Blood Feud

by David Robbins

  “And now the Harkeys have broke it,” Buck said.

  “That’s what I’m here to talk about.”

  Erna carried a stack of plates and spoons and forks to the table and began setting them out. “The talk can wait. The food is ready and you’ll eat it while it’s hot.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jed said, and patted his belly. “Bring on the feed. I ain’t ate since I left and my stomach is sticking to my backbone.”

  “You won’t be disappointed,” Erna promised.

  Chace stepped around the table and sat across from his sister. He picked up his fork and rubbed it on his sleeve.

  “You hungry, boy?” Jed asked.

  “For Harkey blood.”

  “Here, now,” Erna said. “There will none of that. Save the blood talk for after breakfast. Cassie, you help me serve.”

  There was a pot of Arbuckle’s coffee for the men and mint tea in a kettle for the ladies. The food consisted of beaten biscuits, bacon and collard greens, buckwheat cakes, and eggs. A jar of apple butter was set out to smear on the biscuits. Erna even offered molasses for the buckwheat cakes, a treat since molasses was pricey.

  The family ate in silence save for “pass me this” or “pass me that.”

  Jedediah heaped his plate high. He was particularly fond of the buckwheat cakes and helped himself to half a dozen. He ate with enthusiasm and complimented Erna on her fine cooking.

  “I’m no great shakes but I thank you.”

  Jed nodded at Buck. “The smartest thing you ever did was to marry this gal. She reminds me a lot of your mother.” Some of the joy went out of his face. “God rest her soul.”

  “I wish I’d gotten to know her,” Cassie said. “What did she die of, anyhow? I don’t think anyone’s ever said.”

  “Pneumonia, they call it,” Jed said. “A fancy word for the shakes and shivers. There wasn’t a sawbones within a hundred miles back then or I’d have taken her. I did all I could but it wasn’t enough.” Jed stopped chewing and set down his fork. “I miss her more than anything. I should have come down with it and died with her.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Cassie said.

  Erna stood up. “I made dessert. Brown Betty. Who wants some?”

  “For breakfast?” Buck said.

  “It’s a special occasion, your pa being here. I made it last night for supper today, but we can have it now.”

  “Now I’ve heard everything,” Buck grumbled.

  Cassie rubbed her hands in glee. Brown Betty was her favorite pudding. When it was warm, the apples and bread crumbs melted in her mouth.

  “I have died and gone to heaven,” Jed said when he was given his portion. He winked at Erna. “Times like this I almost regret not taking another wife.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Cassie asked.

  “Your grandma was the only woman for me. We were meant for each other. She knew it and I knew it.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Cassie,” Erna said. “You shouldn’t pester the man.”

  “I don’t mind,” Jed said, and patted his granddaughter’s hand. “We were sweet on each other when we were your age. Her pa didn’t take to me, though, and wouldn’t let her marry me. She refused to marry anyone else and after four or five years he gave in just so she wouldn’t be an old maid.” He paused. “You asked me how we knew?” Jed touched a finger to his chest. “Love is of the heart, girl. You feel it in all you are. One day it will hit you like a thunderclap and there won’t be nothing you can do.”

  Cassie glanced at Chace.

  “But enough about that.” Jed stared down the table at Buck. “Let’s talk about the Harkeys.”

  5

  Deep in the shadowed woods of the Ozarks rode three men. They sat their saddles quiet and alert, their rifles in their hands. Two were on mules, the last astride a clay-bank. Around them the shortleaf pines and hardwoods teemed with wildlife. Occasionally they skirted meadows where yellow jasmine grew. Once, as they climbed a steep slope, quail were startled into flight. They saw mockingbirds, a cardinal, a robin.

  Buck Shannon was in the lead. He sat stiffly, holding his Winchester by the barrel, the stock on his thigh. He passed through a stand of ash and drew rein at the base of a bluff with a lightning-scarred tree partway up. He studied the tree. “That must be the one.”

  His brothers came to a stop on either side of his mule.

  Granger was younger by two years but looked older. He had the Shannon eyes and the Shannon hair but less of the latter than either of them. He had started balding at an early age and now had no hair on top and precious little on the sides. He was heavier than Buck by twenty pounds. A farmer, his features were deeply tanned and his hands thickly callused.

  Fox was a farmer, as well. He was the youngest and not nearly as big. He did have all his hair. His rifle was a Henry. It had cost him most of the money from last year’s corn crop, but he considered it worth it. As the saying went, you could load a Henry on Sunday and shoot it all week. He wasn’t much of a shot, but the Henry could shoot a lot. No other Shannon owned one. No Harkeys, either, from what he’d gathered.

  “So far Pa’s landmarks have been right where he said they’d be,” Granger said.

  “So far,” Buck replied. “But I wouldn’t put it past him to trick us. You wait. Farther in, the landmarks won’t match and we’ll have no choice but to turn back for home.”

  “Pa wouldn’t do that to us,” Fox said.

  “Where were you when he was giving us a piece of his mind? He doesn’t want us to do this. He says no good will come of it. That if we were smart we’d bring him and let him dicker.”

  “Maybe we should have,” Granger said. “He knows these woods better than any of us and he’s friendly with Ezriah.”

  “Friendly ain’t exactly the word I’d use,” Buck quibbled. “They shook hands once, is all.” He gigged the mule and reined to go around the bluff rather than tempt fate on the slope.

  “I’d still feel better if Pa was here,” Granger said.

  “There’s nothing he can do that we can’t,” Buck said irritably.

  “That may be,” Fox said, “but he does it a lot better.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about him—you hear? Not another peep, by God.”

  “Simmer down,” Granger cautioned.

  Sunlight streamed through the forest canopy in sparkling shafts. A carpet of leaves and needles dulled the thud of hooves. A woodpecker rat-a-tat-tatted high in an oak, and finches chirped and flitted from tree to tree. Farther on they flushed a young buck with its antlers in velvet; the buck bounded off in graceful leaps, its tail erect. A monarch butterfly flew past Buck’s mule, so close its wing pretty near brushed the mule’s eye.

  In due course they came to a tableland. The trees included more evergreens. They took advantage of a long, winding gully to stay hidden until they were half a mile along. Beyond were a series of grassy mounds.

  Jed had told them that the Indians believed the mounds were the burial grounds of a race of giants from long ago. Buck had little truck with the red race and no belief at all in their superstitions.

  The mounds ended at thick woods. Here, human feet had rarely trod. The shadows darkened.

  “We’re getting close,” Fox whispered.

  Buck nodded. If Jed had remembered right and if the landmarks were as Jed said and if the gent they were going to such lengths to see still lived where he had lived when he invited Jed over twenty years ago, then yes, they were getting close.

  They rode at a walk. They stopped often to listen. Twice Jed snapped his Winchester to his shoulders, but it was only a trick of the light that made him think figures had appeared from behind trees. Inwardly, he swore. He was jumpy and he hated it.

  The thick woods ended where they were supposed to, on the crest of a small valley nestled deep in Harkey country. The brothers drew rein well below the rim and went up on foot, crouching so they weren’t silhouetted against the sky. A few yards from the brink
they fell onto their bellies and crawled.

  Buck was the first to poke his head over. “Well, I’ll be,” he said.

  “Pa did it,” Granger said.

  “No, we did it. Pa only told us how.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without him remembering.”

  “I could have set up a meet on my own. Don’t make him out to be of more help than he was.”

  Fox said testily, “Will you two cut it out? Granger, you’re right. We couldn’t have done it without Pa. And, Buck, what the hell is the matter with you? You never give Pa credit for anything.”

  “Him and me haven’t always seen eye to eye,” Buck said sullenly.

  “That may be, but now’s not the time and this sure ain’t the place to squabble about it.”

  Buck grunted.

  The valley was a quarter of a mile long and half that wide. A ribbon of blue was bordered by grass. At the far end stood the dwelling they had taken great risk to find. From its chimney curled wisps of smoke. Horses dozed in a corral. There was an outhouse and a shed, and that was all.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Granger said.

  “It’s close to noon. Maybe they’re sitting down to eat,” Fox guessed. “That would explain the smoke.”

  “We can either sneak in or ride up,” Buck said. “I say riding is best. Show we’re peaceable by staying out in the open.”

  “I vote we sneak,” Granger disagreed. “Wait for someone to come out and take them prisoner.”

  “That will sure put us in their good graces.”

  “I’d rather be breathing than friendly.”

  Fox made a sound reminiscent of a goose having its neck strangled. “There you two go again. I swear. You act no older than when you were twelve and ten.”

  “What’s your vote?” Buck asked.

  “Were it up to me, we wouldn’t even be here,” Fox answered. “We’d find out where the boys who did your daughter wrong live and bushwhack them some night and that would be that.”

  “And start the feud up all over again.” Buck shook his head. “I’m trying to avoid that. I thought you understood.”

  “I do. Which is why I vote that we ride in to prove we’re friendly and hope to heaven they’re as friendly as we are.”

  Granger muttered, then said, “We’re making a mistake, but if it’s what you both want, then I’ll go along.”

  “Decent of you,” Buck said.

  They stood and climbed on their mounts and Buck led down the slope to the valley floor and along the gurgling stream. He had his Winchester across his saddle so he could raise it fast if he had to.

  A dog came from behind the shed and commenced to bark. A black mongrel, he was large enough that if he tangled with a bear the issue would be in doubt.

  “Yapping cur,” Granger said.

  “Strange no one has come out,” Buck remarked.

  “Strange house,” Fox said.

  The dwelling wasn’t exactly a house and it wasn’t exactly a cabin. It was an odd mix of both. Logs and boards had been used in its construction and put together unevenly and the gaps filled with mud. A rock foundation, likewise filled, framed the bottom. The chimney was lop-sided and one side of the house was slightly higher than the other.

  “Looks like it was built by a drunk,” Fox said.

  “A dumb drunk,” Granger added.

  Buck came within a stone’s toss and drew rein. He didn’t raise his Winchester. He held his right hand up with the palm out and hollered, “Ezriah Harkey! You in there? This is Buck Shannon. Me and my brothers have come to have words with you.”

  The door creaked on leather hinges. The man who came out was a lot like his house: bulky, slovenly, uneven. The moment he emerged the dog stopped barking. His overalls bore a dozen or more patches. His shirt was open to the waist and flab oozed out. He had tufts of brown hair sticking from above his ears and wisps on the top. He wasn’t armed. Dark, close-set eyes raked them, and he said, “To have words, you say?”

  “That’s right,” Buck replied. “We came in peace.”

  “So you claim.”

  “If I’d wanted to I could have laid up on the rise yonder and picked you off with my rifle, but I didn’t. I came in open and friendly.”

  “So you did,” Ezriah Harkey said.

  “I reckon you know why I’m here.”

  “I do. And I reckon I know how you found me. Your pa must have told you. He’s the only one of your clan who’s ever been here.”

  Buck nodded. “He wanted to come himself but I asked him not to. I wanted this between us. Man to man. It was my daughter who was wronged.”

  “For what it is worth I am sorry about that,” Ezriah said. “I don’t hold with them that hurt womenfolk.”

  Just then someone else appeared. A female about the same age as the patriarch. Her dress was black, her shoes black, her hair gray. She had ferret eyes and a pointed chin and no lips to speak of. Around her neck was a string of small bones. On each wrist were more bones. Around her waist was a belt made of what appeared to be human hair. She looked at the three of them and tittered as if she found them funny.

  “This is my missus,” Ezriah introduced her.

  “How do you do, ma’am?” Buck said. “What might your name be?”

  In a voice that cracked with every syllable, she responded, “A name is power and I’ll not give you any. Not a Shannon, I won’t.”

  “Power?” Buck said.

  “Her mother was from New Orleans,” Ezriah said, as if that explained it. “She answers to Woman and likes it that way. You know her real name, she figures you could cast a spell on her.”

  “A witchy woman, by God,” Fox declared.

  “No one told us his wife was a witch,” Granger said.

  “No one outside the Harkeys knows she’s special,” Ezriah said. “She heals and reads signs and can put a hex on folks if I ask her to.”

  “How do you do, ma’am?” Buck said again.

  Woman tittered and shook her wrists so that the bones rattled. “I do right fine, Shannon man. I do better than you.”

  “Don’t,” Ezriah said to her. “We’ll do this my way, you hear? Go in and set coffee out.”

  She glanced at him sharply. “You’re inviting them into our house? Them as is our enemies?”

  “You heard him. He came in peace. The least I can do is hear him out.” Ezriah motioned. “Coffee. Now.”

  Woman hissed like a kicked snake and stalked indoors.

  “Climb down,” Ezriah said to the brothers. “You can put your animals in the corral if you want. There’s feed and a trough.”

  “Don’t mind if we do,” Buck said. Dismounting, he led his around.

  Three mules and a horse were already there.

  Ezriah Harkey came with them.“You must be Granger and you must be Fox.”

  Fox’s eyebrows arched. “How did you know? We’ve never set eyes on you until today.”

  “I make it a point to learn all I can about you Shannons,” Ezriah told him. “Who is born to who and how many and what you look like. Doesn’t your pa do the same?”

  “Not that we know of,” Granger answered. “He keeps to himself off in the woods, just like you do.”

  “Us oldsters like our breathing space.” Ezriah scratched himself and looked at each of their weapons. “Nice rifles.” He pointed a thick finger. “That’s a Henry you have, ain’t it?”

  Fox patted the brass receiver. “Sure is.”

  “First I’ve ever laid eyes on but I’ve heard about them.” Ezriah gazed down the valley and then at the woods that bordered the back of the corral. He nodded and looked at Buck and said, “Yes, sir. I’m glad you came. Even if it wasn’t your doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Woman did a conjure. She brought you here. Don’t get mad at her, though. She did it for me.”

  “You’re saying she put some kind of spell on us?” Buck laughed. “I don’t believe in hexes.”

  Ezriah shrugged. �
�Believe or not believe, they still work. She has the gift. And this makes things a lot easier. Saves me the trouble of having to look you up and maybe it will spare our families some misery.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re an honorable man, Buck Shannon. I’d expect no less from the son of my old enemy, Jedediah.”

  “I’m hoping there is honor on both sides. I’m hoping you’ll do the right thing by me and my daughter.”

  “I always do the right thing,” Ezriah said. “Come along. We’ll talk inside.” He added with finality, “When we’re done, this will be settled.”

  6

  Chace took his rifle down from the pegs on the wall. He sat on the bed and worked the lever to feed a cartridge into the chamber.

  “Why do you keep it up there?” Cassie asked. She was leaning against the jamb, watching him.

  “So I can get it quick in the night if I need to.”

  “Did you see Uncle Fox’s Henry?”

  “I have eyes.”

  “What did you think of it?”

  “Just like him to pick a pretty gun. I’ll stick with this.” Chace wagged his Spencer.

  “It’s as old as you are.”

  “Old don’t mean useless.”Chace took down the special belt he’d made from rawhide; it held twenty .50-caliber cartridges. He wrapped it around his waist and buckled it. Hunkering, he reached under his bed and pulled out an Arkansas toothpick in a leather sheath. He slid the sheath under his belt behind his back and moved to go.

  Cassie blocked his way. “I want to come.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll bring my rifle. We’ll hunt together.”

  “No, I said.”

  “Please.”

  Chace brushed past her and crossed the family room to the front door. He stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, and squinted. He went to close the door but Cassie was in the doorway.