Written in Blood: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (Hayden Tilden Westerns Book 5)

by J. Lee Butts

  A washerwoman’s rub board of chicken flesh shot up my back and neck. Hair stood up all over my body. Don’t care what anyone says, there’s just nothing like being snapped awake, in the pitch-dark, with the full knowledge that grinning Death has arrived and is in the process of wreaking havoc only a few feet away.

  Sat bolt upright in my rumpled, bloodstained bed. The mosquito netting was draped over me like a widow’s veil. Inside the rude cabin, men yelped, screamed, cursed, and called on God for assistance. Swear ’fore Jesus, sounded as though a dozen people were running around and beating on the interior walls with ax handles. Though of fairly sturdy construction, the whole building shook as if in the clutches of a killer Kansas-born cyclone. Then, honest to God, I’d willingly take an oath that draft horses were climbing up and down the walls like monstrous spiders wearing iron boots.

  Whatever furniture still existed inside the abandoned house was being rendered into kindling. Couldn’t imagine what shattered but, for a second, I would’ve swore I heard something made of glass break. Then the entire core of the place lit up with thunderous pistol fire.

  Enormous, blue-tinted spots flashed before my eyes from a pair of thumping shots fired so close to one another they almost sounded like a single explosion. A second or so later, the acrid odor of spent black powder wafted past my nostrils on a little bit of barely noticeable breeze.

  Then the screaming and mayhem got more general. Heard some unfortunate soul yell out, “Oh-h-h-h, goddamn, I’m stabbed. Stabbed through the heart. You’ve killed me, you stupid son of a bitch. Save me, sweet Jesus.”

  Ripped the mosquito netting away, grabbed for the porch pillar nearest me. Fumbled around in the blue black darkness for some passage of time before I finally found it. Pistol at the ready, I hoisted myself into a half-standing, crouched position just as someone staggered past me, then drunkenly ricocheted off my support column. Sweet, coppery odor of blood trailed behind the staggering man as he tumbled headfirst off the porch. Poor bastard hit the ground with a dull, moaning thud. Landed in a patch of briars and brambles next to the steps. Swear I heard his neck crack when he hit the ground.

  Turned back toward the cabin’s open entryway just in time for someone to slip up and grab me by the throat. Sneaky skunk caught me by total surprise. Man had fingers like iron bands. Cut my windpipe off so fast with his thumbs, I quickly came to wondering if I’d ever get the air of life back into my body again. And before I could bring my pistol barrel up against his chest, must admit I got right light-headed. Worst of all, I dropped the hammer on him, and my weapon misfired. Only instance of an 1873 Colt failing me that I can bring to mind.

  Drew back with what dwindling energy I had left to swing the weapon like a club. Talonlike fingers suddenly turned me loose. Dropped to my knees like a sack of flour thrown from a grocer’s delivery wagon. Could barely make out the shadowy movements of two men as they wrestled back and forth on the porch. They grunted and grappled with each other in the darkness for several seconds. Lot of hissing, spitting, and swearing coming from one feller. Cocked my pistol again. Figured it couldn’t possibly betray me a second time but, hell, much as I tried, couldn’t figure out who to shoot.

  Managed to gain a bit of purchase on the cabin’s windowsill with my fingertips. Dragged myself erect again, and got braced for a killing. After the passage of what felt like hours, one of the struggling combatants made a gagging, strangled sound, then dropped at my feet.

  God as my witness, I didn’t have any idea who the man was that had survived. Could barely see my own hand in front of my eyes. Brought the pistol to bear on the only one left standing.

  Survivor leaned against the wall next to the door and gasped, “You all right, Tilden?”

  Lowered my weapon, fumbled around till I found his arm, then said, “Where’s your lantern, John Henry? Hell’s bells, it’s so damned dark out here, if a feller lit a match, he’d probably have to light a second one to see if the first one was actually burning.”

  “Don’t know where the lantern ended up, Tilden. Mighta got busted. Damned sure fizzled out on me, though. Thought I had enough fuel to last all night. Musta miscalculated, or maybe the wick burnt up.”

  Still couldn’t see much of anything, but knew by his movement that John Henry had turned and stepped back through the cabin’s open doorway.

  Noise from the fight inside had fallen away to little more than some sporadic groaning. Then I heard Carlton say, “Move over, you son of a bitch. Either of you bastards make another effort at escapin’ and I’m gonna save Maledon the trouble of a-hangin’ ya. Kill the hell outta you belly-slinkin’ bastards, gut ya, then string up the pieces on the bushes ’round this place myself.”

  Heard the chains rattle and clink and, of a sudden, my best friend stood at my side. He grabbed me by the arm and said, “Damnation, Hayden, are you okay?”

  Groped in the shadowy gloom till I found his shoulder. Patted him and said, “Still with you, Carl. Still with you. Where’s Nate?”

  Several seconds passed before Carl said, “Shit. Tell the truth, I didn’t even think to check.”

  About then, as if by magic, John Henry’s lamp came back to life. I leaned on Carl, and he helped me hobble over to the cabin’s threshold. My God, but that place looked like somebody had painted the walls with blood. Soft, flickering, reddish orange glow from the kerosene-fueled flame simply enhanced an eerie scene of butchery and carnage.

  Nate Swords sat with his back nestled in one corner. He had both pistols trained on the remaining pair of terrified criminals.

  “You hurt, Nate?” I called out.

  Watched as the man struggled to his feet. He holstered both weapons, then carefully picked at a spot on his right side. A jagged slit in the chambray material of his bib-front shirt oozed with a splash of fresh blood. “Well,” he said, “one a them sneaky sons a bitches tried to put an end to me, but ’pears as how he missed anything of real importance. Didn’t manage to do much but put something of an insignificant nick in my hide. From the look of the thing, doubt it’ll take much to repair the damage.” He glanced up at me and grinned, then pulled tobacco and makin’s and set to rolling himself a smoke with blood-crusted fingers.

  Took us nigh on to an hour, but we finally sorted the whole mess out—leastways, we figured out the deadly development of those events as best we could. Came to the conclusion that, somehow, Crawford Starr had slipped his cuffs, then helped Orville Willie get loose as well. Both of them had secreted folding pocketknives on their persons and went to hacking at anything available in the darkness.

  Unfortunately for Jasper Day, who was the goober chained closest to Nate Swords, Willie must’ve mistaken his friend for Nate and stabbed the poor man near half a dozen times. Got him in the neck, belly, and chest. Couple of the wounds pierced the unfortunate man’s heart. He bled out right there on the cabin’s dirty floor alongside a fireplace built of pale brown, water-smoothed stones from the sandy bed of the nearby Canadian.

  As a bloodred sun peeked over the towering sandstone bluffs, John Henry pointed at the body lying in the patch of briars next to the front steps. “Starr caught both the slugs I put in the air. ’Pears he stumbled out here, fell off the porch, and died right where he’s layin’. Willie came out right behind him, grabbed you by the throat, and that’s when I stepped in.”

  Porch pillar helped hold me up. Ran a shaking hand through my hair, then reached over and patted my savior on the shoulder. “Can’t thank you enough,” I said. “Way things were goin’, not sure I woulda made it if you hadn’t shown up when you did. Willie’s grip on my throat felt like the man could’ve easily crushed walnuts with his bare hands.”

  Last thing I heard was somebody saying, “Maybe you oughta sit back down, Tilden.”

  14

  “. . . CAUGHT LITTLE MISS HOLLY IN BED WITH A GAMBLIN’ FELLER . . .”

  WHEN I FINALLY came back to something akin to reasonable lucidity, Elizabeth stood over me and mopped at my brow with a cool, d
amp rag. An absolutely radiant smile played across her beautiful face when she said, “Thank God you’re still with us.” She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “Had begun to worry, my dearest.”

  Tried my best to sit up. Got my head far enough off the pillow to realize that I’d somehow managed to end up in my own bed. Open-curtained window, just a few steps away, revealed one of my favorite sights in all the world. Could see the rolling, green, tree-covered hills on the north side of the Arkansas where the river made a sharp turn on its run toward Little Rock and thence to join up with the mighty Mississippi.

  Flopped back into the comfort of my feather mattress and down-stuffed pillow. Gazed into Elizabeth’s eyes. Those usually clear, near-crystal orbs were streaked with a webwork of weepy red. Surprised me how thin my voice sounded when I took her hand and said, “No need to worry, darlin’. I’m doin’ fine. You know me. Be raring to go in just a few days. Promise.”

  She shook her head, then pulled away. Dipped the rag in a basin of water on the bedside table, squeezed it out, then laid the damp cloth across my feverish head once more. “No. No, you won’t. Doc Bryles tells me you need to take it easy for some time to come. Maybe as much as a month to six weeks. Longer, if I have anything to say about it.”

  ’Course I tried to minimize the damage. “Aw, now I can’t be that bad off. Just a nick in my hip. ’Sides, can’t begin to imagine how I’d ever live it down with Carlton if I should die of such a wound. God Almighty, the rawhidin’ and hoorahin’ would never stop.”

  Look of stern determination flashed across her face. “You were badly injured, Hayden. Lost a lot of blood through that hole in your hip during the wagon ride back from the Nations. Took the doctor almost two hours to get the slug out and patch up the damage. And he maintains that a fragment of lead is still in there and can’t be removed. Said it’s a wonder you didn’t bleed to death. Suppose if it hadn’t been for Carlton, Nate, and John Henry Slate you probably would’ve. Feels like an icy hand around my heart every time I think on how you could very well have been alone, and died out there somewhere in the Nations, and no one would’ve ever known where to find you.”

  Of a sudden, she collapsed onto the bed beside me and sobbed. Sound came from deep inside her heaving chest. Racked her body as though an unseen hand had reached out from an unknown place and slapped her on the back. Couldn’t remember hearing anything to match it since our son Tommy died. And sweet Jesus, I’ll readily admit, such a display from the strongest woman I’d ever known scared the hell out of me.

  Placed a trembling hand on her straw-colored hair and stroked it in the same way I did with my infant son when he seemed afraid. Said, “Aw, darlin’, no need to let yourself go and get so upset. ’S all over now. I’m safe at home. You’re here with me. Figure young Billy’s probably in his bedroom takin’ a nap. Near as I can tell, the sky’s as clear and blue as your eyes. Life’s mighty good, don’t you think?”

  She sat up, and wiped tears away from both cheeks. Appeared pained when she finally looked me in the eye again. “We’re the wealthiest people in Fort Smith, perhaps in all of Sebastian County, Hayden. Papa’s Elk Horn Bank makes money for us—hand over fist. More now than when he was alive. Our grocery and mercantile is the busiest in town. Lately, my wedding arrangement business takes so much of my time I barely have a minute in the day to hurry by and visit the bank or the store. Our sawmill and lumber concern goes from daylight to dark. Subsidizes all the construction we’re involved in.”

  Tried to lighten the mood a bit when I stopped her by sayin’, “Might help if you’d stop buyin’ up everything in town that somebody sticks a for sale sign on.”

  A fleeting smile flickered across her lips. She pulled a tiny, lace-edged hanky from somewhere. Dabbed at dripping eyes, then rubbed an inflamed nose. Her gaze darted up to a painting hanging over the head of our bed. Depiction of an angel guiding a pair of beautiful children across a stone bridge in deep woods. Then she stared at nervous fingers that twisted the tiny square of lacy material into a tight knot.

  “I’m not handling this situation well, Hayden,” she said. “You’ve been hurt before, but never as bad as this. I truly feared for a time you might die.”

  Patted her on the arm, then gave it a squeeze. “Oh, come on now, darlin’, doubt I was ever that far gone.”

  She sniffed and wiped at her nose again. “You could work in the bank, the store, the sawmill. Manage any of our commercial concerns, or all of them, if you wanted. Take over any of our firms, whenever you’d like. Well, maybe not the wedding business, but any of the others.” She stopped, locked me in a scrunch-faced gaze, then said, “I’d be happy to step aside just to keep you out of danger.”

  Took her tremulous hand in mine. Tenderly as I could, placed it over my heart, then caressed her cheek. “I’m not a clerk, Elizabeth. Just ain’t in me. Chain me to a desk, I’d go slap crazy. Couldn’t stand bein’ behind a counter shufflin’ groceries back and forth all day long. Countin’ beans, sellin’ dry goods, and such down at your store isn’t the life for me, and you know it. Not even sure I could put up with bein’ tied to an outfit as freewheeling as a sawmill. Restrictions of a clerk’s life might well drive me to self-destruction.”

  She turned her tortured gaze out the window, then stared down at her twitching hands again. Shook her head. Let a trembling, rueful smile play across her lips.

  Pulled on the sleeve of her dress in an effort to bring her attention back my direction. “The law’s my life,” I said. “All I’ve ever done, since the day you first outfitted me in your father’s store. Same day I started on my quest to bring Saginaw Bob Magruder in for punishment in Judge Parker’s court for murderin’ my entire family.”

  “I remember. You were quite handsome in your new duds,” she sniffed.

  “Life of the lawdog’s all I know. Not sure I’ll ever be able to walk away from the work. Can’t truthfully say I can foresee a time when I’ll want to leave the profession. You’ve known all that for as long as we’ve been acquainted. Known there’s always been the possibility I might be injured. And, unfortunately, good men die every day doin’ this work.”

  She pulled her sleeve from my fingers, reached out, and patted the spot over my heart, but continued to stare out the window. “Yes. You’re right. I know. Just thought I’d see if you might be ready to give the whole dangerous dance a rest.”

  Watched as she stood and started for the door. As her hand touched the knob, I said, “What I do for a livin’ is important, Elizabeth. Personally, I can’t think of a more worthy way to serve mankind. Perhaps even more significantly, not many men can do what I do—not even a handful in the entirety of the U.S. Marshals Service. Need you along with me for the ride ’cause I’m not sure I could stand to keep up the quest without you.”

  She leaned her head against the door facing for a second, quickly snapped upright again, then, as she disappeared into the hallway, said, “I know. I know. But I had to try.” Near as I can remember, she never mentioned the subject again. Not even right up to her last moments on this earth, during the great flu epidemic of 1918.

  My recovery turned out as slow a process as Doc Bryles and Elizabeth had forecast. Took nigh on to a week before I was even able to clamber out of bed, then hobble my way to the covered veranda that surrounded all four sides of our home and sit in my favorite, cane-bottom rocking chair. The hill the house occupied gave me a downright magnificent view for miles in any direction. Fort Smith’s smoking presence lay mere miles to the south. God, but I loved that place.

  People make fun of folks who get shot in the ass, but let me tell you, I can’t imagine much that could be any worse. Such a wound makes life difficult in a number of ways that are just too ghastly to describe. Had to carry a big ole fringe-trimmed pillow Elizabeth got in New York City around with me so I could get myself comfortable once I’d finally decided on a spot to land. Cushion had a picture of a big ole bridge on it with the legend WELCOME TO NEW YORK stitched across a cloud-f
illed sky overhead.

  Best thing to come out of that entire mess was how often Carl, Nate, John Henry, and other friends stopped over for a visit. Seemed as though hardly a day went by that someone didn’t show up on my porch carrying a covered dish, a deck of cards, a fresh copy of the Fort Smith Elevator, or, in John Henry’s case, a checkerboard.

  Slate loved his checkers. Do believe he enjoyed winning about as much as anybody I’ve ever run across. He’d take my last man, throw his head back, and cackle like a thing insane. Stomp his feet and, sometimes, jump up and do a victory jig the likes of which bordered on the outright comical. Resembled a demented chicken trying to dance. Got to a point where I’d let him win just to see the chicken dance. Chuckle for hours afterward when I happened to bring his latest caper to mind again.

  Once I got to feeling pretty good, John Henry slipped by a time or two, rousted me out of bed, helped me into our single-seated carriage, and drove me down to a creek on our property for a bit of fishing. Swear ’fore Jesus, the man was worse than a little kid about catching fish. Let him hook a hand-sized bream, big-mouthed bass, or a slab-sided crappie, and he’d hoot and holler like a twelve-year-old. Had a smile on his face for two days after he landed a catfish that weighed nigh on thirteen pounds.

  Remember as how, more than once, we sat on the porch of a late afternoon and watched as the sun began to nestle itself behind the thick, green forest of trees on the Arkansas’s rolling, western bank. Seemed right wistful when, of a sudden, he said, “’S a beautiful spot you and Elizabeth have here, Tilden. ’Course, I still prefer Texas. Whole different kind of geography and all, but I still favor the area around Waco. Can’t wait to get back there. It’s home, of course. And no matter what anybody says, there just ain’t nothin’ quite like home and family.”