“Come on, feller,” Brazos prompted. “Might as well get it off your chest. If you’ve got somethin’ against us, come on out with it.”
There was a brief trapped look in the eyes of Sandburr Sam. Then his homely face creased in a smile and he said, “Ain’t nothin’ much, I guess. It’s just that ... well, I don’t take kindly to the way you fellers sweet-talk Abigail. I mean, after all, Abigail and me are sort of keepin’ company.”
“Why, Samuel Wilson!” Abigail Peabody trilled. “As I live and breathe—you’re jealous!”
“Jealous!” Hank Brazos snorted five minutes later as he and Benedict left and walked towards the main stem. “You can hardly blame the ugly little runt, I guess, the way you were butterin’ that woman up and smirkin’ at her like she was seventeen years old and pretty as a heart flush. How come you feel obligated to sweet-talk anybody who happens to be wearin’ a skirt?”
Benedict’s face was briefly tinged with crimson as he drew on his after-dinner cigar. “Because they are women, Johnny Reb. The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent on a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.”
“Who said that?”
“No less a source than the Good Book.”
“What’s it mean?”
“It means ... oh, never mind; you wouldn’t understand. Our appreciation of the fair sex is too much at variance for us to find common ground on the subject.”
Brazos made a sour face. “Big words spill out of you like water from a pump, I swear. But it still don’t explain why you had to go failin’ all over yourself to make that little rooster jealous.”
“I find the subject of Sandburr Sam and his allegedly injured feelings to be intensely boring,” Benedict replied as they swung into Sunset Street. “Which reminds me that I had better pay my respects to Amy. She gave me the impression earlier on that she thought I was talking a great deal too much about Maggie Dillon.”
“So I guess you’ll start sparkin’ up to her just like you were to Miss Dillon out at the spread today, huh?” Brazos wasn’t joking. Benedict’s free and easy way with women often went against the Texan’s rather rigid attitudes. It was Hank Brazos’ opinion that women had been put on earth to make it a better and finer place, while Benedict believed they’d been created specifically for Duke Benedict.
They had reached the Seven Sisters. Benedict halted and flicked his cigar stub away. “I suppose I will be sparking up, as you so quaintly put it. But that of course is my personal business. However, it’s too fine a night to get involved in senseless debate.” He smiled. “Coming in to see Amy?”
Brazos shook his head. “I might cramp your style. Yep, I might just bust out laughin’ when you start tellin’ that fine lookin’ woman how you’ve been missin’ her somethin’ awful for five long years—like you told her this afternoon.”
“But it’s true!”
“Oh, sure, sure.” Brazos hitched at his shell belt. “Reckon I’ll drift on down to the Double Eagle and maybe play a little poker.”
“Suit yourself. But just remember: He who will gamble with strangers may see the sun rise on a hard day tomorrow.”
“Who said that?”
Benedict’s smile was mocking as he headed for the batwings.
“I did, Johnny Reb.”
A red fingernail traced a tingling line across his naked back.
“Benedict ...”
“Yes?”
Amy gave a throaty little laugh. “Nothing. It’s just that I have to keep saying your name so I won’t forget it really is you after all these years.”
Benedict, seated on the side of the bed smoking a Red Man, turned his dark head towards her. By the soft reflected moonglow drifting in through the wispy curtains of the bedroom, Amy’s face was a pale oval framed by her dark hair fanned over the pillow. Her shoulders and breasts were ivory-white against the pastel blue of the satin sheets.
He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead. Then he rose, and muscles rippled in his lean torso as he moved slowly to the window.
Amy Miles lifted onto her elbow and watched him. “Is anything wrong, Benedict ?”
“No ...”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
She sat up, her eyes dark pools in the half light. “I don’t believe you, Benedict. It seems to me that you might be having some regrets.”
He stood in profile to her, silhouetted against the light, cigar smoke coiling around his face. “That’s foolish, Amy. This was my idea, remember?”
She tossed her dark head. “I think I know you better than you realize, Benedict. I suspect that right now you might be wondering if you’ve started something up again that was finished five years ago.”
Benedict gave no reply. But she was dead on target. Most women in his life represented nothing more than brief, pleasant interludes. But Amy was different. She was special ... and, as she had suggested, he was wondering whether he shouldn’t have just let it be. She did know him well.
“I’ve grown up a lot since then, Benedict,” she said after a silence. “We both have. I didn’t really understand then that you’re a man who just has to be free. But I understand it so well now that I won’t make any sort of claim on you. All I want is to be with you like this, even if it’s only for a short time. I want to know that you still love me, if only a little ...”
He flicked the cigar through the window and turned back to her. Of course he’d always known that Amy was a rare and special girl. But he should have known that she was even more than that ...
He went to her and his arms went around her. Her lips were as sweet as fine wine. Her hands moved across his back, tenderly at first, then urgently. She drew him down and moaned softly as his hands moved over her. His lips caressed her shoulders, her breasts, her neck. There was only this room, this woman, the sweet fragrant memory of a young love that had never really died.
And then jarringly, harshly, the outside world intruded. Knuckles rapped on the door and then came an all-too familiar voice.
“Benedict!”
The magic was gone. They lay staring into each other’s eyes. The knock sounded again, louder.
“Benedict. You in there?”
“Don’t answer, Benedict,” she whispered. “Perhaps he’ll go away.”
“Not that overgrown brush popper,” Benedict muttered angrily. He turned his head. “What the hell do you want?”
“I’ve gotta see you, Yank. It’s important!”
“I’ll kill him,” Benedict said calmly and reasonably as he swung his feet to the floor. “I’ll just walk out there very casually, and then I’ll blow his head off.”
Amy had to smile. “You’d better not, Benedict. But do try to get rid of him.”
With a sigh, he bent and kissed her. Then he rose quickly, padded to the door and stepped into the corridor, drawing the door shut behind him. Brazos loomed before him, hands on his hips.
“Up to your old capers again, huh?”
Benedict’s gray eyes glittered dangerously. “Mister, I’m warning you. If you don’t have the best damn reason in the world for butting in on something that doesn’t even remotely concern you, you’re—”
“All right, all right,” Brazos said. “No need to go into a fit. I just figured you ought to know I just saw somethin’ that don’t seem to set right.”
Benedict sighed. “What did you see?”
“Well, I was on my way home from the Double Eagle after she closed down and feelin’ kinda restless. So I took Bullpup for a walk around town. About ten minutes back, I was over on the south side just sittin’ and smokin’, when I saw these three fellers go by. They were walkin’ their horses and it seemed to me that they were takin’ good care not to be seen or heard. Well, I got curious and sort of sidled into the shadows and took a good look as they went by. It was Darlington and them two bruisers of his from the Double Eagle, Rife and Hurd.”
“So?”
&nbs
p; “So I watched ’em. They branched off at the crossroads by the river and took the trail to the Rockin’ T.”
Benedict stared at Brazos for a long moment before moving slowly across to the stair rail. “Darlington,” he said softly. “What business could he have out there at this time of night?”
“Just what I asked myself.” Brazos stepped beside Benedict. “Mebbe I wouldn’t have taken so much notice if they hadn’t been travellin’ so quiet and sly. Anyhow, after they were gone, I got to thinkin’ about what a rough lookin’ varmint that feller Darlington is and how he’s been pesterin’ Maggie Dillon to sell and all. Then I got to thinkin’ about the trouble they been havin’ out there, I mean apart from the rustling. Finally I figured I oughta see you and find out what you think of it.”
Benedict had turned to look back at Amy’s door. The last thing he wanted to do was to leave. But he couldn’t deny that what Brazos had seen was intriguing. And ominous.
“You did the right thing, Reb,” Benedict said finally. “There might be a simple explanation, but then again it might not be so simple ...”
“You reckon we ought to kinda mosey along out there—just to be on the safe side?”
Duke Benedict fought a brief battle with himself, then nodded. “I rather think we should, Johnny Reb. Get the horses ready. I’ll be down in five minutes.”
Brazos grunted and headed for the stairs with Bullpup at his heels. Benedict sighed, then went back into the room. Amy was there waiting for him, warm and curled up in her satin sheets. It was a fifteen-mile ride to the Rocking T and the wind was beginning to blow the night cold. There was no doubt about it—life could be damned unkind at times when your name happened to be Duke Benedict.
It was Brazos who saw the faint glow against the sky first. Heavy cloud had drifted across the moon during the ride out, and in the darkness the strange light flickered like a beacon beyond Tennessee Hill.
“What is it?” Benedict called when the Texan shouted to him and pointed.
“Fire!” came the harsh reply. They used their spurs. The barn that Mustang Moore had built to replace the one burned down two months ago was blazing fiercely as the two horsemen thundered into sight of the Rocking T headquarters. By the orange glow of the flames they made out the dim shapes of riders a hundred yards to the right of the barn on the far side of the house. Above the drum of their hoofbeats, they heard a shout from the house, followed by the crack of a shot as one of the nightriders blasted a shot at the sky.
They didn’t speak; there was no need. Six-guns hissed from leather as they swung from the trail and went pounding towards the barn. A hoarse shout told them they’d been seen. A gun flared, orange and wicked in the gloom, and the guns of Benedict and Brazos thundered back. Immediately the horsemen swung about and went racing for the hills. Snarling lead hissed about the fleeing riders for a handful of racing seconds. Then one of the horses faltered and began to fall back. The rider hipped around in the saddle to fire and Brazos felt the slug pluck at his chaps. He froze his sights and triggered twice. The rider slewed around in the saddle, almost fell and saved himself by clutching at the horse’s mane.
“Hold!” Benedict roared. “Rein in or you’re dead!”
The nightrider paid no heed. Regaining his balance, he got his gun working again.
Brazos’ giant appaloosa had outstripped Benedict’s black by thirty yards as they rapidly closed the gap on the faltering horse. The Texan’s big Colt roared and suddenly horse and rider went down.
The horse was dead as Benedict and Brazos reined to a halt. The rider was thrashing about and moaning. They were only dimly aware of the swiftly fading hoofbeats and Mustang Moore’s shouts from beyond the blazing barn. Slowly the man’s violent movements began to weaken. Crimson spilled from his mouth and he rolled onto his face in the grass. He seemed to be trying to push himself up, then a final convulsive shudder went through his body and he was still.
Brazos swung down, gun still in hand. He walked to the still figure, dropped to one knee and rolled him over.
“Dead?” Benedict’s voice was uneven.
“Very.”
“Who is he?”
Brazos rose slowly, driving his six-gun hard into his holster. “Jim Hurd, one of Darlington’s bouncers.”
Chapter Nine
Gunsmoke on Tennessee Hill
They were waiting at the law office at dusk the next night when Sheriff Holloway and Deputy Warren returned from the Rocking T. The lawmen walked in wearily, Holloway batting trail dust from his clothing with his hat. They sensed the man’s disappointment even before he spoke.
“Nothing,” Holloway sighed, tossing his hat carelessly down on his desk. He lifted his hands and dropped them at his sides. “That shower just before dawn wiped out all the sign. Nothing ...”
“I already told you that, Holloway,” Brazos said, an edge of impatience in his voice. “But couldn’t you find any sign of Darlington in the mountains?”
The sheriff shook his head as he dropped heavily into his chair. “We must have covered fifteen miles. Not a thing.” He looked up. “Naturally, there’s been no sign of him here.”
“Naturally,” murmured Benedict, leaning against the gunrack.
“Make us some coffee, Andy,” Holloway said. He watched the deputy for a moment as he hunkered down before the little pot-bellied stove to punch up the fire, then he said, “I still find it hard to believe, you know. Why would a man like Lafe Darlington do such a thing?”
“We’ve already given you our theory on that,” said Benedict. “It’s no secret that the man wants to buy the Rocking T. Obviously he must have believed that if he gave Miss Dillon enough trouble, she’d eventually be forced to sell.”
“I’ve never had much time for Lafe Darlington,” Holloway snapped. “But I wouldn’t have believed that he’d stoop to something like this.”
“Were Maggie and Mustang all right when you left?” asked Brazos.
“Yes. Of course, they were very upset about Hurd, but ...” Holloway’s voice faded.
“You must realize,” said Benedict, “that Darlington has to be run down, Sheriff. Not only because of what he did, but because he might try to cause Maggie Dillon more trouble.”
“Yes, that thought did cross my mind. Of course, I intend to keep going until I find him. Meantime, while I’m hunting him down, how about you men keeping an eye on the Rocking T?”
“We’re way ahead of you, Sheriff,” Brazos said. “We mean to ride out there tonight. We were only hangin’ around until you got back in case Darlington turned up or you found something.”
Holloway nodded his appreciation and a silence fell on the room, each man occupied with his own thoughts. The deputy poured coffee, then he lit the desk lamp. Outside, the clouds that had been obscuring the skies all day had finally dispersed and stars were beginning to emerge. The lawmen were tired from their long day, and Brazos and Benedict were in a somber mood. The death of Hurd weighed heavily on each, and the fact that it had been unavoidable was only cold comfort. A man had died violently. They’d seen many men die, but neither had ever been able to kill without remorse.
After a while the conversation picked up desultorily, until Brazos decided it was time they left for the Rocking T. Benedict picked up his hat, and Brazos was stirring his sleeping hound with the toe of his boot when they heard horses come down the alleyway and draw up outside the law office. Benedict strode to the window.
Outside, six men dismounted and came up the steps. Leading the bunch in his dusty brown suit was a grim-faced Lafe Darlington. Immediately behind him was the rustler from Perona Flats, Casey Cantrell!
“Trouble, Reb!” Benedict whispered, moving to one side of the door.
The warning was unnecessary. Brazos had glimpsed Darlington through the window, and his Peacemaker was out and trained squarely on the doorway as it swung open and Lafe Darlington strode in.
“Freeze!” Brazos’ voice was razor-edged.
The saloonkeeper halted,
but there was no fear in his slit-mouthed face as he looked from one naked gun to the other. Cantrell moved in to stand at Darlington’s shoulder. Shadows loomed at both windows. Ed Rife was out there, and with him were Boy Curry, Stash Varger and Heck Bragg.
“Whatever you have in mind, forget it, Darlington,” Benedict said menacingly. “There is no way they can stop us before you and Cantrell go down.”
“You’d kill more innocent men?” Darlington said. “Well, I don’t doubt that you’re capable of it, Benedict.”
“Innocent?” Brazos snorted. “You’re about as innocent as that maverick beside you.”
“What ... what does this mean, Lafe?” The sheriff finally found his voice. “What are you doing here with—”
“I’m here to help you jail a pair of killers, Holloway,” Darlington said. “I reckoned, what with them being gun-sharks and all, that it might prove too big a job for you, so I rode down to Perona to round up some backing.”
“You can stop lookin’ at me like a hole in a sock, Holloway,” Cantrell put in. “You’ve got nothing on me up here and we both know it.”
Holloway swallowed and Benedict said, “You must be out of your mind, Darlington. You’re the one who’s going to jail, despite your so-called backing.”
Darlington ignored him. “Sheriff, I want you to arrest these men for the murder of Jim Hurd at the Rocking T last night.”
“Murder?” Holloway exclaimed. “Damn it all, Darlington, you fellows were out there burning down the Rocking T barn and—”
“Is that what they told you?” Darlington cut him off, glaring at Benedict and Brazos. “I figured they’d come up with some dirty lie like that. Well, Holloway, it’s about time you heard the truth. Last night, Hurd was coming in through the mountains from Cascade when be met up with Zeke and Connie Moon. Those hellers were full of moonshine like always and talking big and blowy about riding down to give the Rocking T some hell. When Hurd got to town and told me about this, I figured I ought to do something about it. Knowing how you seem scared of those Moon boys, I reckoned there was no point in going to you, so I got Jim and Ed and rode out there myself.”
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