Tyra's Gambler

by Velda Brotherton

  “Uhm, yeah, I think I hurt my leg falling from the train. Could you help me get over to your well?”

  The boy backed up a few steps.

  “No, no, don’t go.” Zach reached toward the kid. “I won’t hurt you. What’s your name? Mine is Zach.”

  “Bobby. My name is Bobby.” With that he turned and ran, shouting something over his shoulder that Zach couldn’t understand.

  Well, hell, he’d scared the little bugger off. Maybe he could make it into the yard where the stone curbing of a well was visible, along with a structure more shack than house. If the kid’s folks were home, he might well get shot. Nevertheless, he began to work his way in that direction, more crawling than hopping, since it seemed to cause less pain.

  Damn, if he ever laid hands on that Tyra Duncan woman, he was going to shake her till her eyeteeth popped out. She’d sure turned his life into one hellish moment after another. And she couldn’t have done it at a worse time. If he could get hold of a gun, he might pay her back by shooting her in the leg. See how she liked that.

  Scrambling on hands and knees, weeds slapping him in the face, dust kicking up and nearly choking him, he finally made it into the yard. Visions of crystal clear cool water kept him moving when he thought he couldn’t go on for another minute. The once-stylish vest and white shirt he wore were covered in dirt, he’d torn the knee out of one leg of his britches, and his shiny black high-tops were scuffed beyond repair. If he made it to the well, he wouldn’t blame anyone who might greet him with a shotgun. Might just welcome the son of a bitch and ask to be shot. Put out of his misery.

  A bunch of chickens clucked and dug about in the bare yard, their conversation like questions asked and answered. He’d almost reached the well curbing when the front door of the shack slammed shut. A woman stood on the porch, the shotgun he’d imagined under one arm. She hollered at the boy, and he ran up to her. Unable to hear their conversation, Zach waited for whatever fate she decided for him.

  The boy went inside, then came out with a water bucket. He ran to the well, unhitched the rope that was tied to a wooden container, and dropped it down into the dark yaw. Mesmerized, Zach watched in hopeful anticipation. Looked like he was about to get a drink. Sure enough, the kid hauled up the dripping vessel, poured the water into the shiny metal bucket, lifted an overflowing dipper out, and gave it to Zach.

  Zach slurped at the clear, cold, sweet water, the excess flowing down his chin. Nothing had ever tasted so good. When every last drop was gone, he held it out. “Could I have more?”

  “Ma said only one dipper or you’ll likely upchuck. You can have more in a little bit. She wants to know if you’re hungry.”

  Stomach roiling from the icy cold invasion, Zach glanced at the woman, then back at Bobby, who watched him like he had bugs crawling out his ears or something.

  “I could sure eat something, but tell her I can’t get up off the ground, so if she wouldn’t mind just bringing me a plate I’d be much obliged. Ain’t got any money, though.”

  Bobby raced off, bare feet slapping the dirt. He left the bucket of water on the wide rock curbing. Zach wanted some more so bad, he didn’t even care if he did upchuck, but he couldn’t move another inch. He was so riveted on his desire for another drink he didn’t hear the woman until she spoke.

  “Why can’t you get up? You hurt or shot?”

  She stood just out of arm’s reach, the shotgun pointed at the ground between the two of them.

  “I ain’t…” His voice crackled, and he cleared his throat, started over. “I been shot, but it’s not what you think. I’m not wanted by the law or anything. I was in a fight, and this lady shot me to stop me beating up on her friend. I reckon I deserved it, but the way it hurts, I’m thinking what I’m paying for my mistake is way over what I done to that man of hers.”

  About that time Bobby returned with a large bowl of stew, a chunk of bread stuck in among hunks of potatoes, carrots, and meat. Dear Lord, it looked and smelled so damned good. Zach scooted around till he could sit propped up by the well and took the bowl.

  “Thank you. I’m much obliged.” Each utterance was broken by him dipping and biting a chunk of bread soaked with stew. “This is mighty good.”

  Another break, this time to fill the spoon and cram it in his mouth. The stew was hot, and he breathed in air to cool it before chewing and swallowing. This woman didn’t even know him, yet she fed him and even got a kick out of watching him eat. Hung on to that blamed gun, though. Didn’t say one word till he’d cleaned the bowl out and swallowed the last bite of bread.

  “Bobby, give our guest some more water.” Silence while he drank. Then she spoke again. “Now that you’ve eaten, I’m sending Bobby on into town to fetch the sheriff.”

  “Why? I didn’t do anything.”

  “No, I guess you didn’t. But what else am I going to do with you? You said yourself you can’t get up from there and light out. Go on to where you was going. I can’t pick you up, and I can’t have a grown man laying around in my yard while he gets back his strength. So I don’t see any other solution.”

  “Ma’am, I’ll crawl off like some dang dog if that’s what you want. But don’t call the sheriff on me. He’ll put me in jail, and I haven’t done anything but leave Hays City before the doc said I could go.”

  “That’s what you say, but I don’t know that. Don’t you see? You could well come in my house while I sleep and rob me, or worse, kill me. And then there’s Bobby.”

  “I’m not about to do nothing like that, ma’am. I’ll just leave peaceable like. Don’t you go shooting me with that gun. I’ve had enough of that kind of punishment.” He pushed away from the rock curbing and started crawling away from her, dragging the shot leg. It hurt like the very devil, but he kept moving, imagining that shotgun blowing a hole in his back.

  “How do I know you won’t come back now you know I live here alone with my son?”

  Maybe he ought to pretend he didn’t hear her. This was the first he knew she was alone with no man to protect her. If he told her that, she would for sure panic, so he let it go and kept dragging himself back toward the bushes. He had no idea where he’d go or how he’d get there; he just didn’t want her to shoot him or fetch the sheriff on him. He didn’t make the bushes before the pain got to him and he collapsed on one side. He pushed and shoved at the ground, brought the good leg up and tried to push himself along. Besides the blinding pain, he wasn’t getting anywhere anyway. A curious hen pecked at his leg, dangerously close to the bullet hole, and he waved her away.

  “Mister. Your name is Zachariah?”

  Her voice came from right over him. Damn, she was going to shoot him anyway.

  “Bobby, come on out here and help me.” She took his arm. “Can you get up if I help you? By the way, my name is Callie.”

  “I can try, but what—?“

  “Never you mind.”

  “Here, Ma. What do you want?”

  “Take his other arm, and let’s see if we can get him up on his one good leg. Then we can support him while he hops to the house.”

  “But Ma, he’s a stranger. You always said not to trust strangers.”

  “It’s okay, Bobby. I haven’t ever hurt woman or child in my life. I won’t start now.” Except that time we burned the church. He gritted his teeth and smothered the memory.

  “Hush up,” she said. “Save your strength for getting on your feet.”

  The two of them grunted and lifted till, with his struggling, they had him on his feet. With their support he could put a little weight on the shot leg without passing out. The hopping sent lightning jags of pain out the top of his head, and by the time they jostled him up the two steps to the porch, he was no longer doing his part. He leaned heavily on Callie, who smelled of bread baking.

  Inside they wrestled him into a small room and lowered him onto one of two beds. Sweating profusely, he slumped onto his back and allowed them to lift his legs. And didn’t know anything else until he came to in a d
arkening room with the sound of rain pattering on the roof.

  She brought him another bowl of stew with bread, but alongside that was a steaming cup of coffee and a slab of apple pie.

  “Thank you. I’m happy to meet you, Callie. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” No telling what those words could mean for him. She still held the upper hand.

  “You just make sure you behave yourself. I’m trusting you not to do anything wrong in front of my son and to respect the both of us. You might be willing to act like you’re in your very own mama’s home. You don’t, that gal that shot you won’t be the only woman who uses that remedy.” Her words were spoken in a stern, no-nonsense tone.

  He nodded his head, smiled, and said, “I will, ma’am, and my mama thanks you for trusting me.”

  A slight grin curled her mouth. She glanced into the corner where the shotgun stood. “I trust that to keep you in line.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It surely will.” He lit into the stew and bread, sipping the strong coffee between bites. He hadn’t tasted anything so good in a month of Sundays, and he told her so before pulling the pie closer.

  She laughed and replied, “Thank Bobby for the meat in there. He’s a good hunter. Got that coon last night. Tastes almost like pig, don’t it?”

  It did indeed. He eyed the empty bowl. Hell, he’d eaten worse than coon in the war. When you’ve lived on rat meat, why worry about a little old coon?

  When he finished, she took away the tray of dishes with one hand, the shotgun in the other. In a flash she was back and pulled the door closed, leaving him alone. The rain kept up into the night, and after a while Bobby came in with a lamp, set it on a small table between the beds, and took off his clothes.

  After he crawled under the sheet and blew out the lamp, he said, “Mama put you in my brother’s bed.” It sounded like he was crying.

  “Where is your brother?”

  “He died. Something they called the ague. Ma sent me away and I didn’t get it.”

  “I’m real sorry.”

  “She hadn’t ought to have put you in Jimmy’s bed. She could’ve let me sleep there and put you in mine. I asked her about it, and she said she just didn’t think about it, that was all, and I was to hush and not say anymore. Then she sat in the chair at the table and cried.”

  Zach had no idea what to say to that, so he fell silent. If Bobby wanted to talk more, it would be fine. Otherwise he was keeping his blamed mouth shut. There were times when people just blabbed the most godawful stuff. Better to just be quiet. And so he was. Bobby didn’t say anymore, and Zach was glad of his decision.

  He remained with Bobby and his mother for two more days, with the kid doing most of the caretaking. By then Zach was able to limp around if he was real careful. Callie never told him their last name, and he didn’t ask.

  The third morning, he asked Bobby to help him into the kitchen so he could talk to her. She stood at the stove frying bacon in one big pan and eggs in another.

  “I see you’re on your feet.”

  “Yes’m. I want to thank you again for putting up with me and taking care of me. As soon as I get my hands on some money, I’ll pay you for what you’ve done.”

  “If I expected pay, I wouldn’t have helped someone so down on their luck as you.” She actually grinned at him, and it turned her plain face beautiful. “How you going to play cards with no money?” she asked.

  “Reckon I can’t. Need to earn some somewhere. Then I can turn it into a lot more real quick.”

  “Are you really that good at cards?”

  It was his turn to grin. “I’m really that good. It’s like I can’t lose when I play poker.”

  She disappeared into another room he took to be where she slept, and he didn’t know if he was supposed to just leave or what. In a moment she came out with a small box. “Do you think you could turn this jewelry into money? Bobby and I could really use it, and I’ve got no need for such doodads as these. They belong to my other life, and I’ll never have it again. My husband was killed at Shiloh. Didn’t know it for three months. All that time, him dead and not knowing it. Puts a deep-down hurt inside here.” She doubled a fist on her chest.

  Tears filled her eyes, and he wanted so bad to hug her, make the hurt go away. But he restrained himself and instead took the box and opened it. He didn’t know a whole lot about gold and diamonds and such, but it looked like the necklace, bracelet, and brooch were all the real thing.

  “If there’s a jeweler in town, I can probably get you some money for these. It’ll likely not be what they’re worth.” Why she hadn’t done this herself, he had no idea. Women were a funny lot. Probably didn’t want anyone to know she was that desperate.

  “If you’re so good at poker, maybe you could turn that money into what they’re really worth.”

  “Aw, I’d hate to maybe lose it for you.” He wanted his hands on that money in a bad way. And he seldom lost, but he couldn’t take the chance this would be the time he did lose and it’d be her loss. She’d helped him with no thought of repayment. He wouldn’t betray her.

  “You don’t understand. They’ll just stay in that box in the bottom of my chest of drawers if you don’t do this. I could never…” She shook her head. “You might as well try. For me and for Bobby. Tell you what. Whatever you win, I’ll give you half. Stake you, I think they call it.” Again that lovely smile that made her sad brown eyes sparkle.

  Dammit to hell. Shiloh? How come this old world turned in such an odd way. He hoped he hadn’t killed her husband there at that hellhole. Afraid to ask what side her man fought on, he turned his eyes away. He’d already begun to notice the feminine curves of her body and her smell when she was close. It was time for him to leave. No sense in taking a chance he might misbehave. But should he take her up on her offer? For a long moment he studied her hopeful face, imagined her in a pretty new dress, thought of playing cards again and coming away rich.

  “You’re sure about this?” He closed the box.

  She wiped her palms on her skirt. “Go on, get. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Thank you for helping me.” He held up the box. “I’ll be back soon as I turn this into some cash.”

  The shack she and Bobby lived in backed up to the railroad tracks, but the front was right on the main road through town. In a rundown part of town, to be sure. There ought to be saloons closer to the business section. He stood there a moment, staring at her back, then turned and limped slowly out the door and onto the dusty road.

  Chapter Three

  Tyra settled into the saddle on Morgan and smiled at James Lee. He gave her back one of those crooked grins that she was never sure was humorous. The fat Aberdeen cows, held at the stockyards in Ellis, bawled and milled about stirring up dust, as if as anxious as she to be out of there and on their way. Morgan two-stepped and showed off a bit, adding to her anticipation. Across the pen, Renner sat his mount and waved a hand at James, who nodded at Tyra and swung open the gate. The small herd of thirty cows, James Lee’s investment for the ranch in Texas, poured through the gap.

  Renner followed them out of the enclosure, with Tyra and James on either side of the herd. She rode with confidence between the boardwalk and the ambling herd. At last she was part of a real cattle drive. A cow decided to head out on her own into a narrow alleyway. Unable to contain herself, Tyra took off her hat, whirled it with a loud “Yee-haw,” and changed the animal’s mind. Morgan took to cow-punching like he’d been born to it. Blair had told her a bit about his favorite breed. If he had a hand in it, the Morgan horse would soon be the first official American breed. He said they took to any sort of work, from pleasure riding to cattle herding. Such a lovely animal. She rubbed the muscled neck with a gloved hand. Couldn’t help naming the horse after its breed.

  “What a beauty you are, Morgan.” He flicked his ears as if he already knew his name and his good looks. Blair couldn’t have given her a better gift.

  Once out of town, the cows settled down and moved at a
steady walk. At last they were headed for Victoria, Texas. From one Victoria to the other, two towns with much different histories. Actually, the land James Lee had bought was nearer Cuero, where his parents’ ranch was. His father believed he should start from scratch, build his own ranch. Take nothing from him. No doubt if James Lee ran into big trouble his parents would lend a helping hand.

  She settled into the rhythm. A breeze dried the sweat on her face, and her body relaxed with Morgan’s easy gait. This was what she was meant for. Riding amidst the beauty of these wide open spaces. They would go west for a few days, till they hit the Texas Trail—once known as the Chisholm Trail—where they’d head south for Texas.

  Anticipation of the trip swelled her very soul. She leaned forward along the muscled neck of her mount. “Aren’t you just a beautiful boy?”

  The well-behaved animal whickered as if in reply, and she ran a hand up over his ear. “Are you happy with your name, Morgan? Do you like it?“

  He didn’t object, so she took that for agreement.

  All that first day they rode with the sun as it crossed the cloudless sky. The flat Kansas plains radiated heat waves, mirages that promised everything from water to trees. She spent time chasing down a cow or two that decided to break its own trail. That was fun, spurring the horse into a gallop, standing in the stirrups and reining across the stubborn bovine’s path to turn it back. Using her leg muscles more and more, till they grew sore.

  Her belly was growling when she spotted water in the distance. Thinking it was just another mirage, she kept an eye on it, waiting for it to waver away. With nothing to gauge distance by, she waited until she was sure what she was seeing. With a loud holler, she pointed.

  “Water ahead. Yonder.”

  At the same moment, the cattle raised their noses high and bawled, then broke into a run. They smelled it. She dug in her heels and galloped along with them, yelling, laughing.

  “Yee-haw, yee-haw.” Morgan raced alongside the excited Aberdeen, easily keeping them in check till they reached the flat sandy shoreline and plunged into the water. He went right in with them till her boots were underwater, tossed his head, then lowered his nose into the cool, lazily moving stream, already muddy from the invasion of hooves.