Second Helping

by Arch Gallen

  Chapter 6

  Before the sun rose, Essex stepped from his horse near where the river pooled. Taking a bar of soap from his bag, he stripped his clothes and immersed himself, vigorously scrubbing from head to toe then twice washing his hair. Ears alert for noises but hearing only proper sounds of night animals finding shelter, he slipped out and shook dry, wrinkling his nose at having no fresh clothes to don while listening close for movement of men or horses. Having no comb, he ran hands through his hair to squeeze water out then found a long pine cone, using it to at least create a sense of having brushed.

  Trotting the dun quickly toward the barn, he released her to graze but left her saddled for later use then walked to the cabin, rifle cradled in his arms. Knocking lightly, he entered at Rachel’s bidding with quiet morning greetings, enjoying her smile at his wet hair and knowing what he had done. Pouring coffee, he sat while she scrambled eggs, tapped out the flour sack to make thin flapjacks and diced what little meat remained into a fry pan.

  “Will need a trip for supply today, Deacon” she observed, “‘less we can eat rocks an’ dirt.”

  An amused curl touched his face. “Would claim no taste for such.” he admitted, eyeing her slim figure appreciatively. “Have much can be done if you’re of a mind to go in.”

  Setting their plates out, she nodded, hair brushing her shoulders front to back. “Will have a bath myself before going.”

  Essex dug into his meal, surprised at not feeling hungry and curious when he last ate while less than ravenous. Between bites, he glanced across at her.

  “Grateful you’re not feeling a need to have that knife handy.” he advised without lifting his eyes from the meal.

  Rachel looked at him sharply before smiling slightly. “Was fearing it would cut into my only good apron.” she advised, finding herself unexpectedly pleased at his tone and, she admitted, that he’d given her enough a look where she wore the apron to have noticed more than just the pocket.

  “Have a couple logs on the hillside ready to haul down for splitting. Will do that while you ready and hitch the team for you after.”Essex suggested, unaware her thinking headed down a different trail.

  Bobbing her head agreeably, Rachel replaced thoughts bubbling up of what she wished to have by focusing on what little of the meal she found appealing, concerns for what needed doing remaining unsaid. Finishing, he gathered plates and left them in the wash basin before refilling their coffee. Sitting, he saw a concerned look on her face. Raising a brow, he met her gaze directly.

  “Not knowing what he’ll do if finding me on the road alone.” she confessed, shifting her gaze south through the window.

  Essex pursed his lips. “Can’t say what he’ll do, either. If I go with you, he’s likely to find the place untended so we’d return to a pile of cinders.”

  Rachel looked at him, eyes flashing. “I’ll carry my shotgun. If any of his come up, won’t be asking questions first.”

  Draining his cup, Essex stood. “Keep eyes along brush and ridges. His kind is more likely to shoot from ambush than meet you open. See anything” he instructed, “you set them horses to full gallop in a snap and get to town. Those folks may be scared of him but won’t cotton having a decent woman killed right out in front of them.”

  She smiled wanly, moving to drop their mugs in the basin and prepare her bath as Essex gave a backward glance while putting on his hat. Stepping through the door, carrying his rifle and scanning the yard, he sauntered back to the barn. Chains tied to her draft team, he led them toward hills to the north where several deadfalls lay, hating the edgy twinge on his nerves. Some over an hour later, two logs in tow, he rode back in, halted the horses and dismounted. Turning behind them, he bent to release the timber as a glint of reflected sun to the west came to him.

  Dropping instantly, Essex felt a bullet whip by before hearing the shot, two more ringing behind striking to either side of him. Jumping up, he ran low, zigzagging to the nearest cover, a pair of boulders between the cabin and gunmen. Diving, he rolled, bringing his rifle to bear on where the shots came.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. Poking over the rocks, he could see their positions boxed him. A quick glance around told him no direction would be safe for him to take, the riflemen having clean lines on each. Inching over hard dirt, he saw one rise, then heard a rifle bellow from behind, the man standing erect for moment before toppling forward, his weapon clattering off stones beneath.

  Looking around, Essex saw the barrel of Rachel’s Sharps in her kitchen window, two shots from above sending splinters around her. Hopping right, he scanned the hillside, waiting. A second shot from Rachel thudded above, bringing the bushwhackers up to respond, forgetting Essex long enough for him to level his gun on one and trigger a shot, opening a third eye over two nature gave. Spiraling, the gun hand plunged into scrub brush below.

  Silence set over the scene a minute before Rachel called out. “He’s moving out, Deacon.”

  Shifting to a knee, Essex raised to see the back of the last man slip between trees heading away.

  “Going up!”he barked, dashing between shelters until reaching the first row of pines. Worming his way up the slope, he reached the bodies without challenge then followed tracks of the remaining man to where their horses had been tethered. To the south, a thin trail of dust described a fast moving rider heading toward Lambertson’s, Essex snarling in disgust at one abandoning his partners and quitting on a job.

  Collecting the two horses left behind, he walked them to the bodies gathering rifles and holsters then checked their pockets, pleased to gain nine dollars carried between them. Eyes moving relentlessly, he picked a path down to the barn where he stripped the animals of their gear and turned them out to pasture. A quick examination of their bags gained nothing but a sizable number of rifle shells which he tossed in a small sack retrieved from a corner.

  Seeing Rachel on guard through a window, he ran from the barn, juggling the captured weapons and bag, skidding to a stop past the door she opened for him then closed prompt as he passed. Pale and breathing heavily, she stared at him, eyes wide. “Meant to take us both or so I reckon.” she exhaled.

  Laying a rifle and pistol each under two windows, Essex nodded. Turning back to her, he set a hand to his forehead, squeezing a mite as he stared.

  “Reckon so.” he answered simply as she moved close to him, hands held out. Placing his large fingers under her slender ones, he felt warm surges rising at noticing her freshly washed face and hair damp, half brushed out.

  Essex wanted most for words expressing what was in him but found none, irked at settling for, “Was a good shot. Likely saved my life.”

  She gazed up at him, her face saddened. “Augie insisted I hunt with him. That man was bigger an’ closer than most game I’ve shot.” she murmured, then added, her eyes dancing, “Feels good to be even, tho’.”

  Puzzled, he tilted his head as Rachel pressed her lips to a small smirk. “Yesterday, you saved me, Deacon, so we’re even.”

  Withdrawing her hands, she sidled to a window, holding white, home-made curtains aside while peeking out. “Even if he can’t ambush us, he’ll starve us out.” she observed, “Town not seeming a good idea now.”

  Essex walked to the stove, pouring coffee for both and setting cups on the table. Sitting, he replied, “No better time than now.”

  Cocking her head at him, she hesitated then sat, sipping the beverage as he continued, staring away. “He had five men, has only two and himself left. One’s riding in about now and I’m believing he’d have held one back being unsure what I might try. That leaves none to watch the road with no reason he’d have to expect you to leave anyway.”

  Thinking it through, Rachel took a swallow and nodded. Surprising her with a bright look, Essex added, “Finish brushing out your hair and getting ready. I’ll bring the team up and busy myself with some doings while you’re gone.”

  Digging in his pocket, he pulled out the bills taken off the gunmen. Shoving them ac
ross to her, he said, “Come from those two above. Add it to what you’ve got for supplies.”

  She smiled at him warmly. Pushing the money back, she countered, “Keep it in case of need.”

  Dubiously, Essex tossed her a look then pocketed the cash, drained his cup and stood. “Will have the wagon up front in a bit.”

  Moving across the barren yard smartly, Essex spun inside the barn, gazing out from alongside the door. None of his words said what he believed, his wishing to have Rachel gone drawn from being certain Lambertson would return with his two men immediately and try to finish what was started. No man could launch an ambush and be regarded well for it in any western town much less one against a decent woman, a widow at that. Lambertson would need to finish the fight promptly before word was spread of this morning’s attack and Essex wanted her out of harm’s way.

  Pulling the rig up, he waggled his head approvingly. Rachel held her shotgun as promised but also a rifle which she stowed under the bench.

  “I see anyone, I can drop down an’ be ready to answer.” she explained flatly before letting him aid her stepping to the seat.

  “See anyone” he objected, “forget about answering and remember to run them horses fast as they can.”

  Wheeling the wagon away with a snort, Rachel headed off as Essex watched in admiration. That she’d be willing to answer fire with fire he had no doubt hoping as he stared at her back nothing of the sort would be needed. Turning to the house, he slipped in, checking first rifles taken earlier and satisfied at their condition, reloaded them and his own while picturing every spot around the cabin he meant to work. Imagining gunmen in various places, he considered choices for his own cover deciding finally to think less and do more.

  Exiting through the kitchen, he knew chopping firewood was no option. Two hands on an ax made for a slow grab at a gun while the physical work itself would cover sounds of anyone approaching. Instead, he ambled toward the barn deliberately creating a target should anybody want one and set to repairing hinges, reworking harnesses and other tasks needed doing. After a bit, he secured Augie’s hammer and some nails, walking back to the cabin primed for shots, before attending to several loose boards on the porch.

  Increasingly, he began to think Lambertson wouldn’t return, the time needed for his man to ride in and them to get back having passed. With hands busy on routine fixings, his mind rolled across every detail he’d seen of the man’s ranch trying to settle on a approach giving an edge when he took the fight to them. Long years of survival had taught him to take action, to be on the offensive, when battle was due. Lambertson’s men missed once and no part of Essex was willing to gamble on them doing so again, particularly now that Rachel seemed less distant.

  Shaking her from his thoughts, he focused on Lambertson while moving off the porch to study her bedroom window jammed open. Wriggling at it, he found it stuck tightly, poking up under the wood with his knife until it released then shoving it up completely. Propping it there, he ran calloused fingers down each track until a sharp pain jabbed his hand where a thick sliver protruded enough to cause the problem. Whittling it down, he tested the window several times until sure it would slide easily then set a stick in place to keep it open so air could pass through.

  Straightening, he tried not to look but couldn’t stop his eyes. The few women he’d known were barmaids or dance hall girls entertaining in his hotel room and a few paid for services in camps where he stayed for a time. What a real woman’s bedroom would be like he had no idea, so gazed despite himself at her large, four-poster bed he figured had been shipped from back east and a chest of drawers next to a curtained opening leading to her main room. Several personal items, none obvious in purpose, sat on top while a robe hung next to it.

  He reddened some, embarrassed at seeing her night dress, abruptly pivoting away and striding purposefully to the barn. He shoved aside all thought of Rachel’s room and of her, knowing he could ask nothing of the future but felt a twinge despite that. His eyes widened a mite, identifying the feeling as hope, a tiny kindling flaring up lighting emptiness deep within that wouldn’t let go before he frowned at the ground. Did any real reason exist for hope, he wondered, after years of none and every expectation of his future being the same?

  Spotting movement in the sky, he stared. A red-tailed hawk swooped low chasing some morsel on the ground. The hunter and the hunted, Essex thought, like himself. A hunter after prey little seen, he was also the hunted, dogged by dreams and images of flames, gunfire and death working to capture his eternal soul and consume it with a sudden, intense desire not to let that be his end. What she wanted, he would deliver. All he could do to change a future of seemingly hopeless dark to one of bright hope he would do then accept what came from his effort was not his own to decide. He would try; he could do no more.

  Moving toward the stable, a little more bounce in his step than customary, Essex eyed Rachel’s small smokehouse, a chink between two logs evident. Veering over, he kneeled, spotting several more that could be fixed so began working his way around, filling gaps as he found them while frequently glancing to the tree line and rock falls where Lambertson’s men could be concealed. More energy went into and more pleasure came from his effort than usual as he checked each side, finishing on the roof by cutting tufts of sod from pasture to cover holes there.

  Examining his work after, he saw it with satisfaction for being well done and complete just as Rachel drove her wagon team quickly around the cabin, pulling up sharply at the rear door and jumping down. Essex pursed his lips, her manner seeming aggravated, snatching up his rifle and striding quickly toward the house where she disappeared. Lambertson, he guessed, had made a play on the road or had done some other to set her off and overwhelming relief rose in him that she looked unharmed.

  Entering through the back, a curious glance at supplies left unloaded, Essex moved through the kitchen, spying Rachel at the table, alarmed at obvious rage showed by cheeks beet red, nostrils flared and eyes sharp. She was clutching the chair seat so hard her knuckles were white.

  “Need to sit, Mister” she commanded, pointing, “an’ make some explanation.”

  Haltingly, he slipped past her to a chair, easing into it while setting his hat aside. A trickle of cold sweat chilled his spine as he avoided her gaze drilling through him. On the table, his hands were clasped tightly, calloused fingers fidgeting as she sat.

  “Man of Lambertson’s was in town, telling all you’re a killer. Bounty hunter, hired gun. Wanted by the law in three territories. All there are believing you’re wanted for murder back east. Is it true?”

  Eyes clenched, Essex felt his forehead getting damp. Without looking, he mumbled, “Most is.” then fell silent. Rachel glared wordlessly, waiting, Essex knowing she’d say nothing until he finished.

  “Had some time ranching” he described lamely, gut wrenching while he fought against choking. “For the rest, had my hand in cattle wars, guarding men and hunting bounty.” he admitted.

  “An’ murder?” she demanded in a voice unnaturally low.

  Eyes scarcely open fixed on the table before him, he gave a slight nod. “Had cause.” he replied, “Said nothing of it before expecting not to be believed.”

  Her face darkened and brows canted. Temper flashing, she answered, “Believed or not, mister, best you tell of it now.”

  Essex glanced up, the flicker of hope felt prior becoming a destructive, blazing inferno engulfing him. Working his jaw, he shook his head. “So much like what’s happening here, was fearing you’d think I was making up to win favor.” he softly explained before telling of McDermitt, the fire and Pa’s murder. Finishing with his shooting at the Judge killing another, he met her gaze directly. “First and last shot ever I missed, Rachel, and will admit honest it’s one I regret most.”

  Seeing no change in her expression, he dropped his eyes feeling empty loneliness fill him then a tide of self-loathing. How was it he could have considered anything might go right, to turn out well afte
r all he’d done and lived?

  “As for being wanted otherwise, mostly that’s just being on losing sides of different fights.” he explained, “Winners naming sheriffs friendly wishing to arrest any opposed. Did nothing others weren’t doing and nothing to bring shame.”

  Through foggy thinking, Essex heard her ask, “Where’d this happen? The murder, I mean.”

  Closing his eyes, seeing flames roaring from Pa’s window, he hesitated. “Fulton County, Ohio.”

  Rachel exhaled heavily. “That’s where he said.” she acknowledged, sensing honesty in his story, her relief for it palpable.

  Shoving back his chair while grabbing his hat and with face averted, Essex stood, stepping away saying, “Will be going now ma’am. Understand you not wanting the likes of me around.”

  Mean hatred took him. Glancing south through the door toward Lambertson’s with deepening resolve to find the second man destroying his life while anger rose against himself for living a past sure to ruin any future. Only a step later, he froze, Rachel snapping, “Sit down!” his shoulders hunching at her tone as if knifed before hearing her words.

  Twisting his head, Essex looked at her with one eye over his shoulder.

  “Deacon, sit down!” she repeated, slapping the table.

  Shuffling, Essex dropped his hat, resuming his seat uncomprehendingly. With alarm replaced by confusion, he heard her say quietly, “I’m not mad at you, Deacon.” then saw a quick, wry smile, “Well, maybe a bit, letting me go in unknowing so caught surprised by them.”

  With a shake of his head, he asked, “Them?”

  Face darkening again, Rachel’s eyes flared. “Them in town” she barked loudly, waving an arm, “calling themselves friends fretting over who I hire as foreman an’ concerned none about him that killed my husband an’ father then shot at us!”

  Unbelieving, Essex looked at her, his face blank. “Foreman?” he said.

  Exasperated, Rachel smacked the table again. “Had to say something, Deacon! Them hearing all manner of his stories, so I put it out I hired you on an’ we were going to finish Lambertson whether they helped any or not. Even put it in that idiot Sheriff’s face.”

  “What’d he say?”Essex asked, amusement rising at her ire directed against that one.

  “He burbled.” she laughed, covering her mouth, cheeks colored with embarrassment not anger.

  Essex resumed being confused. “Burbled?”

  “What happens whenever a man talks face down in a horse trough.” she advised, “Is where he landed after I slapped him for telling me Lambertson’s murdering was outside town so not his business but saying then our holding those gunmen’s horses would bring him out to make an arrest.”

  “You slapped him?”

  “Knocked him over the rail of the store into the water.” she answered proudly, a slight frown coming as she added, “Course being he was half drunk already an’ not much past noon, it wasn’t so much to do.”

  Propping against the chair, Essex felt nerves twanging as hope resurfaced. “You’re not ordering me off then for what I’ve done and been?”

  Surprised, Rachel gave him a wide-eyed look. “Certainly not.” she declared, her voice rising, “I care little for any of that, Deacon. Cattle wars an’ gun play being so common that any claiming not to be involved are likely lying. As for that back in Ohio…”She paused, pursing her lips, “Seems any not acting after seeing what you did would be not much of a man.”

  Leaning in, she set her hands palm down on the rough surface. “I don’t care what name you may have been born to or used since. Your name now is Deacon Chance an’ all mattering to me is what you do an’ say here, the rest is gone an’ can’t be changed.”

  Standing, Rachel gave a bright look. “An’ what needs doing first is getting supplies in so we can eat decent for the first time since you arrived.”

  Essex smiled, thinking his face might break. “Yes, ma’am.” he agreed.