“Yes you may,” she replied and held out her hand.
Jasper put his hat back on and smiled at her. He took her hand and led her out to the dance area. “I don't know too much about dancin,’ ma'am.”
“Then why do you want to dance?”
“‘Cause you're so pretty, and I didn't rightly know how else I could talk to you.”
She laughed. “I think you'll be fine if the spirits don't overcome your balance and good manners.”
“Oh don't fret about that, ma'am. I could ride my horse backwards with a half bottle of whiskey in me, and my mama taught me to always be polite. Besides, if I hadn't had a drink, I'd a been too nervous to ask for a dance.”
“It seems your nerves are calm now. What's your name?”
“Jasper Dunlevy, ma'am…. and yours?”
“Crystal Alloway.”
“It's nice to make your acquaintance, Crystal”
“And yours too, Jasper.”
He held her close and they whirled around with the rest of the crowd.
Sammy took a long pull off his beer as beads of sweat rolled down his face. He and Jenny had danced four straight. He was happy for the beer and the break and a moment to watch all that was happening. Many of the Twin T. boys had found their way to the dance floor, while others were talking and drinking. Lundy and Franklin and J.P. were standing stoically together with drinks in hand, watching the action like the council of the wise.
Sammy could see Reuben at the makeshift bar with a cup in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, his hands moving very animatedly as a group of men stood around him listening to the prophet of the night. Reuben paused to drink and inspect the level of the other men's cups, refilling those he deemed not sufficiently full and ignoring those who attempted to wave off any refill. He poured anyway. Then it was on with the story.
“Hey, Sammy,” Blaine said as he walked up. “What a party, huh? Looks like you danced up a sweat too.”
“Yeah, I'm not much good at it, but I'm gettin’ lots of practice tonight.”
Blaine took his hat off and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a pass of his forearm, then replaced his lid. “Buncha them girls came over from a college in Stratford … just started up last September. They's studying to be teachers.”
“Where'd you hear that?”
“I been twirling with that sweet thing yonder in the blue dress. She told me. She's one of ‘em.”
Sammy looked in the direction Blaine was motioning. “She looks like a sweet thing.”
“Two wagon loads of ‘em come over. They got chaperones with ‘em. Some of the teachers that teach ‘em, she said. They're campin’ down by the river tonight.”
“Yeah, there'll be a bunch of folks campin’ tonight … most of ‘em drunk.”
Blaine laughed. “Yep, I'll be one a that crowd. Fact, I might just camp down by the river myself … make sure them girls is looked after.”
“Well, you won't be alone. Those boys who work the sawmill over in Cuba are here tonight. Between them and our outfit—and who knows who else—I'm guessin’ that river will be a right popular spot once word gets around those gals are campin’ there.”
Blaine suddenly looked serious. “Well don't tell nobody! I don't want a herd a goofy bastards tryin’ to horn in.”
Sammy laughed. “They won't hear it from me.”
“Where you puttin’ in tonight?”
Sammy didn't answer. His attention was on Jenny. He could see her at the front tables where the food and soft refreshments were. She was shaking her head, as if to say no, and taking a step back from a man who was six foot four and thin, but strongly built. The man had advanced a step when she stepped back. She was looking to the side, not wanting to make eye contact with him.
Blaine was a little surprised when Sammy abruptly left and walked like a bull on the prod toward the food area. He peered ahead and spotted Jenny and the man who stood over her in a menacing manner. “Uh oh,” Blaine said aloud to himself.
Sammy slowed his stride as he approached, not wanting to be obvious in his haste and attract undue attention. “Hello, Jenny,” he said as he arrived. He immediately stepped between Jenny and the stranger, with his face to Jenny and his back to the man. “Is everything all right here?” he asked softly, searching her eyes.
The voice from behind came at once. “What the hell you think you're doing, Mister? I'm talkin’ to her. Hit the trail!”
Sammy ignored him and looked at Jenny. She spoke quickly in a near whisper. “He wouldn't quit after I told him I didn't want to dance … but it's all right. Just walk me away. Let's not make trouble here.”
The big hand grabbed Sammy's shoulder and pulled him around. “I told you to hit the trail!”
Sammy looked up several inches and knew he was one of the boys from the sawmill. “The woman doesn't want to have any further conversation with you … so let it go,” Sammy mildly replied.
“I didn't hear that from her.”
“I'm speaking for her now, and that's the way it is.”
“Who the hell are you? Is she your wife?”
“No.”
“Then you got nothin’ to say. I'll whip your ass right here and show her who the man is!”
Sammy could feel the attention that the scene was drawing. People in the immediate vicinity were watching and listening. He leaned in close and spoke quietly. “All these folks are havin’ a good time. Let's walk up that alley right over there where we won't disrupt these folks … and you'll get your chance, tough man.”
The man shot a look at Sammy that had a hint of surprise and reappraisal of the smaller man standing before him. “Let's go,” he finally said with as much confidence as he could muster in his tone. The tall man began to make his way toward the alley.
Sammy turned to Jenny. “I'll be right back,” he said.
“No … don't go. Please stay here.”
“I'm just gonna talk to him. It'll be fine. Don't worry and wait for me here.” Sammy wheeled and started after the man.
Blaine could see the action developing as the tall man made his way through the crowd, saying something to a few other men along the way. They were sawmill boys, and they began to trail slowly toward the alley in a procession that Blaine sized up as unfavorable odds for Sammy. Blaine walked over to where Lohmeyer and Knuckles were standing. “Come on boys … we got a partner in need.”
“In need of what?” Knuckles asked.
“Our help more ‘n likely,” Blaine replied. “Sammy's about to have it out with some tall dude. I think he's one a them sawmill boys, and I saw him signal some of his friends on the way out. Looks like a stacked deck.”
“Let's go reshuffle it. We're followin’ you,” Lohmeyer said.
The men played down their pace, making their way through the crowd.
“Where you boys goin’?” Porter Loomis asked as his path leaving the dance floor intersected theirs. “The bar's the other way.”
“Yeah, but the beatin's this way,” Knuckles replied.
“Come on with us,” Lohmeyer said.
“What the helI is this about?” Porter asked as the boys continued on their path without offering an answer. He fell in behind them. “Looks like I'm in,” he announced to himself as he followed.
The foursome exited the party area and followed behind the group of five sawmill boys who were trailing Sammy and the tall man. The weird procession looked like it was on a march to the moon, which was nearly full and hung directly at the end of the alley like a beacon beckoning forth the spirits of the night.
One of the sawmill boys glanced back over his shoulder and saw the Twin T. boys trailing them. He elbowed one of the others, and a moment later all of the sawmill boys looked behind them. Knuckles was smiling at them.
Sammy and the tall man turned the corner at the end of the alley and were out of sight when the sawmill boys stopped. They turned to face Knuckles, Blaine, Bill, and Porter. The sawmill boys fanned out slightly with the saltiest
looking one stepping out in front. “Where do you boys think you're goin’?”
Knuckles stopped directly in front of him. “That ain't none of yer business unless yer planning on helpin’ yer partner up there. Then we'll be doin’ business together.” Knuckles’ smile was a portrait of sarcasm.
“There's only an ass kickin’ waitin’ up there for you,” the leader said.
“Yeah?” Knuckles replied with mock fear. With lightening speed, Knuckles threw a thunderous punch to his abdomen. The leader crumpled to the ground. “Looks like the ass kickin’ was right here for you.”
A haymaker from the blind side caught Knuckles directly on the ear and sent him staggering into a fall on one knee. Stunned, and seeing stars flashing in twinkling bursts with sound fading in and out like some sort of bizarre storm, he rocked back and forth on one foot and one knee until his head cleared. He looked up to see where the punch had come from just in time to see the boot-kick coming at his head. Knuckles ducked and avoided a direct hit, then bounded to his feet as Blaine Corker threw a left hook that connected squarely on the boot master's chin. The man was limp on the way down.
Knuckles sensed another sucker punch coming from his right backside and wheeled hard, rocketing his right hand back in a flattening splat to the nose of the would-be thumper. The man stumbled back, putting both hands over his nose, the blood pouring into his hands and running between his fingers like a levee that had given way.
Knuckles swung his head around from side to side, wanting to avoid being further waylaid by anything he couldn't see coming. He saw Porter Loomis and Bill Lohmeyer slugging it out with a couple of the sawmill boys, and then he saw Sammy and the tall man. They had come back upon hearing the commotion and now appeared to be watching the show as spectators.
“Hey! Damn it! Stop that fightin’ now! And I mean right now!” Sheriff Ritter bellowed as he arrived, slightly out of breath and with one of his deputies in tow. The action ceased, and the men stood in the moonlight, bewildered like cattle after a stampede.
The sawmill boy who Blaine had hit was just coming to and was helped up by one of his friends. The man that Knuckles had backhanded had a handkerchief pressed to his nose. “What the hell is wrong with you boys?” Sheriff Ritter exclaimed with unrestrained puzzlement. “You're all hard workin’ young men with some time off. You oughta be laughin’ … getting’ to know each other … tellin’ stories … dancin’ with all those nice looking young gals instead of beatin’ the hell outta one another. What started this fracas anyhow?”
Some of the men shifted uncomfortably and looked around at one another in the dark. The big man finally spoke up. “This cowboy here didn't like me talkin’ to his girl. Wanted to make somethin’ of it.”
Sammy wasn't having any of it. “Ahh! This blowhard is spoutin’ bullshit. She didn't want to dance with him and he didn't wanna to hear it.”
Blaine cut in, “This bunch followed Sammy up the alley. Ain't exactly sportin’ odds, so me ‘n’ the boys here were just lookin’ after our own.”
“They was just comin’ to watch,” the tall man shot back.
“So was we,” Knuckles said. “Then these boys tried to stop us. We weren't lettin’ that happen.”
“Yeah, well if any of you start anything more, I'll lock the bunch of you up for a week. Now go on and get!”
The men began drifting back down the alley toward the dance. Bill Lohmeyer walked up beside the tall man who was sauntering slowly with two other sawmill boys. “You're lucky that worked out the way it did. He killed the last hombre that wanted to tangle—stabbed him to death after the dude had shot him in the chest. Yep, you really didn't want none of that.” Lohmeyer suddenly veered away and melted amongst the dark silhouettes of the other men. The big man grunted and the two men beside him didn't say anything but just looked at one another.
An hour later, Blaine and Knuckles and Bill and Porter drank and laughed with the sawmill boys. They told tall tales to one another about their work and their lives, and they felt the kinship of young men of the west.
Sammy and Jenny had left the dance for their own secluded spot. Sammy was leaving in two days, and this was their last night together for some time.
Chapter 29
The barn lamp threw a dull light that cast looming shadows on the wall as Sammy and Blaine saddled their horses and packed on their gear. Neither of them had gotten much sleep, but both were now wide-awake. They had said their goodbyes and well wishes to all at the Twin T. the night before. Now they worked quietly in the still of the early morning with each man lost in his own thoughts. The time to leave was finally upon them.
Sammy slipped the 44 Henry rifle into the scabbard and strapped on his gun belt, holding a pair of Starr Double-Action Army 44 revolvers. He had a Colt Navy 36 in his saddlebags along with two hunting knives and additional cartridges for each firearm. He rechecked all the cinching on his gear, then looked over at Blaine who had finished up and was lighting a smoke. “Ready?” Blaine blew out a cloud of smoke. “Yep.”
Sammy walked over and blew out the lamp. Both men led their horses through the blackness to the barn door. Sammy pulled it open, revealing a faint light in the east that peeked over the dark, jagged horizon of hills. The morning dew hung heavy in the air.
Homer, Reuben, and Lundy were standing in the yard in a semi-circle, smoking and drinking coffee like sentries posted to inspect all who were coming or going. “Here come the two musketeers,” Reuben said.
Sammy and Blaine led their horses over to where the men were standing. “To what do we owe this honor?” Sammy asked. “Are you gents the happy trails committee?”
“No, we're the hold-up committee,” Reuben replied. “You'll have to hold up a minute until Jacqueline comes out with some breakfast she's got for you. She didn't like it much when you told her you wouldn't be in for breakfast before you left.”
The kitchen door creaked and light poured out of the doorway as Jacqueline emerged holding two bundles, each wrapped in a red and white-checkered cloth. Sammy shook his head, slightly embarrassed. “We didn't want to be any trouble for you this morning, Jacqueline. We've got plenty to eat packed with us.”
“Well it's not hot, and this is.” She gave Sammy and Blaine each a bundle. “You can eat it in the saddle.”
“Thank you, ma'am,” Blaine said. “It sure has been a pleasure eatin’ your cookin’.”
Jacqueline hugged Blaine. “Take care of yourself, Blaine. Good luck to you.”
“Thank you, ma'am. I reckon I will … take care of myself, I mean.”
She turned to Sammy with her eyes glistening and hugged him, holding him tight for several seconds. “You be careful. Don't dally up north too long.”
“I won't be long.”
She turned and walked briskly away, back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
Homer shook hands with Blaine. “If you don't like what you see up north, come on back. We've always got a job for a good hand.”
“Thank you, Mister Taylor. I'll remember that.”
“Time to ride,” Sammy said.
“Yeah, there's plenty of that ahead of you boys,” Lundy said. “Keep a sharp eye and pour the spurs to ‘em if you see any Indians or banditos.”
Sammy and Blaine mounted up and headed east out of the yard at a trot toward the pale light of the coming day. A mile out, they slowed to a walk and ate the warm tortillas rolled around eggs and beef and beans, burrito style. Then, as if called by the sun that was yet still hidden, they broke to a canter.
The valley rolled out in front of them, with the green of spring grass amid sage and rabbit brush, and wildflowers with blooms of lavender, orange, and white. Sammy and Blaine knew the land well. It would be the better part of the day gone before they would clear the eastern border of the Twin T. Anxious to see new territory, they clipped on in the cool of the morning.
At noon, they stopped in the low foothills to let their horses drink and crop grass at a deep stream with grassy ban
ks. It ran through a grove of aspens and was about twelve feet wide with swift water and dark color. A boulder that jutted out from the bank across half the stream created a pool that looked to Sammy to have good prospects. “I think I'll give this a go for a few minutes. See if I can wrangle some trout for supper.”
Blaine took it as a challenge. “First one to catch a fish gets the first pull of whiskey when we crack that bottle.” He strode off toward the nearby aspen trees to cut a pole.
Sammy untied the two halves of his fishing pole and quickly assembled the rig, tying a hook to the end of the line. He put the pole down and moved slowly along the bank in a crouch, looking closely at the grass. With an easy motion, he pulled off his hat and held it at the ready. A moment later, he flicked it at the grass where the caddis fly had lit. The shot was a dead hit. Sammy retrieved his pole and carefully fed the fly onto the hook. He made his way to the pool just beyond the boulder.
Blaine quickly cut a five-foot aspen branch and trimmed it, then notched the end and wedged the string in. He was tying on the hook when Sammy made his first cast. From the corner of his eye, Blaine saw the fish hit Sammy's line. With a twitch of his wrist, Sammy set the hook. The big, silvery trout, thrashed through the water until it was propelled airborne as Sammy pulled hard over his left shoulder. It flew majestically through the air with color shimmering in the sunlight and landed fifteen feet back from the bank.
“Dammit!” Blaine said as he watched the two-pound rainbow flipping and flopping in the grass.
Sammy kneeled beside it and grabbed it tightly, then worked at removing the hook. “One more like this and we'll have us a fine supper.”
“That weren't fair you castin’ ‘fore I was ready.”
“I ain't waitin’ on you … especially with that first fish, first on the whiskey deal.” Sammy worked on the troublesome hook which was stuck in jawbone. “But being I'm the one with the good pole and charm that fish find irresistible, we'll start over right now. You best get movin’ though before I get this hook loose, ‘cause a head start and luck is the only chance you've got.”
Along The Fortune Trail Page 12