Tinker said, "I think he should stay there, Chip. It was where he wanted to be, and up there in the sky is at least as good as being stuck in a hole."
Chip said, "The Sioux do it that way, even some of the old Iroquois used to lash their dead into tall trees."
Tiff agreed. "Why disturb him? That snag will probably stand another hundred years. It is a better monument than a slab of limestone anyway."
Tiny Doyle suggested, "I could carve his name in the tree, Mister Chip."
Chip did the deciding. "No, Tiny, we'll leave it like it is. Old Rob, the first Rob Shatto, buried some of his people under plain old rocks. That way only the ones who should know could find them. No need for a bunch of strangers learning about Tad's resting spot. We'll know, and that'll be enough.
"No question that Tad would prefer it that way."
Chapter 17
Fevers, some raging with heat, others sullen and seething, broiled the body and mind of Saul Shade. Wild dreams haunted his sleep and a thousand times he saw his sons shot into unrecognizable bits by a dimly seen figure he knew to be Tiff Shatto.
Sometimes his boys were only children, before their mother had shriveled into a husk and died. Shatto's bullets tore them anyway. Usually the sons were full-grown when Shatto crept from cover and blasted away, but that was no easier for Shade's tortured mind.
A doctor came and went, and a woman Shade did not recognize nursed him and paid the doctor from Shade's fat money belt. When he was lucid, Shade questioned, but there was little to be discovered. He lay in a rooming house near the railroad. Men loitered outside his window, and he could hear their talk and laughter. The woman often drove them away lest they disturb her patient, but they always returned.
Like lard in a hot skillet, pounds melted from Shade's heated body. He scarcely recognized the skeletal fingers he raised to examine. His face gaunt behind a beard growing wild and, in a hand-held mirror, his eyes were burning, staring pits of glowing fire in a giant head seeming too huge for his spindled neck to hold upright.
Madmen looked as he did, but Shade was not dismayed. He was not insane. Saul Shade knew his mission in life, and enhanced by the hallucinations of his nightmares, his duty came ever clearer. Through his avenging arm, the evil that was Tiff Shatto would die.
Soon the illness would pass. Shade would not allow it to take him. Shatto was near, Saul Shade never doubted that. After the fevers, Shade would gather strength. He would ask, and someone would have heard of Tiff Shatto. It rankled the soul of Saul Shade that with his enemy in reach he lay strengthless and fever ridden, but he would gain even from this devil's sickness.
Shade vowed that when he rose, there would be renewed dedication in the heart of Saul Shade. Then his special buck and ball would splatter his enemy just as he had seen his sons ripped apart in the horrid dreams.
Only a word, so that Shatto would know his nemesis. Then the 12 gauge would do the speaking.
Carter asked, "How long do you figure Tiff will stay around here?"
Chip could speculate because he had also been wondering and considering. "I'd expect him to be around all summer and into the fall. He spoke about seeing the Confederate States while he was in the east, and the logical time to do that would be during our colder months."
"Hell, it isn't that warm in the south. I nearly froze to death one winter in Charleston harbor. Why it got so cold . . ."
Chip interrupted. "I've heard the story, Roth. Anyway, Tiff was talking about the city of Tampa, down in Florida, and . . .
"I know where Tampa is, for God's sake. I've been there." Carter could do his own cutting off.
"Reason I'm asking is that I found Tiff and Lily's locating of old Tad mighty impressive."
"We all did. What they can do together really is astounding."
Carter noted, "I saw Tinker put some flowers against Tad's tree."
"Yep, it pleases her to finally know what happened to her father." Chip slapped almost angrily at an unoffending tree trunk. "Tad should have left a note where Tinker would eventually find it. A man shouldn't leave his people wondering what happened."
Then, Chip laughed ruefully. "Trouble with that is, old Tad couldn't write."
They walked a few steps before Chip added, "If you decide you've pained us enough and are going to drop down a well or something, Roth, leave a note so we can go ahead and split up your goods."
Roth snorted. "I'll be around to pack sod on your carcass, Shatto." He looked askew at Chip's stride. "You notice you're walking sort of heavy, Chip? And you were really clumsy coming out of Tad's tree."
Chip did not bother to answer.
Carter said, "Getting back to Tiff staying around, I'm wondering if we might not be able to put his and Lily's magic to good use."
"Like what?"
"Well, maybe they could point out new coal bars in the Susquehanna. There are fortunes to be made in river coal."
"Carter, every ounce of river coal has washed down from the mines upstream."
"I know that, Shatto. I'm saying that there are big drifts out there that nobody's found yet."
"A man can starve to death mining river coal."
"Not if he finds a big bar of it.
"Anyway, there are other things. How about gold? There has always been talk of it along Tuscarora Mountain."
"Oh God, Roth. There isn't any gold around here. There never has been and there never will be."
The captain was equally disdainful. "Chip, just 'cause it hasn't been found doesn't mean it won't ever be. There is copper just north of here, and there is nickel over behind Bloomfield. Hell, there's iron east of Newport and coal right in our skinny vein—that we've wasted years on. Why couldn't there be gold as well?"
"Ask a geologist, not me. They all say this is not gold or silver country.
"Well, there are a lot of things Tiff and Lily might locate." Carter looked around suspiciously. "They say old Lewis the Robber buried treasure somewhere in this valley."
Chip appeared aghast. "Your mind is sick, Roth. Lewis was a common thief who went through this county on his way to somewhere else. Why do you believe that stuff?"
"How about that flatboat that hit the rock ledge a little above Amity Hall? Those people lost a whole chest of gold when the boat broke up, and don't say they didn't .We both watched 'em hunt for weeks."
Chip had to consider that one. He scratched thoughtfully before answering. "The chest probably broke up just like the boat. That was ten years back, anyway. If it didn't break it would have rotted by now."
Carter was exultant "And, being heaviest of all, the gold would have stayed right there, just waiting for us."
Chip shook his head. "I thought all this magical stuff had you scared?"
Roth looked suddenly worried. "I'm scared of losing all I've got, Chip, that's all. I can't help feeling the whole scheme could collapse, and we'll be standing around wondering how we could have been so stupid."
"It will work, Carter. Quit worrying. We need your gold to make Tiff's poke big enough to get Haycock to the table with his money showing. He bit, and we are going to reel him in."
"Haycock is a professional gambler, Chip. Hell, Tiff is only twenty-three years old. Haycock's been a professional longer than Tiff's been alive. He could have tricks Tiff never heard of."
"Do you want Tiny off Haycock's hook or not? You're getting to be a scared old man, Roth." Chip nodded agreement with himself. "You should stay home and bake bread or something. Tiff and I'll handle this."
"I'm going where my money is, you idiot."
Chip tapped his friend's muscular shoulder. "Look, Carter, this is Thursday. Tomorrow we get in a last blackjack practice, to have Tiff and Lily at their best. Saturday night Tiff will twist Haycock's nose, and we will be there to see it. That quick, you'll be ten percent richer because that is your agreed-on share of the winnings. Tiny will be free of Haycock, and we'll have a big picnic to celebrate."
Roth remained gloomy. "Or, we'll slink home broke and wonder
ing how we'll eat. Gambling isn't my idea of wise investing."
Chip appeared amazed. "Carter, what's a bigger gamble than taking a leaky old boat out into the ocean just hoping the Lord doesn't raise a storm? You did that for years. My God, one minute you want to use magic to hunt gold, the next you're quivering like pork fat for fear of losing a few dollars."
"A few dollars? It's all I've got, Shatto. I don't own half a western cattle ranch like you do."
Chip answered, "I don't own any of Ted's ranch, Carter. He bought me out when we were out there years ago.
"Anyway, if Tiff lost, you'd still have those six fine canal barges to get fat living from."
Carter groaned aloud.
Unrelenting, Chip added, "If they aren't profitable, you can always go back to full-time farming."
Carter said, "Lord, have mercy. I really hate farming."
Chip oozed satisfaction. "Yep, I like that last part. Carter Roth, farmer. I can see it on the tax rolls."
Tiff practiced with his pistol and George Shatto watched in awe. They were in the barn where they wouldn't bother people. Tiff sat in a chair with a board placed like a table in front of him. Sometimes he explained.
"Shooting can come up sudden, George. Gambling can bring out the worst in men. That's why it's against the law in lots of places. I think the Bible speaks against it, too, although I'm not really up on that.
"Out west, men wear guns all the time. I've actually met men that wore a gun to bed, and many keep a pistol under their pillow or holstered and hanging handy from a bedpost.
"Around here, I suspect sore losers are more likely to wait outside to lick the gambler after the game or something like that. In the west, guns can get into it.
"Now, most men just carry their gun, about like you do your pocket knife. Their pistol is only a tool. They use it to shoot snakes or keep a crazy steer off them. The trouble is that with too much liquor, or with a real mad on, they reach for their gun. Then, they're just hoping the other guy isn't handier than they are. That, to my way of thinking, is a really dangerous gamble that I'm unwilling to take."
George asked, "Do you think Mister Haycock will pull a gun out, Tiff?"
"No, Haycock wouldn't do that around here in front of a crowd, in a Montana gold camp, who could tell? But he is going to lose a lot of money, and even a seasoned professional could go a little crazy, I guess. So, I'll be as sharp as I can be."
Tiff held cards in his left hand and drew and snapped his empty pistol three rapid times. Then he tried it with the opposite hand. He fired over and under the table.
George said, "That's so quick I can hardly see the pistol come out, Tiff."
"It can't ever be too fast, George. You've got to pretend that the other man has already started, and you have to get there first. A tie doesn't help an awful lot."
George's laugh was a little nervous. I've never seen anything like this. Pap can snake his double pistol out pretty quick, but you make him look like molasses."
"It's just practice, George, and it isn't much fun. I do it because I know it could save me sometime. In fact, if you can get your gun out fast enough, you can stop a slow man from trying. If he's still fumbling and you've got your gun pointing at his heart, he'll usually quit."
"And if he didn't, Tiff?"
"Well, if a man was that foolish, let's just leave it that he wouldn't likely have a second chance."
George sounded wistful. "I sure hope I get to see you take Haycock's money. It ain't decided whether we can go in or not"
"I don't see why not. From the way the word is passing around, the place will be like a circus. I wouldn't be surprised to see jugglers." Tiff sounded mildly bemused. "It is sort of bewildering. Out west a big game draws watchers, but it's quiet and maybe tense. This game sounds more like a fair."
"There are broadsides nailed up in Millerstown and Liverpool, Pap said."
"Uh-huh, your Aunt Hannah was in Liverpool checking some cargo manifests and said they are advertising all sorts of booths with the whole area to be lit up like daylight."
"You haven't seen the pool at Aqueduct, have you, Tiff?"
"Nope, I haven't seen much of anything yet, but I'll make up for it after this game is over."
George was anxious to describe. "Well, the gambling's going to be at the canal pool. It's a big turning pond with docks and sloping skids to pull barges out for work or storage. It will be a good place because there is a lot of flat ground for the booths and room for all the teams that are on the south side of the river. There aren't many barges there anymore."
George sounded wistful. "Some of the Longs and the Holmans are going down early and picnicking." He sighed, I'll bet lots of families will do that. I wish we would."
"Well, maybe some will, but we are on serious business, George. Don't forget that."
"You'll whip him good, Tiff."
"I'd better or Tiny is going to have a very tough summer ahead."
"Tiny's awful strong, Tiff. He can throw feed bags one after another up onto the barn floor. One day he threw one clear onto the roof, just to show he could."
Tiff was properly amazed. "Whew, I can just about shoulder one."
"Maybe Tiny could be champion, Tiff."
Tiff made his points strong. "No, George, he couldn't. Box fighting is a skill just like cards or drawing this gun. Being powerful is important, but there are boxers who can punch an untrained fighter until his own blood blinds him and never get hit themselves. Men like Haycock get big, strong farm boys in there to battle giants like Tiny. Tiny will lick them, but the brawls will be bloody and too long. Then, when Tiny has a following, Haycock will slip in a real box fighter and lay all his bets against Tiny. Haycock will collect big, and Tiny will probably get hurt badly. That is the way it will go, over and over again, up and down the rivers, and maybe into the big cities. I've seen it in the west, and it was brutal. It'll be awful here as well."
George was silent. Tiff continued his practice, drawing and pulling trigger from many positions.
Finally, George asked, "How do you know you are aiming right, Tiff? You might be missing with every bullet."
Tiff said, "Well, let's go see." They took a short board for a target and went out beyond the barn. Tiff loaded and holstered his gun. He stepped off about twenty feet.
"This kind of shooting is close, George. Much further and it usually pays to aim."
Tiff s hand flashed, and the pistol roared three shots, so swift their sound blended. George said, "Wow!"
They examined the holes. "I can cover them with my hand," Tiff said, "and that is good enough. Now, the other side."
Tiff emptied the Colt, drawing and shooting left handed. It looked as fast to George, and the bullet holes grouped among the first.
George again exclaimed, "Wow," then added unnecessarily, "I've never seen shooting like that."
Chip came around the barn strapping on his old double barreled pistol.
"Let a real gunfighter into this game."
George said, "Pap, you haven't got a chance. Tiff makes lightning look slow."
Chip got his pistol settled in the small of his back and half drew it a few times. "Well, I'm at a disadvantage carrying a gun this way, but a woods runner like all of us Rob Shattos were couldn't have a pistol dangling in front. I'm used to it. Let's see how I do."
When they were ready, standing easy, hands at their sides, George said, "Go!"
The instantaneous explosions almost staggered him, and they were all Tiff's. George saw and heard through his astonishment three shots, almost a continuous blast, then some sort of flip that put the Colt into Tiff's other hand. Tiff's next three shots blended with Chip's first, and Chip's second barrel came in a poor last.
Again, George managed only a "Wow!"
Chip appeared slightly dismayed. "Hell, I wasn't even in it."
George said, "Tiff shot three times, changed hands, and got in another before your first, Pap."
"I noticed, son." Chip approached their targ
et. "Maybe he missed."
George was enthusiastic. "Tiff never misses, Pap."
Tiff hadn't. The board had finally split, but the bullets were all there, closely grouped, with Chip's pair of huge round ball holes among them.
Chip said, "Nobody could shoot like that in my time."
Tiff tried not to sound self-important. "Not many can now, Uncle Chip. I work hard at it." Feeling a need to explain he added, "And it has paid off a few times."
Chip's eyes squinted a little. Ted had written some of it, of course. "I'd like hearing about those times when you're of a mind."
George asked, "Why do you always shoot three at once, Tiff. You do it in practice, too."
"This is only a .41 caliber, George. That may sound big, but it isn't a powerful cartridge. An angry man can sometimes take a lot of lead before he quits coming or shooting back. If you start shooting, you had best keep going until you're sure. Stopping for a look and finding your enemy isn't done could be fatal."
Chip said, "Three in the boiler room ought to do it, Tiff."
"That's how I see it, Uncle Chip. With three more ready if you need them," Tiff added.
Chapter 18
Saturday came in warm and clear and stayed that way. Pfoutz Valley farmers could not waste the good spring weather, but the fields emptied early. Even a few businesses were closing. The excitement would be down by Amity Hall, just across the river at Aqueduct.
Teams and riders from upriver left their outfits on the Juniata's north side and crossed on the aqueduct's wooden towpath. Picnickers coming in from Duncannon and Newport parked wagons and unhitched horses in the trees along the ridge. Open ground close around the barge pool was left for peddlers and booth sellers. Neighborly milling began with newcomers arriving on the trains and gossiping among those longer on the scene.
Many denied interest in the gambling. They claimed to have come to enjoy the excitement of a suddenly appearing gathering. But for others, the gaming held undeniable fascination. Most knew something about the gambler Haycock, and rumors about the mysterious Tiff Shatto were rife.
Tiff's Game (Perry County Frontier Series) Page 17