Texas Born

by Gould, Judith

  Zaccheus nodded to himself. So the stories he had heard were true: Tex Sexton had indeed stocked a portion of his land with game.

  As he watched, several ranch hands untied the deer from the litter and dragged it into a shed.

  Behind him he heard the oak door opening. He turned around slowly.

  'Be with you in a minute,' Tex Sexton said abruptly, waving aside any greetings with a large callused hand. Obviously there were going to be no handshakes and no hellos. Zaccheus remained standing and watched as Sexton poured himself a glass of bourbon from the sideboard. Then he drained the glass, sighed deeply, banged it down, and went over to one of the deep tufted black leather couches studded with gleaming brass nailheads. He threw himself down on it, hooking a leg over one of the arms, and studied Zaccheus quietly. Though his body was relaxed, Tex's squinting eyes were wary.

  Zaccheus studied him right back. Sexton didn't dress the part of the powerful gentleman rancher, and that surprised him. He dressed, in fact, like one of the ranch hands: he wore baggy whipcord trousers, a mended red-plaid shirt with flaps over the pockets, and worn, dusty boots.

  Tex Sexton was close to fifty, but there was an astonishing, youthful vitality about him. His hair was thick and black, combed back and barely touched with gray at the temples. He was a large man, both in height and girth, but he was light-footed and carried his weight well. His face was long and brown and narrow, an outdoor face, the skin drawn taut across the bones and weathered with a network of tiny, shallow wrinkles. His mouth was large and thin-lipped, and held an expression Zaccheus could only interpret as sardonic, with a small humorless smile twisting up the corners. His ears were large and stuck out at an odd angle, giving him a deceptively countrified look. Above all, he was impressive. The imperious self-assurance with which he held himself, and the steady gaze of his large, hooded, predatory black eyes, belonged to a man who could take care of himself. Who instantly felt at home in any surroundings, no matter how far away from home he happened to wander. And that, Zaccheus thought for the first time in his life, all added up to one thing. Power.

  Finally Sexton spoke. 'So you're the young man recommended to me for hire,' he drawled in a lazy voice. 'Your name?'

  'Zaccheus Hale, sir.'

  'Your accent puts you up north a ways. Kentucky?'

  Zaccheus couldn't hide his surprise. 'Tennessee,' he lied.

  'Yep, Tennessee. I can see that now. Usually I can place accents within a state or two. Mighty handy little talent to have, if I say so myself. But your accent's bastardized. Sounds like you've been moving around.'

  Zaccheus felt a clutch of tension pull at his stomach. So Tex Sexton isn't as countrified as he appears. He's a shrewd man. I'll have to be on my guard, and watch every word.

  'Let me tell you something, son. Usually I don't hire people if they aren't from round here, 'less they're migrant Mexes. But you come highly recommended by Jesse Atkinson. Jesse's not only a good friend of mine but also the president of Quebeck Savings and Loan, which I happen to own. Seems he heard of you from the lady runs the rooming house in town—'

  'Miss Clowney.'

  'Guess that's her.' Sexton nodded. 'Usually I'm not curious about outsiders, but seeing as how you've been so highly recommended, and being a Bible salesman . . . well, a man that honest is rare.' He narrowed his dark eyes. 'Know figures?'

  'I can add, subtract, multiply, divide, and work out percentages, if that's what you mean, sir.'

  'And you can read and write?'

  Zaccheus nodded.

  'Good. Tell you what I need, and you tell me if that's what you got. Brains are a rare commodity round here, and they tell me you got one. What I already got are smart accountants and lawyers and managers and all that, but I've got a lot of businesses need seeing to. What I want is a loyal, sharp young man with a brain that goes clickety-click all of the time. Somebody who's got a nose for trouble, who can keep his eye on the overall picture without personal things or other people getting in the way. Somebody who can keep me informed. I don't want the bare-bones details. Just the overall picture. Get what I mean?'

  'In other words, sir, you want a liaison between yourself and all the people heading the other businesses you own.'

  'Liaison.' Sexton tested the word on his tongue. 'Good word, that.' He nodded. 'Yep, that's exactly what it amounts to. But more. You gotta be a troubleshooter too. Keep your eyes on everything, and if something seems fishy, investigate. Keep your pulse on the hired people and keep your ears open in case anybody tries to make trouble for me.' The sardonic smile widened. 'Seeing as how bright and honest you're supposed to be, I thought maybe I'd give you a chance. Think you're cut out for it?'

  'I don't want to be a spy, Mr. Sexton,' Zaccheus said in a level voice.

  Sexton threw back his head and roared. 'I don't want a spy, son! I got plenty of those already. What I want is a . . . what did you call it?' He squinted craftily, playing the fool. 'Liaison. Somebody to keep me abreast of the overall picture so I don't have to listen to two dozen people when one will do. Every week I'll expect a written report on everything important going on. Everything in a nutshell. Know what I mean?'

  Zaccheus looked at him curiously. 'Why don't you get someone from around here? Someone you know you can trust?'

  'Because,' Sexton explained patiently, 'the ones I do trust got jobs with me already. A lot of people around here don't like me, son. They're out to hammer me down. They got a lot of preconceived notions about me. That's why I want you. You're fresh blood. Untainted and unbiased. You don't have any reason to hate me.'

  'But I intend to stay here. How do you know you can trust me after I've lived here for a while.'

  'Hell, son, I don't want some hobo who'll catch the next train out. I want somebody who'll stick around.'

  'And you trust me? Even though you don't know anything about me?'

  'I trust my instincts.'

  Zaccheus was silent.

  'Son, instinct is a talent you use to sniff out other people. And I sniff you out as honest.'

  'I suppose I'll be spied on too?'

  Sexton sighed and smiled hugely. 'Sure, I'll keep my eye on you. What do you say? Want the job?'

  Zaccheus hesitated for a moment. Then he held out his hand. 'I'm willing to give it a try, Mr. Sexton,' he said slowly. 'Besides, what's the worst that can happen? I can always quit.'

  'That sounds more like it.' Sexton jumped nimbly to his feet and slapped Zaccheus on the back. 'Tell you what, son. You come by at six in the morning and we'll get you started. From that minute on, you're on my payroll.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'And one more thing, son.'

  'Sir?' Zaccheus looked at him.

  'Round here, I'm not 'sir' or 'Mr. Sexton.' We aren't that formal. Everyone calls me 'Tex.' Got that?'

  An answering smile broadened Zaccheus' lips. 'Yes, sir, Tex.'

  'That's better, son,' Sexton said. 'Now, you run on home and report back here tomorrow. Damned if I don't think you'll work out just fine.'

  6

  The town crazy of Quebeck, Willy Campbell, commonly called 'Mutt' by the children who taunted him mercilessly, lived in a shack out next to the railroad tracks. Sometimes he lived alone, and sometimes he shared the shack with his wife and daughter. His wife, Sadie, and their daughter—nicknamed 'Railroad Yellow,' both after her blonde hair and her habit of disappearing for weeks on end by jumping on railroad cars and riding off with the hobos—well, people tended to stay well clear of them. Mothers, trying to instill fear in their children, would warn, 'Now, don't you wander off, or else Mutt's gonna get you, and if he don't, Sadie or Railroad Yellow will!'

  Mutt and his family were not as dangerous as everyone liked to believe. They were merely different—and unfortunately suffered from generations of inbreeding. It was that which set them apart, nothing more. The truth was, they were really rather benign if left alone. The problem was, no one did.

  Jenny approached the shack in a crouch so that she wouldn't
be visible to Mutt or the two women, if they happened to be there. When she reached it, she slowly straightened, keeping her back to the wall, and then inched sideways and glanced through the filthy cracked glass window. She nodded to herself with satisfaction. She could see Mutt rocking back and forth in an old rocker, singing to himself. Neither Sadie nor Railroad Yellow was within sight, and she was glad. Her plan depended on finding Mutt alone.

  She moved her head away from the window and motioned for Red and Laurenda to join her. They ran through the high weeds in a crouch to join her. 'Who's in there?' Laurenda whispered.

  'Just Mutt.'

  'You sure?'

  'Sure, I'm sure.' Jenny looked at her in disgust.

  'What do we do now?' Laurenda asked.

  'We lure Mutt out of the shack, that's what.'

  Laurenda tightened her lips worriedly. 'I don't want him to come after me.' She shivered visibly at the thought.

  'He won't.' Jenny was very sure of herself. 'If he comes after any of us, the others will distract him. Got that?'

  Red and Laurenda nodded reluctantly.

  'If I yell for help, come running toward the house. Red, you stay right here and keep looking in the window. If things get out of hand in there, I'm counting on you to come in and rescue me.'

  'But aren't you scared of him?' There was awe in Red's voice.

  'No, I'm just going to excite him a little, that's all. And don't worry about me. You just both do your parts, okay?'

  'And then?' Red pressed.

  Then, Jenny thought craftily, although she did not dare say it aloud, lest it scare off Red and Laurenda, then I'll promise Mutt Campbell the sun and the moon. I'll tell him to meet me at the bandstand once it gets dark. Only I won't be there waiting for him. Elizabeth-Anne will.

  When Zaccheus arrived back in town from the Sexton ranch, he was whistling cheerfully. Only when he saw the envelope slipped under his door did the whistle fade in his throat. Perplexed, he picked it up, tore it open, and frowned. He read and reread the short, floridly penned message with increasing disappointment.

  Zaccheus,

  I hope you will forgive me, but I cannot meet you

  at the bandstand this evening like we'd planned, as

  I am feeling somewhat unwell.

  Elizabeth-Anne

  He tapped the paper against his thigh, sighed painfully to himself, and gazed out the oriel window. Across the street, the windows above the Good Eats Café were glowing yellow. Behind one of them was Elizabeth-Anne.

  For a moment he considered crossing the street and calling on her. Then he shook his head. If she was sick, then she surely did not want to entertain a visitor.

  He flopped down on the bed, crossed his arms behind his head, and gazed morosely up at the ceiling. Suddenly he felt very much alone.

  It was strange how her company—or the lack of it- influenced how he felt.

  Once it got dark, Elizabeth-Anne hurried to meet Zaccheus at the bandstand. Although daylight was gone, she had dressed with special care, and since it looked like rain, she carried an umbrella.

  She glanced up at the rooming house. A light glowed softly in the third-floor oriel window, but she could not see Zaccheus' shadow moving about. She frowned to herself. Surely he would have switched the lamps off if he had already left?

  For a moment she hesitated. Perhaps he had been in such a hurry to meet her at the bandstand that he had forgotten to turn off the lights. He might well be waiting for her already.

  She glanced down Main Street. Five blocks away, enveloped in the darkness, was the bandstand. And Zaccheus.

  She hurried more swiftly now. Her heart was light, her footsteps springy. Yet she felt terribly nervous. She couldn't bear to wait much longer to find out how his interview with Tex Sexton had gone. She knew that her future and his hung from that delicate thread.

  She had nearly reached her destination when the first big splatters of raindrops plopped down on the dusty street. She started to run and jumped up under the sheltering roof of the bandstand. The raindrops sounded extraordinarily loud drumming on the tin overhead. She glanced around. She could see him leaning against the railing, a black shadow against a dark background. She had to smile. His back was turned and he was pretending he hadn't seen her. Propping her umbrella quietly against the railing, she tiptoed over toward him. 'When I saw you'd left the lights on, I was afraid you were still at the rooming house,' she said softly. She reached out, touched his back, and frowned. His shirt felt peculiarly coarse, and he reeked of uncleanliness. Quickly she withdrew her hand.

  Suddenly she felt rough hands scrabbling over her arms and shoulders. Clumsy fingers clutched her breasts cruelly.

  'Owww!' she screamed. Fighting to tear herself from his grasp, she shoved the splayed fingers of one hand into his face. With her other she tried to pull herself loose. When she managed to push him away from her, she staggered backward and stared at him in shock.

  Hard animal eyes glittered back at her from the darkness.

  She felt hot tears streaking down her cheeks. Her mind was panicked with confusion. What was the matter? He had always been so gentle with her, had always treated her so lovingly, so sensitively. He had never grabbed her like this, had never caused her the slightest pain. What could have come over him? What?

  A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the sky and froze the figure facing her in a silver tableau. She sucked in her breath as the wave of shock hit her. Her mind reeled, and, unbidden, the screaming, taunting chant of the cruel children's ditty about Mutt swelled to a crescendo in her mind:

  Who's gonna get ya?

  Who's gonna grab ya?

  Crazy Mutt,

  Mutt and his slut,

  and Railroad Yeller,

  They'll lock you in their cellar!

  In those split-second flashes of lightning, she caught sight of the mad gleam flashing in Mutt's eyes, the saliva drooling from his open mouth, the swollen penis protruding angrily from his open fly.

  'You tole me! You tole me you wanted me!' he bawled in a whining voice. 'You promised me!'

  A wave of stifling nausea swept over her. For a moment she was afraid she was going to pass out.

  Mustn't, she hissed savagely to herself. Whatever you do, you mustn't faint. If you do, you can't run. And you've got to get away from him!

  Weakly she forced her legs to move. She took a faltering step backward, then another, and another. The lightning flashed, and then, once again, the nightmare scene was plunged into blackness. But even in the darkness she could sense him closing in on her, could hear the heavy hollow tread of his boots on the creaking boards of the bandstand. Closer. He was coming closer . . .

  She jumped backward and a scream died in her throat as she felt something hard pressing against the small of her back. It was only the bandstand railing, only a length of slats and banisters.

  Then she smelled his fetid breath as he lunged at her. His unshaven face scratched against hers, and his powerful hands grasped her, pinching and groping, squeezing and ripping. She struggled to fight him off, but he was far too strong for her. From somewhere in the back of her mind the thought dashed through her that the unbalanced are possessed of an unspeakable strength.

  If you can't fight him, then don't even try, she cautioned herself. Pretend to faint. Let him loosen his grip so you can escape.

  She forced herself to go limp, and she could hear his gasp of surprise as she slumped, but his hands would not let go. She took a deep breath, summoned all her strength, and somersaulted backward. He rammed himself savagely against her, and together they crashed over the railing, down to the wet ground below.

  Wooosh! She could hear the breath being knocked out of her.

  She lay there, dazed, taking deep lungfuls of air. After a moment she sat up slowly and shook the cobwebs out of her head. She was aching all over, but she was safe. That was all that mattered. Beneath her, Mutt Campbell was unconscious. She crawled off him.

  And then, just when
she thought she was safe, she felt arms encircling her from behind. She recoiled and let out a cry. 'No!' she sobbed. 'Don't touch me! Please don't touch me! Please don't.' She drew back toward the bandstand platform on all fours, her body trembling like a tortured animal shrinking from the world.

  But the touch, when it came again, was kind and gentle.

  Zaccheus pulled her gently to her feet.

  'What happened?' he asked her softly.

  She attacked him suddenly, her wet, dirty gloved fists pummeling fiercely against his chest. 'Let me go!' she cried. 'Let me go let me go let me go!'

  He grabbed her by the wrists to restrain her and pinned her arms to her sides. She hung her head and sobbed uncontrollably.

  'It's me! Zaccheus!' he whispered urgently, giving her a shake. 'It's me, Elizabeth-Anne! You're safe now.'

  'Let me go let me go—'

  He realized at once that she was in a state of shock. His hand flashed as he slapped her resoundingly across the face.

  One moment she was blubbering incoherently, and the next she raised her head and stared at him in surprise. 'Zaccheus?' she sobbed in a tiny voice. 'Oh, Zaccheus!' Then she threw her arms around him and clung to him desperately, sobbing and crying with relief. 'Thank God it's you! Oh, God, it was terrible!'

  'Sssssh!' He patted her on the back. 'Tell me about it later. Come on.'

  She turned her face up to his. 'Where . . . are we going?'

  'Back to where it's safe and warm . . . where you'll be all right. Thank God I couldn't bear to be alone tonight. I had to get out of my room . . . and it's funny, you know? I felt I'd be closer to you here than anywhere else. That's why I decided to come here. Because we were going to meet here, it somehow seemed like it was our place.'