by Matt Rand
“Or the drinks,” Payne said. “We’ll collect from the saloonkeepers and the customers.”
Tribble looked at his list again. “We’ve got the gristmill down. He turns out a lot of whole-wheat flour. And the sawmill. He’s sawing up a lot of loblolly pine.”
“Both of them will be happy to pay for the privilege of being in business here.” Payne tapped the table, his eyes thoughtful. “We’re going to need some tax stamps,” he said. “Tell the printer to print some. And while he’s at it, print some for himself to buy for running his business. We’ll put a tax on every sale made in town, whether it’s a horse or a piece of calico. And while we’re at it, tax the girls. They’re in business the same as everyone else.” He stood up and walked to the door.
The street was muddy from last night’s rain, but though it was still January, the air was soft. Spring came early here. Next month some of the planting would start. Spring!
Maybe that was the trouble with him. He grinned and bit the end off a cigar.
“Get busy, Sam,” he said. “You’ll have to use the boys to make the first collections. Perhaps break a few heads to convince everybody we mean business.”
* * * *
Nelson stared gloomily out of the window. He was glad the rain was over. The campground was a morass. The flat stones he had ordered carried in helped some, but the area was too big to be completely paved. He scowled at the caked mud on his boots. He stole a look at Leah. Her face was cool and distant as she bent to her work. It had been like that the past three days. There was no smile in the morning to greet him and none when he was harassed. Suddenly this girl had become a stranger.
“Leah.”
“Yes?” She lifted her head. Her eyes were blank.
He said, “Nothing,” and turned back to his contemplation of the muddy street. Nothing was simple. Nothing. He felt the tension stir and twist within him.
He knew what was wrong with him. His mind skirted the problem, refusing to take hold of it. Melissa’s coming had thrown everything into a chaotic upheaval. He and Stevens had exchanged only necessary words since her arrival, and that grated upon a man’s nerves. Melissa complained about the rain, about the mud, about everything in general. Nothing Nelson could say lifted her out of that mood.
“For God’s sake, Melissa,” Nelson had finally shouted. “Other people are walking through the mud and rain. The land needs this moisture.”
She had burst into tears, and he could not stop those, either. He had seen a lot of Melissa’s tears in the last few days.
He said again, “Leah.”
“Yes,” she answered. She did not lift her head this time.
Nelson sighed. A wall was between them, a wall stouter than any granite, and a man might beat on it until his fists bled.
Travis Fabian came plowing down the street, and Nelson hailed him, relieved at the interruption to his thoughts. Fabian came into the office, leaving big, muddy blobs behind him. He was a rawboned man with a red face and whiskers, and hair that stuck out like the bristles of a brush.
Nelson said, “Travis, you didn’t leave the ferry?”
One of Nelson’s duties as empresario was to keep open the old San Antonio road across his grant, with the ferries operating over the deeper rivers. The mosquito-plagued Trinity River was one of those, and when its former ferryman died, Fabian had volunteered to take over the job. “Hell,” he had said, “I’m from Arkansas. Mosquitoes give up when they try to eat an Arkansas boy.”
Fabian said cheerfully, “I like to wore my hands out pulling on that rope. A half-starved Mexican named Ignacio Pacheco came along wanting work. He’s working for his meals, and my hands get a rest.”
“Just be sure you keep it operating, Travis. I don’t want to give Saucedo a single thing to complain about.”
“Ignacio is a good boy. You can depend on him. I’m going back today. I just wanted to look at a town.”
He stomped out of the office, whistling tunelessly. He left more mud behind him.
Nelson was sorry he was gone, leaving him and Leah alone again. He thought, I’ve got to tell her about it sometime. I want her to know. He started to speak when he saw Elisha Maddy storming down the street.
Maddy burst into the office and shouted, “Nelson, do you know what that goddamned Tribble has done now?” He was too angry even to notice Leah’s presence. “He’s drawn up a tax program. He’s taxing everything that happens in town. I can’t make a sale or a purchase without his hand being stuck to it. He broke the news this morning. He’s got a gang of roughnecks in town, and they’re daring anyone to say no.”
Nelson grabbed his hat. “We’ll see,” he said savagely. He looked at Leah and saw worry spring into her eyes. He thought she was going to say, “Be careful,” and he wanted to hear those words. But she looked away without speaking.
He went down the street with Maddy, sinking into mud ankle-deep. A block ahead of him he saw a crowd of men gathered before Stone House. Their laughter and hooting carried plainly to him.
Nelson stopped at the fringe of the crowd. He was tall enough to see over the heads in front of him. He stared in disbelief; then the wild fire of anger started in him. Brenner faced a pole set deep in the ground, and his hands were tied around it. As Nelson came up, Tribble finished ripping Brenner’s shirt from his back. He stood three paces behind Brenner, snapping a long whip into the mud.
“What is it?” Nelson asked the man next to him.
The man said, “He bought a horse in town. He paid five dollars for it. He refused to pay a twenty-dollar tax.”
Many of the watching men were not in accord with the coming action. Those were the silent ones. This man was one of them. The rest laughed and yelled for Tribble to lay it on.
Tribble’s arm went back, then swept forward. The lash curled across Brenner’s bare back. Brenner tried to stifle his groan. It slipped out, a small, broken sound. A long red welt appeared across his flesh.
Nelson threw the men in front of him out of his way. He reached Tribble as the arm was drawn back again. He seized the butt of the whip and jerked it from his hand. With the other hand he shoved Tribble between the shoulder blades, and he went down into the mud on his face. Before he had time to lift his head to see what was happening, the lash licked at him.
His howl was half scream, half curse. He tried to dig into the mud to escape, and the next stroke curled the lash around his neck. His sound was all scream then. His neck looked as though it were encircled with a red band, a band that oozed tiny crimson drops.
The crowd was silent. The men who might have helped Tribble were frozen by the unexpectedness of Nelson’s attack. Tribble took four lashes before he started crawling. He scrabbled through the mud, trying to reach the security of the crowd. Nelson followed him, the whip arm rising and falling like well-oiled machinery. Tribble’s screaming faded into a gasp. He rocked from side to side as he crawled, and the mud that coated him made him look like a great, ungainly reptile.
He reached the crowd and slithered between legs. Nelson raged curses at him as he tried to get a clear field for another blow. A fist came from the side, hitting him on the cheekbone and cutting flesh. Nelson whirled and slammed the butt of the whip across the mouth of the man who had hit him. Lips split and teeth broke under the blow. The man reeled back, and only the press of the crowd kept him from falling. He straightened and stared into those blazing eyes. He put a hand to his broken mouth, and his eyes flicked away from Nelson’s.
Nelson stared from face to face, and each man shifted uneasily as those eyes hit him.
Tribble used the time to make good his escape. He crawled out from behind the crowd and put unsteady legs under him. He ran down the street, half bent over.
Nelson threw the whip to the ground. He turned his back on the crowd and walked to Brenner. A few low growls came from the crowd, but no man moved.
Nelson cut Brenner free, and Brenner gasped, “Thanks, Nelson.”
Nelson nodded. The rage still he
ld him. He could not trust himself to speak.
A faint grin curled Brenner’s lips. “It was almost worth it to hear Tribble howl.” He picked his shirt out of the mud and slipped into it.
Nelson walked toward the crowd, and it parted. It closed in behind him and Brenner. He did not look around.
A half block away he said, “You’d better go back to camp.”
Brenner said, “I am.” His eyes held a question.
Nelson knew what the question was without hearing it. What was he going to do about such conditions? He could roar in here with force and throw Tribble and all his kind out of town, and run the grave chance of further alienating Saucedo. That was the risk he must avoid. The responsibility of all these families who looked to him for their land was a rope tying his hands from the action he wanted to take.
He watched Brenner move down the street, then walked to his office.
Leah sprang to her feet with a small cry as he entered. “Your face!” she gasped.
He raised his fingertips to the cheekbone. He lowered them and looked at his stained fingers. The cut was still bleeding. He had forgotten all about it.
“Sit down, Nelson.” The reserve was missing from her eyes, and there was only concern in them. Her fingers were deft and gentle as she washed the blood away. “It’s a nasty cut,” she said, and her voice was not quite steady.
Her head was very close to his face, and he caught the good, clean smell of her hair. His hand was rising to touch it when Melissa came in. She stopped, her face going white with shock and anger. Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted. Her passion destroyed all beauty in her face.
“So this is why you have no time for me,” she cried, her voice shrill with anger. “All those excuses about having so much to do!”
Nelson jerked his head toward her. He felt his face burn. He stood up and moved toward her. “Wait a minute, Melissa.”
Her laugh was an ugly sound. Twin spots of color burned in her face, making her cheekbones prominent. “I should wait until you’re through dallying with her! How long have you been living with her?”
He seized her wrist and said savagely, “Stop it.”
She jerked her hand free and tried to slap him. He caught her wrist again and shook her. She was insane with fury, and there was no telling what she might say next.
He said, “I was hit. Leah was kind enough to fix it for me.”
“What else was she fixing?” she asked with ugly mockery.
He raised his hand. He had never been closer to hitting a woman. He let it fall and said, “Get out of here, Melissa.” He leaned closer as he caught a faint odor. He had suspected it the other night, and he was sure of it now. Melissa had been drinking.
He turned and pushed her toward the door. “I’ll talk to you when you’re in a condition to talk.”
She looked at him from the doorway, rage burning in her eyes. “You’ll be sorry, Nelson O’Shaughnessy. If you think you can—” Her voice broke, and she ducked her head and ran out into the street.
Nelson faced Leah. Her face was white. Her paleness made her eyes enormous.
“Leah,” he said, and started toward her.
Pain crossed her face. “Don’t, Nelson,” she whispered.
“You’re going to listen to me, Leah.” All the doubts and gropings were gone from his mind. He caught her hand, and she made a halfhearted attempt to free it. Her eyes never left his face.
“I was a kid when I first met her. In Natchez, she looked wonderful. Then I was away three years. Loneliness makes a man imagine things, Leah. He builds qualities that never existed. She wouldn’t leave Natchez to come with me here. She had a fine home, fine clothes, fine social position. It was different when she lost those things. Then she thought of me.” He caught her other hand and pulled her toward him. “Leah, I never loved her. I only thought I did.”
Her eyes never stopped their searching. She said, “Nelson,” and her voice was a combined laugh and sob.
His arms went around her, and he bent his head. His mouth sought hers, tender in its seeking, then fiercely demanding. All the loneliness ended in that kiss.
He raised his head and said huskily, “Leah, will you marry me?”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes, Nelson.”
* * * *
Payne stood across the street from O’Shaughnessy’s office. He wondered who the woman was who had just gone into the building. A new one, he thought. And a looker. That mop of blonde hair was a sight to see. This O’Shaughnessy must be good. He seemed to have his pick. Payne grinned sourly at the thought.
While he did not wish to be seen lingering here, curiosity held him. He heard voices raised from the building, but he was too far away to catch the words. There was no mistaking the shrill, angry tones of a woman. He wondered if that second woman could be O’Shaughnessy’s wife. He hoped she was. He would like to see O’Shaughnessy caught in that kind of box.
The blonde woman came out of the office. She was almost running. Her movements were jerky, the movements of a woman whose rage was straining at its bonds.
Payne put a quick glance on the building, then moved after her, keeping on his side of the street until he was a block away from the building. He crossed the street then, to catch up with her. An angry woman could be an asset.
She stopped and stared into a store window. Her clenched hands and the stiff line of her shoulders said that she saw nothing in the window.
He brushed against her and said apologetically, “Pardon me, ma’am. The mud. My foot slipped.”
She gave him a burning sweep of her eyes. He noticed they were blue, but now almost black with the passion behind them. He doffed his hat, glad that his hair was trimmed and his shirt clean. She was even better-looking up close. One of the hotheaded, hot-blooded kind that could really stir a man. That shine in her eyes was not all anger. Liquor put some of it there. That made it even better. Give him a woman who would take a drink any time.
He said, “It’s a nice day after the rain,” and smiled. He saw her eyes go to the large diamond on his finger. He said with oily sympathy, “You’re upset about something, ma’am. Didn’t I see you coming out of O’Shaughnessy’s office?”
The name unleashed her torrent of fury. “I’d like to kill him,” she said. “He’s lied to me and tricked me.”
Payne’s eyes gleamed. This was better than he had hoped for. He shook his head, and his face was grave. “He’s done a lot of people that way, ma’am. I sure wish I could help you.”
She adjusted a lock of hair and her shoulders went back, lifting her breasts.
Payne said, “If I knew what he was up to, I might balk him.” He held his breath, wondering if he had gone too far too fast. He said, “I’ve got a big interest in this country. And a man like him can destroy it.” His voice took on a mournful note. “If a man could get away from fears, he could make money here. Big money.”
She gave him a side glance and said, “What would you want to know?”
“Just what he talks about,” Payne said eagerly. “The things he’s planning to do. When I’m in town, I stay at that cabin.” He pointed at Sepúlveda’s cabin. “It’s all a lone man needs.” He smiled. “It makes a man appreciate his own house more when he gets back to it.” The inference was there. The house he spoke of was far better than the cabin in town.
“Will you be there tonight?”
The soft laugh was deep in his throat. “I’ll be there—waiting.” He gave her a half-courteous, half-mocking bow and moved down the street. He looked back after a dozen yards. She was watching him. He released another soft laugh. She would be there. It was two hours until dark, and say another hour after that. His racing blood was going to make those three hours seem a long, long time.
* * * *
Goedeke tasted the food on his plate and pushed it away. “Stew again,” he grumbled. It was poor stew, at that, badly underdone. “Did you get any money from Nelson?”
“No,” Melissa snapped. Her fa
ce was flushed from the heat of the fire. She hated this cooking, along with all the other privations. She had intended asking Nelson for money, but her anger at what she saw had washed it out of her mind.
Goedeke growled, “I’m not hungry,” and stood up. He walked to the wagon and climbed into it.
Melissa heard him rummaging about, then his roar of rage. “Melissa, have you been at my bottle?”
“Father!” she said indignantly.
“Well, somebody has.”
She heard the gurgle of the liquor, and her throat muscles tightened. She did not care if it was considered unladylike. Besides, she always used a glass. She never drank out of the bottle. A girl needed something to keep up her spirits in this awful place.
She was staring sullenly into the fire when Stevens came up. Her father was asleep. His snores came with irritating regularity.
She did not look at Stevens. She detested Chauncey Stevens and his fawning eagerness to please her. He had been amusing at first, but his devotion had long ago palled.
He said quietly, “Hello, Melissa.”
She put enthusiasm into her return greeting. Stevens and Nelson were together much of the time. Some of Stevens’ devotion might be turned to use.
His eyes clouded. “Are you alone again tonight?”
She turned her head and dabbed at her eyes. “Don’t blame Nelson, Chauncey. He has so much on his mind. If he would only let me help him… He doesn’t even tell me what he’s doing.”
Stevens said, “He’s worried.” His tone said that no man should know enough worry to remain away from her. “I saw him in town about an hour ago. There’s a man called Payne who’s causing him trouble. He’s set up a tax schedule that’s bleeding everyone. Nelson is writing to Saucedo about it. Saucedo is the head of the Mexican government in Texas. He can take away Nelson’s grant. So far, he hasn’t been favorable to Nelson’s letters. But Nelson is positive that as soon as he learns the truth, he’ll listen.”