by John Legg
Blue Gladys looked hesitant, and Coffin grinned again. “Hell, girl, this ain’t my cash. I took it from those bastards down there.”
Blue Gladys smiled and reached for the cash. “Thanks, Joe,” she said happily. A little more somberly she said, “I can sure use it.”
“I expect you can.” He set his hat on. “I’ll be seein’ you around.” He left, wearing his old pants and shirt, though he kept the new boots and threw the old ones out. His familiar gunbelt was around his waist.
Coffin had spent more time with Blue Gladys than he had planned but a little less than he had wanted. He was glad that it was dark outside. He would admit only to himself that he did not want to face the people of Crooked Creek, at least for a while, and so he was pleased that the darkness would hide his movements at least to some extent.
Eagan was at the desk when Coffin got to the hotel, but to Coffin’s relief, he said nothing about the afternoon’s incident. Coffin tossed his extra clothes and the Colt revolver on the bed and then washed up in the basin. He felt tired and drained and just wanted to sleep for a week. But he felt he had to go to Edna’s and talk to her. He had missed dinner at the Yarnells’ house, the first time he had done that for a reason other than being out of town on business.
Still, he hesitated. It was bad enough that he was embarrassed when walking down the street at night after what had happened. It was going to be very difficult—and discomfiting—to face Edna and her parents.
He shook off the gloom a little and headed out the door. The walk to the Yarnells’ house seemed to take less than half a minute, where normally it took five or ten minutes, depending on how quickly he felt like walking.
Then he was standing on the Yarnells’ spacious front porch and rapping on the door. He waited for Mordecai Jefferson—the Yarnells’ black servant—to answer the door. It seemed to take a long time, and Coffin knocked again.
Finally Jefferson opened the door a little and stood in the space. Coffin started to step inside, but Jefferson did not move.
“May I help you, sir?” Jefferson asked in his wonderful baritone voice.
“What in hell’s gone wrong with you, Mordecai?” Coffin asked, torn between anger and bewilderment.
“Mr. Yarnell says he don’t want to see you. Miss Edna says the same.”
“Why?” Coffin asked, more baffled than ever.
Jefferson shrugged. “You have to ask them about that,” he said calmly.
“And how the hell am I supposed to ask them anything—if you don’t let me in the house?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Jefferson’s face was blank.
Coffin almost shook with the intensity of rage that swept over him. His right hand came up and began tracing slow little circles on his stomach. It was a habit he had picked up, but when or from where, he never knew. It seemed like he always had done it in times of stress or danger. It seemed to calm him. It also kept his hand fairly close to both Remingtons. He felt like just up and shooting Jefferson, but he knew that would do no good.
“They say I could talk to them another time?” Coffin asked, mouth tight.
“Tomorrow. You come after supper, when it’s dark. Mr. Yarnell says you come to the back door.”
Once more fury ripped through Coffin like a buzz saw. He managed to get it in control. He had nothing else to say, and apparently neither did Jefferson. Coffin nodded and turned away. He knew now, though, that today’s episode with Lyons and the others was on the Yarnells’ minds. He didn’t know what they thought of him now, but he knew it wasn’t good. He was tempted to not bother going back the next night. Not if it meant going to the back door like some poor servant.
Then he sighed, the breath coming out in a frosty white cloud in front of him. He had to go back at least one more time. He just had to confront them about it.
Chapter Fifteen
Coffin stayed holed up in his room at Eagan’s for the night, and throughout the daylight hours the next day. He did not want to meet anyone just yet. He knew that as angry and humiliated as he still was, that as soon as someone—and there would be someone for certain—poked fun at him for yesterday’s doings, that he would kill that person. Coffin could get away with killing Lyons and his pals, since it was basically self-defense, but killing one of Crooked Creek’s respectable citizens was another story.
So he stayed in his room and had Eagan or his wife bring him food from the restaurant. He did have two visitors. Randy Carstairs stopped by early, face bright with excitement.
“I got me two new guns,” the boy said excitedly.
“Well, where are they?” Coffin asked.
“Right in here,” Randy said, holding up a burlap sack.
“So show me,” Coffin said with mock exasperation. “I can’t see ’em inside the sack.”
Randy grinned even more, though Coffin would have sworn that was impossible. The boy put the bag on the bed and opened it. He reached in and pulled out a cloth and lay that on the bed. He pulled out another cloth and set that down too. Then he almost reverently began unfolding the cloths until the two pistols were revealed. Coffin picked one up and turned the cylinder slowly, making sure it was not loaded. Then he hefted it. “A .31-caliber Colt pocket model,” he said, nodding. “Good little pistol.”
“It ain’t too light?” Randy asked seriously.
“Too light for what?” Coffin asked, glaring at his young friend.
Randy shrugged, embarrassed. He had thought Coffin would understand such things, and would not talk to him in that tone of voice that made fun of him.
“Let me tell you somethin’, boy,” Coffin said more harshly than he had wanted. “A .31 can kill somebody just as dead as a .44. All a .44 really does is give you a bit more range. It does give a little punch up close, which can help you. But this here gun’ll do the job just about as good. With your small hands and your skinny arms, this .31’s ideal. It’ll be easier for you to learn how to shoot with it. You get a little older, a little bigger, maybe strengthen up your arms, you can look for a bigger, heavier pistol.”
“Will you show me; teach me, I mean?”
“If I’m around,” Coffin said flatly.
“What’s that mean?” Randy asked, bewildered.
“After what happened yesterday, there might be more than a few folks’d think Crooked Creek’d be better off without the likes of me. I ain’t sayin’ that’ll happen, but it might.”
Coffin put the one pistol down and picked up the other and checked it over. “Both of ’em are in good shape,” he said, “They’re fairly old, and used, but they’ve been well cared for. You know how to keep ’em in good shape?”
Randy nodded.
“Good. How much did Otto charge you for ’em?”
“Three dollars each, plus two more dollars for a flask of powder, a pouch of lead balls, a tin of caps, cleanin’ stuff and a bullet mold. You think I paid too much?” Coffin shook his head. “What about the rest of the money I give you?”
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” He pulled some dollar bills and then some change from a pants pocket. He held it out. “Six dollars and fifty cents left,”
“That don’t sound like nearly enough.”
“Darn,” Randy said. “I’m just pure foolish today. Can’t remember nothin’. Mr. Mueller said for you to keep the Colt you borrowed yesterday. He charged fifteen dollars for the gun and fifty cents for him havin’ to clean the Remingtons. He said the glass in the case’d cost you ten dollars. He took five dollars for the boots, a dollar for the pants, and he threw in the socks for nothin’.”
Coffin nodded. “Sounds right. Keep it.” He grinned at the wonderment on the boy’s face.
Randy stammered thanks and carefully put the money back in his pocket.
“Your pa know you got them pistols, boy?” Coffin asked.
“Yessir.”
“You ain’t lyin’ to me now, are you?”
“No, sir,” Randy said with a firm shake of the head. “I’m gonna ask him, you know.�
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“You can do that. He’ll tell ya.” His face sagged. “He says I can’t load ’em or carry ’em unless I’m with you or him.”
“Don’t be so glum, boy,” Coffin said a little sourly. “You wear them pistols, and you’ll most likely breed more trouble than you’d stop. And I can say that for certain.”
“I know,” Randy groused. Then he grinned a little. “That don’t mean I have to like it none.”
Coffin laughed. “That’s a fact, boy. Sure is.” He looked at his pocket watch. “It’s just about time for noonin’. You want a bite of food with me?”
“Yessir!”
“We’re gonna eat it up here, since I ain’t in no mood for settin’ in a restaurant with a bunch of other folks.”
“That’s all right by me.”
“Good. You go on down and tell Mr. Eagan that you’ll be eatin’ here with me. Tell him I’ll have some of that roasted chicken his wife makes up so good. Taters and biscuits, too. And tell him what you want.”
“Yessir!” Randy said smartly. He hurried out the door.
Lunch was a quiet, though not a very solemn, event. Randy pestered Coffin for stories, and Coffin told him one or two, then told him to get to eating. Coffin enjoyed eating and did not like to be disturbed any more than necessary.
Soon after eating, Coffin said, “You best get on back to your pa now, boy. He’ll be needin’ help.”
Randy was reluctant, but he knew that if he didn’t get back soon, he’d be in real trouble. He packed his guns carefully in the cloth and put them in the bag. Then he was off.
Coffin’s only other visitor was Blue Gladys. She showed up about mid-afternoon. She smiled shyly when Coffin opened the door and stood there surprised. “I can leave if you want, Joe,” Blue Gladys said quietly.
“Why would I want you to do that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Blue Gladys said with an accompanying shrug.
“Come on in,” he said, stepping back and opening the door all the way. He uncocked the Remington he had in his hand. After Blue Gladys was in the room, Coffin returned the pistol to its holster.
“You sure you don’t mind me comin’ here, Joe?”
“Hell no.”
“I saw your friend, that kid...?”
Coffin nodded. “Randy Carstairs.”
“Yeah, that’s him. I asked him about you, and he said he’d been here, but you weren’t aimin’ to leave your room.”
“That’s true,” Coffin admitted. “I don’t want to face most folks right now. A couple days or so and most of ’em’ll forget what happened yesterday.”
“You mind me stayin’ a while?”
“Nope. I’d be obliged to have your company. All night, if you’re of a mind.”
“I am,” Blue Gladys said with a saucy smile.
The smile faded when Coffin said, “I do have to go out for a bit tonight. Just after dark.”
“What for?” Blue Gladys asked nervously.
“Need to meet some folks.”
“Who...” Blue Gladys nodded unhappily. “Oh, yeah, Miss Hoity Toity.”
Coffin considered getting angry, but decided he had no call for such. “Yep,” he said. “But I’m figurin’ she won’t want a hell of a lot to do with me after yesterday.”
“How can you say that? If she loves you, she’ll be. there for you.”
“That’s what I thought. But I went over there last night, and their servant wouldn’t even let me in the house. Said to come back tonight.”
“What’re you gonna do if she does cast you off?” Coffin shook his head. “Don’t know.” He looked closely at Blue Gladys. She seemed a little worried.
She was. Blue Gladys liked Joe Coffin very much. But it was not love. She didn’t want him to think that if he lost Edna, then he could turn to her instead. “I ain’t in the market for marriage, Joe,” she warned softly.
“I don’t know as if I can say the same,” Coffin said with a boyish, lopsided grin. “Depends on what Edna says. She turns me down, I won’t be in the market for a wife.”
Blue Gladys nodded, relieved. “I didn’t want you to think that.”
“You’re a fine woman, Blue Gladys,” he said honestly. “But I don’t think we’d make a good mix for the long run.”
“Me either.” Then Blue Gladys grinned impishly. “On the other hand, there’s a lot can be said for the short run.” She stood and began pulling off her dress.
Coffin’s anger was renewed as he rapped on the back door of the Yarnell home. Moments later Jefferson opened the door. “Follow me,” he said officiously.
Jefferson stopped outside the sitting room and “offered” Coffin inside with a regal wave of the hand. Coffin glared at the servant a moment before entering the room. He pulled off his hat as he did so.
“Sit,” Yarnell said, pointing to a chair. There was no warmth in his voice.
Coffin remained standing. “Where’s Edna?” he asked harshly.
“She has told me that she no longer wishes to see you under any circumstances,” Yarnell said coldly.
“I want to hear it from her,” Coffin responded just as icily.
“What you want is of no consequence to me, Coffin,” Yarnell said, trying to inject a note of threat into his words.
“You either get her in here to tell me herself, or I’ll go get her.”
“You’d be stopped. Permanently.”
“By who? Jefferson back there? Or that big, ugly ape you got in that other foyer over there?” Coffin said sarcastically. “Jefferson ain’t gonna shoot me in the back, and I’ll plug lard ass there before he gets a shot off. And I ain’t adverse to sending you to the boneyard either.”
Yarnell sputtered and fumed for a few moments, then sat angrily behind his desk “Mordecai, bring Miss Edna in here. And be quick about it.”
Coffin strolled to the sideboard near the other foyer door. He poured some bourbon into a glass and gulped it down. He refilled the glass and set it down as he picked out and lit a cigar. He turned to face the room, leaning back against the sideboard. With the door on his right, whoever was in that foyer could not get a shot at him without coming into the room. Coffin swept the room with his eyes, making sure there were no immediate dangers.
A moment later, Edna entered the room, and Coffin’s heart beat faster. She sat demurely in a chair, facing him. She left her hands in her lap, and her eyes were downcast.
“Your pa says you don’t want to see me no more. That might be true, but I ain’t gonna believe it till I hear it from your lips.”
“I don’t want to see you anymore,” she said, not lifting up her head.
“This something your pa put you up to?” Coffin asked harshly. “If it is, we can fix that fast enough.”
There was an uncomfortable silence of several moments’ duration. Then Edna looked up at him. Her face was red, and she looked like she had been crying. “I loved you, Joe,” she said. “I really did. But after...after...yesterday...I just can’t...I don’t know.” She dabbed away a few new tears. “I was humiliated by what happened yesterday.”
“You were humiliated?” Coffin asked incredulously. “More than you were.”
“Lordy, Edna, I can’t believe that.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true,” she said adamantly. “After what you done yesterday—or what was done to you, it don’t matter which—I can’t hold my head up in town anymore.” She stopped to nibble her lower lip a while. It looked to Coffin to be half chewed through. “It was bad enough that you let Lyons parade you around stark naked in front of the whole town, but then you went and brutally killed four men. I can’t live with the shame of your debasement, and I can’t live with a man who’s so ruthless...so bloodthirsty. God, Joe,” she wailed, “you killed four of them. Four.”
“I suppose you would’ve felt better had I slunk out of town? Would that’ve been better?”
“No,” Edna said reasonably. “No, that wouldn’t have been better. Nothing would, I guess.”
/> “We can leave here, you know,” Coffin said, making one more effort. “I got a little money saved. We could go someplace where nobody’d know us. I could start up a business.”
“No, Joe, it just won’t work.” Edna stood. “Good-bye, Joe,” she said as if she were in deep pain. She walked out of the room, her tears flowing freely once more.
Chapter Sixteen
Coffin looked over at Yarnell, who wasn’t quite gloating but was close to it. “Well, you’ve heard it from her lips,” Yarnell said sarcastically. “Now you can leave. And, if I might offer some advice, I’d leave Crooked Creek, if I were you.”
“Why?” Coffin asked, surprised. “I think Edna’s crazy for feelin’ this way, and it’s likely she’ll get over it sooner or later.” He swallowed the whiskey in his glass and puffed his cigar a moment. “What I can’t understand is why you want me out of town. Hell, I just got rid of your main enemy in Crooked Creek. Now the way’s clear for you to take over the whole goddamn town.”
“That’s true, Joe,” Yarnell said, seemingly at least a little apologetic. “And I do appreciate it, believe me. It solves a lot of problems for me, but it also creates something of a dilemma for me.”
“How’s that?”
“I can’t be connected with you now. If I keep you on as an employee, everybody’ll think I ordered you to kill Lyons and his men.”
“But with you controlling Crooked Creek now, what difference will that make?”
“Somebody’s sure to tell the county sheriff. Maybe even the governor. Then I’d have a lot more trouble than I’d be comfortable dealing with.” He sighed.
“Bullshit,” Coffin said flatly.
Yarnell’s eyebrows raised. “Is it?” he asked. “Lyons still has friends here—and in other places. They’ll be sure to spread the word about this. If I send you packing—or better yet, if you ‘decide’ on your own to leave Crooked Creek, the county or state officials would be much more easily convinced that while you had been an employee of mine, I had nothing to do with your killing Lyons and his men. In proof, I can say I sent you packing. Or that you were so remorseful that you hit the trail on your own account. Then those nosy, busybody officials’d most likely leave me be. I can lay quiet a bit, just keeping tabs on the rest of Lyons’s men here. A couple months from now...” Yarnell clenched a fist, as if crushing a small, unimportant enemy.