Jed drew rein. He opened a saddlebag and found his silver flask. Taking a swig, he smacked his lips. His thinking juice, he liked to call it. He savored another swallow. By rights he should be fanning the breeze to Wareagle, but there he sat, drinking and pondering. What’s the matter with me? he asked himself. The answer was as plain as his nose. Maybe it was his years. Maybe it was losing his beloved wife, Mary. Maybe it was losing his boys. But God help him, he didn’t want to be patriarch anymore. “Hell,” he summed up his sentiments.
It was dark when Jed reached the cabin. He wearily dismounted and went in without knocking. Erna was in her rocking chair, knitting. Scarlet was at the table playing cards. “Where are Chace and Cassie?” he asked.
Their confusion spiked a dread certainty. Jed turned to go but stopped. He placed his forehead against the jamb, and sighed. “If it ain’t chickens, it’s feathers.”
Erna set her needles and yarn down and stood. “What is going on, Jedediah? Where are my children?”
Jed bid her sit at the table. He related all he knew, leaving out only the grislier details of the clash in Wareagle and saying nothing of his great fear for Chace and Cassie beyond. “I think Chace is on the run and Cassie went to find him.”
Erna listened stoically. “First my husband and now my two youngest,” she said with great sadness. “Is there no end?”
“At dawn I’ll set out after the twins.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Is that wise?” Jed asked diplomatically. “What if they show up here? And how about Scarlet?”
“I can take care of myself,” Scarlet said.
“You’re still not yourself,” Jed noted. “And with the Harkeys on the rampage, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“They wouldn’t dare come this far into Shannon country,” Erna said.
“Your husband and your son went as far into theirs,” Jed argued. “Nothing is as it was. They could strike anytime, anywhere.”
“I’m not comfortable with sitting here twiddling my thumbs,” Erna persisted. “I’m their mother.”
“You have every right to come if you really want,” Jed said. “But I can ride faster and I know these mountains better than just about anyone.” He had her there.
“I’ll think about it while I fix supper,” Erna said. “We held off eating in case some of you showed.”
Jed had little appetite but he let her feed him potato soup and boiled chicken and green beans. He dearly desired to wash it down with whiskey but he kept the flask in his pocket.
Scarlet didn’t say one word the whole meal. Afterward, as Jed sat puffing on his pipe and Erna was washing the dishes, Scarlet folded her hands on the table and said, “This is all my fault.”
“Not hardly,” Jed said.
“I was the one went to Harkey Hollow. I brought this down on our heads.” Scarlet’s eyes mirrored inner pain.
“How were you to predict?” Jed said. “You were careless, yes, but the truce was in effect longer than you’ve lived. You can’t be blamed for not taking it as serious as you should.”
Erna said over her shoulder, “If it’s true my Buck is gone, then I’m glad the truce is broken. I aim to avenge him and kill me a few Harkeys. An eye for an eye, just like in the Bible.”
“That’s no way to talk,” Jed said. “Not with you a mother and a woman and all.”
“Why, Jedediah Shannon,” Erna said. “Are you suggesting a female can’t stand up for her clan the same as the males?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Then what? I’m supposed to forgive and forget? After what they did to my Scarlet? After they’ve probably gone and killed my Buck?” Erna’s voice broke.
Jed’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t wet his lips. He put his hand to his pocket and drew it away.
“I agree with Grandpa,” Scarlet said. “Not because you’re female but because if I lose you and the law catches Chace, it’ll be me and Cassie all by ourselves.”
“Listen to her,” Jed said to Erna. He got up and walked to the water pitcher and filled a glass. He gulped half down. It didn’t help. His mouth was still dry and his arm and leg muscles were twitching. “Not now,” he said under his breath.
“What was that?” Erna asked.
“I’ve got to put my mule in the corral.” Jed hurried out and took hold of the reins. He wasn’t quite to the barn when the shakes hit. Unable to stay on his feet, he dropped to his knees and pressed his arms to his gut. It was the worst attack of many. He shuddered and shook and gritted his teeth, the sweat pouring from his pores. The last time had been at his place before he set out to see Buck.
The attack passed. Jed pushed erect and shuffled to the gate. He was so weak he had to try twice to open it. Stripping the saddle was a chore and a half.
His Sharps over his shoulder, he retraced his steps. As he came around the cabin a gun muzzle was shoved against his ribs.
“So much as twitch and you’re dead.”
Jed froze. There were two of them, both with black hair and bushy brows and Winchesters. “What do you want?”
“As if you don’t know,” said the Harkey who had jabbed him.
“If I did I wouldn’t have asked.”
“We want the boy called Chace,” said the other. “He’s to blame for today and we know he lives here.” He took the Sharps. “Inside, old man. Go slow or we’ll blow holes in you.”
Jed felt no fear, only anger. Not anger at them but at himself for being taken unawares. “Chace ain’t here,” he said.
“As if we’d take your word for it,” the Harkey holding the rifle said. He jabbed Jed hard. “Get going.”
His anger climbing, Jed stepped to the door and gripped the latch. He contemplated resisting but now wasn’t the time. He went in, saying, “Stay calm, ladies. We have visitors.”
Erna and Scarlet were at the table. When they saw the Harkeys, they stood in alarm and Erna said, “What’s the meaning of this?”
The Harkey who had taken the Sharps moved past Jed to the bedrooms. He peered into each and turned and shook his head. “No one else here, Joe Earl.”
“Damn,” Joe Earl said. “I want that son of a bitch so bad, Arlan, I can taste it.”
Erna bristled. “Watch your mouth. I won’t have that kind of talk in my house.”
“You must be the bastard’s ma,” Joe Earl said. He nodded at Scarlet. “You must be his sis.” He poked Jed with the rifle. “Grandpa, right? Got a name to go with that gray hair?”
Jed told him.
The one called Arlan came to the table. “Jedediah Shannon?” he repeated, his eyebrows meeting over his nose. “Wait. Ain’t you the head of all the Shannons?”
“That he is,” Erna said before Jed could answer. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here and leave us be.”
“Shut up, bitch,” Joe Earl snapped. “Your son shot one of us today and three more Harkeys were killed in the fight, after.”
“That’s right,” Arlan chimed in. “We also got word right before we left Wareagle that other Harkeys have been killed off in the hills, and we think maybe your son had a hand in them, too.”
“So we’ll just wait for him to come home and do to him as he’s been doing to us Harkeys,” Joe Earl informed them.
“The law is after him,” Jed said. “He’s likely halfway to anywhere by now.”
“We’ll wait anyway.”
Arlan was staring at Scarlet. “You sure are pretty, gal. But what in tarnation happened to you? You’re all black-and-blue. Did your folks beat you for misbehaving?”
Erna was livid, her fists clenched at her sides. “She was raped by you rotten Harkeys, is why! That’s what started this, not my boy shooting one of you vermin.”
“I’d be careful with the insults,” Joe Earl warned.
Erna took a step toward him.“You bust in my house.You hold a gun to my father-in-law. You threaten women.”
“Erna,” Jed cautioned.
Erna took another step. “You’re scum,” she growled at Joe Earl. “Just like all you Harkeys. Us Shannons should have wiped you off the face of the earth when we had the chance. I’m glad my son killed some of you.” She grinned fiercely. “Do you hear me?”
“I hear you fine,” Joe Earl said, and shot her.
Jed had been inching his hand to his right hip. He was surprised at how careless they were, not taking his knife. As the Winchester blasted he drew his bowie and spun, thrusting up and in and sinking the big blade to the hilt in Joe Earl’s belly. Joe Earl bleated and his eyes widened and he tried to draw a pistol but he was dead on his feet. Yanking the bowie out, Jed spun toward Arlan, who was leveling his rifle.
Scarlet leaped between them. She grabbed the barrel and went to push it aside just as it went off. The slug ripped through her chest and she staggered back and looked down at herself in disbelief. “Grandpa?” she said, and her knees gave out.
Arlan appeared as stunned as Jed. Belatedly, he brought the Winchester up, but Jed was already in motion. He came around the table, and kicked. Arlan was knocked back. Jed was on him in a long bound and grabbed the barrel as Scarlet had done, only Jed shifted sideways so if the rifle went off he wouldn’t be hit. He slashed at Arlan’s neck but Arlan grabbed his wrist. Locked together, they grappled, each seeking the upper hand. Jed let go of the Winchester and punched Arlan in the throat. Arlan grunted and made strangled sounds but held on to Jed’s wrist. Jed grabbed the barrel again and they moved back and forth and around and around in a grotesque mimicry of a dance. Jed broke the stalemate by kicking Arlan in the knee. Arlan swore and sagged. Jed tore his wrist free and slashed twice, cutting so deep he nearly severed the head from the body. A fine red spray ruptured from the near stump of a neck.
Jed moved to Scarlet. She was on her side, still breathing, tears in her eyes, her cheeks wet. He cradled her on his legs.
“Grandpa?”
“I’m here, girl.” Jed gently squeezed her arm. A spreading stain on the front of her dress and her pallor were harbingers of the worst.
“I’m cold, Grandpa,” Scarlet said. She looked up at him and gasped and went limp.
Jed went to Erna. She was facedown. He carefully rolled her over and her eyes opened.
“How bad is it?”
Jed looked at the wound. She had been shot down low and there were only a few drops of blood on her dress. “I can’t tell.”
Erna swallowed and said weakly, “It feels like my insides are tore up. Is Scarlet all right?”
“She’s fine,” Jed lied.
“Take care of her. The twins, too. Find them and bring them back and see to it they turn out decent.”
“I will,” Jed said. Grief filled him, grief and something worse, but he held them back. Not yet, he thought.
“I’ll be with Bucklyn soon,” Erna said, and smiled. “Any message I can give him for you?”
“I love you both,” Jed said.
“Take care of yourself, Jedediah. Take care of my babies, too.” Erna reached up but her hand never reached him. She arched her back and gazed up at the ceiling and said, “There’s a light.” Then she deflated like a punctured water skin.
Jed felt dizzy. He stood and leaned against the table and took his flask from his pocket. He opened it and upended it and sucked the whiskey as if it were the elixir of life.
When he lowered it, the tears started.
18
The tavern was in the middle of the wilds. The last town was thirty miles back. The next, according to a sign on the front of the tavern, was twice as far. The sign, bathed by light from the front window, read Barnaby’s. Last food and drink for sixty miles. Served six a.m. until midnight. Lodging available upon request. Horses and mules put up, extra. Lucius Barnaby, Prop.
Chace wrestled with the sign, saying the words out loud. Those he didn’t know, he guessed. Climbing down, he tied Enoch and climbed the steps. He idly swatted dust from his clothes and opened the door. He held the Spencer in his left hand.
A spacious room glowed yellow with the light from several lamps. Tables were to one side, to the other a bar. A balding man with no chin and thick arms was wiping a glass with a cloth. He smiled and beckoned.
“Come in, boy, come in.”
Chace went over. He stood so he could see the door and set the Spencer on the top of the bar.
“I was just about to close,” the man said. “I’m Lucius Barnaby, in case you haven’t guessed.”
Chace didn’t say who he was.
Barnaby shrugged and went on smiling. “You look a little young for liquor but I don’t judge. I never judge. That’s in the Bible, you know. ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged.’ Do you judge, boy?”
“Yes,” Chace said.
Barnaby’s right eyebrow crooked upward. He set down the glass and draped the cloth over his shoulder. “What will it be, then?”
“Food. I’m not particular. It doesn’t have to be hot. Cold meat. Cold stew. A handful of carrots if that’s all you’ve got.”
“Famished, are you? Well, I reckon I can do better than carrots.” Barnaby gestured at the tables. “Why don’t you take a seat? Usually I don’t do food so close to closing, but for a handsome boy like you I’ll make an exception.” He winked and patted Chace’s hand. “Give me ten minutes or so.”
“I’m obliged.” Chace chose a table in the corner. He placed the Spencer on it, turned a chair around, and straddled it so he was facing the front door. He ran a hand through his hair and across his chin, and yawned.
From in back came singing and whistling. A pan banged. There was loud clattering.
Chace reached behind him and drew the Arkansas toothpick. He flicked at spots of dry blood with a fingernail, then tested the edge by lightly running it along his little finger. A thin red line welled. He wiped the blade on his pants and slid it back into the sheath.
When Barnaby reappeared he was carrying a large tray. He hummed as he brought it over and set it on the table. “I went to extra effort on your account, boy. I want you to appreciate that.” He set out a plate and silverware and several dishes steaming with food. “It’s not fancy but it’s filling.”
“How much?” Chace asked.
Barnaby did more winking. “For you, handsome boy, not a penny. It’s on the house.” He moved toward the front. “I better lock up. Don’t worry. I’ll let you out when you’re ready to leave.”
In addition to a pot of coffee, the meal consisted of half a macaroni pie with shallots, a side of turnips, and a thick piece of peppermint cake. Chace ate heartily, washing every other mouthful down with coffee.
The proprietor was looking out the window. He gazed up the road and then down the road, and nodded to himself. Then he came over, wiping his hands on his apron. “That mule of yours is tuckered out. Been doing a lot of hard riding, I take it.”
Chace spooned macaroni into his mouth.
Barnaby held his right hand palm out. “It’s none of my business, I know. But if I was to guess, I’d say you’re on the run.”
“You’re right,” Chace said between chews. “It’s none of your business.”
“Of course, of course.” Barnaby pulled out the chair across the table and sat. “Maybe I can be of help, though.”
“Why?”
“Why help you when I don’t even know you? That’s just how I am. I was young once. I remember how it was. If you’re in trouble you can confide in me. I won’t tell a soul. Honest.”
Chace speared a turnip with his fork. “I’ve killed pretty near a dozen people and the law is after me.”
Barnaby chuckled. “That’s a good one. A boy your age ...” He caught himself. “Hold on. You’re not funning me?”
“It might be more. I shot a posse man and he went down but I can’t say as he’s dead.” Chace chewed the turnip. “You’re a good cook.”
“Good God.”
“You make this pie yourself?” Chace asked.
Barnaby nodded and licked his lips. Sweat broke
out on his balding pate. “Can I ask who?”
“No.”
“Can I ask why?”
“The why doesn’t count. All that matters to the law is the doing.”
“True,” Barnaby said.
Chace refilled his cup with coffee. “I shot a deputy, too, but he’s still breathing. It’s him who will dog me. I doubt he took kindly to lead in his wing.”
“I imagine not.” Barnaby gazed at the window and drummed his fingers on the table. Sweat now glistened on his face and neck. “When I said trouble I had no idea.”
“Now you do.” Chace smiled and spooned more macaroni. “My ma hardly ever made macaroni pie and hers wasn’t as good as yours. You should be a cook.”
“If I cooked I’d have to work in a restaurant or a hotel and be around people and I’m not much of a mingler. To be honest, I don’t like people that much.”
Chace put his hand on the Spencer. “You like handsome boys.”
A bead of sweat ran down Barnaby’s nose and dripped off the end onto the table. “That wasn’t what you think.”
“We should always say what we mean and make it plain,” Chace said. “People take things wrong, they might shoot you.”
Barnaby glanced at the Spencer and took the cloth from his shoulder and mopped his face. “I’m too nice for my own good.” He started to get up.
“No,” Chace said.
Barnaby sat.
Chace finished the pie and the turnips and began on the peppermint cake. The cake was dry and broke apart when he forked it. He put the fork on the plate and pushed the plate away. “So if you were me, what would you do?”
“Make myself scarce in these parts, but that goes without saying.” Barnaby rubbed the chin he didn’t have. “Your best bet is a city. Be another face in the crowd. Texas is as good as anywhere and it’s not that far. Dallas. Houston. San Antonio. Or maybe Galveston. I hear it’s booming and there are lots of jobs to be had.”
“Galveston,” Chace said.
Barnaby nodded. “It’s on an island. Has gaslights and an opera house and everything. You could lose yourself, easy. No Arkansas lawman would think to look for you there.”
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