by Phil Dunlap
Rachael recoiled at Johnny’s description of Carp Varner. She covered her eyes as tears burst forth like a spring shower. Her whole body began shaking as if the angel of death was at her doorstep.
“What is it, Rachael?”
“That’s him! He came by several days ago. He stole all my food, took everything of value my pa left me, and then he . . . tried to . . . have his way w-w- . . .” Her tears were now an agonizing testament to what she’d been through. Johnny didn’t need a further description of Carp Varner’s capabilities. He’d seen what the despicable snake was capable of. He wanted to put out of his mind the vision he got of Rachael falling victim to such demonic acts.
“Did, uh, did he . . . ?”
“No. I was able to evade all his advances. He’d probably have caught me sooner or later, but he seemed in an awful hurry to get shed of the place. When he tore outta here, he lit a lantern and threw it on the porch. Flames erupted all over. He just shouted something I couldn’t make out. I reckon he figured to pay me back for the rejection by burning the place. It had rained for two days and the wood was pretty soaked. I was able to get a bucket from the well and douse what fire there was.”
Johnny’s hatred for Varner was growing by the minute. He moved to Rachael and took her in his arms, hoping that if he gave her comfort, her sobs would soon subside. He didn’t really have any idea about what to do with a woman in tears, but he had a very good idea of what needed to be done with Carp Varner, and he fully intended to be the instrument of retribution for her and for all those lost at Whiskey Crossing. But first, he had to figure out what to do with Rachael. Pretty soon, she pushed back and turned to sit in the rocker. Her eyes were red from crying. It didn’t take a worldly man to see what all the trauma of losing her father and mother had done to her, and now this vicious attack by a murderous gunslinger had all but brought her world to an end. That’s when he surprised himself by the next words out of his mouth.
“I’ll stay with you, Rachael. Together, we’ll set things right. Count on me. I won’t abandon you.”
She looked up at him with the first ray of hope he’d seen on her pretty face since he arrived.
Chapter 11
When Melody and Pick rode slowly back into Apache Springs, it was late afternoon, and except for the few lanterns popping up in the windows of a couple shops on the dark side of the street and in the restaurant, folks seemed to have called it a day. Melody was so tired she nearly fell off the mule’s back trying to dismount. She was muttering something about never going into a hole in the ground again, so help her. As she started for the steps to the saloon, she turned and said, “Pick, you be at the bank at nine A.M. sharp. We’ll get this deal settled and you can be on your way.”
Pick had already started toward the livery with the mules as Melody stomped up the steps. Inside the saloon sat five or six men drinking and laughing. It was too late for any serious card games to be in progress. One of those men was Carp Varner, although he had chosen to avoid company and sit off to himself. He had an open bottle of whiskey sitting in front of him, but it looked as though not a drop had been poured or spilled. As Melody stormed by in her rush to get upstairs, Carp spoke up with what he figured would be an irresistible enticement.
“Say there, pretty lady, how about I join you in your ‘boudoir’?” He sat back and pushed his hat off his forehead.
“Get lost!” she shot back with a snarl, then motioned for Arlo to follow her. On her way up the curving staircase, she whispered to the bartender to heat some water so she could take a bath. He ran down again and headed for the back room to get a fire started under a bucket of water. On his way, he was again accosted by the rude man in the black duster.
“Hey, bartender, what’s it gonna take to get the lady to pay attention to a paying customer?”
“Like I told you before, mister, she’s not available. Pick another. It’s for your own sake.”
“I take what I want! Guard my words well, friend, you’ll see what I mean. It’d be a good idea if you passed that on to the lady,” Carp said sharply, before Arlo could disappear into the back room. Carp poured a glassful and gulped it down. It would be his first drink of the day.
* * *
Melody had soaked in the sudsy warm water for about a half hour before stepping out of her imported copper tub and drying off. She slipped into a robe and eased into the room she shared with Memphis Jack Stump, who had gone to bed quite early. She bent over his still form, kissed his cheek, then shook his shoulder.
“Jack. Jack! Wake up. I have marvelous news. We’re going to be rich,” she said, getting into bed alongside him.
“Huh? What’s that? What the hell time is it anyway?” He was muttering in such a confused way, Melody wasn’t certain he’d understood what she said. She figured a more blatant approach might be necessary, thus she applied one. She snuggled closer and began kissing him all over. He started to fight her off, but as deep sleep faded and wakefulness increased, he regained sufficient consciousness to participate in whatever game she had in mind. He rolled over on his back, blinking in the darkness.
Melody didn’t give up on her intention to bring him fully awake by whatever means necessary. “J-a-a-a-ck, h-o-o-o-ney,” she whispered, in a voice dripping with honey. “Are you ready to hear my great news? H-m-m-m?”
As Jack suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her so close she could hardly get her breath, he muttered, “Uh-huh. I will be in a few minutes.”
“I guess it can wait that long,” she gasped.
* * *
Carp Varner stumbled several times, nearly losing balance each time, as he made his way to the hotel. The now nearly empty bottle dangled from his hand, then slipped from his grip and crashed to the ground. As he went, he whistled a tune he’d made up. He’d no more than reached the bottom of the stairs when he began muttering, at first almost inaudibly, but slowly growing louder and louder as he climbed the steps to his third-floor room.
“Ain’t no damned floozy gonna make a fool of Carp Varner, no siree. She’ll wish she’d done her d-damnedest to satisfy my every want and need, or I ain’t the spawn of ol’ B-Bloody Bob Varner, the meanest, killin’est son of a bitch the frontier ever heard of.”
He struggled to find the keyhole, punching at the presumed location of it over and over until finally succeeding. He kicked the door open so hard it hit the wall and bounced back in his face. He slapped at it, then crossed the tiny room and fell facedown onto the iron bed. He was soundly snoring in seconds. The door remained wide open the rest of the night.
* * *
Jack awoke early to see Melody sitting at her mirror running a brush through her thick blond hair. She was dressed like she was going out. “Good morning, sweety,” she cooed.
“G’mornin’, Melody. Say, what was all that you were mutterin’ about last night when you came in? I don’t think I got much of it.”
“You wouldn’t wake up, so I had to help you, and then when we were done, you went right back out again. I knew it could wait until morning. And here it is, all sunny and bright. Another beautiful day.”
“Uh-huh. Melody, when you’re this cheerful this early in the day, there’s somethin’ a-brewin’, and I figure it’s gonna be somethin’ I won’t take kindly to. Am I close?”
“Jack, you’re the most suspicious man I’ve ever known. In fact, you’re going to be as excited as I am when you see the deal I’ve put together.”
“Uh, deal?”
“Yep. Remember I told you I was going to buy Pick Wheeler out? Well, by ten o’clock this morning, I’ll be the sole owner of one of the richest silver mines in the territory. Why, there’s silver just pouring out of the walls.” She sighed with pleasure at the remembrance of the sparkling traces of silver she’d seen reflected in Pick’s lamplight.
“You have to be joking. I can’t believe Pick Wheeler’s mine is worth two cents. Why, that old goa
t is nothing but an insufferable braggart. You’d do well to steer clear of him.”
Melody ignored his comment, continuing to run the boar’s-hair brush through her luscious locks. She rubbed some rouge on her cheeks, then dabbed perfume on her throat. She stood a look at herself in the mirror, turning left then right, just to make sure she was radiant from every angle. Jack fell back on the pillows.
“Please, Melody, give this some more thought. Let an expert go into the mine and confirm Pick’s claim. He’s a crafty ol’ goat, and I don’t trust him one bit.”
“No need to. I’ve seen the silver for myself. And you can trust that I know silver when I see it. That mine is absolutely full of the real thing, all right.” She closed the door behind her, leaving Jack fuming. She could be heard humming all the way down the stairs.
Chapter 12
Cotton was cleaning a rifle at his desk when Jack stormed in and slammed his hat on the floor. He dropped into a straight-back chair and crossed his arms. He looked like he’d either bitten into a persimmon or was ready to go out and kill someone. Cotton didn’t look up when he noted Jack’s foul mood.
“Melody stomp on your foot, Jack? Maybe she dropped somethin’ foul in your porridge. Which is it?” Cotton said nonchalantly.
“It’s not funny, Cotton. She’s gone completely out of her mind.”
“You say it as if I didn’t already know that.”
“I doubt you knew about this latest dumb move.”
“Try me.”
“She woke me up to tell me she’s goin’ to buy Pick Wheeler’s silver mine. There, now tell me you knew she’d do something that stupid.”
Cotton frowned and worked his mouth.
“She tell you why she decided to do such a thing?”
“Said we’ll be rich, by damn. Rich! Do you believe it?”
“Pick has been pullin’ little bits of silver out of there for quite a spell, maybe he’s just tired and wants to quit.”
“Uh-huh, and he’s found himself a willin’ sucker to make his getaway complete.”
“What’d you say when she told you?”
“What could I say? I told her she was crazy, but it is her money and I don’t have any say in how she spends it.”
“You askin’ me to do somethin’?”
“No. I know you can’t do anything unless it was illegal or he held her at gunpoint.”
“When’s the deal goin’ down?”
“Aww, hell, she’s over at the bank as we speak signin’ the papers. I just hope she doesn’t plan on me diggin’ in the ground for her. That isn’t about to happen.”
“The assayer probably would be willin’ to go out and take a look if she asked him real purty-like. Better yet, why don’t you ask him?”
“She says Pick took her out and showed her through the mine hisself. Held the lantern up so she could see all the sparkly pieces of pay dirt just drippin’ off the walls.”
“That’s interestin’.”
“Why do you say that, Cotton?”
“That isn’t the way silver shows itself. Might not hurt for you to go out and take a peek in that mine yourself.”
“Any chance you’d be interested in ridin’ out with me?”
“On the possibility that Melody has gotten in over her head, once again? Not a chance.”
“I know you got no love for Melody, but you’d be doin’ a friend a favor. Look at it that way. I mean if Melody loses everything she’s built here, she’ll be forced to go back to Gonzales. Then I’d have to make a choice whether to go with her or stay on as your deputy.”
“Sounds like your decision might come from below your waist.”
“It’s not funny, Cotton. At least think on it. I need help here.”
Cotton rubbed his chin. “All right, I’ll think on it. But right now, I got to find someone to finish up workin’ on some of the guns that Burnside left. Since we don’t know how to locate the nephew, the store is kinda up for grabs. And folks need their guns.”
“Well, don’t cogitate on it too long. I’d like to make sure the deal is honest before Pick folds up his tent and heads for parts unknown.”
“Right now, I’m goin’ to Burnside’s store and try to take some sort of inventory. Then I’ll have to notify folks with guns in there bein’ worked on. They can either pick them up or wait till we get another gunsmith. Why don’t you come along? It’d make my job go a tad bit faster with two of us on it.”
Jack nodded and followed Cotton out the door.
* * *
As Cotton and Jack were passing by the bank, Melody, Pick Wheeler, and bank manager Darnell Givins were just stepping out. They stopped to chat among themselves on the boardwalk in front of the double glass doors. On a bench under the bank’s large front window sat a man in a long black duster smoking a long, thin cigar, hat pulled low. The three paid him no mind. Melody was so excited about what she’d done, she kept reminding Pick that with all that money she’d just paid him, she hoped he wouldn’t go out and squander it foolishly. He assured her he wouldn’t, as he patted a large bulge in his pocket.
“Mighty nice doin’ business with you, Miss Melody,” Pick said with a wide grin.
He tipped his hat to the others and started off down the street. Melody and Darnell continued their conversation, although a little less enthusiastically.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Melody. Pick makes a very small amount of money from the mine, and he sure hasn’t gotten filthy rich off it.”
“Likely because he’s such a lazy oaf. Why, I saw that silver for myself, sparkling in the light, coming from everywhere. Instead of being a tightwad, wanting to keep it all for himself, he could have hired some men to help him. If he’d been more industrious, he most certainly would have made it big. And that’s exactly what I’m intending to do.” She turned on her heel and strutted down the boardwalk back to the saloon. She held her head high just to make sure all the ladies in town noticed her.
When Darnell went back inside the bank, the man on the bench got up and strolled off, crossing the street and heading for where the sheriff and his deputy had gone in—the gunsmith shop. The man waited for a few minutes, then pushed inside. Cotton looked up at the sound of the bell over the door.
“Sorry, mister, but the gunsmith shop is closed. The owner died and we’re takin’ inventory to determine what to do with all guns in here,” Cotton said.
“I heard about the unfortunate accident. When I asked about where to buy ammunition, the bartender at the saloon told me all about how the poor man fell and hit his head. It’s a rotten shame; it surely is.”
“Yeah, well come back after we’ve straightened this out. Uh, I didn’t catch the name, mister.”
“Name’s Carp Varner, Sheriff, and I may be able to lend a hand.”
“Well, Mr. Varner, I’m not certain how you can help, but I do appreciate the offer.”
“The way is simple. Let the town allow me to work the business until other arrangements can be made, and it can rake off a percentage of the profits. You see, I am a gunsmith.”
“Hey, Cotton, that sounds like a solution, doesn’t it?” Jack said, looking pleased at an outcome that would prevent him sitting on a stool writing down all the guns and pieces of guns in column after column.
Cotton seemed to be thinking it over when Carp spoke up again. “Tell you what. Let me fix a couple of the firearms that need it the most, and you can judge my work. I wouldn’t expect a man to take me on my word alone.”
“All right, Mr. Varner. I’m pretty sure Mr. Burnside was working on that Sharps rifle he had laid out on the counter there, and the Colt lyin’ next to it. See what you can do with them. Then we’ll talk.”
“You have a deal, Sheriff. I’ll bring ’em down to you when I’m finished.”
“Fair enough. I’ll be at the jail.” Cotton gave Jack a j
erk of the head, and the two of them left the shop.
“That was a stroke of luck, wouldn’t you say, Cotton?”
Cotton didn’t say anything, as he was obviously too lost in thought at that moment.
Chapter 13
Johnny Monk had found the sharpening stone in the lean-to. One leg of the three-legged stand was broken, and he had to jury-rig it by balancing part of the base on a rock. The grinding pedal seemed free enough, and it moved with ease. He had the grinding wheel sitting up near a pile of wood he’d gathered from deadfall in a thinly wooded area nearby. He was raking the ax back and forth across the wheel as he pushed the pedal to put an edge on it. He was almost finished when Rachael came out looking like someone altogether different.
He took in a breath at the transformation. She was no longer an ashen-faced child with dark circles under her eyes and frizzy, matted hair. She’d put on a different gingham dress, washed her face, and put some rouge on her cheeks. She’d also washed and brushed her hair, and tied it up with a yellow ribbon. And the result made Johnny blink several times to assure himself he was looking at the same girl he’d found lying on the floor in a dirty dress and barefoot.
He stopped the grinding wheel to stare at her. She blushed and looked at the ground, clearly embarrassed by the surprise on his face. She began making circles in the dirt with her foot.
“Rachael, you . . . are . . . beautiful,” he said. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
“And . . . and you are the hardest worker I’ve ever seen.”
Johnny stopped for a moment, looked down at the pile of chopped wood, and chuckled.
“Uh, maybe I have gotten a little carried away. Come to think on it, I’m not quite certain why I’m doin’ it. We can’t stay here much longer. Pretty soon the rabbits will get the idea I’m after ’em and they’ll skedaddle. Then what’ll we eat?”