Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Emery Thornbury is a first-class idiot, Cully thought. He had figured out also why the teacher was waiting for the train: Thornbury wanted to be certain Miss Garrison knew right away who was in charge in Abilene. He wanted the poor little gal under his thumb from the moment she climbed off the train. The more he could run roughshod over her, the more he would lessen his own workload.

  Cully, however, had come simply to welcome Leslie Garrison, or so he told himself. He was performing his duty as a public official and a representative of the town. The chance that she might be young and attractive had nothing to do with it.

  The mournful wail of a train whistle jarred Cully from his thoughts. Straightening and peering down the tracks, he squinted beyond the sprawling stockyards at a pinpoint moving across the prairie. Within moments, the tiny form enlarged to the looming shape of the approaching train.

  With the brakes screeching as it slowed to a stop, the locomotive rolled into the station in a billowing cloud of steam. The engineer expertly stopped the train so that the passenger cars were aligned with the platform. The conductor, hopping from the caboose to the platform, ran along the cars, shouting, "Aaaabilene! Abilene town!"

  As the travelers began to emerge from the cars and step onto the platform, Cully scrutinized each one, looking for a woman resembling a schoolteacher coming to her first job. They came in all ages, shapes, and sizes. Several middle-aged ladies traveling with their husbands disembarked, as well as a few pigtailed girls belonging to families of immigrants. But no one who might fit the description appeared. It seemed as if Leslie Garrison's arrival had been delayed for some reason.

  Cully frowned and glanced at Emery Thornbury. To his surprise, the schoolmaster wore a worried grimace. For all his bluster, Thornbury had probably been looking forward to having some help. He was clearly disappointed.

  So was Cully. "Shoot," he muttered as he watched the final passenger climb from the train. This last person was a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man who carried himself with an easy grace that belied his burly physique. Cully paid little attention to him, but the man spotted the deputy's badge pinned to Cully's shirt and started toward him.

  Cully, seeing the man coming, noted the well-cared-for suit, the derby hat, and the catlike way the big man moved. The deputy's well-honed instincts told him that this stranger was an experienced, dangerous fighter, and he began to wonder uneasily what such a man was doing in Abilene.

  "Excuse me, Deputy," the man said in a deep, rasping voice. Thornbury was scanning the passengers, watching for a young woman he might have overlooked. The stranger went on, "Could you tell me where the schoolhouse is?"

  A few feet away, Emery Thornbury's head snapped around. Cully frowned. Suddenly a bizarre possibility occurred to him, and he began to grin. Nodding toward Thornbury, he said to the stranger, "As a matter of fact, this gentleman here is the teacher. I'm sure he'll be glad to show you the way to the school."

  The newcomer's heavy features brightened in a pleasant smile. He turned to Thornbury and extended a ham-like hand. "Mr. Thornbury? I'm glad to meet you, sir. My name is Leslie Garrison."

  Thornbury gawked at the big man in undisguised shock while Cully tried not to laugh out loud. For several seconds, the schoolteacher visibly struggled to master his distress. At last raising a limp hand, he weakly returned Leslie Garrison's handshake.

  Cully thrust out his hand to Leslie Garrison and said, "I'm Cully Markham, Mr. Garrison. We're glad to meet you, aren't we, Emery? We came down here to do just that, didn't we?"

  Thornbury nodded shakily and made a noise in his throat that could have been taken for an affirmative.

  Glancing past Garrison's bulky form, Cully noticed that Angus MacQuarrie was standing next to a freight car, supervising the unloading of some supplies for his tavern. Rather than focusing his attention on the crew handling the cases, however, the tavern keeper was staring at the burly man shaking hands with Emery Thornbury. Cully watched in amazement as recognition lit Angus's eyes.

  Abruptly, Angus turned away from the freight car and hurried to the newcomer. With an excited expression on his face, he said heartily, "Ye be Slugger Garrison, the heavyweight from New York!"

  Startled, Garrison winced, sighed, and then nodded. "That's right," he admitted. "I no longer go by the name Slugger, though."

  Angus grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "'Tis a pleasure t'meet ye, lad! I saw ye take on Kid Randisi years ago."

  "That was a long time ago," Garrison said sheepishly. "I'm a teacher now, not a prizefighter."

  Cully couldn’t believe his ears. With each exchange, the situation was getting better. Thornbury looked devastated. He had expected some flighty young girl, and instead he had gotten this big bruiser.

  "I realized that a life in the ring doesn't leave you with much when you have to retire," Leslie Garrison was saying. "I appreciate this chance to get started in teaching, Mr. Thornbury. I'm sure I'll learn a lot once I start working with you."

  Barely containing the laughter that threatened to burst from him, Cully glanced at Angus, who was grinning broadly. The Scotsman clearly understood what was going on, and the humor of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Cully hadn’t relished a moment such as this in a long time.

  Thornbury had still not said a word. Leslie Garrison peered at him and with a puzzled expression asked, "Is anything wrong, sir? There's no problem about my job here, is there?"

  Thornbury shook his head and finally found his tongue. "No...no problem at all," he said hoarsely. "I...I have to be going now. Deputy Markham can show you the school." He turned and almost ran toward the depot.

  "That'll be fine, sir," Garrison called after him. "I'll be there first thing in the morning!" As Thornbury disappeared into the station building, Garrison turned back to Cully and Angus. "Did I say something to bother Mr. Thornbury? He seemed awfully upset about something."

  Cully had all he could do to contain himself. He clapped the big man on the shoulder. "Oh, I guess you just weren't quite what he was expecting."

  "Well, I hope he's not disappointed."

  "I dinna know about Mr. Thornbury," Angus said warmly, "but I kin tell ye tha' none o' the rest o' us be disappointed."

  "That's right," Cully chuckled. "There'll be time later to show you the schoolhouse, Mr. Garrison. Right now, let's all go have a drink. Angus here has the best whiskey in town."

  "That sounds good," Garrison replied. "Let me tend to my baggage. Is there a good boardinghouse in town where I can have it sent?"

  "Aye. Come wi' me and we'll see t'having it delivered."

  A few moments later the three men were strolling down Texas Street's boardwalk toward Angus's Tavern. As they made their way, Cully pointed out the local landmarks: the Alamo Saloon and the Bull's Head, the marshal's office, the Red Top Café, Patterson’s Livery Stable, the Grand Palace Hotel, Dr. Keller's office, and finally Angus's itself. Once they had entered the cool, shadowy interior of the tavern, Cully and Garrison went to one of the tables while Angus moved behind the bar to collect a bottle and some glasses. The three men sat down.

  Angus splashed whiskey into the glasses and then lifted one to propose a toast. "T’ Slugger Garrison," he said, "the best damn heavyweight these old eyes ha' ever seen!"

  The three of them drank, and Leslie Garrison sighed appreciatively. "That is good," he said. "I don't take a drink very often. Have to set a good example for the children, you know."

  Cully leaned back in his chair. "If you don't mind my asking, how did a fighter end up teaching school, Mr. Garrison?"

  "Call me Leslie, please." Despite the gravelly nature of the big man's voice, he was surprisingly gentle and soft-spoken. "I had to get out of the fight game after a while, so I decided to try what I'd always dreamed of doing. I went back to school and learned how to be a teacher." He shook his head. "Boxing aroused a brutal side of me that I would rather not see."

  "Aye, I recall how ye handed the Italian his head tha' night," Angus said. "'T
was a real terror ye were, me friend."

  The big man, looking down at his hands resting on the table, appeared to be embarrassed. "I try to control that now. It's not good for children to see violence or even know about it, so I would be grateful if you would keep that part of my past a secret."

  "Sure," Cully agreed readily. "It sounds to me like you really care about kids."

  "I love them," Garrison said simply. "Always have. In fact, the only thing that really sets me off now is somebody being cruel to a child."

  Cully and Angus exchanged a meaningful glance. Cully knew that Angus was thinking about the harsh way Thornbury treated his students. The same thoughts were in Cully's mind. The working relationship between Leslie Garrison and Emery Thornbury was going to be interesting to watch.

  8

  The day that Joshua Markham had helped Tom Powell move the boulder marked the beginning of a growing friendship between them. During the next week, the minister paid several visits to the Powell farm, sometimes helping with chores, at other times simply sitting and talking with Tom, Ira, and Violet. At first, they wouldn’t talk about the problems that had forced them to leave Georgia, especially Ira. But as Joshua drew them out, he learned in great detail what hardships the poor farmers had endured under the Reconstruction government. After hearing of their plight and considering it, Joshua decided that Ira and his friends had been justified in leaving Georgia. They had followed a course of action with which he was sympathetic. He didn’t believe in answering violence with violence except as a last resort. On a more practical level, the settlers would most likely have been killed if they had continued to oppose the government.

  Late one afternoon, after spending the better part of the day visiting several other soddies, Joshua stopped at the Powell farm. The settlers hadn’t yet responded to his invitation to attend services at the Methodist church, so he had been bringing the Gospel to them, ministering to their spiritual needs just as Rose tended to their medical needs.

  As Joshua dismounted, a wary Tom Powell came through the soddy doorway. The tense young man carried a rifle and behaved as if he expected trouble. When he saw that the visitor was Joshua, he lowered the rifle and relaxed.

  "Has there been more trouble, Tom?" Joshua asked anxiously.

  "Just more of the same," Tom answered. "Not here, but over at the Williams'. Last night some men drove a herd of cows through their cornfield and ruined it."

  "I thought the cowboys around here were getting tired of that sort of thing. The harassment was beginning to stop, wasn't it?"

  "For a while. It's back now." Tom's voice was grim. "Now that our crops are startin’ to take hold, I guess those damn heatherns think they can do more damage. Sorry, Joshua."

  Joshua shook his head, more than willing to overlook the young man's profanity under the circumstances. "I'm sorry to hear about the Williams' trouble," he said.

  Tom nodded. "Yep. My pa's over there now, tryin' to help them figure out what to do next."

  "Can't Mr. Copeland help in some way? Can't he stop these raids from taking place?"

  "He's done what he can," Tom said with a shrug. "He put up some bob wire, but those punchers just cut it and trample it down. I guess Copeland's got enough troubles without takin’ on ours."

  "He was quick enough to bring you here," Joshua pointed out. "He should bear some responsibility for your well-being."

  Tom patted the stock of the rifle. "'Fraid we're goin’ to have to be responsible for ourselves, Joshua."

  The canvas flap covering the doorway of the soddy was pushed aside, and Violet poked her head through the opening. "Hello, Pastor," she said with a smile. "Tom wanted me to stay inside until he saw who was ridin' up, but I reckon it's safe to come out now."

  Joshua returned her smile. "I imagine it is."

  "Why don't you stay to supper?" Violet asked as she came out of the cabin. "We've got plenty."

  Joshua doubted that very seriously. He knew the settlers had been making do with short rations ever since they had arrived. He shook his head and said, "Thank you for the invitation, Violet, but I've already promised to have dinner with Sister Lorraine tonight. We have some matters to discuss concerning the children."

  Surely the Lord would forgive such a small bending of the truth, Joshua thought. Although they had made no specific plans to eat together, he and Sister Lorraine did usually dine at the same time, and not a day went by when they didn’t have to talk about some of the orphans. As with any group of children, they got into plenty of mischief, especially the adolescents.

  "Maybe some other time then," Violet said.

  Joshua nodded. "I'd like that."

  While Joshua and Violet had been chatting, Tom was peering across the field over Joshua's shoulder. Suddenly the young man stiffened and, with a glance at Joshua, said, "Dagnab it, there goes that cow again! Wish I knew what was on the other side of that hill behind the house that she's so all-fired determined to get."

  Joshua followed Tom's gaze and saw that the milk cow was loose once more, as it often seemed to be. Even as they spoke, the animal, which was halfway across the field in front of the soddy, was gamboling briskly around the earthen cabin and up the hillside from which the soddy was dug. The three friends watched as the roving beast disappeared over the ridge in back of the soddy. Joshua pulled his reins to turn his horse.

  "I'll go round her up," he volunteered. "I've never been mistaken for a cowboy, but I think I can manage to herd one cow back."

  Violet stepped in front of his horse. "No need to bother, Pastor," she said quickly. "I'll chase the critter back here."

  "It wouldn't be any trouble—" Joshua began.

  Shaking her head, Violet interrupted him. "You just stay put and talk to Tom. Maybe you two men can figure out how you can keep those raids from startin' up every night again."

  As she started after the straying cow, Joshua and Tom exchanged sympathetic glances and shrugged. Joshua slowly dismounted and tied his horse to one of the poles that supported the canvas awning over the soddy's door.

  "Come on inside," Tom said. "There's coffee on the stove, even if you can't stay for supper."

  "Now that sounds good," Joshua agreed. He could smell the rich aroma, and it reminded him of how tired he really was. He stepped into the soddy.

  Once over the ridge, Violet spotted the cow tramping through a newly sprouted field of corn. Eager to stop the big animal's destructive romp, she scurried across the field, carefully moving between the rows to limit the damage she herself did. When she reached the animal, she examined the tether rope and saw that the cow had chewed through it. Violet shook her head. The cow was placid and cooperative in every respect but this one.

  So engrossed was she in her task that she didn’t see or hear the horseman riding up from the west. When she suddenly noticed a long shadow appear next to her, she dropped the tether, spun around, and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. She saw a rider reining in a few yards away, but the brilliant red orb was behind him, silhouetting him so that she couldn’t make out his features.

  "Well, howdy, darlin'," a smooth voice said. "What's a sweet-looking gal like you doing out here by herself?"

  Nervously, Violet brushed a strand of chestnut hair from her face. "I...I was just after that cow over there," she said, pointing a shaking hand at the animal.

  The man turned his head and looked. The sun illuminated his profile, and Violet could see that he was a young man. Her eyes began to adjust to the glare, and she noticed some details. He was slender and probably not too tall, although that was hard to determine while he sat in the saddle, and he wore well-cared-for range clothes.

  "Hell, that's just a broken-down old milk cow," he said contemptuously. "Not hardly worth calling beef."

  "I still have to get her."

  "I'll round her up for you," the young man said. He started to swing down from the saddle. "In a little while, that is."

  As the man's booted feet touched the pl
owed earth, Violet stepped back involuntarily. She knew he was a cowboy and realized he might be one of the punchers who were causing so many problems for the settlers. From his clothes, she guessed he was probably well-to-do. To a man like him, she would be just a pretty little sodbuster gal, to be trifled with as he pleased.

  "I've got to go," she said nervously as she took a few more faltering steps backward. "My...my family's waitin' for me to bring that cow back."

  "Oh, they won't mind if you're a few minutes late." The cowboy dropped the reins of his horse. He walked slowly but confidently toward Violet. "You're about the prettiest thing I've seen on this hardscrabble spread," he went on. "You're one of that bunch that's sharecropping on Copeland's land, aren't you?"

  "What if I am?"

  The man shrugged. There was a broad grin on his lean, handsome features. "There's no call to be scared of me. I don't have anything against sodbusters, especially when they look like you. Why don't you come here and give me a kiss?"

  Violet struggled to control the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. In a voice that shook more than she wanted, she said, "You just leave me alone, mister. I don't want to make you mad, but I've got a beau already."

  "One of those Southern trash?" the cowboy sneered. "I've heard about you Southern gals. Hell, you were probably rutting with the boys by the time you were twelve, weren't you?"

  Anger flared within Violet, blunting the fear she felt. "You've got no call—"

  The man had slowly diminished the distance between them, and now he suddenly lunged and grabbed her. His hand closed over the soft flesh of her upper arm, bare in the sleeveless dress she wore. "Shut up!" he blazed as he yanked her close to him. "I know all about you white trash! I know all the women are whores—"

  He broke off to bring his lips down hard on hers. Violet tried to yell, but his urgent mouth stifled her. He started to wrap his other arm around her and tried to press his body against hers.