Long Shadows

by James, Terry

  ‘When you’ve given my message to the sheriff, get yourself some eggs and bacon at Peggy’s café, all right?’

  Jimmy’s shoulders straightened. ‘Thank you, Mr Rudd. I’ll be seeing you.’

  Jake watched him sprint away, then turned and headed in the direction he hoped to find a saloon and some answers. A short distance and a bend in the main road found him within sight of the Crystal Slipper, but a freight wagon and an argument between an elderly woman and a smartly dressed young man blocked the sidewalk.

  Jake tried to sidestep the pair, but the kid moved, unintentionally blocking his path with his back. Close up, the woman appeared ghost-like inside a black dress that barely skimmed her skeletal frame and her grey-flecked hair straggled in tangles around her shoulders. Jake thought about asking to pass, but the ferocity of the discussion ruled out an interruption.

  ‘May, stop pushing me,’ the man said. ‘I don’t want to talk about it and I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my wishes on that.’

  The old woman seemed determined not to let it end. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. I know it’s hard for you to accept the truth about your sister, but she’s dead. Why can’t you accept it?’

  ‘Because if she’s really been dead all these years then it’s time I started mourning.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘And I’m sorry, but with everything else that’s going on, I don’t have time for that right now.’

  May tried to grab his arm. ‘That’s right, you don’t have time. In fact, it seems you don’t have time for anything anymore. Have you even considered what this is doing to Ava? Do you think she needs this worry in her condition?’

  ‘That’s a low blow, Aunt May. Ava understands me. Maybe you’re the one causing all the worry. Did you think of that?’

  She reeled as if he’d slapped her. ‘I didn’t know you felt that way.’

  He shrugged it off. ‘I don’t. Just have a little faith, that’s all I’m asking. She’ll be back. You’ll see.’ He straightened his derby hat and stalked away.

  Jake prepared to follow him, no longer trapped by them or the details of their argument, which he had to admit, intrigued him. There seemed to be a lot of dead women cropping up lately. But, just as he made a move, May walked into his path.

  ‘Well, I don’t share your blind faith,’ she called after Matt’s back. ‘Wishing won’t save the L. Someone needs to do something, and if you won’t, I will.’

  She turned abruptly, pushing past Jake and leaving the way clear for him to proceed to a much-needed drink. He paused to glance through a window before entering the saloon, a habit that had saved his life more than once. There was nobody he recognized inside, just two men in suits talking at a table, a cowboy at the bar, one tired-looking whore and the bartender.

  Jake pushed through the batwing doors with a nod that acknowledged the glances that greeted him, then striding to the back of the room, he leaned on the freshly wiped bar and ordered whiskey. The bartender slid a glass in front of him and filled it without looking where he poured.

  ‘On the house, stranger.’

  Jake took a gulp, leaving a small amount in the bottom of his glass to deter a refill. ‘Thanks.’

  After a pause, the bartender corked the bottle and walked away to polish glasses, while Jake contemplated the remains of his drink. A chair scraped across the floor nearby and, raising his gaze slightly, Jake noticed the mirror over the bar offered a good view of the room. The two men sitting behind him had moved closer together, and instinctively Jake tuned his hearing to their hushed conversation.

  ‘Look, Mr Swain—’

  Jake focused on the back of the man sitting closest to him. His brown-striped suit accentuated broad shoulders and a wide back, and his oiled grey-brown hair looked freshly barbered. Relaxing in his chair and blowing smoke rings, he seemed unaffected by his companion’s harsh tone.

  ‘Take it easy, Radley. No need to get excited,’ he said, calmly.

  ‘That’s all right for you to say. I did what you told me. I even brought you what you asked for.’ Radley shook his head, something akin to disgust twisting his features. ‘If you want me to do that again, I want double what you paid me this time.’

  ‘You’re lucky I’m paying you at all.’

  ‘What the hell …’ Radley slicked a palm over his close cut, blond hair, blinking rapidly as though the light hurt his ice-blue eyes. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Your friend Carson seems to think you might have been off the mark this time. He says she’s in town.’

  ‘I told you when I signed on that when I say I’ve done a job, it’s done. I’ve never needed to notch my gun or take trophies. Carson’s just sore that he’s been chasing the wrong woman.’

  ‘That’s enough, Radley. I’m not paying you to talk … and this is not the place.’ Swain glanced over his shoulder, his dark gaze meeting Jake’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Enjoying your drink, Mr…?’

  Jake turned, almost knocking over his glass as he recognized the gent who stared back at him. It had been a long time, and the man who called himself Swain had aged a decade in the last three years, but the black eyes and sneer were seared onto Jake’s memory. His hand itched to pull his gun.

  ‘Rudd. Jake Rudd,’ he said, then held his breath, body coiled tight as a spring as he waited for a reaction.

  Swain took his time looking him over. Finally, his gaze fixed on the gun at Jake’s hip, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He reminded Jake of an excited child finding a stash of stolen candy.

  ‘I’m Emmett Swain. What’s your business in town?’ Swain relit his cigarillo. ‘Maybe there’s something I can do for you.’

  Jake relaxed. For now at least, the man he’d brought to justice for a string of violent stagecoach robberies, appeared not to recognize him.

  ‘I’m just visiting,’ he said, finishing off his drink.

  Swain frowned through a puff of smoke. ‘Anyone I know?’

  Jake tensed again. Was Swain’s friendliness just a little too forced? After all, a beard and an extra thirty pounds was hardly a disguise.

  ‘Swain!’ A woman’s voice cut into the conversation. ‘Get out here and face me, murderer.’

  Jake glanced towards the street, then at Emmett Swain. For a brief moment, the man’s composure seemed to slip. His drink sloshed onto the table. Did it reveal anger, or surprise? Just like years before, Jake couldn’t read the man, and that made him dangerous.

  Radley sprang to his feet, legs braced apart, back straight, his hand near the gun tied at his thigh.

  ‘Easy, Radley.’

  Swain stood up and straightened his jacket. He was taller than Jake remembered, probably a little under six feet. Time hadn’t been kind to him and, as a shaft of sunlight slanted across his face, he looked closer to thirty-five than twenty-five.

  ‘Looks as though we’ll have to continue our conversation another time, Mr Rudd.’

  Jake nodded but his nonchalance was wasted as Swain walked to the door and pushed into the street. Like a hungry dog, Radley followed, and behind him, Jake.

  ‘Mrs West, what can I do for you?’ Swain asked, solicitously.

  As he sidestepped to the left of Swain, Jake recognized the old woman, May. She stood alone in the street, her hands hanging loosely at her sides, an aggressive snarl twisting her weathered features.

  ‘I want you to get out of town,’ she shouted.

  Swain laughed.

  ‘I’m only going to ask you once.’

  ‘Well, Maybelle, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. Maybe it’s you and Matt who should think about moving on.’

  Her jaw flexed. ‘You know that’s never going to happen. My father-in-law built this town. We own the biggest spread in these parts. Do you think you can run us off, just like that?’

  ‘Run you off – it sounds so … unpleasant. I’m just worried for you, that’s all, now Bill’s gone.’

  ‘Don’t you speak his name. Bill didn’t deserve a bullet in his back, you murdering so
n-of-a….’ Words seemed to fail her.

  ‘Careful, Maybelle.’ Swain’s tone sounded deliberately patronizing. ‘Things have already been said and nothing’s been proved. All I’m saying is, Bill was a good man, but do you think a boy like Matt can handle a ranch the size of the L?’

  Maybelle strode forward, halving the distance between her and Swain to less than ten feet. ‘Matt’s a good man too. He’ll do just fine if you leave us alone.’

  ‘Maybe I should talk to him. It’s high time. Is he in town today?’

  ‘He’s got nothing to say to you.’

  Swain hesitated. ‘I hear he’s wearing a gun these days.’

  Maybelle staggered backwards as if she’d been hit. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, to shoot him down? Would you do it yourself or get your paid gun to do it for you?’

  Jake noticed Radley’s fingers creep closer to his Colt. The movement alarmed him. What kind of man would think about drawing on a woman? Reflexively, Jake’s hand covered his own weapon.

  ‘I think you should go home, Maybelle. You’re causing a scene.’ Swain waved his arm wide, indicating the onlookers. ‘Neither one of us wants this, and you’re not well. You’re still mourning.’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t hide behind the frailty of a woman. I asked you a question and I want an answer. Are you going to leave town?’

  Swain shook his head slowly, as though he regretted his refusal. ‘I’ve got too much invested to—’

  Boom!

  Swain reeled, blood soaking his sleeve as he crashed into Jake.

  Boom! Boom!

  When Jake looked up, Maybelle lay dead in the dirt, the gun she’d used to shoot Swain lay at her side. Two bullet wounds spread a stain across her chest. Shoving Swain off, Jake turned in time to see Radley slide his gun back into its holster.

  CHAPTER 7

  Gunshots exploded the morning, setting Ros’s insides to trembling with renewed trepidation. For a second it made her forget the soreness around her nose and the appalled look of the desk clerk as he waited for her to cross the lobby.

  ‘Sounds like another customer for the undertaker,’ he said, easing onto his elbows as he leaned forward for a closer look at her. ‘Seems to me there’s a fight just about every day.’

  Ros hurried for the exit but the clerk stopped her.

  ‘You look familiar. Do I know you?’ he asked. ‘Come to think of it, you look a lot like Bill and Matt West. You wouldn’t happen to be related…?’

  Ros didn’t wait for him to finish. She had questions of her own without having to answer somebody else’s. Stepping outside, she sucked in a breath of fresh air and shivered as a cold wind whipped inside her thin coat. Turning her head this way and that like an overawed child, she started off, marvelling at the unfamiliar sights. The town had been a scattering of houses, a general store, a hotel and a barber’s shop along Main Street when she left. Now, it spread out in all directions, a patchwork of buildings that clamoured for her attention.

  The only thing that remained the same was her uneasiness. Maybe it had been a mistake to return. No. She was here now and the sooner she made her peace with her father, the sooner she could leave. She picked up her pace, but the back of a crowd greeted her when she cleared the bend. Cursing, she started to skirt around, unwilling to negotiate the tightly packed group. But quick as a lasso around her neck, a familiar voice brought her to a stop.

  ‘She was a gentle, defenceless woman. What right did you have to kill her in cold blood?’

  Matt? An unexpected rush of excitement propelled Ros into the throng.

  ‘First my father, then my brother and now my sister-in-law. Looks as though that just leaves me, Swain. Maybe we need to finish this now, once and for all.’

  ‘Now just a minute, Matt.’ Emmett Swain? ‘I’m not wearing a gun. I’ve got a bullet in my arm and at least ten witnesses who’ll testify she was anything but defenceless.’

  A murmur of agreement hummed through the crowd.

  ‘So, I guess I’ll be waiting for a bullet in my back then.’

  ‘You shouldn’t talk to Mr Swain that way, boy.’

  The new voice sent a chill through Ros, particularly since the speaker hardly raised his voice to convey his sinister intent. She shoved her way into the throng, dodging a sea of elbows and shoulders that seemed determined to stop her.

  ‘Keep out of this, Radley,’ Matt warned.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that since Mr Swain’s paying my wages, and if you kill him, where does that leave me?’

  Like a cork from a bottle, Ros popped out of the tight knit crowd. For a moment, she hesitated, hardly recognising the man standing less than five feet in front of her, legs spread, back straight, hand hovering over the Colt hung low and tied to his thigh. When she’d last seen him, Matt had been a twelve-year-old kid, playing in the dirt and following her around like a stray dog. Now, wearing a dark-grey suit, he resembled a bank clerk, but there was no mistaking the clean-cut profile with its long, straight nose and strong jaw. Except for his dark chestnut-coloured hair and blue-green eyes, he was a dead ringer for their father.

  Pulling herself up straight, she strode between Matt and the blond gunfighter.

  ‘Ros?’

  ‘Later, Matt,’ she mumbled, as she glimpsed Maybelle.

  She hadn’t seen the woman since her wedding day. She’d been pretty with dark hair and a generous figure, unrecognizable from the corpse lying just inches from Ros’s boot.

  ‘Who the hell are you supposed to be?’

  She faced the tall blond, chilled by the equal measure of humour and menace she saw in his ice-blue eyes. Casually, she slipped her right hand inside her coat, flicking back the edges to reveal the Colt.

  ‘In answer to your original question, Mr Radley, the one where you asked what would happen if your boss got himself killed, I’d say that would leave you out of a job. I guess the question you need to ask yourself is: would you rather be dead?’

  A buzz blanketed the crowd.

  Matt tugged at her arm. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Saving your life. Let me handle this.’

  Radley grinned, his stare never flickering from her face. ‘It’s all right, kid, I don’t fight women – or mama’s boys.’

  ‘I told you, Radley, my business is not with you.’ Matt rested his hand on his sister’s back. ‘And it’s lucky for you that you don’t fight women. This is one lady you don’t want to come up against in a fair fight.’

  Pride threatened to overwhelm Ros, but she subdued it.

  ‘Radley, get back over here,’ a smooth voice ordered. ‘I want a few words with you.’

  Ros’s gaze flashed towards the saloon where a man swayed from the shadows. Emmett? Shock formed a knot in the pit of her stomach. Life had ravaged his handsome features, carving heavy lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. The sun shone harshly off his oiled hair. Nothing about him was the way she remembered, except for the wide-mouthed smirk.

  ‘Ros, I never expected to see you … here.’ He glanced towards Radley, as if to say ‘I told you’, then back at her. ‘I guess Hell must be frozen over.’

  Neither her flawed memory nor her absence had dulled the awe she felt. As his gaze passed over her leisurely, the years disappeared to reveal an impressionable sixteen-year-old girl. Only something was different. Was it resentment that narrowed his eyes to spiteful slits?

  She smiled, wishing it didn’t come so easy. ‘Hello, Emmett. It’s been a long time.’ Her focus shifted to Radley who had returned to his master’s side. ‘I see you still enjoy collecting bugs.’

  ‘Still pretty as a sunset.’ Emmett’s friendly façade faltered. ‘And sharp as vinegar.’

  It shouldn’t matter, but his criticism cut deep as a knife. She nodded towards his arm where blood seeped through his fingers and spread along his sleeve. ‘You should let Doc Bailey take a look at that,’ she said, despising herself for showing concern to a man who, now she thought about it, had neve
r shown any to her.

  Emmett nodded, but a movement in the doorway behind him drew Ros’s attention from further smalltalk. She almost choked when she recognized the cut and fit of a handmade suit. Her gaze drifted higher, past the starched collar and beard-covered jaw, finally locking with eyes the colour of whiskey. Something stirred in her memory, the shadow of a name that begged to be remembered, and definitely not the name she knew him by today.

  ‘Mr Rudd, I might not have saved your life if I’d known you were on the payroll of the man threatening my family.’

  Ros’s look challenged him but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped forward and leaned against the hitching rail. ‘I’m not on anybody’s payroll. I just got here, same as you.’

  She believed him.

  ‘You two know each other?’ Emmett asked through clenched teeth. ‘Seems there’s more surprises here than a tombola draw. I thought I recognized—’

  ‘Now, hold on just a minute,’ a new voice shouted behind Ros.

  She staggered as Matt tugged her aside, making way for a wiry old man waving a shotgun. From his crazy white hair to his worn-out boots, he was a multi-coloured mismatch. Brown jacket patched and mended with blue squares on the elbows and at the shoulders. Pants that might have been black at one time, but now were closer to grey and painfully thin around the rear. A livid red shirt that served to inflame his mottled complexion. When he pushed open his coat to scratch his armpit, the shiny tin star pinned to his vest was no less surprising to Ros than the next words he uttered.

  Bow-legged, he strode towards Rudd, shaking him warmly by the hand. ‘Just so there’s no misunderstanding, welcome to Langley, Marshal Rudd.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Jake’s first thought was to hit the big-mouthed sheriff over the head. His next was to grab a horse and get out of this crazy town. Instead, he did the only thing that made sense amid the chaos. He walked out into the street, raising his hands and addressed the noisy crowd.