The Devil's Own Desperado

by Lynda J. Cox

  Saul jerked the gun belt up as it slid down his legs. “You’re going to teach me how to be a fast gun like you, right, Colt?”

  Colt didn’t move, but his heart sank with the boy’s nearly monotone demand. “Saul, aim that gun at the floor. It’s loaded.”

  “Not until you promise to teach me how to be a fast gun. I’m old enough to handle a gun.” Saul brought his other hand up to the butt to steady the revolver. “It’s a single-action Peacemaker, isn’t it? Not like those double-action ones that Smith and Wesson make.”

  Colt straightened slowly. “Yeah, it’s single-action. Now, do what I said and aim it at the floor, Saul.”

  Jenny walked into the kitchen and froze as still as a marble statue. Her dark-eyed gaze darted from Saul and the gun in his hand to Colt’s face.

  Saul raised the muzzle and pointed it at Colt’s chest. “Not until you promise to teach me how to be a fast gun—”

  Colt stiffened when the barrel came level with his heart.

  “—then, I promise, I’ll put it down. I want to be a gunfighter, Colt. I want to find the people who killed Momma and Daddy and make them pay.”

  Colt’s heart wrenched. “Saul, only Jenny knows who killed your parents and she isn’t talking about it. I’m not going to teach you how to be a gunfighter. I will not let you be like me. Making other people pay isn’t your job or mine. That’s Marshal Taylor’s job.” He took a step closer to the boy. “Hand me the gun, son.”

  Saul shook his head. Something hardened in the depths of the boy’s eyes, sending a corresponding chill through Colt. “Someone killed Momma and Daddy and they’ve got to pay.”

  “I’m not arguing that, Saul. I agree with you. Someone needs to hang for what they did to your parents.” He took another step forward. “But when you start trying to mete out justice through the barrel of a gun, it isn’t justice.” Colt closed the distance by another step. “It’s revenge and it means someone else is going to come looking for you for the same reason.”

  “Marshal Taylor can’t find them.”

  “I know that, son.” Colt froze when Saul pulled the hammer back another click. “But that also means you don’t know who killed your parents. Give me the gun, Saul.”

  Jenny was still immobile in the doorway, her face whiter than the first snows of winter.

  Saul shook his head, his eyes narrowing, and backed a step away. “If you won’t teach me, I’ll find someone who will.”

  Jenny shook her head, tears rolling down her slender face.

  “Oh, my God,” Amelia croaked from the doorway.

  Colt didn’t risk a glance at her. He never took his gaze from Saul’s pale, sweating face. Was that how he had looked, the first time he held a gun on another man? “Saul, you don’t want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering when the bullet with your name on it is going to find you.”

  “They have to pay,” Saul said, but the hardness was ebbing from his expression. He dropped one hand to hitch up the sliding gun belt, and then steadied the wavering revolver with both hands.

  “Yes, they do have to pay for what they did. But you can’t be the one to demand that payment. That’s what a judge and jury are for, when Marshal Taylor finds them.” Colt held his hand out to Saul. “And killing the people who took your mother and father from you will not bring your parents back to you. If you kill the people responsible it’s only going to kill something deep inside of you. Believe me on that.”

  Saul wavered. Colt took another step toward the trembling boy. “Saul, my mother was killed when I was twelve. When I was nineteen, I killed the man I believed murdered her. I pushed him into slapping leather so there could be no question of who drew first, but it didn’t bring her back to me. Now, every time a man thinks he can make a name for himself by killing me and I’m forced to kill him, it takes something out of me. My mother didn’t raise me to be this kind of a man.”

  Amelia’s muffled sob knifed through him.

  “Your mother and father didn’t raise you to be a killer. Your father was a preacher-man, a man of God. Do you think he’d want you to take another man’s life?”

  “No.” Saul’s voice was a pained whisper.

  Jenny shook her head vigorously.

  “I know my mother wouldn’t be proud of what I’ve become. I’m not proud of who I’ve become. Do you think your mother would be proud of you if you took another man’s life?”

  Saul shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t.”

  In a whisper, Colt repeated, “Let me have the gun, Saul.”

  Saul lowered the revolver, gripped it by the cylinder, and then turned it butt end to Colt. He met Colt’s gaze and extended the weapon.

  Colt took the gun, thumbed and held the hammer all the way back and then squeezed the trigger to ease the hammer down. He set the gun on the floor, and bent to gather the shaking boy into his arms. He ignored the flare of pain when he moved his shoulder to hold the boy to him.

  Saul’s arms slid up around Colt’s neck and he began to sob. “I just want them to pay for what they did. I just want them to pay.”

  “I know you do, Saul. I know.” He smoothed Saul’s tousled hair. He bent his head into the curve of Saul’s shaking shoulders, his eyes closing. God, what was going to happen to this boy? What kind of a man was he going to become? Could Donnie be the kind of father Saul needed?

  A small hand gripped Colt’s shoulder. He lifted his head. Jenny stood behind Saul, one hand on her brother’s shoulder, the other on Colt’s. Tears spilled from her dark eyes, slipping down her cheeks.

  Colt opened the circle of his arms and pulled Jenny into his embrace.

  A moment later, Amelia said in a ragged voice, “Saul David McCollister, how could you do that? How could you scare Colt, me, and your sister like that? You know I don’t want you to pick up a gun, and yet you did. After what happened to Momma and Daddy, you can just pick up Colt’s gun, point it at him, and—”

  “Let it go, Amelia.” Colt rose and dropped his hand onto Saul’s shoulder. “Saul and I are going to go out to the woodshed and have a man-to-man talk, aren’t we, son?”

  Jenny tugged on Colt’s sleeve. She shook her head. She glared at the revolver on the floor, shook her head again, and then studied Colt’s face.

  Colt smiled. “I promise I won’t kill him, Miss Jenny. But Saul’s got to realize there are some things you just don’t do.”

  Jenny flung her arms around Saul’s waist.

  Saul extracted himself from her hold. “It’s okay, Jenny. I’ve got it coming to me. I shouldn’t have touched Colt’s gun, and I was wrong to point it at anyone. I’ll go get Daddy’s razor strop.”

  Colt stopped him. “I’ll get it. Go on out to the woodshed, Saul.”

  He waited until Saul slowly walked from the house and pulled the door shut before he went to the bedroom. The shaving equipment was set out on the old chest of drawers. He picked up the strop and pulled it through his fingers. His stomach sank as he realized what he contemplated doing.

  Amelia cornered Colt in the bedroom. “Are you really going to take the strop to him?”

  The razor strop dangled from his fingers. “Nope. But he can sit out there for a few minutes and sweat. That’s not going to hurt him, and it will give him time to think about what he did and what he wanted me to do.”

  “How am I ever going to raise him by myself?” Amelia reached for his arm.

  Colt turned from her, ignoring the pain in her expression. He paused in the bedroom door. “You’ve got a good foundation to start with, Amy. Your parents did a good job during the time they were here. And you’re doing fine so far. The fact he thinks I’ll teach him how to kill another man should be more than reason enough for you to tell me to leave.”

  Saul lifted a tear-streaked face when Colt walked into the woodshed. Silently, Colt pushed the door closed, and Saul dropped his gaze to the floor. Saul’s hiccupping cries were the only sound and Colt allowed the silence to weigh on the boy, knowing
from experience how painful that void could be. At long last, Saul whispered, “I’m sorry, Colt.”

  Colt studied the top of Saul’s head, the hitch of his slender shoulders with his unsteady breathing. “Look at me, Saul.”

  Saul tilted his head up. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words thickened with tears.

  “So am I. Do you have the slightest idea what seeing you with that gun did to Jenny? Or to Amy?”

  Saul shook his head. “I didn’t think. And you and Amy kept saying you weren’t that Colt Evans…”

  The lie hung in the air.

  Colt sighed. “That was a mistake on our part, but we did what we thought was best for you and Jenny. Saul, you’re almost a man. You’ve got to think of the other people around you. What in the name of heaven made you think I would teach you how to be a fast gun? Or that I would even consider teaching you how to kill another man?”

  Tears slid down Saul’s pale face. “I just wanted…”

  “I know what you want to do. But it ain’t happening, son. I will never teach you to shoot with the sole intent to kill someone. That isn’t going to bring your parents back to you. Nothing can ever do that.” Colt set the razor strop down and sat on a pile of cut wood. “Do you remember when I told you that most gunfighters die young? And those that don’t spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulder, waiting for the bullet to come that’ll end their life? What makes you think I want that kind of a life for you?”

  “But you’re good and you’re fast. I can get as good as you are with a gun.”

  “I was shot because I’m not good enough or fast enough anymore. I was shot by a boy that I killed even as he shot me.” Colt slammed a fist into the wood next to him. “Damn it, Saul, being a gunfighter is not living…it’s merely surviving.”

  Saul nodded, misery evident on his face before he dropped his gaze to the floor again.

  Colt caught Saul’s chin, and tipped his tear-wet face up. “You’re a better man than this. Your sisters deserve a better man than one who lives by the gun. I want your word of honor that you will never pick up a gun to kill another man, and that as long as I’m here, you will never ask me to teach you how to shoot with that idea.”

  Saul nodded again. “I promise.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Long before dawn, the sound of far distant thunder woke Colt from a troubled sleep. Rain tapped on the roof and pattered to the ground, splashing onto the sill of the open window. The dampness created a chill that bore the unmistakable scent of winter snow.

  The relief cascading through Colt was almost crippling.

  If it was raining, he couldn’t teach Saul to use the rifle, and until he did that, he was staying with Amelia. He wouldn’t leave until he was certain the boy knew how to properly load and fire the rifle.

  At most, teaching Saul to properly fire that rifle would take a day. Saul was a smart kid, caught on fast. The toughest part would be learning when not to fire, but that could only come from experience and Colt wouldn’t be there to help him with that.

  Colt sighed and got out of bed. He crossed to the window and pulled the curtains back, staring out into the rainy night. Nothing moved in the damp darkness, other than the few stunted trees bending to the wind’s will.

  He leaned against the wall next to the open window. Far distant lightning flickered across the blackened skies, briefly illuminating the room. Huge, distorted shadows danced across the walls and splashed over the bed.

  He shivered, not entirely from the damp chill, and pulled the window down, shutting out the cool breeze and the damp scent of the earth. A few large raindrops pattered against the pane and slid slowly down the glass.

  He returned to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, still shivering, and absentmindedly drew Baby’s silken ears through his fingertips. The puppy snuggled closer to him, her tail thumping on the mattress. Colt lay back and Baby rested her head on his chest.

  The puppy whimpered when Colt drew his hand down her back. He crawled under the blankets again, and snuggled her into his side. Slowly, his shivering subsided and he began to drift off to sleep again.

  Let it keep raining. Let it rain for days and days. As long as it’s raining, I can’t take that boy out and teach him to hunt. Let it keep raining.

  He fell back to sleep with that prayer echoing in his head.

  ****

  “Amy, stop snapping at them.” Colt rose from a chair at the table. “We’ve been cooped up in this house all day because of the rain, but that isn’t their fault. They’re normal kids and they’re going to play inside if they can’t be outside. It’s not like they’ve broken anything.”

  Amelia turned to the stove, her shoulders sagging. “I know and I’m sorry. I’m just on edge, I guess.”

  Colt caught Saul’s shoulder, and pointed him in the direction of the doorway. “Run out to the barn and dig around in my saddlebags. You’ll find a deck of cards in there. Bring them in here. I’m going to teach all three of you a couple of card games.”

  Amelia glanced over her shoulder and Colt’s heart stammered with the puzzled expression on her face. “What kind of card games can you teach two children?”

  “Poker.” Colt forced a grin to his face and damned his aching heart. “They’re not going to turn into riverboat gamblers or become disreputable citizens if they know how to play poker, Amy.”

  “I don’t know, Colt.” She smoothed her hands down her dress. “It’s gambling and I know Momma and Daddy wouldn’t have approved.”

  “It’s that, or else we sit in this house staring at one another until we start snapping again.” Colt took the towel from her hands and dried the dishes she had just washed. He put them on the shelves over the dishpan. The routine of dishwashing had become as familiar and comfortable as if he had been doing this his whole life.

  At least, until he left, he could dream this could be the rest of his life.

  “What are we going to use in the place of money?” Amelia asked.

  Colt dropped the dishrag, pulled open a cabinet and drew out a tin of crackers. “This. And the one with the most crackers at the end of the evening wins. It means the rest of us have to wait on that person hand and foot the next day.”

  She smiled. “I have the feeling, Colt Evans, that we will be waiting on you tomorrow.”

  Her smile tightened around his heart, but he grinned at her. “I think that was the whole plan when I suggested this.”

  Jenny came into the kitchen and Colt tossed the dishrag to her. “Wipe the table off, Miss Jenny, if you please. I’m going to teach you and your sister and Saul how to play poker.”

  Jenny’s brows lowered and she shot a glance at Amelia. Amelia smiled at her and Colt laughed. “Why do I have the feeling she is going to have a heck of a run of beginner’s luck?”

  Jenny wiped the table off, put the towel on the hook by the sink and then returned to the table. She plunked down at a seat. Saul pulled the back door open, pausing when Colt barked, “Wipe your feet.”

  Saul scraped his shoes on the small rug at the door, adding, “Yes, sir,” even as he complied. “What are we going to learn?” Saul asked as he set the cards down.

  “Poker,” Colt said, pulling a chair from the table and turning it around. He sank to the seat, only to rise up again. “My hat…gotta have my hat to play poker.”

  “Your hat?” Amelia met his gaze across the room. “You’ve only worn your hat once or twice since you’ve been here.”

  “I also haven’t played poker since I’ve been here.” He grabbed the hat from the peg next to the door. “And not one word about it not being polite to wear a hat indoors.” He settled the hat onto his head, pushing the bill back. He resumed his seat and shuffled the cards as best he could, hampered by the sling.

  “Rules are simple.” Colt set the cards down. “A pair is good. Two pair is better than that. Three of kind beats two pair. A straight beats three of a kind, and a flush beats a straight. A full house—which is three
of a kind plus a pair—beats a flush. Four of a kind is almost the best you can do, unless you get a straight flush.”

  “Colt? What did you just say?” The confusion in Amelia’s voice matched the expressions on Saul and Jenny’s faces.

  He grinned, doling out twenty crackers to each of them. “I’ll explain as we play.”

  Jenny picked a cracker up and nibbled it.

  Colt shook his head. “Can’t win that way, Miss Jenny. If you eat your crackers before we tally up the winnings at the end of the night, they don’t get counted.”

  Jenny put the cracker atop the small pile in front of her. Her dark eyes sparkled and her smile twisted into Colt.

  “Okay,” he said in a tone he forced into lightness, “first hand is going to be easy. Five-card stud, with nothing wild. I deal one card down followed by four cards face up. After each card, we place bets, and it’s going to cost everyone a cracker to even get into the game. For this first hand, I’ll deal them all up, so you can get an idea of how to play.”

  Amelia chuckled. “He didn’t tell you what the stakes in this game are,” she said to Saul and Jenny. “When we’re all done playing, whoever has the most crackers wins, and the rest of us have to be that person’s servant for the day tomorrow.”

  Saul’s eyes grew large. “You mean, if I win, I won’t have to do any chores tomorrow?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Colt said, sliding a cracker into the center of the table. “Everyone ante up.”

  Three other crackers joined Colt’s. He slid the cards to his right to Jenny. “Cut the deck.”

  Jenny wrinkled her brow. Colt lifted half the deck and set it beside the bottom half. “That’s cutting the deck. Trust everyone most of the time, but don’t even trust your preacher if you’re playing poker with him.”

  He restacked the cards. “Cut the deck, Jenny.”