"You ain't doing it in here," the bartender objected.
"Aw, let him, Ben," one of the customers asked. "He won't last long, and we ain't had no fun in days."
"You'll pay for anything you break."
"We'll take it out of his pockets before we throw him into the street."
Madison could feel the exhilaration in every part of his body. This must have been the way his father felt when he was about to fight. No fear, no worry, just barely-contained anticipation.
"Who wants to go first?" Madison asked.
"Don't make no difference," Amos predicted gloomily. "Either one of 'em will kill you."
"He's mine," Reed said, coming at Madison with a rush.
"I want every man in this room to understand that Miss Sproull received no harm at my hands," Madison announced to the spectators as he easily danced away from Reed. "And that I intend to batter this man's face in for impugning her reputation."
"Stand still and fight," Reed shouted. He charged Madison again.
The series of blows that landed on Reed's chin came with blinding rapidity. Reed tried to overpower Madison with his greater size and strength, but he couldn't pen him down. Pike started to enter the fray when it became clear Reed was getting the worst of it, but the bartender held him back with a shotgun pointed at his belly.
"He asked for it. Now you let him get all he can stand."
He didn't stand long. Less than two minutes later Reed was on the floor.
"What did you do to him?" Pike demanded. "You musta done something. You couldn't never beat Reed in a fair fight."
"I didn't do anything except apply some scientific knowledge of boxing," Madison told him. "I went through three years at Harvard without defeat."
"You won't much longer," Pike said, and reached for his gun.
Faster then the eye could follow, Madison charged Pike and they both went down in a heap. The sound of the gun discharging in the close confines of the saloon reverberated in everyone's ears, and Pike slumped on the floor. Madison got to his feet. The gun slid from Pike's slackened grip.
"You killed him," the bartender said, swinging his shotgun toward Madison. "You jumped him and killed him."
"It has apparently escaped your notice that I'm not armed."
"You killed him with his own gun," one of the onlookers shouted.
"Let's lynch him!"
The chorus of assent was deafening.
"Anybody got a rope?"
"I got one outside on my saddle."
"Get it. We'll hang him from the rafter."
Moving more quickly than anyone expected, Madison struck down the bartender's shotgun and leaped over the bar. Before the man could collect himself, Madison rendered him helpless with a powerful blow to the throat. About the time several men in the saloon produced guns they shouldn't have had, they found themselves facing an irate Madison Randolph with a loaded shotgun pointed into their midst.
The hands relaxed.
"Now let's get a few things straight," Madison said, panting slightly from his exertion. "I didn't start this fight. I don't even know these men. I didn't kill anybody. I don't even own a gun."
"For an unarmed man, you sure can cause a mortal lot of trouble." The unexpected voice came from the doorway of the saloon. It was Marshal "Wild Bill" Hickok. Hickok walked forward until he came to the two men on the floor. Reed was stirring. Pike wasn't. "You expect me to believe you outfought Reed and wrestled Pike to the ground, overpowered Ben, and held a lynch mob at bay, all without a weapon."
"He did, Marshal. I saw it," Amos insisted. "It was just like he said. Reed started the trouble."
"Can any of you say different?" the Marshal asked.
"We didn't pay no attention until they started fighting," one man said, "but we sure saw him jump Pike and shoot him dead."
"Pike shot himself with his own gun," Madison said. "I only took this shotgun to keep from dancing at the end of a rope."
"I guess you'll have to come with me until I sort this out," Hickok said.
"Certainly," Madison said. He laid down the shotgun, making sure to place it beyond the bartender's reach. Rather than force his way though the crowd at either end of the bar, he vaulted it once again, landing practically at Hickok's side.
"A nimble sort, aren't you."
Madison picked up his coat, dusted it off, and put it on. "I'll be old and stiff soon enough," he said.
"True. Well, come along. I got a card game to finish. I can't be standing here jawing all night."
"You just going to let him go?" someone asked.
"Seems to me like these Randolphs can do anything they want."
Hickok turned back to the mob. "I'm putting him in jail. But he ain't going to stay there long unless you can show me cause." He turned his back on the angry men and walked out into the street. "All I need now is for Monty to come galloping into town," he complained to Madison as they crossed the street, "shouting at the top of his lungs like the crazy fool he is."
"He won't come on my account."
"It won't matter why he comes. He'll be trouble when he gets here."
But it did matter to Madison. It mattered a lot.
* * * * *
Madison sat up when he heard the jail door open. He looked at his watch. Twenty-eight minutes. He didn't know how rapidly news traveled in Kansas, but he figured that was pretty quick considering it was the middle of the night. They would have had to wake George, get him out of bed, and give him time to dress.
And it would be George. At least he cared. Hen had turned his back when Hickok brought Madison in. He hadn't looked at him or spoken to him since.
He wondered if Fern would come.
Merciful God! He wanted to see Fern, that fire-breathing, pants-wearing, Randolph-hating rebel against everything soft and alluring in the female sex. He had to be out of his mind. Wanting to see Fern was like sticking his head into a lion's mouth. People might admire his courage, but they wouldn't think much of his intelligence.
There must be something attractive about her, something you like. You can't get her out of your mind.
There was, and it wasn't merely her body, though he couldn't get that out of his mind either. Both of them were fighting battles neither could win, battles they didn't even want to win. Yet they had to fight, or they would lose everything.
He hadn't known how important that bond was -- he'd barely just recognized it -- until she destroyed it by getting Reed and Pike to attack him. He couldn't understand how he could have been so mistaken in her character. He wondered if she paid them. The thought was enough to set his blood boiling.
He had to put her out of his mind. He wouldn't be too difficult to overcome the physical attraction, he'd done that before, but the feeling of having found a kindred spirit wasn't going to be so easy to banish.
Even if she hadn't pulled such a despicable trick, he wouldn't have wanted her to see him now, not looking as he did. He needed a bath and a change of clothes. He looked like somebody from Kansas. Oddly enough, his being in jail didn't bother him in the least, though it was bound to upset George.
But he didn't care if George got upset. It would serve him right for being so cold.
"You got here faster than I expected," Madison said when George came to a halt outside the cell. The tone of his voice was slightly caustic.
"You got yourself thrown in jail just to see how fast I could get out of bed?"
"No, but I knew you would come."
"You've upset Rose."
"I'm sorry about Rose."
"But you're not sorry about me?"
"Should I be?"
"Why did you come back, Madison?"
Madison gripped the bars in his hands. "Don't you mean to ask Why did you leave?" he growled. "That's the question you want answered."
"I know why you left."
"No, you don't," Madison answered, savagely angry. "I thought you would. I thought you of all people would understand, but you don't have the vaguest idea.
"
"Then tell me."
"Why?" Madison said, stepping back from the bars. "I left. That's all that matters."
"I'd like to feel your coming back is all that matters."
Good old George. Just when you think you can get really mad at him, he cuts the ground out from under you. He was too damned stiff and full of prickles to like, but he loved you so much you ended up forgiving him no matter what he said.
"I was dying just as surely as Ma was dying, but nobody could see it. Nobody understood. Nobody cared."
"The twins needed you."
The twins needed him! That was a laugh. The twins never needed anybody, especially him. But how could George understand that? All he could see was two fourteen-year-olds left to run a ranch on their own. He would never understand they were better suited to the job at twelve than he had been at twenty. Or was now at twenty-six.
"You ask Hen if he wanted me there," Madison said. "I know I'm not easy to like, but I tried to do my part. I got to know every miserable inch of that ranch. If you dropped me anywhere within ten miles of the house, and I could be home inside an hour. But no matter what I did it wasn't good enough for them. Monty even told me to stay home with the babies and leave the real work to them."
"Monty doesn't mean half of what he says."
"He sounded just like Pa," Madison continued, recollection strong on him now. "Why can't you be like George or Frank or Joe's boys? Pa used to say. Why do you have to embarrass me by spending all your time with your nose in a book or trying to show everybody how smart you are? Do you know Pa told me he had the money to pay for my schooling? He thought I was getting too big for my britches, so he decided to let them send me home. He figured the disgrace of being kicked out would bring me down a peg."
It had been the most searing experience of his life. He could still feel the nearly suffocating humiliation, the unbridled rage, that clouded his brain for weeks after his return home. His mother never blamed or chided him. Worse, she pleaded with him to try to understand his father, to strive to be the kind of son he wanted.
George was the only reason he hadn't run away right then. But now he realized that for George no personal consideration came before duty. Maybe George could handle that, but Madison couldn't.
"I had to get away to find out who I was. Pa was suffocating me. You were suffocating me. The ranch was suffocating me."
"Going home did that for me."
"We're not all the same, George. Maybe I could come back now without losing myself, but I won't if you don't want me."
"You never told me where you went, what you did."
It seemed like such old news now. Hardly worth telling. "A few months before Ma died, I got a letter from Freddy. His father offered to send me to Harvard and give me a place in his firm. It was everything I'd always wanted. I thought of writing you, but I knew there was no point."
"But how could you leave the boys in the middle of a war?"
"Damn the war! Do you have any idea how sick I am of hearing about it?"
"Didn't you understand what we were fighting for?"
"Of course, I understood. I'm the bookish one, remember. You wanted the right to secede so every time somebody got mad at somebody else they could go off and start their own country. That's a stupid way to run a government, and I didn't believe in it. Certainly not enough to die for."
"Don't ever say that to Jeff."
"I don't expect I'll have anything to say to any of you again."
"Are you leaving?"
"No!" It was almost a shout. "I came here to prove Hen didn't kill that man, and I mean to do it. Not you, not Hen, and certainly not that Delilah in sheepskin is going to stop me. When I've done that I'll go back to Boston."
"Then why did you come? You could have hired a lawyer in St. Louis and saved yourself a lot of trouble."
"Dammit to hell, George. Can't you give me any credit? Do you think I could know Hen was about to hang and send somebody else?"
"But you left them in Texas."
"Because I knew they didn't need me!" Madison shouted. "They didn't want me. Because if I didn't get out of there, I would have gone crazy."
"I can't understand that."
"You used to," Madison said, sitting down. Some of his passion ebbed from him. "You used to be the only person who did."
"You were different then."
"No, only unsure of myself."
"You, unsure!"
"Don't sneer. Not everybody had your self-confidence. Tom Bland wasn't forever telling me how wonderful I was. I only had my brain and sharp tongue, something nobody appreciated except Freddy and a few teachers. And you, I thought. I can remember you telling me to wait, not to be discouraged. But we moved to Texas and then the war came. When Ma died, I had to leave. I knew if Pa came back before I left, I'd be there for the rest of my life."
"And what's so damned bad about the ranch?" It was Hen. Finally.
"I don't know if I can explain it. I just knew everything I needed to survive was somewhere else."
"George came back," Hen said.
"So did I," Madison said. "But apparently he used up all the welcome."
"That's not it," Hen said. "George left to fight the war."
"I left to fight for my life," Madison said. "I don't know why I thought you might understand that, but I did."
"I might have if I hadn't come so close to dying."
"Before I left," Madison said through gritted teeth. "Admit I didn't leave until I'd helped drive out that nest of rustlers. I was the one who got shot that day, or have you forgotten the bullet Ma dug out of me. A bullet that could have killed you if I had stayed at home like you and Monty wanted."
"I don't suppose it'll do us any good to keep dredging up the past," George said. "What we need to do now is try to start over again."
Start over. Is that why he had come to Kansas? Had his subconscious been waiting all these years for a chance to go back on his own terms? Maybe. He wasn't sure, but he was tired of looking for answers. They didn't seem to make any difference.
"There's nothing to start over," Madison said. "I could never fit in here. And you don't want me. Deep down inside, you still don't trust me."
George stared hard at his brother. "Getting away from Texas wasn't the only reason you left, was it?"
"No. I was running away from having the only people I loved hurt me. I was strong enough to take all the distrust and anger strangers could dish out, but I wasn't strong enough to take it from my family. Looks like I'm still not."
* * * * *
Fern hurried along the street, a basket of food on her arm. Every step brought on shooting pains, but that didn't matter. Along with her breakfast, Mrs. Abbott had brought the news that Madison Randolph was in jail for killing Pike Carroll.
Something was wrong. Madison wouldn't kill Pike. They didn't even know each other. They shouldn't have been in the same place. Where was Reed Landusky? If anybody was going to cause trouble, it was Reed.
"Miss Sproull."
No one called her Miss Sproull, not even Amos Rutter, whose voice she recognized coming from a narrow alley between the Bull's Head and Old Fruit Saloons.
"What is it, Amos?"
"You going to the jail 'cause of that new Randolph killing Pike?"
"Yes."
"There's a few things you'd better know before you do."
"I'm listening."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd step over here. There's some people who might not want me telling you."
Fern felt a shiver of apprehension, but she stepped into the alley without hesitation.
When a little while later she emerged from the shadows between the buildings and headed toward the jail, her steps had lost their former urgency. Her emotions were in a terrible tangle. It didn't surprise her to know that Madison had neither started the fight nor killed Pike -- she hadn't believed it when Mrs. Abbott told her -- but it stunned her to learn Madison had fought the two men to save her reputation.
Some people might argue that Madison had been trying to protect his own character, but Fern knew better. No man that arrogant would care what a few farm hands and cowboys thought about him.
He had fought for her.
No one had ever done that. She'd no way of knowing it would make her feel so wonderful. If she hadn't been in such pain, she would probably have run the rest of the way.
But along with the euphoria came disgust that she could be so easily flattered, that her objections to the way Madison had treated her, and what he was trying to do, could be so easily swayed by a little attention. Okay, so fighting Reed and Pike was more than a little thing, but she was still a foolish, fickle female to think Madison would feel any different about her, or the things that really mattered.
It was fine to be upset about his being in jail. It was okay not to want him to hang when he was trying to defend her honor. But he had been fighting for a principle. Madison was big on principle. It was just people he had trouble with.
By the time she reached the jail, she didn't feel quite so jaunty. Deputy Tom Carson was sitting outside.
"I hear you have Madison Randolph locked up for killing Pike," she said.
"He's not dead yet," Tom said. "We're keeping him 'til we find out if he's going to make it."
"But Mr. Randolph wasn't wearing a gun. Pike was shot with his own gun."
"Folks don't agree on what happened," Tom said. "Some say Randolph took Pike's gun and shot him in cold blood."
"But why would he do that? He doesn't even know Pike."
"Beats me, but then I don't try to understand these Texans."
Fern started to tell him Madison came from Boston, not Texas, but decided she was wasting her time. "Where is he?"
"Inside, but you can't see him."
"Try and stop me," Fern dared him as she strode past.
Chapter Nine
"Now see here, Fern, it ain't fair you being a man most of the time and a girl when it suits you," Tom said, following her.
"I'd be a man all the time if I had the choice." She shoved him back outside and closed the door.
She felt a little nervous about facing Madison, but being back in her pants and vest gave her more confidence. She had felt terribly vulnerable in Rose's nightgown, especially knowing Madison had undressed her. She wondered how much of her he had touched. Better she didn't know. Just thinking about it made her hot all over. No man had touched her since that terrible night eight years ago.
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