The Reckoning Page 8

  He looked around at the few shacks that comprised Shelby and didn't see any cats. Where should I go? he wondered. He decided to worry about it after he saw Vanessa, and a smile creased his face at the mere prospect of kissing her again. It had been so long since he'd seen her, he'd dreamed about her every night, and now at last they could be together again. He suspected that she'd made arrangements for their imminent wedding, and hoped somebody would give them a cat for a wedding present.

  He opened the door of the general store. Before him were soldiers and cowboys sitting at the round table, or on the floor. Another contingent was crowded around the counter, which had become a bar. Mr. and Mrs. Gibson worked frenziedly behind it, pouring whiskey and collecting money, their eyes aglitter with naked greed. Duane tried to attract their attention, but had to compete with shouting soldiers and cowboys.

  Then Mr. Gibson noticed the silver conchos reflecting light off his two oil lamps. “In back!”

  Duane circled the gang at the bar and came to the curtained door that led to the rear of the house. He pushed it aside and disappeared from view.

  Meanwhile, seated in the corner, Lieutenant Dawes watched him go. He'd been curious about Vanessa's former husband-to-be, and now at last had seen him. Just the kind of pretty face that ladies love, he thought cynically, as he raised the bottle of white lightning to his lips.

  The voice of Corporal Hazelwood came to him from the far side of the room. “You fellers see that galoot what just walked in here—the one with the fancy hat?”

  “What about ‘im?” asked Private Cruikshank.

  “That's the Pecos Kid!”

  “Who's the Pecos Kid?”

  “When I was in Titusville a few weeks ago, on my way back from furlough, I saw ‘im shoot Saul Klevins!”

  “Who's Saul Klevins?”

  “The fastest gunfighter in Texas, some said, but he weren't faster than the Pecos Kid. Shot him right through the fuckin’ heart, and I was there—I saw ‘im do it!

  Lieutenant Dawes was astonished by the news. He hadn't realized that his wife-to-be had been living with a killer! It put a new complexion on the enterprise. If he makes any trouble here, I'll personally arrest him, and I don't care who the little son-of-a-bitch shot.

  Duane paused for a look at the parlor, ever fascinated by real homes, where people sat together in the glow of familial love. The priests and brothers at the monastery had been patient, but not parents. Duane desired his own family, and his key to happiness resided right down the hall. He knocked on her door, and waited impatiently as footsteps crossed the floor on the other side.

  The door opened, and Vanessa smiled nervously. “Hello Duane—won't you come in?”

  Duane was surprised by her formality. Usually, when they met, they ripped off each other's clothes and caught up on events afterwards. Something seemed out of place, but he chose to ignore it.

  She took a deep breath. “I have to talk with you, so you'd better sit down. Would you like a drink?”

  He had the premonition that something terrible was going to happen. His lungs deflated, he sat on the chair, tipped up the front brim of his hat, and stretched out his left leg. “What's going on, Vanessa?”

  She sat opposite him, looked into his eyes, and said, “We're not getting married.”

  The cavern in his stomach opened wide, and he felt like gagging. “What're you talking about?”

  “Please stay calm?”

  “I'm calm.”

  “Promise me that you won't tear the place up?”

  “Maybe I'd better have that whiskey now.”

  She opened a drawer and took out a pint of Mr. Gibson's homemade white lightning. He accepted it from her hand, pulled the cork, and took a copious swig. It went down like fire, his brain sizzled, and he was jolted into a keener awareness of his emerging situation.

  She kneeled in front of him, placed her hands on his knees, and tears filled her eyes. “I'm sorry, Duane, but I've been thinking that we're not such a good couple after all. I'm much older than you, and my needs are far different. Surely you can understand that.”

  He couldn't understand anything, and the ache was becoming unbearable. “I always thought we got along fine,” he mumbled.

  “What future could we have together with no money? It's just hardscrabble existence, and in ten years we'll both be worn out.”

  He scowled. “You don't believe in me, because I'm younger than you. You think I'm an idiot, but you're wrong. We have something special between us. You can't just throw it away.”

  “Every blade of grass and grain of sand is special, but money is the only protection we have against the harshness of the world. It can actually buy happiness.”

  He hung his head and looked at the floor. “You don't love me.”

  “It's out of love that I'm doing this. You shouldn't be tied down to an old hag like me for the rest of your life. When you're thirty—I'll be forty-two. Think about it.”

  He stood abruptly. “Now you're trying to humbug me. If I know you—you wouldn't dump one man unless you had another. Who is he?”

  “Please don't raise your voice. They can hear you all over the house. I'm the new schoolmarm, and can't tolerate scandal.”

  “What's the weasel's name ?”

  “I don't think your knowing his name would help anything.”

  “I'll find out anyway, so what is it?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, and she appeared as though she were undergoing a tremendous ordeal. “He's in the army,” she said softly.

  Duane felt as if someone had hit him over the head with a two-by-four. He staggered from side to side, as he recalled the general store full of soldiers guzzling white lightning. “You're marrying one of those drunkards!”

  She drew herself to her full height, raised her nose, and said, “He's an officer.”

  Duane smiled cruelly. “An officer in fancy pants, and you grabbed him like the desperate woman that you are. It didn't even matter that he's wearing a blue uniform.”

  “The war is over, and it's time to put it behind us. Besides, I don't know how someone your age can talk about the war. You didn't go through it and couldn't possibly know what it was like.”

  He took another swig of whiskey, but his heart was ripping down the middle. “You've never taken me seriously.”

  “Duane, look at me.” She took his face in her hands and gently turned him toward her. “If I didn't take you seriously, I would never've let you touch me, and I certainly wouldn't've run off with you. But Lieutenant Dawes is a West Point graduate, and could become a general someday.”

  “And an Apache might cut off his head. If you loved me, it wouldn't matter where I went to school, and whether I'll be a general.”

  “If you were ten years older, and ten years richer, I could never leave you. But I don't think that God intended me to be a schoolmarm for the rest of my life.”

  “The only person you've ever loved is yourself!”

  “Now you're being mean.”

  “It was nice knowing you.”

  He headed for the door, but she blocked his path. “Please don't be angry, Duane. Try to understand.”

  “You dumped me for a blue uniform.”

  She kissed his cheek. “You'll find another girl. Who could resist you? You're so beautiful—even I, who should know better—I've done things with you that I'd never done before, not even with the man I was supposed to marry.”

  He wanted to say something vicious, but a tear rolled down his cheek. He wished he could punch her through the wall, but at the same time wanted to hold her like the old days. “I was just a toy that you played with,” he said bitterly.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and tenderly kissed his tears away. “Dear Duane,” she mused. “What will become of you?”

  “I can take care of myself,” he said gruffly.

  “Promise me that you won't get into any trouble?”

  He was silent.

  “Please?” She hugged him closer. �
�Don't ever say that I didn't love you, because I do.”

  “I'll never believe you again. I'm sure you and that Yankee officer deserve each other.”

  He wriggled out of her grasp, lurched toward the door, and was gone. She heard his footsteps recede down the corridor, and the bedroom seemed dark and lonely. She sat on the edge of the bed, a blank expression on her face. I've done it.

  ***

  Duane entered the main room of the general store and pushed his way to the bar. “Gimme a bottle,” he snarled.

  Mr. Gibson placed white lightning before him, Duane snatched it out of his hand, pulled the cork, took three quick swallows, and waited for the kick. It caught him in the chest, he coughed, and took a step backward, bumping into a soldier.

  “What whar yer goin’, sonny.”

  Duane hoped the soldier would shoot him, to end the pain. She never loved me in the first place, he thought. I was just her lapdog. He found an empty length of wall, sat, and looked at cowboys and soldiers filling the air with garbled conversation, arguments, declarations, and drunken ravings. He was surprised to notice several of them looking at him and wondered if a scorpion was crawling across his shirt.

  He spotted an officer's shoulder boards on a stool across the room, and realized that he was looking at his rival. Before Duane knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, headed toward the bluecoat. Lieutenant Dawes saw him coming and stood up. Duane drew closer, sparks flying out of his eyes, and came to a stop in front of the lieutenant. “You son-of-a-bitch!” he said evenly, looking into his eyes.

  The general store was small, and white lightning amplified Duane's voice. Everything became silent, and all eyes turned in his direction. Lieutenant Dawes towered over the young cowboy; it looked like war, and then the officer said, “You give me any trouble, Mr. Pecos, and I'll arrest you.”

  Duane leaned forward. “You're a lowdown skunk!”

  “They'll throw me out of the army if I whip you before so many witnesses. Care to go outside?”

  Duane was poised to attack, when McGrath's hand dropped onto his shoulder. “You better settle down, boy. Yer in way over yer head. That's the Fourth Calvary yer a-talkin’ to, an’ if you fight one, you gotta fight ‘em all.”

  Duane was ready to fight them all, if that would win back Vanessa's love. He looked at Lieutenant Dawes's weatherbeaten features. “You'd better take good care of her,” he warned, “otherwise I'll kill you, and I don't make idle threats.”

  The general store was a spinning carousel as Duane lurched toward the door. He stepped outside, and stumbled among the shacks that comprised Shelby. He felt lost, defeated, and dismayed, catching strange flashes of a baby in a wagon, being driven to the monastery in the clouds.

  He sat heavily against the side of a building, out of sight of the saloon, and gazed at the open range. Two flat-topped mountains stood like sentinels overlooking rolling hills backlit by blazing stars. The truth of the universe blasted Duane loose from his moorings, and all he could do was bow his head to the Glory of God. Father in Heaven, forgive me.

  Now he understood why priests and brothers were celibate. Women make men crazy enough to kill each other, just like bucks during mating season. I threatened that officer, and he had a roomful of armed men with him. If I'd punched him, I'd be in shackles and chains right now, on my way to the stockade.

  Duane heard footsteps, and his hand dove toward his gun. McGrath turned the corner of the building. “How're you doin'?”

  Duane shrugged. McGrath sat next to him, and rolled a cigarette slowly and deliberately with his callused hands. “Are you really the Pecos Kid?”

  “So what if I am?”

  “I don't know what's eatin’ you, but it must be pretty bad.”

  “My woman just told me that she's marrying that lieutenant, and I'm not feeling so hot.”

  “What'd you ‘spect from a woman? One day they want this—next day they want that—can't ever make up their minds! I been married to two, and lived with a few more, and I still don't understand ‘em.”

  “She told me that she loved me, but I guess she lied.”

  “She probably did, but they change their minds all the time, and don't know what the hell they want. You'd best settle down, otherwise you'll spend Christmas at Fort Leavenworth. Just take three deep breaths, and one step backward. And if'n you don't have a cat in that gunnysack when you get back to the ranch, you'd better start a-lookin’ fer another job.”

  Lieutenant Dawes knocked on Vanessa's door, then waited patiently. The faint sound of sobbing could be heard through the wooden planks. He turned the knob and saw her facedown on the bed, perfectly still. For a moment he thought she was dead, and Duane Braddock had murdered her, but she turned her tearstained face toward him. “Please leave me alone.”

  “Did he do something to you?”

  She shook her head and sniffled. “I've broken his heart, poor little boy.”

  “And he just threatened to kill me—poor little boy my ass! I can't imagine how you could be serious about someone like that!”

  “You should've seen the look on his face when I told him. He actually cried real tears.”

  “You should've seen the look on his face when he was threatening to kill me. When it comes to sheer viciousness, he'd be hard to beat. I'm tempted to lock him up, but out of love for you, my dear, I'll let it ride.”

  She raised herself to a sitting position, and he lowered himself beside her. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for being so understanding. You won't regret it, I promise.”

  The door was opened by a man with a long horsey face. “May I help you.”

  Duane removed his hat and smiled. “Sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if you could tell me where I might find a cat.”

  The man raised his eyebrows. “Got a rat problem?”

  “Real big ones—like this.” Duane held out his hands to show the average measurement of the beasts he'd seen in the bunkhouse.

  “Mrs. Phipps's cat just had a litter of kittens, but they couldn't handle a rat of that size. Don't believe I've ever seen you before. Who are you?”

  “Duane Braddock. I work for the Bar T.”

  The man snapped his fingers. “Duane Braddock? Why, I'm supposed to marry you tomorrow morning!” He shook Duane's hand vigorously. “I'm Parson Jones.”

  “I guess you haven't heard that the wedding has been called off,” Duane replied. “My bride-to-be has decided to marry somebody else.”

  Parson Jones blinked in disbelief “You poor boy—how you must be suffering. Is there any comfort that I can provide? Perhaps we can pray together.”

  “If you really want to help me, you'll tell me where I can find a cat.”

  “I don't know of any cats, but there's a stray dog that's been roaming around here, with his ribs showing. He came in from the range one day last week, looking more dead than alive. I'd say that he could kill a rat if he put his mind to it. Just offer him something to eat, and maybe you can convince him to go back to the ranch with you.”

  The crew from the Circle K rode into Shelby, led by Jay Krenshaw. They climbed down from their saddles before the general store, and Jay noticed Bar T brands on some of the horses lined at the rails. He was certain that Duane Braddock was there, and then the fun would begin.

  Jay had been thinking about Braddock all week, cursing himself for not whipping him when he'd had the chance. Meanwhile, his men crowded around, because they knew that a brawl was coming. They looked at Jay, who said, “Let's do it.”

  The men from the Circle K swept into the saloon, looking for Duane Braddock. They advanced across the crowded little room and gathered together at the bar.

  “Guess he ain't here yet,” said Reade, a note of disappointment in his voice.

  “Then we'll wait fer ‘im,” Jay replied.

  Duane couldn't understand how Vanessa could be his woman on Monday, and somebody else's Saturday. He was on his way back to the general store, the gunny sack slung over his shoulder. He felt as i
f his blood had turned to sludge, and his shoulders drooped as he came to the main street. Soldiers and cowboys could be seen, passing bottles of white lightning. They held loud conversations, with much wild gesticulations, but a few were sprawled on the ground, drooling onto the dirt.

  Don Jordan detached himself from the crowd and headed toward Duane. “Jay Krenshaw and his boys are in the general store, and I think they're looking for you.”

  Duane knew that he should jump onto Thunderbolt and ride out of town immediately, but couldn't move his feet backward. Heartsick, demoralized, catless, he didn't want to fight the Fourth Calvary, but the Circle K might do.

  Jordan gazed with trepidation toward the front door of the general store. “I wouldn't wait around too long if I was you.”

  Just then the door opened, and Jay Krenshaw appeared, accompanied by Reade, followed by his other cowboys.

  “There's still time,” said Jordan. “Let's get a move on, pardner.”

  Duane shook out the fingers of his right hand and felt the wild sensation of mortal combat. Jay Krenshaw gazed hatefully at him for a few seconds, then Jay stepped forward. Duane knew that a fight was coming, and got set. It could be guns, knives, fists, but he was ready to roll. Jay promenaded closer, and glanced coldly at Duane. “Remember me?”

  “I never forget an ugly face,” Duane replied.

  “You punched me the other day, when I wasn't looking. Go ahead—try it again.”

  Duane's right fist zoomed through the air, before Jay could raise his guard, and Duane's knuckles cracked into Jay's forehead. Jay suddenly found himself on his butt, in a flash knockdown. He jumped quickly to his feet, handed his hat to one of his cowboys, and dove toward Duane, but Duane threw a stiff left jab. It pulped Jay's lips, but Jay countered with a left hook to Duane's right kidney. Duane felt as if somebody had stuck a knife into him, as he backed away. Jay caught him with a right cross, and Duane went sprawling backward, tripped over his spurs, and fell onto his back.

  Jay jumped on top of him, throwing punches from all directions, most of them landing. Duane took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and bucked like a wild horse. Jay was thrown off him, and both combatants leapt to their feet. Before Jay could get set, Duane launched a right hook with all his weight behind it. It landed on Jay's right temple, and Jay's eyes closed. He fell like a tree hit by lightning and landed with a splat in the middle of the street. The fight had come to a sudden end.