Where the Bullets Fly

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Where the Bullets Fly Page 10

by Terrence McCauley


  Mackey took his Winchester down from the rifle rack and opened the door. “They’re likely to be a bit more welcoming if they see a friendly face.” To Billy, he said: “Keep an eye on the store while I’m gone. See if any of our friends come back for a visit.”

  Billy took down the Sharps and headed out to the porch. “I’ll set a fine table for them if they do.”

  * * *

  The Boudreaux place was a good three-mile ride out of town; up the gradual hill that led out of town and through the edge of the timberland where the loggers plied their trade. Underhill’s sorrel was more interested in Adair, but Adair kept her mind on the trail. Birds sang deep in the forest as a cool breeze rustled the leaves that had begun sprouting. It was the kind of day best enjoyed by a slow ride through the tall grass. Not worrying about men like Darabont. And not hunting down old friends with a stranger, either.

  Judging from Underhill’s silence as they rode, Mackey figured the marshal was chewing over more than just the idea of tangling with the Boudreauxs. He looked like he had a lot of questions about a lot of things, but Mackey decided to let him take his time asking them. He wasn’t a big fan of answering questions from strangers anyway. They rarely appreciated the answers he gave.

  About a mile out of town, Underhill began unburdening his mind. “Tell me something, Mackey. What made you take on a nigger as a deputy?”

  Mackey drew Adair to a halt.

  Underhill brought his sorrel to a stop a few steps after. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I don’t like that word, Underhill. I don’t use it, and I don’t allow people to use it around me.”

  “Hell, Mackey, it’s what he is, ain’t it?”

  “Billy Sunday is my deputy. He’s also my friend. If you use that word around him, he’s likely to kill you. And I’m just as likely to look the other way when he does and so would most people in town.”

  Underhill clearly didn’t like the rebuke, but he took it. “Just not common to see a . . . one of them as a lawman is all. No offense meant.”

  Mackey figured that was as close to an apology as he was likely to get. He let Adair begin to walk again. Underhill followed.

  “His name is Billy Sunday,” Mackey said again. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d start referring to him by his name instead of as my deputy.”

  Underhill’s jaw clenched. “I heard what you said to Billy before we left. Sounds like you’re expecting some kind of trouble.”

  Mackey wasn’t given to sharing his concerns, especially to strangers. But it was a long ride up to the Boudreaux house. It would be an even longer ride back to town if the brothers didn’t come peacefully. He might as well be sociable while he could.

  “Yesterday, we had to kill five drunks who wouldn’t disarm when we told them to. Some of their friends came by to collect the bodies last night. Came by my house after. Their leader threatened at avenging his friends, though in a very roundabout way.”

  “And you let him ride out? Just like that?”

  “Making subtle threats isn’t against the law. Carrying them out is.” He left it at that. There was no point in explaining his other concerns, especially how Mayor Mason would react to more dead men.

  “How many men did this bastard bring with him?” Underhill asked.

  “Four plus himself. Ring leader was a creepy little bastard with a fancy way of talking, but dead eyes.”

  This time, Underhill stopped short. “Kind of a short fella with long, greasy hair. Scar under the right side of his jaw? Called himself Darabont?”

  Mackey reined in Adair. He’d noticed the scar in passing, but hadn’t paid much attention to it. “You know him?”

  “I know the man who gave him that scar on his neck. Tried hanging him for rustling cattle down in Texas. Hanging party got attacked by thirty of his friends just when they were about to slap the horse out from under him. Bastards killed everyone in the party, then hung them from every tree on the road into town.”

  Mackey set Adair in motion and the two men started riding again. “Jesus.”

  “Happened about a year ago,” Underhill went on. “Heard they rode north, but no one went after them, and I haven’t heard much about them since. Story’s gotten bigger as time’s gone on, though. Most folks say there were a hundred of them and they desecrated the bodies before they hung them, but that’s all nonsense. Thirty men stringing up a lynching party’s bad enough as far as I’m concerned.”

  Mackey caught a thread of something. “Seeing as how your judge friend sent you all the way up here for the Boudreaux boys, I’m surprised he didn’t send out some marshals after Darabont.”

  “He sent out three marshals right after. All friends of mine, too. Never heard from them again, either.”

  Mackey didn’t know how much of that was true, but he knew his own impression of Darabont. Despite his fancy talk, he didn’t seem like a pushover. “You be willing to lend a hand if they start trouble while you’re here?”

  Underhill laughed and sat a little taller in the saddle. “Whatever your old man’s opinion of me might be, don’t worry. I’m damned handy to have around when the lead starts flying.”

  Mackey kept riding. He hoped Underhill was as good as he said he was, though in his experience, it was often the other way around.

  Another half a mile passed before Underhill said, “You never told me how you chose Billy as your deputy. I’d like to know.”

  “We served together in the cavalry and he’s been with me ever since. Finest man I’ve ever had the honor to know.”

  “Cavalry?” Underhill repeated. “Hold up! You’re that Aaron Mackey, aren’t you? Hero of Adobe Flats?”

  Mackey kept riding. “My men were the heroes, marshal. All I did was lead them.”

  “Heard they made you a captain after that,” Underhill said. “What the hell are you doing with a tin star in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Had to be somewhere,” Mackey said. “Dover Station’s as good a place as any. My old man and his army buddies came up here after the War Between the States. Wasn’t much here back then. Just wilderness and a hell of a lot of Indians. But then they started finding gold and silver in the mountains. Copper, too. Loggers came after, followed by the farmers and the ranchers. Lived here from the time I was about six all the way until I went off to the Point.”

  “West Point?” Underhill asked. “How’d you swing that? I thought you could only get into West Point if you were the son of an officer. And your old man don’t strike me as officer material.”

  Mackey smiled. “He wasn’t, but . . .”

  Adair stopped short just as the crack of a rifle shot echoed through the timber. Mackey heard the bullet whiz by and land in the tall grass on the other side of the trail not five feet away.

  Underhill already had his Colt in his hand while Mackey stood high in his stirrups and yelled out: “Who was that? Who’s the dumb son of a bitch who just shot at me?”

  “Aaron?” a voice Mackey recognized as Jack Boudreaux called back. “That you?”

  “Goddamned right it’s me. Get your dumb ass out here where I can see you. Right now!”

  Jack Boudreaux and his brother, Henry, stepped out of the tall grass onto the trail. Both men were land-work lean and medium height. Despite their dirty work clothes and faces, it was clear they were fine looking boys. Dark haired and strong features that belied their French stock. Heads hung low in shame. Henry rifles at their sides.

  Mackey was not in a welcoming mood. “The hell you think you’re doing shooting at me like that?”

  “Sorry, Aaron.” Henry looked down at the ground. “Didn’t recognize you. You don’t look like your normal self is all.”

  “Yeah,” Jack added. “You look like hell. How was we supposed to know you’d . . .”

  “You two bastards are going to look even worse in a while. You know who I got here with me?”

  Both brothers looked up at Underhill. And both brothers shook their heads at the same time befo
re looking back at the ground.

  “His name is Walter Underhill, Deputy United States Marshal out of Texas. And I’ve got a feeling you boys know why he’s here.”

  Both brothers shook their heads again, so Underhill told them: “You boys remember those two women you forced yourselves on down in Fort Worth? And the husbands you killed?”

  Jack quit looking at the ground. “We didn’t rape no women.”

  Henry quit looking at the ground, too. “And we didn’t kill no husbands, either. Killed a couple of bastards who bushwhacked our camp when we was headin’ home though. It was self-defense, plain and simple, Aaron. Honest.”

  “And if they was those ladies’ husbands,” Jack added, “they didn’t announce themselves. And those ladies never mentioned they were married.”

  Mackey had known the Boudreauxs a good portion of their lives. They were given to raising a bit of hell now and then, but he’d never known them to be violent or cruel. But a trail was no place for a trial, especially with a federal marshal in tow. “You’ll still have to ride in with us while we get this straightened out. Now get your things and let’s go.”

  “You gotta believe us, Aaron,” Jack said. “Them cowardly bastards opened up on us while we was sleepin’. Ain’t our fault they missed.”

  “I swear to God,” Henry added, “we thought they was out to rob us. We didn’t know it had anything to do with them ladies we poked.”

  “Them ladies who happily poked back,” Jack said. “We didn’t force them to do anything they didn’t want to do. And they wanted to do plenty. They was in better shape when we left them than when we found them. Hell, they even cooked us breakfast the next morning.”

  Mackey was inclined to believe them, but knew Underhill still had a job to do. And he wouldn’t be apt to listen to reason until they’d brought the Boudreauxs back into town. “I’m not going to tell you boys again. Get your horses saddled and let’s get back into town. The quicker we settle this, the quicker you’ll be back here.”

  Neither man protested again. They just started walking up the trail to their home about a mile away. Underhill and Mackey ambled along quietly a good distance behind them.

  Underhill broke the silence first. “What the hell is all that about getting this settled? Nothing’s settled until the judge says it is. Those boys are coming back to Texas with me.”

  “We’ve got a lot to settle,” Mackey said. “You, me and those boys. But we’ll settle it once we get back to town.”

  Underhill looked like he wanted to say something more but held his tongue. Under his breath, he said, “Those boys are coming back with me.”

  Mackey let it go. He’d already said they’d settle the matter back in Dover Station. And he wasn’t given to repeating himself.

  Chapter 13

  It was just before noon when Mackey and Underhill rode into town with the Boudreauxs in tow. The town was well under way towards getting things ready for the Veterans’ Gala that night.

  Women in their best Sunday dresses were already heading for The Dance Hall with plates of food and baked goods. Many of the veterans had already put on their uniforms hours before the dance was scheduled to begin. He saw men in faded Union blue and Confederate gray tunics, trading old stories and comparing the wounds they’d received during the late War Between the States.

  “Looks like someone’s having a party,” Underhill said as they rode past Katie’s Place at the south end of town.

  “Not much gets by you, does it, Underhill?”

  The Boudreaux boys laughed.

  The marshal looked at him. “How about you stick your sarcasm up your ass and tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Mackey decided he’d probably ribbed him enough for one day. “All the old vets in town get together once a year to throw a big party. My old man heads up the Union side. Doc Ridley heads up the rebel side. They march into the ballroom, salute each other, then set to dancing and drinking.” He motioned at the Boudreauxs riding ahead of them. “Our prisoners are part of the band. Best damned fiddle players in the territory. Ain’t that right, boys?”

  “If you let us out in time to play,” Jack grumbled.

  “I will,” Mackey said. “Don’t worry.”

  Underhill didn’t like that idea. “Hold on just one damned minute. These men are my prisoners, and I’m not . . .”

  “They’re my prisoners until you produce a warrant from a federal judge proving otherwise. Besides, they’re being held in my jail and they’ll be held under my rules. No one’s talking about letting them run free, Underhill. You can keep an eye on them while they’re playing and bring them back to their cells when they’re done. It’ll be the easiest duty you ever drew because the last thing on their minds will be escape. Every woman in town will keep their eyes on them the entire time.”

  “Thanks, Aaron,” Henry Boudreaux said. “We’ve been looking forward to this all winter.”

  Underhill said, “You’ll be there too, won’t you, Mackey?”

  “Never have, never will,” Mackey said. “But I’ll be around if I’m needed.”

  “Why not? You were in the army, same as the rest of these fellas?”

  Mackey felt himself getting annoyed. “I’ve got my reasons.”

  As they rode past Katie’s Place, he felt a pull toward her hotel. He felt pulled toward her. He knew Darabont wasn’t done with Dover Station yet. He wasn’t done with Mackey or Billy either. The only question was when and how he would take his revenge. He knew it wouldn’t be long. He had to quietly warn her and Wilkes to be on their guard without sparking a panic throughout the town. All of the old vets would be itching for a fight to prove they still had their virility. He didn’t want them shooting at every shadow that moved until it was absolutely necessary.

  “Underhill, how about you run these boys over to the jail. If you get lost, they’ll show you where it is. I’ll be along in a bit.”

  The marshal did not look happy. “Where the hell are you going?”

  But Mackey wasn’t one to give an accounting of his time to strangers, even if those strangers were federal lawmen. “Tell Billy to put the brothers in the same cell. We’ll need the extra room for drunks from the gala tonight.”

  * * *

  Mackey rode Adair over to Katie’s Place, but stayed mounted. He had things to do and couldn’t risk getting pulled in by Katie’s charms. He found Old Wilkes on the porch instead, sweeping dust out onto the thoroughfare. The old Union man was already in uniform. The buttons on his faded tunic strained against his belly. “Evenin’, captain! How’s your pa?”

  “Doing just fine,” Mackey said. “And it’s sheriff, Wilkes, not captain. Hasn’t been captain for a long time.”

  “On any other day, you’d be right. But with the gala coming on and all, today you’re Captain Mackey.”

  Mackey didn’t like it, but decided to let it go. “Katie about by any chance?”

  Wilkes shook his head. “She went off up to Hill House to tend to one of the whores who’s with child. Poor girl seems to be having a rough time now that the baby is so close to getting born. Katie said it might take most of the night before she’s done. Looks like she’ll miss the gala, which is damnable shame if you ask me. She always does herself up nice for the dance.”

  Mackey looked up the hill just outside of town to where Hill House stood alone at the top of the ridge that surrounded Dover Station. Although the place was only half a mile out of town, Mackey didn’t like Katie being out there alone with Darabont and his men on the loose. With the gala going on that night, he couldn’t neglect his duties in town, but he’d be sure to take a ride out to Hill House this afternoon once he got the Boudreauxs settled in the jail.

  Wilkes broke his concentration. “You goin’ to the ball tonight, Aaron.”

  Mackey closed his eyes. The old man had asked him the same question every damned year for the past five years. “You ever see me at the ball?”

  “Nope, but your pa and me and some of the others
keep hoping you’ll change your mind. Be kind of nice having you there, with your medals and all. Ain’t seen them since the day you got back to town. Only officer this town ever produced. Probably the only one it ever will. We’re mighty proud of that, son, even if you’re not. What you did that day on Adobe Flats is a hell of a thing. Be kinda nice to have you there this year in particular, given all those fancy men the mayor’s brought out here from back east and all.”

  Mackey didn’t want to think about Adobe Flat or the gala or his damned medals. He was more concerned about the present. About Katie. “Who will be minding the place while you’re at the dance?”

  “Got a couple of men keeping watch here and . . .”

  “I mean with Katie up at Hill House.”

  Wilkes set his broom aside and thought about it. “They got that old Swede up there who minds the place and does repairs for them. Andersson, I think his name is. He don’t speak much English, but he’s always handled any trouble with the customers. Why the concern, Aaron?”

  “Remember those five men we shot yesterday?”

  “Sure do. Did us proud, you did, keepin’ us safe and all.”

  He knew Wilkes was one of Pappy’s best sources of gossip, so he chose his words carefully. “Well those men have friends who’ve made some threats against the town. With the dance going on and with Katie up on the hill, I’d . . .”

  “Say no more, captain.” Wilkes may have preferred to play the doddering idiot who swept up the place, but Mackey knew the former cavalry sergeant was no fool. “I’ll make sure I’m up there this evening to keep an eye on Miss Kate.”

  Mackey was glad to hear it. “I don’t want you missing the dance, Wilkes. I know how much it means to you.”

  “There’ll be other dances, Aaron, but there’s only one Miss Kate. I’ll keep an eye on her. Hell, maybe I’ll spur her along to bring that young one into the world and come back to town with me before your pappy drinks all that punch.”

  Mackey felt himself smiling. No, Wilkes was no fool. “Thanks, Wilkes. I’ll be up to check on things when I can.”

  “You’ll find me at my post when you do.” Mackey almost flinched when the old man snapped a salute at him. It was the first salute Mackey had received in years.

 

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