Nemesis

by L. J. Martin

  After watching them ride on, I returned to my office.

  “That’ll cost you some more hotcakes,” Natchez Pete called from his cell, still chuckling.

  “Damned if you didn’t earn them,” I yelled, keeping my eyes on the front door, expecting an invasion of Lazy Snake riders at any moment, but it didn’t come.

  It was late afternoon when Wentworth and his late starting posse rode back into town, and he didn’t bother to come to the office. I guess his wife had another pullet in the frying pan, but Shorty did show up, and plopped down in Wentworth’s chair.

  “Do any good?” I asked, knowing the answer as they’d ridden in from the east again.

  “Nope, not a sign. I think that kid is halfway back to Mexico by now.”

  “Damned if you’re not right,” I said, agreeing.

  “I don’t guess you got a bottle in that desk of your’n?”

  “Nope, but I’m heading out early as it’s Sunday and all, and I’ll fetch you up one from Sally’s.”

  “How about some good stuff?”

  “I’m buying. How about some rotgut rye?”

  “Sounds fine to me.”

  By the time I rode into the home place it was late afternoon. As I was unsaddling Dusty, McGregor exited the house and walked straight toward me.

  “Maddy’s not feeling well, so supper is off.”

  “Not surprised,” I said, not bothering to turn.

  “Another thing…”

  This time I turned to face him, as there was no reticence, but rather seriousness in his voice.

  “And that is?” I asked.

  “We think…Maddy and I think…”

  “Spit it out, reverend.”

  He seemed to gird himself, then continued, “We think it would be better you found somewhere else to bunk.”

  “You do now, do you.” I could feel the heat on the back of my neck, so I was extra careful with my words.

  He merely nodded.

  “Well, sir, I paid for a month in advance, and when that paid for month is up, I’ll find another place to bunk.”

  “I’ll return your unused money….”

  “Nope, I paid for it, I’m using it up. If I’d a wanted the money, I’d a kept the money. I need the room for a while longer.”

  He mumbled something, but turned and started for the house.

  I called out to his back, “Tell Miss Maddy I appreciate the supper offer, and am real sorry she’s under the weather. I’ll take another time, should she feel better.”

  He turned and glared at me a moment, then just shook his head disgustedly and disappeared inside.

  The pressure of taking Cavanaugh out of a church full of folks under the glare of a half dozen of his mates was exhausting I guess, as falling into my bunk, even without my supper, was like I’d been poleaxed with a sledge.

  But even I couldn’t sleep through what sounded like a grizzly bear on the rampage. I leapt out of bed, pulled my trousers and gun belt on, and, without my boots, headed out my door which was standing wide open. A pitch dark, moonless night awaited and I stopped short when the growling was punctuated by a gunshot, and the cry of a dog which could only be Ranger.

  Palming the 44 I charged to the left at the sound, wanting to fire at a commotion I could barely make out from the light of an oil lamp from one of McGregor’s windows.

  But I couldn’t fire, as it might be McGregor, then the flash and booming reverberation of another gunshot, and an ounce of lead whistling by my ear, made up my mind, and I cut loose.

  The next yelp was that of a man, and I heard footfalls as he charged away into the night. And I charged after him, then fell on my face into the deep dust of the barnyard. It was a good thing I did as the crack of a pair of Winchesters roared out of the darkness, and bullets cut the air over my head.

  The whine behind me was Ranger that I’d tripped over, and who’d probably, if accidentally, saved my bacon again. He was on the ground, whimpering. A jolt of almost incontrollable anger shook my backbone.

  Through McGregor’s window I could see a man, face covered by a neckerchief, standing in the kitchen, holding a gun on Maddy in a nightgown and her father in a nightshirt. The man was staring lasciviously at her, sweeping his eyes up and down, that too, shook my backbone.

  My anger was such that the door was barely an impediment as I charged into the kitchen. He tried to swing on me, but the 44 crashed across his skull before he had the chance.

  He went down in a heap and I swept up his gun, whacked him another stout one across his noggin, yelled at Maddy, “Douse that damn light!” I holstered my 44, reached up over the kitchen door and gathered up Reverend McGregor’s double barrel, then raced back outside, only this time through the living room and the front door on the opposite side of the house, and out into the sagebrush, making a circle around to where I thought the rifle shots had come from.

  From farther out in the brush I heard the sounds of at least two men, and cut loose with one barrel of the shotgun, then heard the pounding of hoofs, and fired the other barrel. Some yellow cur yelped like he was scorpion stung, but then another set of hoof beats disappeared into the darkness.

  Silence.

  I stood a moment, then moved back to where Ranger lay. To my surprise, he was on his feet, but wavering unsteadily. I reached both arms under him to hoist him up and carry him to my room, but he cried out again and I realized from the wetness it was his chest that was hurt. Returning him to the ground, I found he could stand on his own, and he could move, so I let him limp behind me to my door, entered, then risked an oil lamp.

  He was creased across the chest, a ¾” deep wound that was bleeding freely. I grabbed a sheet off my bunk, tore it into strips, stuffed the wound and bound him, making the rest of it and one of my blankets into a bed for him next to the potbelly stove. He plopped down, and although the binding was quickly soaked through, the bleeding seemed to be controlled.

  “Stay,” I told him, then hustled back to the McGregor’s kitchen, where I found the situation well under control. By the light of a shaded candle McGregor had bound the man’s hands behind his back with a clothesline, tight enough that his hands had gone white, and he was still unmoving on the kitchen floor, although bleeding from two cuts where the heavy revolver had creased his noggin.

  “Well done,” I said. Realizing for the first time I was shirtless, hardly fittin’ in front of a lady, I apologized and backed out of the kitchen door.

  “I’ll be back, soon as I’m decent,” I said, my face turning a little red as I could feel the heat of it.

  In moments, after again checking on Ranger and filling a pail of water to sit beside his makeshift bed, I was dressed and re-entered the dimly lit kitchen, returning McGregor’s shotgun to the rack over the door.

  The man was beginning to come around. I did not recognize him, but I jerked him up and sat him in a kitchen chair, his back to the wall. A piece of the clothesline still lay nearby, so I bound him to the chair. He was still not focusing, so I walked to the sink, pumped a coffee cup full of water, and returned, flinging it in his face.

  That brought him around, but covered Maddy’s floor with bloody water. “Sorry,” I said, but she dismissed it.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  He eyed me carefully, and seemed to get his wits about him. Merely shaking his head, he ignored the question, a little on the haughty side, I thought. I’d cure that.

  I reached over and gave him a hard finger flick to the spot on his head where he could use a few stitches, and he winced and cursed.

  “I said, who are you?”

  “President Grant,” he said, a lazy smile crossing his face. He was a brindle top redhead, red laced with blond salted with a little gray, with a wide baby face full of ruddy freckles that made him look younger, and less of a threat, than most would figure him to be. But he was sun-browned, prairie wind burned, and had been ridden hard many times in his life. His hands were like claws, and scared from hard work, probably brea
king rocks in a territorial pen. I wasn’t fooled by the baby face.

  I eyed him, my hand on the butt of the 44, thinking I’d bust those smart lips wide open, then glanced up to see Maddy looking as if she was slightly in shock. Seeing his bloodied teeth scatter across her kitchen floor would likely put her over the edge, so I resisted the temptation.

  I sighed deeply. “I don’t imagine you’d like to return to your covers, Miss Maddy?”

  Her back went rigid, and she snapped to attention. “So you can beat this poor creature into submission.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Should he be any more in submission, I believe we’d have to plant him out in the garden.”

  “None the less, please just do your job as a lawman should.”

  “You’ve a short memory, Miss Maddy,” I snapped, a little more harsh than I probably should have, as she was still wide eyed and a little slack jawed. I eased my tone. “Wasn’t he just holding a large caliber firearm on you and your father, in the dark of night. I’d suppose he was uninvited?”

  “Damn sure was,” her father stepped in. “Maddy, you need some sleep. Go on now. Tag will handle this.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, to my surprise. “This has all been a little too much for me.”

  “I’ll tie this one up in the barn, and take him in with the sun. You folks don’t worry, things are under control.”

  “Was that Ranger I heard yelping?” Maddy asked. “Ranger doesn’t seem one to yelp.”

  “It was, he took a shot across his chest bone, but I think he’ll mend. He’s at rest in my room, not that he favors being inside.”

  “Anything I can do?” she asked.

  “I’ll leave him here tomorrow, and you can watch him if you’re a mind to.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure. When I looked out my window at the commotion, he had a man by the leg, going at him like a crocodile, and the man was screaming as if a lion trap had him.” She shook her head. “He may have saved us all, and I’ll get him well, God willing.” I gave her a reassuring smile, and after a shuddering sigh, she continued. “I’ll take your advice and find my covers.”

  I removed the line binding the brindle top to the chair, jerked him to his feet, and headed out, stopping to turn back to McGregor. “I’ll borrow your line if you don’t mind.”

  “You can tie him in the feed room, if you’d like, and the door bars on the outside.”

  “That’ll do.” I nodded, and shoved my prisoner out into the night.

  He stumbled toward the barn, but I redirected him to my room, shoving him inside hard enough that he hit the floor with a thump, greeted by a low rumble from Ranger, who’d lost a good deal of blood, but little of his attitude.

  Following brindle top in, I greeted him with the toe of my boot deep in his gut. He upchucked right there on my floor.

  “Well, that was a damn bad idea,” I said, now having a bit of a mess to clean up. He moaned in response.

  “You’re gonna tell me your name and all your particulars,” I said, my tone a warning. I crossed to my bed and gathered my half-saber out of it’s scabbard, and returned to the man, letting the light catch on the blade as I showed it to him.

  “This blade has been in the gullet of more than one ass-eyed hooligan, from Gettysburg to Shiloh, so don’t for a second think I won’t split you from asshole to elbow.”

  “You’re a lawman. You won’t do that.”

  I moved around behind him, put a boot on his neck, and reached down and sawed off the top half inch of his right ear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He screamed like a pair of mating bald eagles, loud enough to pain my ears. Moving back around, I could see the whites of his eyes around both pupils as he whimpered. I showed him the top of his ear, just as Reverend McGregor slung my door aside.

  “Thought you were taking him to the grain room?” he asked. I figured I was in for one hell of a biblical lecture.

  “Shortly. I believe he’s ready to get some rest…soon as we finish our conversation.”

  “I don’t want to find his head on a fence post, come morning,” McGregor said, then added, “like the last one.”

  I smiled. The old boy was smarter than he looked, and maybe tougher under his slightly frayed nightshirt with boney knees showing, than one might think.

  “I’ll try not, if I can contain myself. That one was stinking so bad after a week with the crows having et his eyeballs, I could barely stand to bury the damn thing.”

  That seemed to be all it took, his voice quivered as he spilled all. “My name is Fred…Alfred Phillips, I’m from Washoe Meadows, over near the Sierra, Sacramento before that. I come into town just day before yesterday, riding a freight car, and took up with some fellas who said they had a rough job of work to do and was paying five dollars the day, and would provide me with a mount for the duration. Shit fire man, I’m just a’passin’ through.”

  “What fellas?” I asked.

  “Same ones I rode in here with.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I said, flashing the saber blade at him again. “I guess you’d favor matching ear stubs?”

  “I swear. All I know is one was named Liam and another, a greaser, named Enrico.”

  “There seemed to be more than three of you.”

  “I didn’t catch the names of the other two, but they was riding the rails just like me.”

  “You ever heard of the Lazy Snake?”

  “No, sir. Don’t know nothing about no snakes. Just that I don’t like the slimy things. These fellas were camped out of town a ways, that’s all I know, except they said they had a fella to put toes up, a bad fella who needed the killin’, and should it happen, we’d get another double eagle then could be on our way.”

  I jerked him up, sat him in one of my two spindle backed chairs, and bound his head wound with a length of the flannel sheet tight enough to stop the bleeding, then I hauled him next door and with his hands still bound behind him, shoved him in the grain room, bound his ankles with a lead rope, and barred the door, hoping one of those snakes he so disliked would take a mind to gnaw on him. Grain bins always were the worst place for snakes, attracted by the mice and rats.

  I bid McGregor good night, shoved a chair under my doorknob, laid my 44 on the chest next to my bunk, gave Ranger a final check of his bandages and a scratch on the ears, then bedded down.

  I didn’t think they’d be back, so I slept the sleep of the innocent.

  Dawn found me trying to figure out just who and how many came to visit us in the night. Judging by the track, it had been five just as ol’ earless brindle top had claimed.

  The tracks came in from the north, and I figured later I’d backtrack them and see where they’d come from. So far, I’d stayed close to the place, figuring that they’d tied their stock up out in the sage and come in on foot. Two of them had stayed back with three of the horses, two had come in leading their mounts, tied them a ways out, then come to my door, and one, afoot all the way to the house. I guess they got a surprise when they opened my door, and Ranger came at them from the side. Judging by the length of his strides, one had set out like Lucifer was on his tail, and the other had been waylaid by Ranger. He and the dog had rolled around a bit until he got off a shot, then he lit out after his partner.

  The next surprise made my day. A Mexican, with bandoliers of cartridges criss-crossing his chest, and a fine Winchester laying a couple of body lengths away, was on his back, still barely breathing, a hundred paces from the barn. One of my off-thrown 44 shots had taken him low and left in the back. Pure luck as I was firing at phantoms. The good Lord has a way about him….

  I tried to roust him but it wouldn’t happen.

  By the time I returned to the barn, the reverend was feeding his stock.

  “I see your prisoner is still among the grain bins.”

  “Good, but we’ve got another one, and this one needs the doc. Seems he caught a stray shot while out enjoying the night air. A real pity.”

 
; “The devil was at work last night. Should I hitch up the grain wagon?”

  “Yes, sir. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep on judging the situation. See what more I can find.”

  “Maddy has the coffee made, biscuits in the oven, and is frying up some sidepork.”

  “Maybe you’d better get me a cup….”

  “No, she’ll be glad to see you. Seems she’d rather have you about than some roughneck with a gun shoved in her face.”

  I smiled. “Then I’ll fetch a cup and go on with my detective work.”

  I knocked softly on the kitchen door, and she stuck her head out, this time her hair was fixed, hanging long to the middle of her back.

  “Sleep well?” she asked, a slightly impish smile on her lovely face.

  “A little on the toss and turn and wake up every fifteen minute side, to tell the truth.”

  “Will a cup of coffee help?”

  “You bet. We got another lowlife to tend to, how-some-ever. He’s out in the sage and your father is hitching up to take him to town. You might consider the ride in, as this Mexican caballero won’t ride easy, and might not make it,…and I’m not sure you ought to be here alone.”

  She looked as serious as an honest woman could, but went ahead and fetched me a cup. While she was pouring, I added, “I think it wise if I find another place to bunk. Seems trouble follows me like lobos riding drag on a herd.”

  She paused and seemed to think on that a moment, then turned to me, brow furrowed. “You ride in here, bring us a hogshead of trouble, then want to ride out and leave us to fend off the wolves?”

  “I just thought—“

  “Well don’t think. You stick around here in case there’s more trouble.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”