“You’re just saying that,” she protested.
“Why, Lillian, I’ll admit I’ve been known to exaggerate a bit when I’m with a young lady—but there’s no need for that sort of thing with you. And where’d you learn to dance like you do?”
He glided around the floor with strength and ease, and she was surprised to discover the music had stopped. “See?” he smiled. “You danced with the terrible George Ives—and you’re still as sweet and beautiful as ever! Now, one more—all right?”
She nodded, and that was the beginning, for as the evening wore on, she danced with him several times; and when he took her to the refreshment table, he was so amusing she found herself laughing with him.
Ann caught up with her once, her brow cloudy. “Lillian, have you lost your mind?”
“Don’t worry about me, Ann,” she said quickly. “George is all right.”
“All right? George Ives?” Ann stared at her angrily. “You realize, don’t you, that he’s monopolized you? The other men are so afraid of him they won’t ask you to dance.”
“He didn’t do that!”
“Of course he did.” Ann forced herself to calm down. “Now, you stay beside me, and I’ll cut him when he comes to ask for another dance.”
“No—I’ll do it! I’ll tell him I can’t dance with him anymore.”
The music began and as expected, Lillian saw Ives coming her way. “I can’t dance with you anymore, George,” she told him.
He knew what had happened. “I understand. It’s part of the price I have to pay for refusing to go the way of the crowd. Every time I find a nice girl, her parents lock her in a room before the terrible Ives with the long sharp teeth gets her.”
He knew the cunning words would arouse her, and it did. “I have to do what they say,” she lashed out. “If I had my way, I’d dance with you all night!”
“Would you, Lillian?” he whispered, pulling her close. “I wonder if you would.”
“I would!” she protested.
“Well, then meet me tomorrow for a ride. There’s a little spot beside a river I go to—just to relax. I could bring a lunch and we could have a picnic.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!”
He let her words roll over him, saying, “See, you are afraid of me.”
She lifted her face. “I am not!”
“Good!” he cried. “I’ll get a carriage, and you be at the old stable at the end of Holland Street at one o’clock. Tell your friend you’re going to run an errand,” then added, “I get lonesome for someone to talk to, don’t you, Lillian?”
Again his clever ploy seduced her.
She nodded and whispered, “Yes! I-I’ll try to come!” The music stopped, and he left.
“I’m glad you got rid of him,” Ann said with relief. “Now, you dance with that handsome Dick Summers—he’s been dying to meet you!”
****
Buck was awakened out of a sound sleep by the sound of a door slamming. He bolted off his cot and grabbed the loaded .44 Pfouts had given him in case someone tried to break in.
“It’s me, Buck—Pfouts.”
Buck looked up as the merchant entered. “What’s the matter, Mr. Pfouts?” he asked, seeing his alarm.
“It’s Lillian.” His voice was unsteady. “She’s been hurt.”
Buck couldn’t believe he heard right. “What—what happened?”
Pfouts licked his lips, reluctant to go on, but forced himself. “She sneaked away with a man, Buck. The Rogerses had no idea anything was happening—not even Ann! And this man—he hurt her . . . real bad!”
“She’s not going to die?”
“No, no! Doc Steele’s taking care of her—but she’s been severely beaten. I think you’d better get Bron.”
Buck nodded. “Sure, I’ll go right off. Can I see Lillian first?”
“Not now, Buck,” Pfouts said quietly. “Steele had to do some stitching, and he put her out with laudanum.”
Buck began to dress, and Pfouts said, “I’ll stay with her while you go for Bron.”
“Mr. Pfouts?”
“Yes?”
“Who was the man?”
Pfouts’ lips grew thin. “She wouldn’t say, Buck. But one witness—who said he’d never testify in court—told me he saw her get into a buggy this afternoon over by the old stable on Holland Street. It’ll never come to court—the man’s afraid for his life if he tells who it was.”
“Who’d he say it was?”
“George Ives.” He looked at the boy with compassion and said gently, “There will be a reckoning,” and turned on his heels.
Buck’s hands seemed numb as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He pulled on his boots, put on his coat, then paused and looked at the loaded .44 on the table for a long time. Slowly he picked up the gun and stuck it in his belt, adjusting his coat to conceal the weapon. He left the store, locked the door behind him, and made his way down the walk.
Cold with fear, but without hesitation, he strode on, unaware of those who spoke to him. It was only ten o’clock and the saloons were wide open. In his mind he was rehearsing what he had to do, knowing fully the risk involved, but didn’t sway from his determination.
He came to the Silver Moon, paused one moment to listen to the tinny music and the shouts of the dancers and the girls as they whirled around, then squared his shoulders and pushed his way through the door.
Ned Ray was sitting at a table, and spotted him instantly. He took in the boy’s pale face and tight lips, and a warning went off. He had been a saloon keeper too long not to know the signs of trouble, and he said to a houseman, “Lou, watch that kid. He’s got something on his mind.”
“Sure, Ned.”
“I think I saw a gun under that coat, so be careful.”
Lou, a burly swamper, nodded and melted into the crowd. Ray watched as Lou came up to the boy’s left and stood waiting.
Buck had been looking for Ives, and at first didn’t see him. He walked farther into the room, and there, in an alcove half hidden by the huge bar that ran the length of the room, he saw him seated with his back to the wall, playing cards with three other men.
Taking a deep breath, he walked closer, not noticing the large man following him. When he came to the end of the bar, he swung around and called, “Ives!”
At the shrill voice, Ives’ head jerked up, and he saw Buck. A deathly silence spread over the room. Ives jumped to his feet, a wild awareness on his face. “Boy, what do you want?”
Buck drew back his coat and put his hand on the gun. “I’m going to kill you, Ives,” he said, his voice like steel; and before Lou could make a move, Buck drew the gun and shot.
It creased Ives’ shoulder. Ives grabbed his own gun and fired. The slug knocked Buck backward, and Ives shouted nervously, “You all saw it! He drew first!”
Jack Gallagher came forward from the bar. “He sure did. Wonder what got into the kid?” He bent over and pulled at Buck’s shirt, then said, “Somebody get him up to Doc Steele’s. He’s got to sign the death certificate.”
“Is he dead, Jack?” Ives asked.
“Not yet, but I figure he will be by the time he gets to Steele. He’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”
The owner of the Rainbow Cafe examined Buck and pressed a handkerchief over the boy’s bleeding wound. “Okay, two of you guys help me with him.”
As the three men left, Ned asked Ives, “What was that all about, George? He exploded before Lou could grab him.”
Ives holstered his gun and said, his face pale, “I took the kid for his bankroll, Ned. He’s a sore loser.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A CERTAIN NOTICE
Bron got up from the table to get the coffeepot, and glanced out the window. “Someone’s coming.”
“Probably Nolan,” Zack said. “He wants to go hunting with me.” He reached out and caught Paul by the shirttail as he headed for the door. “You sit here and eat,” he commanded.
Bron filled the cups, then replaced
the pot, again looking out the window. “Why, it’s Parris!” she exclaimed. She ran to the door and threw it open. “Come in, Parris—plenty of breakfast left.”
She was smiling as he stepped down from the buggy, but as he hurried toward the cabin, her smile faded at the tense look on his face.
“What’s wrong, Parris?” Bron asked quickly. “Is somebody sick?”
“Paul, will you take Alice outside for a little while, please?” Parris asked.
At this the pair begged to stay, but Bron said, “Go or you will have a couple swats!” As soon as they were outside, she asked, “Now, Parris, what is it?”
He took a deep breath and began. “Yesterday noon, Lillian got into a wagon and went for a ride with a man. Last night about eight she was found where he’d dumped her.”
“Dead?” Bron cried, and her eyes begged for denial.
“No. He attacked her, but she won’t die. Doc Steele says she’ll have some scars—and they won’t all be on her face, I would think.”
“Who did it?”
“Well . . . there’s more—and it’s worse,” Pfouts said, looking at Winslow, who had not spoken but sat at the table, his eyes fixed. “I went to Buck, told him to come out here and get you, Bron. Then I went back to Steele’s office. But Buck took things into his own hands.”
Bron whispered, “Parris—he went for the man who hurt Lillian!”
“Yes!” His voice was filled with self-reproach. “I never even thought of such a thing! Who would?”
“Let’s have it all,” Zack said tonelessly, his face rigid. He had not moved since Pfouts’ first announcement about Lillian.
“He took a gun and went to the Silver Moon. Called out a warning, shot, but missed—and was shot himself.”
“Is he dead?” Zack asked.
“Not when I left. But Doc says it’ll be a miracle if he makes it.”
A stricken cry escaped Bron’s lips.
“Who was the man, Parris?” Zack asked, unemotional, as though inquiring about the weather.
“George Ives—he can’t be touched, Zack. Only one witness saw Lillian leave with Ives—and that man won’t ever testify. Too scared. And everybody in the saloon saw Buck pull his gun and shoot first. Gallagher’s already called it self-defense.”
“I’ll get my things, Parris.” Bron ran out the door into the other cabin.
“It may not be so bad,” Parris said quietly. He looked at Zack, still sitting motionless, his head bent.
Zack slowly straightened and got to his feet. He looked at Pfouts with a stony expression, then without a word turned and walked out. Jeanne ran to the window and saw him head toward the woods behind the cabin, and disappear into the dense undergrowth.
Crenna’s face contorted in hatred. “Parris, why don’t we all get our guns and go clean out that nest of vipers? There’re two thousand honest men—maybe a hundred crooks. What’s stopping us?”
“Those two thousand men are a mob, John. There’ll have to be a leader they’ll follow before they can do anything.”
Just then Bron came in carrying a bag. “I hate to leave you, Jeanne. Do you mind?”
“No. You take care of Lillian and Buck. Don’t worry about us.”
Crenna joined Jeanne at the window as they watched them drive off. “Why do we stay in a hellhole like this, Jeanne? Why don’t we go where people are decent human beings?”
Jeanne turned, her back against the wall. “You think there’s such a place?” she asked mildly. “All my life it’s been one fight after another. I don’t think one place is any better than another, John.”
“I don’t believe it. There’s got to be something better!” He stretched his arms over his head, grimacing with pain, and exploded, “Blast it all! I’m sick of being an invalid!”
“Be careful of your ribs, John,” she warned as she left to care for Hawk, who had just awakened. For over an hour she stayed with the babies, feeding and bathing them. She put the little ones on a pallet and went outside—just in time to see Zack emerge from the woods.
He walked toward the corral, saddled his horse and led him across the yard, tying him to a post. He stepped up on the porch, and without a word passed inside the cabin. Crenna looked up with surprise. Jeanne, too, had seen something in Zack’s face that startled her, and followed him in, watching carefully as he lifted his holster off the peg. He pulled the revolver free, tossed the holster on the table and checked the loads in the cylinders. He replaced the Colt, looped the belt over his shoulder, and for the first time looked up.
“I’ve got an errand, Jeanne,” he said evenly. “Crenna will be here.”
She tried to read his face, but apart from the tight creased mouth, he looked the same. He walked out without another word. She stood there uncertainly, then ran lightly outside. He had gathered his reins and was about to swing into the saddle when she caught his arm and turned him around. Her eyes were wide and imploring, her lips soft and vulnerable. He waited, and finally she said, “I called you a hard name—because you would not punish Yeager for what he did to me. I said you were no man.”
“Don’t blame you.”
Her hand tightened, she searched his face, and whispered, “You’re going after them, aren’t you? But there are too many of them, Zack! They’ll shoot you in the back!”
The muscles in his arm contracted, matching the thin line of his lips. He stood there, a compact body concealing a rage that would explode into action when it met its victim. His eyes glinted, and he asked, “What would you have me do, Jeanne?”
“Wait awhile,” she begged, and her eyes grew soft. “Soon there will be others to help. Nobody will stand against Ives and his outlaws—everybody knows that!”
“Nobody ever tried, I guess.” He shook his head and his face was filled with grief. “If I’d stood up to Yeager when I should have, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You can’t fight them all!” she whispered, and shook his arm gently. “I am a Cheyenne, and you know what fighters they are—but they never throw their lives away in a hopeless case.” Then she paused and added, “Look how we all depend on you. What will happen to Sam if you die? He’ll have nobody!”
He took off his hat and the slight breeze stirred his hair. “I’ve sat on this mountain for a year, trying to hide from life, Jeanne. But now it’s time for me to come down. Some things are worth fighting for. You for one, and Hawk.”
“If you care for us, don’t go!” She realized that it was the white blood in her speaking, for the Indian in her would never have tried to hold him back.
“I guess that’s why I’ve got to this thing, Jeanne,” he said.
At his words, she reached up and pulled his head down and kissed him. “Be careful!” she begged. “Oh, be careful, Zack!”
He stepped back, swung into the saddle and, wheeling his horse in a tight circle, left the yard at a fast gallop.
She stood watching him intently until he was lost around the bend. Then a sound behind her wrested her eyes back and she saw Crenna with his coat and hat on. “Why, John, you can’t go!”
He said, “I’m taking one of Zack’s horses to town.”
There was hurt in his honest eyes, and she thought, He saw me kiss Zack. “You can’t ride a horse, and I can’t stay out here. I’ll hitch up the team and we can go to town together.”
“He may go down, Jeanne.” A touch of bitterness shaded his eyes and he said, “He’s got what I’d give my right arm for—and doesn’t even seem to care.”
“If you mean me,” she shot back, “you’re wrong. He cares for me as he cares for Buck and the rest of them. That’s all.”
He hesitated. “And what about you, Jeanne?”
She looked directly into his eyes. “You are one of the lucky ones, John. You never have to wonder what you are or what you want. If you were a half-breed as I am, it would not be so simple.”
“All right,” Crenna said, “I’m going into town to try to give Winslow a hand, Jeanne. Then if I come
out of it, you’re going to have to give me a straight answer. Now, go hitch up the wagon. We’ll stop by and pick up my gun on the way.”
****
Zack rode into Virginia City as the shadows were beginning to lengthen. It was twilight. Businesses had closed, citizens were home eating supper, and the saloons waited for patrons. As Zack rode down the street, James Miller came out of the Rainbow Cafe and stopped so abruptly that Nick Tybalt bumped into him. “What’s up?” he asked, then spotted the solitary figure. “Oh, it’s Zack.” They watched as Zack reined in beside the assayer’s office, dismounted, and walked inside.
“Didn’t know Zack was doing any panning,” Nick commented. “Never saw him on the creek.” Then he straightened up and said, “Look, Harold’s putting some kind of notice on the board.” Harold Reiner’s office was one of the most important spots in Virginia City. It was here that the samples were brought and analyzed. He also kept a board inside the glass window, posting announcements for all to see, and he was posting one for Zack now. Zack came to the door, and Miller and Tybalt could see Reiner follow him outside, arguing with him. Zack shook his head, got on his horse and continued down the street. “Harold posted something he didn’t want to post. Let’s see,” Nick said.
“Well, that puts the icing on the cake, don’t it, James!” Nick exclaimed as he read the notice.
“Yep, the Gulch always likes a show, Nick. Reckon this ought to draw a crowd. Come on, let’s get the word out.”
Down the street Zack reined in his horse at Doc Steele’s office. When he walked in, Steele looked up in surprise. “Winslow!”
“How’s the boy?” Zack asked.
“Better than I expected,” Steele grunted. “Bullet hit a rib—saved his life. Smashed the rib and sent the slug up over the heart.”
“Get a lung?”
The Wounded Yankee Page 23