Blood Lands

by Ralph Cotton

  “But I already know how to draw and shoot,” said Julie.

  “Yes,” said Baines. “But it’s not second nature to you. Until you can draw fast and shoot straight, kill a man without thinking about it, all a gun will do for you is get you killed.”

  “I’m in your hands,” Julie said. She realized that the day she’d pulled the gun on Peerly and Kiley, she hadn’t done so with the intent to kill. She had only done so hoping the sight of the gun would make them leave her alone. “Tell me everything I need to learn.”

  “First things first,” said Baines. “Come with me.”

  They walked from the house to the barn, Julie with the gun in her hand. At the barn, Baines swung the door open quickly and stepped inside, motioning Julie in behind him. They walked over to the cell. The prisoner stood up quickly from a spot in the far corner where he had stooped down to test the iron bars for any weaknesses that might be worked to his advantage.

  “Shoot him,” Baines said to Julie in a somber tone.

  “What?” Julie looked appalled. So did Bantree.

  “No! Please, Meredith!” the prisoner called out, seeing that Baines Meredith meant it. “I wasn’t doing anything! I swear to God I—”

  “Shoot him!” Baines demanded. His tone and demeanor became so intent that Julie raised the gun quickly in the prisoner’s direction. Her thumb went over the hammer; she almost cocked it.

  “No, please!” Bantree shouted. “Ma’am, I’m begging you! Don’t kill me this way!”

  Baines watched as Julie caught herself. She shook her head as if to clear it. Then as if snapping out of some deep state of mind, she sighed and lowered the gun. “No, Baines, I’m not killing him. This is murder. I’m not going to commit murder.”

  Bantree’s knees went weak; he sank down onto his cot.

  Baines stood still, studying Julie closely. “Not even if I tell you this is what you have to do in order to go back to Umberton and take care of the business at hand?”

  “No,” Julie said, “not even if it means I never go to Umberton. I can’t tell my conscience to stand still for murder.”

  “I see,” said Meredith, an indiscernible look on his face. Turning to Bantree, he said sharply, “This is your lucky day. Had I come alone and seen you looking for a way out, I would have shot you dead. Think about that for a while before you test my patience again.”

  The two turned and left, Julie carrying the gun with both hands now. On the way to the house, she said with a troubled look, “You—you knew he would be trying to break out? You used that as a reason for me to kill him?”

  Without answering, Baines looked at the way she held the gun and said as they stepped onto the porch, “The devil’s gun seems to have taken on some weight.” He swung the door open and stepped inside behind her.

  “Are you disappointed that I didn’t kill him?” she asked.

  “Disappointed, no,” said Baines. “But it does give me some idea of what I can and can’t expect from you.” As he spoke he gestured a hand toward Julie’s saddlebags and blanket lying on a braided Indian rug in front of the fireplace. “You’re going to be staying here with me for a while; move your things over to the bed.”

  “To the bed?” Julie asked. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “In the bed. We both are,” Baines said flatly. “The two of us, man and woman. Is that unreasonable for me to ask, for a beautiful young woman to sleep with me, in exchange for teaching you how to kill?”

  “Baines, I don’t know what to say.” Julie shook her head slowly, looking disillusioned by someone for whom she had such high regard. “I can’t—That is, I won’t sleep with you. You’ve misunderstood me . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Or, you’ve misunderstood me,” said Baines. He walked over to her blanket on the floor, picked it up and carried it over to the bed in a corner. “For what I’m going to teach you, I have to get something in return.” He offered a thin smile. “Call it the devil’s due.” He dropped her blanket onto the bed and stood beside it, as if expecting Julie to come to him.

  “No, Baines,” said Julie. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. But I’m no whore. I won’t sell myself, not now, not ever. Not to you, or anybody else.”

  “Then you have traveled all this way for nothing, darling,” Baines said, his voice taking on a cruel tone.

  Julie walked to the bed, picked up the blanket and turned to walk away. “Yes, I suppose I have. I’ll just gather my things and go.”

  “Wait, Julie,” Baines said, his demeanor suddenly changing again. Something in the sound of his voice caused her to stop and turn to him. “I had to know what kind of person I’m teaching,” he said. “You’ve passed your first two tests.”

  Julie considered it, then said, “You mean, in the barn?”

  Baines nodded. “I had to know if you would. Those are blank loads in the pistol. If you had fired, nothing would’ve happened. You were right; I did hear about you from the stage stop attendant. I had a pretty good idea why you were here. I prepared.”

  Julie looked at the blanket in her hands. “Sleeping with you? You didn’t mean it?”

  “I wouldn’t turn you loose on the world if you’d sell yourself that cheap,” said Baines. “I had to see some character behind the hand that carries death.”

  Julie gave him a thin, knowing smile. “It was a test? You wouldn’t have gone to bed with me, if I had agreed to it?”

  “Oh, yes indeed,” said Baines, returning her smile with a crafty one of his own. “We would have gone to bed. But I would have taken the gun back and never taught you to kill.”

  Julie stared at him for a moment, then said, “No matter what you teach me, how will I ever fight men who wear hoods? Who mask their faces?”

  “By doing what you’ve been doing, wearing a mask of your own,” said Baines, walking closer to her.

  “I’ve been wearing a mask?” Julie looked confused.

  “I think so,” said Baines. “What have you been saying, that you want to live in peace, that you want no trouble?” He grinned. “We both know better. Oh, you want to live in peace all right. But once you know who these men are and how to kill them, that mask will come off.” He paused, then said, “For now, keep wearing it. It’s the best weapon you’ve got on your side. Don’t let them know what you’re doing until it’s done. It’ll keep you one step ahead of them at all times.”

  Julie just stared at him, not sure she understood, but willing to listen and learn.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll talk more about it tomorrow,” said Baines. “I’ll also show you how to use a couple of quiet weapons I recommend for the kind of fight you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Quiet weapons?” Julie asked, studying his weathered face, his dark fathomless eyes.

  “Oh yes, quiet,” said Baines. “There’s more ways to kill a man than with a gun, you know.” He gestured toward the door before she could respond. “But enough. Right now, let’s sit out on the porch where I can look at you in the light.” He paused abruptly and asked in a playful tone, “It is all right that I look at you, isn’t it, darling? An old man like me . . . I want to look upon your face and yearn.”

  Julie gave a shy nod. “Oh, Baines. If I was looking for a man in my life, I expect I could do a lot worse than you.”

  “That’s the kind of talk I like to hear,” Baines replied.

  PART 3

  Chapter 18

  Wakeland, Missouri

  Plantz and his men rode into the small town in the middle of the night. They rousted the sleeping citizenry to their feet with blasts of gunfire. Some fired wildly into the darkness overhead; others aimed deliberately at shop windows and doors. A total of eleven shots had been fired into three townsmen who had been awakened from their sleep and grabbed their firearms on their way outside. Their bodies lay bleeding in the dirt. The riders carried flaming torches, for both light and sinister effect. They had shed their hoods and ragged militia uniforms.

  “Everybody outside!
Let’s go! Let’s go, folks!” the parson bellowed, firing his pistol straight up and watching the men who had scrambled from their horses as they kicked down doors and began dragging people out onto the street.

  Circling wildly on his horse beside the parson, Plantz laughed through his mask and said, “Mister! I believe you have taken on a new calling in life! You love this, don’t you?”

  “I love the cause,” the parson replied, also laughing. He circled his horse as well and fired another round amid the screams and shrieks of women and children. “God help me, I do love it so!”

  Looking up from his belly in the dirt a stocky man with a pencil-thin mustache and a two-day beard stubble caught the parson’s eye.

  “What are you looking at, you fine-trimmed dandy!” the parson shouted. Without taking close aim, he fired a quick shot at the man. Luckily for the man the shot only struck the dirt, two inches from his head. He pressed his face straight down into the dust and kept it there.

  “Damn, that was close!” Plantz said, chuckling, the two of them keeping their restless horses moving back and forth and in short circles.

  “Close?” The parson’s eyes showed surprise. “I thought I nailed him!” He started to turn back toward the cringing man.

  But Plantz stopped him, saying, “He’ll keep. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  The militiamen jostled the townsfolk roughly into a line along the edge of the street. Men, women and children stared blurry-eyed and stunned at what could well have been an army of some sort.

  With the extortion money Plantz had raised from the Umberton town councilmen, he and his men had purchased long riding dusters—uniforms of a different sort. Their hats, boots and shooting gear varied, but each wore around the neck a bandanna, convenient to pull up over the bridge of their nose and hide their faces at will.

  “Everybody listen up!” Plantz shouted, settling his horse now, looking down on the helpless townsfolk. “We’re going through your houses, and your businesses! We’re taking anything of value! You can’t stop us! You can only die trying! Any questions?”

  “Yes, who are you people?” a young business owner asked, stepping forward boldly, having to pull his wife’s clinging hand off his forearm. “Why are you doing this to us? We’re trying to build a town here! We’re not trying to crowd anybody . . .”

  Plantz shook his head in disgust while the young man rattled on. He raised his big pistol and shot the man through the heart. “Any other questions?” he asked, holding the smoking pistol pointed up, smoke curling from its barrel. When no one dared open their mouth, Plantz grinned to himself behind his bandanna mask and said, “Good! Then I must have made myself clear!” He nudged his horse closer to the woman whose husband he’d just killed, seeing her wrench herself from Nez Peerly and fling herself to the ground by her dead husband’s side. She cried out painfully.

  Peerly jumped forward to drag her to her feet, but Plantz waved him back. “She’s already proven to be too strong for you, Mister,” he said to Peerly in a cold, dry tone.

  “I can handle her, Mister!” Peerly said in his own defense. “She just slipped away from me is all!” He spread his hands, as if asking his leader for some understanding. His eyes widened when Plantz lowered the pistol and leveled it at him. “Jesus!”

  But Plantz lowered the pistol downward away from him and said above the woman’s loud sobbing, “Since you can handle her, handle her right up here to me. I’ll shut her up.” He stepped his horse forward while the town looked on in horror and uncertainty.

  Struggling and sobbing, the woman fought against Peerly as he raised her from her dead husband’s bloody chest and pitched her up to Plantz. “Damn, she’s worse than a wildcat!” Peerly said, staggering back, touching his fingertips to three long scratches down his cheek.

  “So I see,” Plantz said, struggling with her until he forced her across his lap. “But a damn pretty little heifer!” He drew his pistol butt sideways and swiped it across the side of her head, not knocking her out, but stunning her into silence. In her struggle, the cotton gown she wore had ridden up, partially exposing her thighs. Plantz ran his free hand up under the gown, then pulled it out and said, “And hotter than a woodstove.” He jerked her gown into place as if to keep the townsmen from seeing her, and asked them, “What’s her name?”

  Behind the line of townsfolk, Plantz’s men ran from business to business, and house to house, coming out with jewelry, cash, items of gold and silver. When no one dared speak, the parson called out, “Folks, make sure you understand how this works; when one of us Misters ask you something, you’d be wise to answer.”

  “What’s her name, gawddamn it!” Plantz shouted.

  “It’s Mrs. Paiges,” a woman said hesitantly. “Her name’s Shelby Paiges. They just got here!” She nodded at the dead man on the ground. “He’s building an apothecary. She’s going to teach school to our children.”

  “All right; that’s enough!” said Plantz. “I didn’t ask their whole family history.” He chuckled, looking at the parson.

  “Put her down, Mister,” said the parson, in a cautioning tone of voice.

  “Like hell,” said Plantz. He patted the stunned woman’s buttocks. “A schoolteacher? Named Paiges? Not if my life depended on it. I never had me a pretty little schoolteacher. Always wanted one though.”

  “Just so’s you know, I’m all against it,” said the parson, looking away as if he’d said his piece and would speak no more on the matter.

  “I can see that,” said Plantz. He called out to the townsfolk, “Where’s the schoolhouse?”

  The same woman who’d spoken before pointed toward the end of the street without opening her mouth.

  “You catch on quick, old woman.” Plantz grinned behind his mask. “Take over, Mister,” he said to the parson. “I’m going to school.”

  Watching him turn his horse and ride away, the parson cursed under his breath, then turned to the men who stared after Plantz. Then they turned their eyes to the parson with hopeful anticipation. “What do you say, Mister?” Kiley asked him.

  “Damn it,” the parson whispered, knowing what Kiley asked. He looked along the line of townsfolk, seeing two young women clutching their mother’s side in fear. Farther along the line, a middle-aged woman stood holding a blanket around herself, her hair hanging wet down past her shoulders, as if she’d been awake and caught in the midst of bathing. “It’s slim pickings here,” the parson called out to Kiley.

  “We’ll make do,” said Kiley, straightening his mask on the bridge of his nose.

  “Finish up first, then have at it.” The parson turned his horse toward a darkened tent that had a hastily painted sign reading SALOON stuck to its front center pole. “You know where to bring everything,” he said, nodding toward the big ragged tent. Before riding away, he appraised the seven men at a glance. He and Plantz had been right. The ones riding with them were the very same six they had both predicted would stay with them after the war was over.

  The murder of the colonel, and even more so, the raping of Julie Wilder seemed to have formed a tight bond among the men. To their surprise, Delbert Reese, who had been with them that night, had also stayed with them after the war.

  “Nine of us,” the parson grinned and said aloud to himself, kicking his horse toward the tent. “Enough to raise hell above ground.”

  As the first sliver of daylight slipped over the horizon, Nez Peerly and Delbert Reese counted out money onto a long wooden table in the ragged tent saloon. “Most of this ought to be ours,” Peerly whispered under his breath. “We’re the ones who did all the work.” His bandanna sagged down below his nose, partially exposing his face if anyone happened to be looking. “Now he’s telling you and me to ride on back to Umberton; ‘keep an eye on things,’ he tells us. What gawddamn things?” Peerly demanded of Reese.

  “Hell, don’t ask me.” Reese shrugged. “I expect it’s because we’ve been gone so long this time. He wants me and you to scout things out at home b
efore he gets there.”

  But Peerly didn’t seem to hear him. “Who are we, his personal servants?” he asked. “I can take only so much . . . then I’ll blow up. I blow up, I’ll kill somebody. That’s a natural fact.”

  “That’s dangerous talk,” Delbert whispered in reply. He touched his own nose for an example and said, “Fix your mask, Nez.”

  “Aw, hell, who’s looking anyway,” said Peerly; but he adjusted the bandanna up all the same. He gave a quick glance around the shadowy dark tent outside the glow of the lantern sitting atop the table. In a far corner one of the two younger women who’d been pulled away from their mother’s side sat shivering, naked, except for a dirty wool blanket pulled around her.

  At another table a few feet away, also holding a ragged blanket around herself, the woman who’d been caught in the middle of her bathing the night before stood up and walked toward the front fly of the tent. Her swollen left eye had started turning purple during the long, torturous night.

  “Yeah, maybe it is dangerous talk,” Peerly said. “But I’m getting gawddamned tired of being yelled at in front of everybody, and getting a gun pointed at me. You saw that, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I saw it,” said Reese. “I can’t say I blame you much there. I always believe when you point a gun at a man, it’s because you mean to kill him.”

  “That’s what I always heard too,” said Peerly. “You don’t think he means to kill me, but he just hasn’t realized it yet?” Peerly asked Reese.

  “I don’t think I’m the one who can say,” Reese replied. But before he could say any more on the matter, Peerly turned quickly toward the woman as she attempted to exit the tent. “Hey, bathing lady!” he called out. “What’s this? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Back home, to what I was doing,” the woman said in a weak flat voice. “If you assholes haven’t burnt it down yet.”