The Second Western Novel

by Matt Rand

Melissa wondered if any of this would be of value to the man she had talked to this afternoon. It came to her with a little start of surprise that she did not even know his name.

  Stevens was settling himself for a long stay, and she said, “I’m tired tonight, Chauncey.” She ignored the disappointment in his eyes as she moved toward the wagon. She stopped at the tail gate and saw him turn away. She watched him until he was out of sight.

  She slipped out of camp and hurried toward town. The night shadows were frightening. Her heart kept rising up in her throat and thudding there.

  * * * *

  Payne looked around the room. He had swept out some of the filth and wiped off the furniture. The candlelight softened the harshness of the room. Clean blankets were on the bed, and a bottle of whisky stood on the table. He debated removing the whisky; then, remembering the shine in her eyes, he left it in sight. It was good bourbon, the finest available. It might be helpful in achieving his ends.

  He paced the floor in his impatience and swore softly. It was nearer four hours than three. Perhaps he was not as sharp as he thought he was; perhaps he had misjudged her. It would be bad if she told O’Shaughnessy about the conversation.

  A smile curved his lips as he heard the soft knock on the door. He knew his women. He opened the door and took her arm.

  She moved to the center of the room and stopped. She threw back the hood of her cloak, and the soft light played on her blonde hair. The sight put an itching tingle in Payne’s fingers.

  “It’s so black out,” she said. “I was frightened.” She gave him an odd little side glance. “You know I shouldn’t have come.”

  It was part of the game, her protestations that carried no real meaning. Just ordinary caution was all he needed. If this bird were going to flush, it would have done so long ago.

  “I see no harm,” he said gravely. “A man doesn’t see very many people he wants to know better.”

  Her eyes went around the room, and she gave a little cry of delight as she saw the open cabinet with its china. She ran to it and picked up one of the pieces.

  “We had china like this. In Natchez.”

  She saw the bottle of whisky on the table and made an impulsive motion toward it before she checked herself.

  Payne’s eyes were brilliant. “Now, I never saw any harm in anyone taking a small drink. For its medicinal qualities only. On a chilly evening like tonight—”

  He splashed liquor into a glass, watching her from the corner of his eye. He started to set the bottle down, and her fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist and guided his hand to the second glass.

  He grinned openly. He could let go of the caution now. This was won.

  She lifted the glass, a bold, defiant shine in her eyes. She tossed down its contents, and only the smallest of shudders ran through her.

  She said, “Do you know someone called Saucedo?” She set down her empty glass, and Payne poured again.

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Nelson is worried that this Saucedo may take away his grant. He’s writing him something about taxes in this town.” She sipped at the second glass. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  Payne chuckled deep in his throat. It meant everything. It meant he knew how to word his next letter to Saucedo. His eyes danced as he thought of how Saucedo would howl with wrath.

  He looked at Melissa and pushed the matter from his mind. A man had to take care of first things first. He moved toward her, the smile fixed on his face, the eyes glittering.

  She held out her empty glass, and patiently he refilled it. The boldness was naked in her eyes. Her gesture was the last flimsy defense, and his anticipation would only be the more whetted by favoring it.

  He was moving toward her again when he heard the knock on the door. He said silently, God damn it, as he saw her eyes widen in a rigid face. An unexpected sound, a miscalculated word—any slight straw could upset the balance of a carefully planned evening.

  He jerked his head toward a corner and said, “It’s nothing.” He waited until she was pressed tight in the corner before he opened the door. José Sepúlveda and another Mexican were there, and Payne stifled the impulse to hit Sepúlveda.

  Sepúlveda said uneasily, “This is Ignacio Pacheco. My good friend.” He rocked slightly back and forth. He was more than a little drunk.

  Payne growled, “Get out of here, José.”

  Stubborn lines firmed Sepúlveda’s face. “The shed roof has many holes. The floor is muddy. Are we animals to sleep in the mud?”

  Payne’s eyes were wicked. “I said get out of here.” Sepúlveda had to be drunk to be confronting him like this.

  Sepúlveda’s voice was pained. “But Ignacio has been working for many days on the ferry. For days he has pulled on the ropes. Show him your hands, Ignacio.”

  Pacheco grinned stupidly and held out his hands.

  Payne said, “Are you the boy working for that American on the Trinity? What’s his name? Fabian.”

  Pacheco bobbed his head. “Sí. Señor Fabian. He feeds me good.”

  Payne looked at his ragged clothing and said shrewdly, “But not much money, Ignacio. Isn’t that right? All that money he takes in, and you get none of it.”

  Pacheco said nothing, but he looked pained.

  Good humor lighted Payne’s face. He had more grist to feed to the mill of Saucedo’s wrath. “Maybe that ferry will be yours one of these days.”

  Pacheco’s eyes went round. He grinned.

  Payne pulled two gold pieces out of his pocket. “You and Ignacio don’t want to spend the night sleeping.” He pressed the money into Sepúlveda’s hand. Sepúlveda’s eyes shone with new life as he looked at it. The money would buy many things, and there was always the sleeping.

  “José,” Payne said softly. “Don’t come back here again tonight.”

  Sepúlveda’s hand was a tight fist around the money. “I will not be back.”

  Payne closed the door behind him and grinned at Melissa. “Just a couple of friends. We won’t be bothered again tonight.”

  He silently cursed the wariness in her eyes. He had seen that look in an animal’s eyes before it broke into flight. He moved to her murmuring, “I haven’t thanked you for what you’ve done for me.” His hands reached out unhurriedly and touched her shoulders. “And I don’t even know your name.”

  Her eyes were relaxing. He was familiar with that soft, misty look that came into a woman’s eyes at times.

  The liquor-pushed impatience could no longer be stemmed. His fingers closed on her shoulders, biting in deeply. He pulled her to him, his mouth seeking hers. He kissed her with brutal effectiveness, his teeth bruising her lips. He heard her gasp, and there was a small, instinctive struggle. Then she melted against him, a little moan filling her throat. He held the kiss until she was breathless, and a wicked satisfaction possessed him. He never made a mistake in his judgment of women.

  He released her, and she looked at him wide-eyed. She walked toward the table, and he let her go. She poured whisky into a glass and drank deeply. Her hand was not quite steady as she set the glass down.

  She said with a shaky laugh, “I don’t know your name, either.”

  “Payne. Jim Payne.”

  He could not read the emotion that transformed her face. But the name did it. He should not have told her.

  “Payne,” she repeated. Her laugh came again, but this time it was assured. “The man who collects all the taxes?” He understood that emotion now, and grinned.

  “The same.” He pulled a handful of gold coins from his pocket and stacked them on the table. “I found a gold mine.”

  “Gold mines can be lonesome,” she said. “Under certain conditions.” Her eyes were big, filled with a soft, almost slumberous look.

  “Then we’d better get rid of the conditions,” he said. Something in her eyes checked him for the moment. It was his game, and he could wait.

  Her hands rose to the top button of her dress. Slowly she unfastened it
, her eyes like great pools, drawing him in. She lowered her hand, and the dress fell apart for a few inches, disclosing more of the soft, creamy flesh. The first swellings of the full breasts were in view, and his breath came hard and fast.

  Her hand rose again, and another button opened. Her lips were parted in a smile, and her eyes both beckoned and mocked him.

  “Damn you,” he said hoarsely, and sprang toward her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nelson was edgy. It was eight days since he had written to Saucedo, and while the normal round trip took ten days, he had caught himself several times peering southward, hoping to see Conger pounding toward Nacogdoches. Conger had barely turned twenty, and he had a youth’s endurance and brash ebullience.

  “Hell,” he had remarked when Nelson handed him the letter to Saucedo, “I’ll be back with his answer before any ten days.”

  Nelson crossed his arms on his knees and stared into the fire. Just being near Leah was a constant source of solace. With a wise woman’s intuition she knew when to speak and when to remain silent. She possessed an uncanny knack of picking through his thoughts, and her smile could rally him when worry barked too closely at his heels.

  She reached over and touched his shoulder. “Nelson, it will be all right. I’ve seen a head of lettuce that looked bad. But that was only the outer wrapper. Inside, the heart was good. Saucedo is tearing away the outer wrappers now.”

  He said with mock hurt, “You mean the outside of me is bad.”

  She made a face at him. “You know what I mean. Men,” she said with a serene expression, “always make things more difficult than they are. Look how you worried about Melissa.” She gave him a knowing look. “Didn’t that turn out all right?”

  He nodded in agreement. For several days he had stewed over it, then he had said, “I’ve got to tell her, Leah.”

  “You should,” she had agreed instantly. “You shouldn’t let her go on thinking such bitter thoughts a minute longer than necessary.”

  He thought he really had something to worry about, but Melissa had been almost indifferent.

  “I’ll see that you and Forrest are settled,” he had promised.

  Her lips had curved in a smile, a smile that was both mocking and cold. “You needn’t bother, Nelson.”

  He had been too relieved to get away to press the matter further.

  Stevens appeared across the fire. “Nelson, Melissa and Forrest are leaving the camp.”

  Nelson sprang to his feet. “Why? Where?”

  The shake of Stevens’ head answered the first question. “They’re moving into town,” he said, answering the second. The flatness of his voice carried a subtle warning: Don’t pry.

  Nelson said, “I’ll be back, Leah. I have to talk to them.”

  When he approached Melissa and Goedeke, he said without preliminaries, “Chauncey tells me you’re moving into town.”

  Melissa studied him before she answered, and he felt a touch of cruelty in the appraisal. “Yes,” she said shortly.

  Forrest Goedeke waggled an unsteady finger in Nelson’s face. He was drunk again. “Did you think we were dependent on you? My boy, we have resources you never dreamed of.”

  “Father,” Melissa snapped at him.

  Goedeke’s face had the sullen look of a reprimanded child. He weaved off, muttering to himself.

  She faced Nelson and said, “I hate this camp. I’ve hated it from the first moment I saw it. We’re moving into a decent place. A house.”

  He remembered the flatness in Stevens’ tone, the warning quality that said: Don’t pry. He thought he understood this arrangement. Stevens was supplying the money for the house, and, afraid of hurting Nelson’s feelings, dreaded to speak of it. Nelson smothered his sigh of relief. This was best for everyone, and at the first opportunity he would tell Stevens so.

  He said, “Melissa, if there’s anything you need—”

  “Not from you,” she answered, her lip curling.

  He nodded and left her. This was an incident he could close with no scars and no regrets. He thought soberly that he was a very lucky man.

  He heard the hard pound of hoofs just as he reached Leah’s fire. It came as a sudden burst of sound in the night, swelled to a crescendo, then faded as the rider dragged his mount to a stop outside the wagons. He heard a voice calling, “Nelson! Nelson, where are you?”

  “Here,” he answered.

  Conger came into the light of the fire. He was a lanky, tow headed youth, and he reeled with fatigue as he walked. His face was drawn, his eyes were hollow, but he still wore that brash grin.

  He handed a letter to Nelson and said, “I told you it wouldn’t take me no ten days.”

  Nelson’s hand trembled as he reached for the letter, and his fingers shook as they worked at its sealing.

  Conger’s job was over. He had no interest in the contents of the letter. He yawned and said, “I’m going to get me some sleep.” He wandered off into the darkness.

  Nelson read the first page, incredulity slackened his face. Then wrath replaced it, tightening his facial muscles until the skin was taut.

  He looked up and said, “Listen to this, Leah.” He took a deep breath to steady his voice, then read: “‘Samuel Tribble has written me of your complaints concerning his tax schedule. The levying of the taxes are fair and just, and part of the revenue will go to the Mexican government.’”

  He stopped and said, “He goes on for a whole page about my attempt to cheat the Mexican government of what’s due them. He points out that I have made no attempt to pay taxes. How could I? How could any of the people? We’re just getting started.”

  He read the second page, and his voice thickened with each word. “‘It has come to my attention that you have taken the ferry operating on the Trinity River away from one Ignacio Pacheco. You have given this ferry to an American called Travis Fabian. This is further proof of your partiality to your American settlers, ignoring the rights of my people. You are to return the ferry to its rightful owner, with all the revenues that have been collected.’”

  Nelson said in a strangled voice, “Fabian gave that starving Mexican a job. He fed him.”

  She moved to him and laid her fingers on his arm. In his wild anger he did not feel the touch.

  “Nelson, he doesn’t understand. Go see him.”

  “I’ve believed that for too long. He believes what he chooses to believe. I haven’t read you his final words.” He made the words deliberate, putting savage emphasis on each one. “‘I will listen to no more complaints from you. If you cannot administer your grant with fairness and impartiality, it will be taken from you.’”

  “What are you going to do?” she whispered.

  He stared at the letter, then wadded it into a ball. He flung it into the fire, and all the wild protest in him was in the gesture.

  “I’m going to see Austin. He and De Witt are probably having the same trouble. There are too many Americans in Texas for us to be treated like this. No one will take our grants from us.”

  “Be careful, Nelson.”

  He bent his head and kissed her. It was a brief kiss. His mind was too full with this grave threat.

  He found Stevens staring into a fire. He said, “Chauncey, Saucedo has rejected every plea. He’s siding with Payne and the riffraff. I’m leaving tonight to see Austin. If it’s coming to a clash of force, we’ll be ready for it.”

  Stevens looked at him without answering.

  Nelson felt a rush of impatience at the man’s mood. Didn’t he understand that this was more important than personal affairs?

  “See if you can get word to Hunter and ask him to be here when I get back. If I judged the man right, he’s still fuming against the treatment he received from the Mexicans. We’ll need his Indians before we’re through.”

  Stevens said, “All right, Nelson.” His coldness seemed to be slipping away as the interest heightened in his eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just keep an eye on thi
ngs.” Nelson wanted to ask him to look out for Leah and held back the words. He picked up his saddle and walked toward his horse. The animal was skittish, protesting this night ride, and Nelson tightened the cinch with savage jerks of his hands. He had a long ride ahead of him, a ride of 150 miles to Austin’s village of San Felipe de Austin.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, and mounted. He put the horse into a gentle lope. The bitter thoughts behind his eyes fashioned a hard mask of his face.

  * * * *

  He rode into San Felipe de Austin at noon of the third day, saddle-gaunt and weary. He moved slowly down the main street, stopping once in a store to ask directions to Austin’s office. This village had a different air than Nacogdoches. He watched the faces of the people he passed and saw no tension, no harried expressions. This town was not blanketed with fear and uncertainty.

  He did not stop for food or to remove the travel stains before he entered Austin’s office.

  Austin stared at him, then the puzzled expression left his eyes. “Nelson O’Shaughnessy,” he said, and came forward, hand extended.

  Nelson had met the man in Mexico City, and he said, “Hello, Stephen,” as he clasped the hand.

  “Sit down, man. Sit down.” Austin swept a stack of papers from a chair and moved it toward Nelson.

  Nelson gratefully sank into it. He extended his long legs and studied the toes of his boots. A man did not realize how weary he was until he stopped.

  “How are things going?” Austin asked.

  Nelson summed it up in one word: “Bad.”

  Austin shook his head. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said in a cautious voice.

  Nelson plunged into a recital of his troubles. “Saucedo refuses to listen. The last I heard from him, he won’t hear another complaint.”

  Austin said, “It sounds incredible. In my dealings with him, I’ve found him to be fair.”

  The blaze was starting in Nelson’s eyes. “Does what I’ve just told you sound fair? We’re winning against Payne and his bunch, despite Saucedo’s attitude. Nacogdoches is growing, new settlers are arriving every day, and they’re being given their land. While they’re still afraid to move onto it, they’re working it. Payne is losing some of his people. I could smash him overnight if Saucedo were the fair man you think he is.”