Scruffy men who seemed more animal than human moved aside at his approach. Eyes that glittered balefully regarded him as if he were beef on the hoof. He thumped the counter and a portly, sweaty barman came over.
A wad of tobacco bulged the man’s cheek. Chomping heavily, he slurred, “What’s your poison, mister?”
“I’m huntin’ a man,” Vint said.
Nearby figures rustled and huddled. Some moved elsewhere. Others fingered weapons.
The bartender was indifferent. Swiping a smudge from the bar with a cloth rag that was itself filthy, he shrugged. “Is that so? Well, I have this policy, friend. I don’t get involved with what others do. It’s healthier that way.”
“He’s a black man,” Vint detailed. “Favors a Bowie.”
One of the man’s pudgy hands delved under an armpit to scratch and pick. “Hell, mister,” he sniffed. “Do you have any idea how many blacks there are in this town? I don’t keep track of every damn one that comes into my place.”
There were quite a few whom Vint knew. Many were miners. A few were homesteaders. Realizing that he would get nothing out of the barkeep, he rotated to leave and saw three black men playing cards at a table. They studiously ignored him as he walked over. “You heard what I told the barman,” he said.
None of the three paid any attention to him. Two wore homespun clothes; the third was an ex-soldier who had on a battered Army hat and faded Army pants.
“Do you know the man I’m after?”
One of the players said without glancing up, “What if we do, white man? We don’t tell on our own.”
“Don’t hold it against us, Texas,” said the other man in homespun. He was older, more polite. “Black folks learn at an early age that we’ve got to stick together. We learn the hard way that it’s our kind against yours.” He touched a jagged scar on his cheek. “Being cussed at and beat just cause of the color of your skin will do that, you know.”
Vint was wasting his time. He turned to go, saying, “You’re scratchin’ at the wrong tree. One of my best friends when I was young was a black boy who lived on the river. We used to spend hours swimmin’ an fishin’ and catchin’ crawdads. I’m not one of those who runs around at night with a white sheet over my head.”
“Hold on there, mister,” said the ex-soldier. “Why are you after this feller? What did he ever do to you?”
“He tried to stick his Bowie between my ribs.”
“You give him call?”
“If you know who I am, then you know that there are some people who don’t want me to pin on a badge. I suspect that he was hired to make sure that I don’t.”
The soldier ran a finger over the top of his cards. “That ain’t hardly right.”
The one who did not like whites poked a finger at the soldier. “You keep quiet, Sam. You hear? This ain’t none of our affair.”
“It ain’t hardly right,” Sam repeated.
“Maybe so. But you don’t want to do anything that will get the likes of him mad at you. He’d as soon stick that Bowie into you as a whitey.”
Sam looked up. “That black cracker don’t scare me. In my day I’ve fought the Sioux, fought the Cheyenne, fought the Rebs under Sherman. If he comes around wavin’ that pig sticker of his, I’ll shove it up his ass.” Sam shifted toward Vint. “Teego is his name. Out of New Orleans.”
“I’m obliged.”
The soldier had already turned back to his cards. “Trash is trash, mister, no matter what color the skin.”
~*~
It was a busy day for Lee. That evening he had his third visitor.
Allister Kemp, dressed in impeccable clothes as always, stood by the chest of drawers with his hat in hand. “Some of my hands found three bodies on my property. Miners, by the looks of them. We slung them into a buckboard and brought them into town. That’s when I heard about you.” His anger was almost a tangible force. “Are they the ones who did it?”
There was no denying the obvious. “Yes,” Lee admitted.
“But you didn’t let everybody know?”
“Not yet, no.”
Kemp nearly crushed his hat, shaking it. “For God’s sake, man, what were you waiting for? Don’t you realize that I’m being blamed? That there’s talk I had you ambushed on your way back from my ranch? The bloody homesteaders and the miners are having a field day with this!”
“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew who put them up to it,” Lee explained.
“They’re miners, aren’t they? Who else but Abe Howard could it be?” Kemp shook his head as if baffled. “You mystify me, Mr. Scurlock. You truly do. I would have thought that you would know who your friends are by now—and who are your enemies.”
What was Lee to say? That he had reached the point where he didn’t trust any of them? That he wasn’t prepared to share all the details until he knew for certain who was to blame? He kept quiet.
“There’s one aspect that puzzles me,” the cattle baron said. “Why would the miners want to see you dead? Did any of those you shot say anything to you before they died? Were they in fact after you, or were the blighters after me?”
Lee gazed out the window. Revealing his suspicion that the bushwhackers had been after Bar K riders might spark Kemp into unleashing Bodine and company on the miners and prospectors. “No,” he lied. “They never said a word.”
“Too bad. I’m glad you survived. If I can be of any assistance, just let me know.”
Lee sat for hours after the Englishman left, trying to put together the puzzle. It was hopeless. Too many important pieces were missing, pieces he was going to uncover once he was on his feet again.
~*~
The next morning, Allison showed up bright and early and stayed until late in the afternoon. They could not get enough of each other. For hours on end they talked and talked. Lee, who had never been one of those who liked to flap their gums nonstop, found himself chattering like a chipmunk, and enjoying it.
Day after day was the same until Wednesday, shortly after noon, when Allison showed up with her father in tow.
“It’s official,” Jim Hays said. “Last night the town council selected Vint Evers to be marshal.”
“You don’t sound none too happy,” Lee observed.
“I still have reservations about him,” Jim said. “And it doesn’t help matters any that his first act after taking office was to swear in that gambler, Ike Shannon, as his deputy. It’s a poor choice, if you ask me.”
“Ike isn’t his only deputy,” Lee said casually.
Jim was leaning against the window jamb. He looked around. “Are you telling me that he’s sworn in someone else since last night? I’ll bet it was another gambler.”
“You’d be half right,” Lee said, and reached under his pillow to produce the tin star that the Texan and the Irishman had placed in his hands earlier. “Some might see me as one, but I’ve sworn off cards to please a filly I know.”
Both father and daughter were stunned.
“You!” Jim exclaimed.
Allison moved closer, heartfelt gratitude and anxiety vying for dominance. While she was supremely glad that Lee was willing to change careers on her account, pinning on that badge would put him in daily danger.
“This is the best news I’ve heard since we got here!” Jim enthused, bustling to the door. “I’ve got to let Old Abe and some of the others know.”
“Maybe he won’t be as happy about it as you are,” Lee remarked.
“Nonsense. Why wouldn’t he be? He doesn’t trust Evers.” Donning his hat, Jim chortled. “Allister Kemp must be stewing right about now. Bodine lost out. Now this. I’ll bet he’s worried that you’ll find out he was behind the attempt on your life.”
“If he was,” Lee corrected him.
“Who else could it have been?” In fine fettle, Jim Hays departed, whistling loudly.
Allison roosted on the bed. “You don’t think Allister Kemp is to blame, do you? I could tell by your tone.”
“I ha
ve my doubts.” That was as far as Lee was willing to commit himself.
The next ten days were some of the most idyllic Lee had spent since childhood. Allison was at his side every minute. She brought his food, read to him, played cards and checkers, and went with him on regular strolls once Dr. Franklyn gave permission.
Lee healed rapidly. By the end of two weeks his left shoulder was still sore and flared if he tried to lift anything heavy, but he could get around just fine. He made plans to treat Allison and her father to a fancy meal at the very best restaurant in town. Then, half an hour before he was to head for the Delony house, as he stood before his mirror running a comb through his hair, heavy footsteps thumped in the hall and the next instant his door was flung wide to reveal Ike Shannon.
“Come with me!” the gambler declared. “Jim Hays has been shot!”
Fear spiked through Lee as he grabbed his hat and streaked from the room on the Irishman’s heels. They dashed down the stairs and into the street, turning northward. In his haste he forgot his frock coat and the spare Colt, but he could not go back for them.
“How bad is he?” Lee asked anxiously.
“I have no idea. All I know is what a man told me at the Applejack,” Shannon said. “He came running in and shouted that Hays had been shot in front of the Delony place. Since you have an interest in the Hays girl, I figured I should stop and get you on the way.” He slowed as they came to an intersection. “Now, which way is it? I know where Delony lives, but I don’t get up in this part of town that often—”
“Follow me,” Lee said, racing past to take the lead. His heart beat wildly in his chest, as much out of dread for Jim Hays as alarm for Allison. Maybe she had been hit too. Maybe she was lying in the dirt, broken and dying. To take his mind off it, he asked, “Where’s Evers?”
“Making his rounds. I left word at the Applejack,” Shannon puffed. “Since the town fathers haven’t gotten around to building us a jail yet, we’ve adopted the place as our headquarters.” He was hard-pressed to keep up with the younger man and had to exert himself to the utmost. “By staying there,” he said, “we kill two birds with one stone. Vint can keep an eye on Lowe and watch over Nelly at the same time.”
Lee barely heard. He was straining to hear a commotion up ahead, and he was so worried about the future of his relationship with Allison that he felt fit to burst. A block from Delony’s he saw a crowd gathered near the picket fence. People gestured and talked excitedly. Above the babble rose the wail of a woman whose soul had been torn asunder. “Allison! Oh, God!” he breathed, and ran faster, his left shoulder pounding. But he didn’t care. “Move aside!” he roared. “Let me through!”
A beefy man at the edge of the throng started to turn. “Who the hell do you—?” he growled, and was flung aside as if he were not there. Others received the same treatment. All Lee could think of was reaching Allison. He pushed past the foremost ranks and drew up short, his breath catching in his throat.
Jim Hays lay on his back, arms outspread, his head tenderly cradled in his daughter’s lap. Her dress, arms, and hands were covered with blood, her features a ghastly pasty white. Tears streaked her cheeks as she murmured to her father, whose eyes were closed and whose chest barely rose with each breath.
The crowd had pressed in so closely that some of them accidentally trod on Jim’s fingers. Lee, seeing this, nearly went berserk. “Stand back, damn it!” he raged, pushing those who did not comply fast enough. “Give them room!”
Allison glanced up, her eyes pools of vibrant sorrow. “Lee! Oh, Lee!” she said woefully.
At a loss for words, Lee sank to one knee and took one of her bloody hands in his. He saw two bullet holes in her father, one in the chest and another high on the left temple. With a sinking sensation, he knew that Jim Hays would not live out the night, if that long.
“They’ve sent for Dr. Franklyn,” Allison said, trembling. “Where is he? Why doesn’t he get here?”
Bob and Ethel Delony materialized, and Ethel draped an arm over the younger woman’s shoulders. “There, there, dear,” she soothed. “I’m sure he’ll come just as quickly as he can.”
“I saw the whole thing,” Bob said to Lee.
The southerner’s whole body hardened, and he grated out, “How did it happen?”
“We were standing on the porch enjoying cigars when a man in a baggy black coat and a white straw hat came up the street. He stopped at the gate and asked if we knew where the Delony family lived. When I told him that I was Bob Delony, he looked at Jim and said, ‘Then you must be that Hays feller. I’ve got a message for you.’” Bob stopped and motioned for Lee to step to one side.
Loath to do so, Lee balked until Ethel knelt beside Allison to comfort her. He rose, wiping his hand on his pants, and Bob guided him a few yards away.
“That poor, sweet girl. I don’t want her to have to hear the details again.” Delony ran a quaking hand across his brow and whispered, “Jim asked the man what the message was, and the man replied that it was for his ears alone. So Jim went down the walk and out the gate. That was when our visitor whipped out a revolver and shot him.”
“Where’s the bastard now?” Lee snarled.
“He ran off,” Bob said. “A neighbor boy, Eddy Hall, was outside and saw what happened.” He nodded at a house across the street. “Eddy is fourteen. He took off after the killer, but he hasn’t returned yet. I’m getting worried.”
“Allison!” Jim Hays suddenly cried, and everyone else fell silent. His eyelids fluttered, opened, and focused with immense difficulty on his daughter. “Is that you, precious?”
“I’m here, Papa,” Allison confirmed, fighting back a tidal wave of tears. She had been inside at the kitchen table sharing coffee with Ethel when the two shots rang out, and she had trailed Ethel outdoors, never imagining that her father had been involved. Devastated, she clutched his hand to her bosom. “I’m here.”
Jim had to work hard to speak. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
“For what?” Allison responded, her voice breaking.
“For leaving you all alone.”
The cry that tore from Allison’s throat brought Lee to her in a lithe bound. He held her close, her tears dampening his shirt. Placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder, he vowed, “She’s not alone, sir. She’ll never be, so long as I’m alive.”
“Lee, is that you?” Jim’s eyes drifted back and forth. “Why is it so dark? I can’t see a thing.”
The southerner had to clear his throat to say, “Hush. You need to save your strength. The sawbones will be here any second.”
Jim began to wheeze. His lungs were filling with blood, which seeped from his nose and trickled out the corners of his mouth. “I don’t have much time, Lee, so I can’t beat around the bush. My daughter is fond of you. Do you care for her?”
The question, posed publicly in front of dozens of onlookers, caught Lee unawares. He hesitated, reluctant to divulge his innermost feelings in front of so many strangers. A glance at Allison, though, was enough to make him respond, “Yes, you know I do.”
Every vein in his neck standing out, Jim Hays twisted, blinking furiously. “Why can’t I see?” he repeated, his free hand grasping at the air in front of the Tennessean.
Lee grasped it. The fingers were slick and sticky with blood, and as cold as snow.
“She could do a lot worse,” Jim Hays said. “If things work out for the two of you, I want you both to know that you have my blessing. For what it’s worth.”
Allison was on the verge of hysterics. Her father had always been the most decent of men, had always respected her and treated her kindly. Losing her mother had been a test of her spirit; losing her father would be unbearable. She let go of Lee to hug him, saying, “Don’t talk like that, Papa. You’ll be all right once Dr. Franklyn gets here.”
Either Jim Hays did not hear her, or he was solely intent on Lee, because he said, “She’s a good woman, Lee. She’ll stand by you through thick and thin. You could do a lot worse.”
A groan tore from his throat and he arched his back.
“Where’s the doctor!” Allison cried, tears pouring in a deluge. “Please! Someone go find him!”
At that moment a figure hurried through the crowd, shouting for everyone to get out of his way. It was the elderly physician, who gave Jim Hays a cursory examination and promptly demanded that the stricken man be carried into the Delony house. Lee leaped to obey, along with Ike Shannon and half a dozen others. As considerately as they could, they lifted the groaning man and carried him up the walk to the porch.
Dr. Franklyn held the door. He directed them to the kitchen, where he requested that blankets be brought and that water be put on the stove to boil. Ethel and another woman attended to the water while Bob went after the blankets.
Lee stood in a corner, out of the way, while the sawbones shooed the rest of the men out of the house. When their eyes met, the physician gave a slight shake of his head.
Lee concentrated on Allison. She was by her father, their hands locked together, her face glistening, her lips quaking. He longed to take her into his arms, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be all right, that he would be by her side forever if she would have him.
Bob hastened in with an armful of blankets. Franklyn told him to stand back, and as he did, someone in the hallway called his name.
Lee looked around. A boy in his teens leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. It had to be Eddy Hall. Lee joined Delony, who asked the boy urgently, “Did you keep up with him? Where did he go?”
The youth sucked in air. “I was real careful, Mr. Delony. He looked back a lot, but I don’t think he saw me.” Eddy Hall paused. “I saw him go into the Silver Dollar. He should still be there.”
That was all Lee had to hear. Whirling, he sprinted to the gate, nearly ripped it off its hinges barreling on through, then plowed through the crowd heedless of those he bumped into. Bursting into the clear, he sped through the night, vengeance a blazing flame at the core of his being.
Diablo (A Piccaddilly Publishing Western Book 6) Page 15