,” Rafe interjected, “seems
to me that you got a lot of attitude for somebody who made her
brother ride out there on some fool’s errand. Jason, if I was you,
I think a visit to the woodshed would be in order.”
Well, that shut Jenny up! Not only did
she not utter a word while serving them dessert, but she gave them
extra-large portions of what turned out to be apple crumb cake.
Jason reminded himself to buy even more dried apples come fall. She
worked magic with them!
However, Megan made up for Jenny’s
silence by asking questions. She particularly enjoyed the part
about Rafe shooting the snake and her brother vaulting the three
steps up to the porch. In fact, she laughed until tears were
rolling down her cheeks, and Jason, caught up in her infectious
laughter, was roaring, too.
“Hell!” marveled Rafe. “Didn’t think it
was that funny.”
“Oh, you would if you knew Matt,” Megan
managed to blurt out.
She wiped at her eyes, then fell back
into laughter.
Jenny spoke for the first time since
Rafe had embarrassed her. “I think you’re all too hard on him,” she
scolded. “He’s just trying to protect what’s his, that’s all. And
you, Megan! You’re his sister! I’d be ashamed if I were
you.”
Rafe’s mouth quirked up as he listened.
He said, “I think it’s healthy for at least one person in a family
to have a sense’a humor. That was sure a fine dessert, Miss Jenny.
Hope you’ll invite me again sometime.” He wiped the last traces of
apple crumb cake from his mouth, then smoothed his napkin out on
the table.
He pushed back his chair, but before he
could get all the way up, Jason said, “Coffee, Rafe?”
Jenny glared daggers at
him.
But Rafe said, “I thank you for the
offer, Jason, but I’d best be gettin’ back to my no-good ways,
which means playin’ cards and drinkin’ up to the saloon.” Both men
had taken off their hats when they entered the house, and now Rafe
took his from the hat rack, swept the hand holding his hat wide and
to the side, and said, “Ladies, Marshal, it’s been a
pleasure.”
Jason called after him, “Best take the
back way, Rafe. And tell Salmon that everything’s all right out at
the Double M.”
Rafe’s reply was another bow, then a
swing of his hat to the top of his head, with a tip of the brim to
the ladies.
Jason closed the door behind him and
went back to the kitchen. Slouching in his chair, he said, “What’s
wrong with you tonight, Jen?”
“Me?! What’s wrong with me?” she fairly snarled at him.
He could only stare at her,
blinking.
“You’re the one who wanted to kill him
just a few days ago. You’re the one who was all het up just because
Megan and I just talked to him at Abigail’s! You’re the one
who—”
Jason held up his hands, palms toward
her. “If you’re gonna get up a lynch mob, just do it and quit
jabberin’ at me. I’m the marshal, you know, and I had a right to be
concerned about that little meeting, not only as a lawman, but as
your brother. And I didn’t want to kill him so much as I just
wanted him out of my town. We still don’t know what element he’ll
attract, though we’ve got one gunslinger after him
already.”
Jenny just stood there with her arms
folded, practically the definition, Jason thought, of the word
“resolute.”
“It’s why I told him to take the back
way to the saloon.”
Jenny still didn’t speak. He glanced at
Megan, who was fiddling with her coffee cup (just to keep out of
it, he figured) and didn’t look up.
Jason shoved back his chair and stood
up. “I’ll take my leave of you ladies, then. Good night.” He turned
on his heel and without another word, headed for his
bedroom.
Solomon came up the stairs, having
closed the store and locked the doors for the night. “Did you hear
what Jason did, Rachael?” he asked when his head came level with
the second floor. “Oy, this is rich!”
He heard her quietly say, “Hush,
Solomon. You’ll wake the children.” His two oldest boys were still
awake, noses buried in the dime novels he’d gotten for them
yesterday. But the youngest boy and, of course, baby Sarah were
sleeping soundly. And so, it seemed, was Sampson Davis. He
half-sat, half-lay on Solomon’s favorite chair, his head on his
barrel chest, black hair hanging in his eyes, roweled spurs digging
angled holes into Solomon’s ottoman.
“This, I will not have!” Solomon said
under his breath, and continued his climb up the staircase. But by
the time he reached the landing, his hospitable sense was taking
over. Perhaps this was how they behaved in Sampson’s family. Maybe
they all went to sleep in chairs and put their boots up on the
furniture, with their spurs on, no less!
He greeted Rachael and the boys before
he did anything else. He dutifully admired Abraham’s school
project—a catapult—and helped David with a mathematics problem. And
then he turned toward Sampson.
And discovered that Sampson was not
only awake, but on his feet and standing in the
kitchen.
Solomon started. “My goodness, Sampson!
You scared me to death!”
The faintest hint of a smile showed
briefly on Sampson’s face, then vanished. “What’s the time?” he
asked, although he was standing right next to the
clock.
Solomon scowled, then said,
“Eight-thirty. Why?”
The big man said, “I have an errand to
run. Can I get a key to the store so’s I can let myself back
in?”
The scowl was still on Solomon’s face.
Who had errands to run at eight-thirty of an evening? And give him
a key to the store? There were so many things wrong with that idea
that Solomon couldn’t even begin to list them! But, despite a
sidelong glance from Rachael, he dug into his pocket and pulled out
the key. He handed it over, saying, “Be certain the door is locked
after you go through it.” He forced a smile.
Sampson tossed the key into the air,
then grabbed it again, sticking it into his breast pocket. “Will
do,” he said.
And then, without further ado, he
started down the same stairs that Solomon had just climbed
up.
Solomon and Rachael just stood there,
watching him disappear down the staircase. And when they finally
heard the click of the door unlocking, the jingling of the bells,
and then the thud and click again as the door was closed and
relocked, “Get him out!” Rachael hissed. “Solomon, I am your wife!
Does that mean nothing to you?”
“What? You’re not making
sense!”
“When you are not here, he orders me
around like I am his wife, or his maid. It’s always, ‘Make me a
sandwich,’ or ‘Don’t you have any knishes?’ or ‘Give me the beef
brisket.’ Do I look like a short-order cook to you, my husband? And
when he is not eating, he is asking all sorts of funny questions
about the town and the people. I am telling you, Solomon, this man
has none of my trust!”
But Solomon was stuck back on her
previous sentence. “What sort of questions?”
“I don’t know. Just odd questions. He
asked where people in town rent rooms, and that one, I was glad to
hear because I thought he was thinking about moving out. But then
he asked about the saloons and where they were, and if I’d ever
heard of somebody or other . . . Rafe something. I can’t remember.
And then he wanted knishes and I said we didn’t have any right now,
and he says, ‘What kind of household is this, anyway?’ and I said
the kind that doesn’t make knishes at the drop of a hat. And he
cleans his guns all the time. Around the children! This afternoon I
caught him about to hand a loaded pistol to David!”
“Stop already,” Solomon said, holding
up his hands. “I get the picture.” He did, too. He thought this was
something he should talk to Jason about, and as soon as
possible.
He glanced at the clock. Almost nine.
Salmon Kendall had dropped by earlier and told him about Jason
riding out to the MacDonald ranch. With somebody called Rafe Lynch.
He had agreed with Salmon that there probably weren’t any Apache
(other than those in Matthew’s mind), but when he’d asked who Rafe
Lynch was—thinking Salmon would say he was just someone from the
wagon train—Salmon surprised him. He said he was sworn to secrecy,
and couldn’t say any more, but that Solomon could ask the marshal
for himself.
And then he paid for his purchases and
left. Rather hurriedly, as Solomon recalled.
He wondered if Jason was back yet. And
then he wondered if it was too late to go knocking on the marshal’s
door.
“Solomon?” Rachael was staring at him
curiously, but with concern, too.
“Don’t worry, Rachael,” he soothed. “I
need to go out, too, to go to Jason’s house. If Sampson gets back
before me, do not tell him where I’ve gone, all
right?”
She nodded.
“And I promise you, he’ll be gone very
soon, our houseguest.”
He kissed her lips, and then trotted
down the stairs to fetch his extra key from the cash
register.
Jason had just blown out his lamp and
was in the process of getting his pillow just right, when the knock
came on the front door. He decided he’d made it up and punched his
pillow again when a second knock sounded. Followed by, “Jason!
Jason, are you still up? It’s important!”
He knew the voice right away and went
to his window, which overlooked the front yard. “Sol? Solomon, that
you?”
“Yes, it’s me, already, and I have
something important to tell you!” There came the sound of feet
scuffling through dusty grit and gravel, and then Solomon’s shape
appeared. He didn’t waste any time. He came right to the window
Jason was leaning out of and rapidly told Jason of his conversation
with Rachael.
“I’m worried,” he said. “What sort of
man have I given shelter in my home?”
“The worst kind,” Jason replied,
mentally kicking himself for not having earlier asked the name of
the Cohens’ houseguest. “You’d best get him out of there, first
thing tomorrow. Send him down to the boardinghouse or
somethin’.”
“But how—”
“Make up some excuse or other. Tell him
Rachael or one of the kids is sick.”
“But—”
“And don’t give me any of that crud
about lying being a sin. God’ll forgive you on this one, trust me.
Did you say he went out tonight?”
“Yes, and he has a key to the
store!”
“That’s the least of your troubles. Now
go on home and act like everything’s normal, just fine. Okay? And
for God’s sake, don’t mention the name ‘Rafe Lynch’ around him.
He’s here to kill him.”
Solomon put his hands to his throat.
“Mein Gött!”
“Yeah, what you just said. Now get
going. I gotta put some clothes back on and get up to the
office!”
Solomon backed away into the darkness
and Jason plopped back onto the bed and rolled over until he was
next to the lamp. He felt for—and found—a match, lit the lamp, then
stood up and scrambled into some clothes.
He had to find Rafe before Sampson
Davis did.