“Yeah, and you won’t be packing cylinders with powder or trusting caps to fire when the hammer hits ’em. Those Smith & Wessons are good handguns. They’ll last you for many a year.
“Tell me, Clay, you don’t use your left hand?”
“No, sir.”
“Just a suggestion, Son. I’d be practicing with that left hand. Cross draw might be right for you, but if you can shoot with both hands, you’ll have an edge. Never know when an edge will come in handy.”
Clay nodded. “Thanks for the advice. You got a box of ammunition handy? I need to load these guns. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the rest of the stuff till tomorrow. You up for some breakfast? Thought I’d eat something before I go see your granddaughter.”
“You bet. Let me get a shirt on and I’ll be right out. Don’t worry about the rest of your gear. It can stay here as long as you want.”
JT disappeared in the back, after grabbing a box of bullets out of Clay’s bag of purchases and tossing them on the counter. Clay loaded both revolvers with five rounds each, leaving the empty cylinder under the hammer. He had just finished putting the remaining cartridges on his gunbelt when JT walked back in.
The two left the store and walked over to Ma Nelson’s place. There were a few more people on the streets now. Clay felt as if everyone was staring at him. He mentioned it to Brennan.
“Don’t worry, boy. Most of these people are looking in admiration fer what you did. Cotton and his cronies have been running roughshod over this town. They don’t give the younger boys a moment’s rest. They’re getting old enough, now, to be giving some of the adults trouble. Yessir, the majority of those folks are grateful.”
They walked into Ma Nelson’s eatery. It looked like most of the men in Brackett were there. Brennan and Clay headed for the only open table. Halfway to the table, a big man stood up in their path. “Howdy, JT. This must be Clay Barlow.”
Clay stopped, not knowing what to expect. JT said, “Durned tootin’ it is. You can thank this boy for slowing up Cotton and his bunch.”
“That’s just what I aim to do. Thought I was gonna have to come into town and take them on myself, the way they treated my boy. He’s too young—no way he could defend himself.
“I’m Sean Thomas. I ranch south of here. Just wanted you to know I’m much obliged. You ever need anything, just look me up.”
“Thanks, Mr. Thomas. I appreciate you saying that.” The two men shook hands. Clay and Brennan moved on to their table. Clay sat down facing the front door.
Ma Nelson was out of the kitchen before they were seated. She had two cups in one hand and a big pot of coffee in the other. “How ’bout some coffee? You two look like you could go for some breakfast. JT, you want your regular?”
Brennan nodded. “That’d be perfect, Emma. But I need that coffee bad. If you’d stop jawin’ and start pourin’, I’d be a happy man.”
“You keep your sass to yourself, JT Brennan. You’ll get your coffee when I’m good and ready.” She poured Brennan a cup and said to Clay, “If I remember correctly, you don’t drink coffee. How about some milk or water?”
“Milk would be fine, ma’am, and I’d like five eggs, some bacon, and a whole passel of biscuits.”
“A man after my own heart. I love hearty eaters. It’ll be right out. And you, JT, you keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”
“Hey, Emma, how ’bout some more coffee ’fore you leave.”
Emma sloshed more coffee into JT’s cup, making him jerk his hand away. “Now, I’ve to get this boy his breakfast. After all that righteous exertion last night, I imagine he’s plenty hungry.”
Laughter filtered across the room. Then the hum of conversation started up again. Clay looked around and saw nothing but friendly faces. Guess none of these folks are upset with me. So what did the marshal mean?
“Mr. Brennan, at dinner last night, Lynn asked me to go to church with her today. But last night, after the fight, she didn’t look too happy with me. You reckon she still wants me to go with her?”
Brennan poured some of his coffee into his saucer, blew on it for a moment, tilted the saucer to his mouth and, with a loud slurping sound, sucked the cooled coffee from the saucer. “Son, you got to understand women, and when you do, you can explain ’em to me.” He chuckled and turned to one of the men at the adjoining table. “Ain’t that right, Ben?”
The other man looked up from his breakfast. “I’ve been married to my Helen for twenty years. Reckon I don’t know much more about the way a woman’s mind works than I did before we were married.”
“Yessir,” Brennan said, “there’s no explainin’ them. But let me just tell you, Clay, Lynn likes you. She may not have liked the violence she saw last night, but she likes you. You just be patient with her. She’ll come around. Why, I bet she’s looking forward to taking you to church to save you from the violent path you’re headed down.”
Ma Nelson came out with a glass of milk, two loaded plates of food, and a big basket of biscuits. “JT, why don’t you do something useful with your mouth and wrap it around one of my tasty biscuits before they float off the plate? Clay, don’t take his advice about women. The only way he got his sweet wife was because she had her hat set for him, though heaven knows why that good woman could be so blind.”
“Emma, don’t talk like that in front of the boy. He needs to respect his elders,” JT said.
“Humph.” She headed back to the kitchen.
“There goes a fine woman, Clay. If I was twenty years younger, she wouldn’t know what hit her.”
Clay laughed and said, “Looks like she likes you just like you are.”
JT shook his head. “I’m too old to break in another woman. Anyway, reckon I was married to the best. Just can’t see myself doing it again.”
“Mr. Brennan,” Clay said, switching back to the original subject, “I used to go to church with my ma and pa, when we could. It’s nothing new to me.”
“Don’t matter, Son. My Lynn loves to help people. I reckon you’re foremost in her mind. So, like I said, be patient. If she likes you, and she does, she’ll make it work out.”
Conversation died as the two men dug into their breakfast. Clay made the eggs, bacon, and several of the biscuits disappear within a few minutes. He broke one of the hot biscuits open and smeared fresh butter, from the butter dish on the table, onto the biscuit. Then he took a little of the peach jam and added it to the rim of the biscuit. He bit off the edge of the biscuit with the jam on it and leaned back in his chair. A look of pure ecstasy relaxed his face. He closed his eyes. The tension, for a few moments, evaporated. He was back in his ma’s kitchen eating one of her hot biscuits, fresh jam, and just-made out-of-the-churn butter.
The door of Ma Nelson’s eatery slammed as a couple of her customers left. Clay snapped out of his reverie. JT was looking at him with a sad, knowing look on his face. He quickly looked away, then down, and put more jam on his biscuit. The mood broken, he was embarrassed that he had been so easy to read.
JT leaned forward and said in a low, soft voice, “It’s okay, Son. I could see you leave for a moment. It’s good to remember the good times. Don’t feel embarrassed by it. I know your ma would be pleased you had her on your mind.”
Clay nodded and cleared his throat. He finished the biscuit, drank the last sip of milk, and stood. “I’ve got to be going if I’m going to be on time for church.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar and laid it on the table. “This’ll cover breakfast. Thanks for the advice. Reckon I’ll see you later.”
Ma Nelson came back in as he was leaving.
“Mighty fine meal, ma’am. Thank you.”
She smiled at him. “You have a good day, Clay.”
*
Lynn came walking out of the house as he was opening the gate. “Clay, I didn’t know if you would come. Do you still want to go to church with me?”
“I said I would. Although I’ll admit, when I saw your face last night I didn’t think you’d ev
er want to see me again.”
“Clay, it was so violent. You broke Shad’s shoulder. The other two you, well you, uh, you hurt them.”
“They attacked me. Cotton had a bowie knife. If he’d known how to use it, I might not be talking to you today.”
“I know. Cotton is a bully. But you hurt them so bad.”
Clay could feel himself starting to get angry. What did she expect him to do?
“Lynn, would you rather I just stood there and let them have their way with me?”
“No. Of course not. And I am glad you aren’t hurt. With everything happening, I haven’t said anything, but I am so glad you have your voice back.”
He smiled at that. “Yes, I am too. Captain Dixon said that it was a toss-up whether or not I’d get it back. It’s such a relief. Guess I have Cotton to thank for that.”
She laughed her musical laugh and said, “I don’t think he wants any more of your attention.” She went on, “I don’t think he’ll be walking too well for a while.” Her violet eyes twinkled in her blushing face.
“Why, good morning, Clay,” Mrs. Killganan said as she stepped out the door her husband was holding open for her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Killganan, Mr. Killganan,” Clay said as Killganan followed his wife out the door.
“Good morning, Clay. You’re joining us for church?”
“Yes, sir, if that’s all right.”
“That’s fine. You have your voice back. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir. I sure am relieved.”
The May day was perfect as they strolled to the church. Killganan introduced Clay to several of the other folks. Most were friendly. Some were a little cool, but he could handle that. They moved into the church. The windows were open, and a warm breeze moved through the congregation.
There was singing, a prayer by one of the deacons, and then the preacher came to the pulpit. He opened his bible and looked out across the congregation, his eyes resting on Clay for a moment, before moving on.
“Brothers and Sisters,” the preacher began, “last night, violence came to our good town. The evil was already here, in the form of three thugs who have seen fit to terrorize the youth of our town. Yes, Mrs. Wilson, I am talking about your son, Shad, one of the criminals.”
Shad’s mother stood up in the pew, pushed herself past others sitting there, and marched out of the church.
The preacher continued as she was walking out, “Last night, justice descended in the form of this young man sitting with the Killganans.”
Clay glanced at Lynn. She was so small sitting next to him, like his ma, but she was beaming with happiness. She glanced up and smiled at him, melting his heart.
“In the thirty-first verse of Numbers, the Lord says to Moses, ‘Avenge the children of Israel.’ That’s what Mr. Barlow has done. He has avenged our children of the bullies of Brackett. I, for one, want to say thank you.”
He continued his sermon in the same vein, calling upon the citizens of Brackett to surround and support Clay, and thank him for doing something that the marshal had not done.
The church service finished. The minister was standing at the door shaking hands with his congregation as they left the church. When Clay came to the minister, the man grasped his hand. “Thank you. I hope the Lord prepares a way before you that your burdens may be light.”
“Thanks, Reverend,” Clay said.
“Oh, Clay,” Lynn said, “I’m so proud of you.”
He felt the warmth and gratitude of not only Lynn, but of many of the citizens of Brackett. Many of the families waited in the churchyard to shake his hand and thank him.
Mr. and Mrs. Killganan had gone home ahead of him and Lynn. They strolled back to her home, enjoying one another’s company and the warmth of the day. This day couldn’t be more perfect. They reached the house, and Clay reached down with his left hand to open the gate for Lynn.
“Barlow!”
Clay stopped. He looked at Lynn and saw the fear in her eyes. He slowly turned to see Cotton coming down the street toward him, with a gun on his hip. He pushed the gate open and told Lynn, “Get inside, now.”
She ran into the house, and Clay started moving out into the middle of the street. He didn’t want any stray bullets going into the Killganan house.
“Cotton, you don’t have to do this.”
“I’m gonna kill you, Barlow. You come into this town and think you can run roughshod over everybody. I’m here to tell you, that ain’t gonna happen.”
Clay brushed his jacket away from his gun and slowly removed the hammer thong holding his six-gun in the holster. Fifty yards separated the two men. Clay started walking toward Cotton.
Cotton had been stepping in long strides when Clay first saw him, but when Clay started walking to meet him, his steps shortened.
“Cotton, what are you doing, Son?” The marshal had come out of an alleyway and was even with Cotton, next to the general store. He was carrying a shotgun.
Cotton kept his eyes on Clay. “Pa, you stay out of this. I mean it. This is something I aim to do.”
“Son, that boy will kill you. I knowd his pa. He was one of the fastest men I ever did see, and he’s taught his son. You don’t stand a chance. But if you should kill him, you’ll be an outlaw and you’ll have to fight me. Is that what you want? You want to gunfight your pa?”
Clay kept his eyes on Cotton, occasionally glancing at Marshal Davis. He could see people inside the homes watching, and waiting. Time seemed to slow. Clay didn’t want to kill Cotton, but if Cotton started to draw, Clay knew he would kill him. Like Pa had taught him, third button and don’t stop shooting till your man is dead. It had to be like that. There was never time to try to wing a person. Clay kept walking.
“I don’t want to gunfight with you, Pa.”
“Then don’t draw on Barlow. That’ll settle the whole thing.
“Barlow, you willing to call this off?”
“I am. I don’t want to hurt anyone, Marshal. But if I have to, I will.” Clay kept walking.
The sun was warm on the streets of Brackett. Faces stared out the windows along Main Street. A couple of chickens pecked around the big oak, chasing grasshoppers. A quail called from a thicket north of town. Squirrels scampered and barked in the trees along the creek.
Clay kept walking.
They were within twenty feet of each other. Clay could see the sweat running down Cotton’s face. The dark stains under his arms were heavy with sweat. Cotton had stopped. Clay watched his eyes. Pa always said the eyes were dead giveaways when a man was going to draw. He was scared. He had to draw now. The opportunity was gone.
Now Clay was within ten feet of Cotton. He kept walking. The fear was clear in Cotton’s face. Clay could see Cotton’s desire to draw was intense, but his body wouldn’t let him do it. They were too close. There was no chance of survival at this range.
Clay stopped three feet from Cotton. “Drop your gunbelt, Cotton.”
There it was. He really wanted to do it. But it passed. Cotton’s hands were shaking. Empty eyes stared at Clay. Cotton reached for his gunbelt buckle, released it, and let the belt and gun fall into the dusty street.
“I would’ve killed you, Cotton. I hope you believe that. I don’t want to, but I would. I’m gonna be in town one more day. I don’t want to see you again while I’m here. Just one more day, and then I’ll be gone.”
Clay looked into those vacant eyes. “Do you understand me, Cotton?”
Cotton looked down, and said, “Yeah, I understand.”
“Good, now pick up your gunbelt and take it over to your pa. Don’t go for that gun. I’ll be watching.”
Cotton looked up for a moment, then bent over and carefully picked up the gunbelt, keeping his hand away from the gun. He carried it over to his pa and handed it to him.
The marshal glanced at Clay, then put his arm around his living son and walked him back to his office. Clay watched them disappear inside. He left his six-gun loose in his holster and
turned back to the fort. Lynn and her parents came out on the porch as he passed. He said nothing, nor did they. One more day, he thought.
CHAPTER TEN
Clay stepped out of Ma Nelson’s into the bright, West Texas sunlight. He was going to miss Ma’s cooking and her independent spirit. The steak she had set before him for dinner today was as big as a plate. It and the beans would stick to his ribs for quite a while. He looked south and could see increased activity at Fort Clark. Colonel Mackenzie was returning.
After checking north—he was learning to be more alert—he crossed the street to the general store. The little bell tinkled as he walked through the front door. The sound reminded him of Lynn, her smile, her eyes. He’d see her later in the day. Today was her seventeenth birthday.
“Howdy, Clay,” JT said from behind the counter. “Got all your gear right here. You’re welcome to check it.”
“No, thanks, Mr. Brennan, just let me know how much I owe you.”
“Reckon that’ll come to an even twenty dollars.”
Clay peeled twenty dollars off and laid the money on the counter. The old man had packed his supplies into the new saddlebags.
“Oh, I forgot, I’ll need a new slicker. That’s something else Hayes owes me for, when I catch him.”
“Reckon that man’s built up quite a debt. You think you’ll see him again?”
“Yep. I figure he headed over to San Felipe del Rio to be with the rest of the gang. They know by now that I’m after them. Doubt that they’re too worried.” Clay grinned. “I’m just a boy.”
The old man chuckled and said, “Son, if they knew what they were up against, they’d keep goin’ to El Paso, or maybe California.” A frown crossed JT’s face. “You take a word of advice from an old man. Be careful and keep your eyes open. If you see one, the others are probably going to be around somewhere. Don’t let ’em slip up on you. You’re just one man, so stay alert.”
Forty-Four Caliber Justice Page 10