Hell Hath No Fury

by Charles G. West

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ed replied politely, and produced a glass from under the bar.

  “Give my friend, here, another shot, too,” she said, smiling up at Hawk, realizing at that point how much she had to crane her neck to address him.

  Getting Hawk’s full attention then, she looked him boldly in the eye when he turned toward her. “That’s mighty nice of you, miss, but I’ll just settle for this one Ed already poured. I’ll be glad to drink with you, though.” He picked up his glass, waiting for her to shift her canvas bag over to her left hand.

  Pete tossed his third drink back, then turned to see who Hawk had engaged in conversation. Busy talking to the bartender before, it was the first real notice he had taken of the woman since she had come in. Like the other customers, his curiosity was aroused when he saw her, dressed as she was, as out of place as could be, yet there was something familiar about her. Then it struck him. “You’re Randolph Barfield’s daughter!” he blurted, remembering that he had seen her with her father at Skinner’s Trading Post.

  The seductive smile turned immediately to an angry grimace as Lorena thrust her hand into her bag to grasp the Colt she carried there. Hawk’s reactions were swift. He clamped his hand around the bag, trapping her hand inside before she could cock the pistol. Frantic in her anger, she struck out at his face with her free hand, but he caught her wrist before she could land the blow. “Damn you!” she screamed, and tried to free herself, but she was helpless against his strength.

  In spite of her kicking and cursing, he easily dragged her over to a table by the door and sat her down in a chair. “You got any rope back there?” Hawk called out to Ed. Ed responded that he sure did and hurried to the back room to fetch it. All the while, Hawk endured a steady stream of insults, threats, and curses, to which he made no response. “That’ll do just fine,” he said when Ed returned with a coil of rope. “Pete, take a couple of quick loops around Miss Barfield’s ankles and tie ’em to the chair.” Once Pete had done that, Hawk said, “Now, hold on to this arm while I get a hold on that gun she’s got in that bag.” With both hands free, he was able to wrest the pistol from her hand. He held it up briefly to inspect it before shoving it in his belt. Then he pulled her arms back and held them while Pete tied them to the back of the chair. Once she was secured to the chair, Hawk was inspired to say, “Well, it surely is nice to meet you, Miss Barfield. I must say you’re every bit as nice as the menfolk in your family.”

  “You go to hell,” she spat back at him.

  “In due time,” he replied. “I’d love to stay and get to know you better,” Hawk went on, “but I’ve got to get on back to the Triple-P. Ain’t that right, Pete?” He looked at Ed, who was an amused spectator during the confrontation. “Is that sheriff in his office, you reckon?”

  “Hell, he ain’t never no place else,” Ed answered. “Want me to send somebody over there to get him?” When Hawk said he would appreciate it, Ed got one of his regular customers to go for Sheriff Barney Mack.

  When the sheriff arrived, he was not quite sure what his proper course of action should be until Hawk explained what had just happened. “Sheriff, Pete and I are from the Triple-P, just came to town to get some supplies. I expect the two ladies with us are most likely waitin’ for us in the wagon right now. Now, any of these folks here can tell you what happened. The fact of the matter is this young woman decided she’d come in the saloon, here, and shoot me. I ain’t blamin’ her for it, she wouldn’t be the first to try it. So I ain’t interested in makin’ any charges against her. All I’m askin’ is for you to hold her in your jail for a few hours to give us a head start, so we can get the ladies back to the ranch without worryin’ about this one takin’ a shot at us. Fair enough?”

  Sheriff Mack was at a loss. He wasn’t sure if a crime had been committed or not, and if it had, who committed it and what he should do about it. He was still thinking of his reply when Ed commented, “It was like he said, Barney. He didn’t do nothin’ but try to have a drink in peace.”

  “There, you see,” Hawk said. “So if you’ll just accommodate the lady for a while, I’d be much obliged. Come on, Pete.” Before he herded Pete out the door, he bent close to Lorena and whispered, “The next time you come after me, I’ll shoot you down like the ornery bitch you are.” Too angry to form the words to describe her hatred for the way she had been trussed up so easily, she was struck mute until he had gone through the door. Then she hurled insults and threats after him that left the men still sitting there feeling inadequate in their knowledge of foul language.

  Outside, Hawk and Pete walked down the street toward the general store just in time to see Dora and Rachel coming out the door. They both carried packages of some kind. “Looks like they found some shoes they like,” Pete commented. “Wait’ll I tell ’em about that Barfield woman.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to tell ’em what happened back there,” Hawk said, “at least till we get ’em back home safely. They might get upset if they think there’s a chance that wildcat will be comin’ after us. I don’t know if we can trust that sheriff or not. He looked to me like he didn’t know what to do.”

  They were soon under way, with Pete calling for the horses to pull hard. He was anxious to get back before supper, eager to tell the rest of the crew they had met Lorena Barfield. When they arrived at the Triple-P, Pete drove the wagon to the kitchen door. He jumped down and assisted Dora down and then Rachel. Hardly had Rachel’s foot struck the ground when Pete blurted, “We run into the Barfield girl in the saloon and she tried to shoot Hawk. We tied her to a chair in the saloon.” His statement left both women astonished. He then excitedly re-created the entire scene for the benefit of the ladies, including Lily, who came outside to help unload the supplies. Before he finished, Thomas walked up from the barn and Pete gladly told the story once more. Since Pete was occupied, Hawk volunteered to unhitch the wagon and take the horses to water. When he returned they had moved to the porch and Pete was still talking about the incident at the saloon. Hawk was surprised to see another person who had joined Pete’s audience. He knew at once who she was, even though it was the first time he had seen the old lady. In fact, he had just about come to believe that Miss Emily didn’t exist, that she was actually a legend everyone referred to, but was never seen outside her room.

  “Hawk,” Dora said, “come up on the porch and meet Tommy’s grandma.”

  He went up the steps and walked over near the front door, where the old woman was sitting in a wheelchair. Gray and fragile, she was bundled in a blanket even though the afternoon sun was still shining hot on the porch. Moving slowly, seemingly with great effort, she held out her hand to him. He was at once gentle when he took it, as if holding a tiny animal, being careful not to crush it. “How do, ma’am?” he asked respectfully.

  She continued to hold his hand, meeting his gaze with eyes milky and gray. “Mr. Hawk, is it?” Her voice, though weak, was steady.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

  Still she held his hand. “You have no parents.” It was not a question.

  Astonished, he responded, “No, ma’am. How’d you know that?”

  She didn’t answer his question. “Hawk is a good name for you,” she said. “You have seen many evil things, but you are a good man. Thank you for helping my family.” She withdrew her hand then and looked at Lily, who was standing beside her chair, and nodded. Needing no verbal instructions, Lily immediately stepped behind the wheelchair and wheeled the old lady back inside the house.

  Totally at a loss, Hawk stood there staring after her. When he turned away from the door, he was to find Dora watching him, an impish grin plastered upon her face. “Well,” she said, “now you’ve met Miss Emily and looks like you’ve met with her approval.”

  “I reckon,” Hawk said. “I’m mighty glad I did.” The meeting with the old lady was very much like meeting with a Blackfoot or Crow medicine man.

  * * *

  While Pete had made it his business to t
ell everybody at the Triple-P about the incident in town, four miles away Sheriff Barney Mack returned to the saloon to check on his prisoner. Having had no desire to untie Lorena from the chair that held her secure, he had opted to leave her in the saloon until he deemed it time enough to release her. It was certainly an easier choice than transporting her to the jail. The fierce expression in her eyes had convinced the sheriff that she may have been too much to handle if set free of the chair. Ed Wiggins had voiced no complaints about leaving Lorena in his saloon for an hour or more. In fact, he welcomed it. She provided an attraction that brought more customers in and sold more whiskey to those already drinking.

  As for the now-silent woman sitting with hands and feet bound, while a grinning gaggle of men stared at her, Lorena stewed in the humiliation she now endured. Hawk was the name his friend had called him and it was now a name burned deeply into her brain. Thoughts of her brother Jake, his arm awaiting the surgeon’s saw, had long since left her mind. The foul jokes at her expense, loudly passed among the saloon customers, had no bearing, either. The only thing there was room for was the vow to take her revenge on the man responsible for her predicament. If she never accomplished another vow in her life, she swore to bring this hawk to earth. She was only partially distracted from these thoughts when Sheriff Mack approached her.

  “I reckon I’m gonna let you go now,” he said. “That is, if you’ll behave yourself,” he added. “’Cause, if you don’t, I’ll lock you up in the jail. I’ve got cause to do that, anyway, seein’ as how you was goin’ after this gun you were totin’ in your sack.” He held the Colt .44 up for her to see. “Since that feller said he wasn’t makin’ no charges against you, I’m gonna return your gun and let you go. I took the bullets out of it, just in case you took any crazy notions. You understand?”

  Her steady, unblinking gaze locked on Mack’s eyes while he spoke, and in response to his question, she only nodded slowly. She sat still while he untied her ankles and gave no indication of hearing him when he warned her again to behave before untying her wrists. As soon as she was free, she moved very deliberately, taking her pistol from him and dropping it in her canvas bag. The barroom, loud and noisy moments before, was now deadly silent as she took her time straightening out her blouse and tucking her shirttail in. The noisy din of the saloon returned as soon as she walked out the door. “Damned if that ain’t the scariest woman I’ve ever seen,” Mack said to Ed. “Pour me a drink of that whiskey.”

  Outside, Lorena went to the end of the hitching rail where she had left her horse, her heart filled with a hatred she had never before experienced and her mind set on killing the man called Hawk. There were half a dozen other horses tied up at the rail, and in a small act of retaliation, she untied them all and shooed them away. When they refused to scatter, she pulled the rifle from Jake’s saddle and fired it into the air. Satisfied to see them bolt in several directions, she gave her horse her heels and was already at the end of the street when the sheriff and Ed’s customers poured out of the saloon.

  CHAPTER 12

  During the next few days, Hawk’s job for the Triple-P was exclusively that of a scout, since that was what he was good at. After Monroe and Thomas talked it over, they decided that it might be a good idea to let Barfield know they were keeping an eye on his activities. So Hawk agreed to let himself be seen at the top of the mountain overlooking the cabin once or twice a day and that’s what he did. Never at the same time of day, and always just out of reasonable rifle range. It was hoped that the constant surveillance would prompt Barfield to move away from the valley. Hawk began a more intense scout of the valley Barfield had claimed as his range to find out approximately how many head of cattle he was actually grazing. What herd he had was scattered in small- and medium-sized bunches, left to wander at will. It was obvious that Barfield had no hands to work even a small outfit. Hawk estimated a herd of close to two hundred cattle. He couldn’t imagine what the man had in mind to do. His guess was that he would eventually abandon the cattle and move on. Till he does, Hawk thought, I’ll keep an eye on him. Then maybe I can leave this valley and say good-bye to working cattle.

  * * *

  “Look at him up there by that lonesome pine,” Clint Barfield spat when he walked inside the cabin, “actin’ like he owns that damn mountain.”

  “He’s tryin’ to draw us outta here, get us to come up there after him,” his father said. “Most likely has a dozen men waitin’ to pick us off like crows on a fence.”

  “What are we gonna do about it?” Lorena demanded. “Set here like a bunch of rats in a hole? I say, if he’s tryin’ to draw us out, then let’s do what he’s askin’ for and go up there and kill the son of a bitch.”

  Her mother gazed at her, worried. Something had happened to her daughter ever since she took Jake in to see the doctor. She had always had a cynical streak in her, but it had usually been laced with a generous portion of sass and sarcasm. Now she seemed to have fallen into a cold, vengeful mood that constantly pushed for retaliation against the Pratts and their hired hands. This in spite of the advantage Pratt had in numbers as well as the obvious disadvantage of having both her brothers hampered by wounds. Randolph had taken the wagon in to Stevensville that very morning to bring Jake home, without his arm, and still so sick he could barely sit up. She could not understand how her daughter could keep pushing her father to go up against such odds. Lorena’s agitated state seemed to have arisen after that trip to town. Thinking that had something to do with her sullen mood, Pearl walked over to the table and placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Lorena flinched as if she had been touched with a poker.

  “Goodness sakes, honey,” Pearl exclaimed. “You’re jumpy as a frog on a hot skillet. What’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter with me?” Lorena repeated sarcastically. “The same thing that oughta be the matter with you . . . and Pa . . . and Clint. That son of a bitch settin’ up on that mountain laughin’ at us. That’s what’s the matter with me.”

  Pearl recoiled slightly. Lorena never used that tone of voice on her as a rule, on her brothers often, but not on her. Again, her mother connected Lorena’s hostile disposition to the trip into Stevensville. “Something happened to you in town,” she said, “something you ain’t told us about.”

  “Ha!” Lorena cried out defiantly. “Nothing happens to me unless I want it to!” She couldn’t bear the thought of their finding out how badly she had been humiliated. There was no concern that the men in her family might endanger themselves in an attempt to avenge her. The only way she could feel satisfaction would be to put a bullet into the heart of the arrogant gunman with the stupid feather in his hat—the man called Hawk.

  Pearl was about to try to comfort her daughter again when Randolph Barfield interrupted, having heard enough of his daughter’s harping on the lack of aggression on the part of the men in the family. “Shut the hell up, Lorena! I’m tired of hearin’ your bellyachin’ about goin’ after that feller Hawk. Damn you, you don’t care if the rest of us gets killed, do ya? He ain’t out there all by himself. He’s just wantin’ us to think he is, so we’ll do some damn fool thing like you’re talkin’ about. Then I reckon they’d finish off what they started. Hell, Clint can’t use both arms yet, and one look at Jake layin’ on the floor in there and you can tell he might not make it till mornin’. So that just leaves me, and I ain’t that damn dumb.” He looked at his wife. “Mama, I reckon I know when we ain’t got no chance a-tall. We’re leavin’ this valley, tomorrow, if Jake ain’t too sick to travel. We can’t fight that gang ridin’ for Pratt.”

  There was a long silence after he made his announcement with his daughter the only one not relieved to hear his decision. He looked back at Lorena and said, “I know what’s eatin’ at your gizzard. That bartender in the saloon told me you had a little run-in with the one they call Hawk. He was right polite about it. Told me he hoped you got home all right after being tied to a chair in the saloon for a couple of hours. I
ain’t never been so ashamed in my life . . .” He paused and shook his head. “I wasn’t gonna tell nobody about it, but you can’t shut your mouth about what we oughta be doin’.” An even longer silence followed that, until Lorena stormed out of the cabin without a word.

  It was her brother Clint who first broke the silence. “Damn,” he exclaimed with a chuckle of amusement. “Ol’ Lorena, she sure stuck her foot in her mouth that time.” He laughed again. “I gotta go tell Jake about this.”

  “I meant what I said about leavin’ this place,” Randolph said to him. “Tell him he needs to be gettin’ fit enough to ride.”

  Outside, Lorena stormed over to the corner of the corral that offered the best place to see the tall pine that stood apart from the rest of the trees at the top of the mountain. Whenever they spotted Hawk, it was usually by this tree. She peered up at the tree and, as happened on days before, he was there, watching. Even in the fading light of sunset, she could see him and the sight of him caused her to clench her fists tightly. Having heard her father’s announcement of his decision to leave, she wanted to cry out in anguish. Instead, she made a decision of her own, one she felt might rally her retreating family to stand up against the Pratts, instead of running away. This, she told herself, was the main reason she was going to do what she had decided to, when in fact it was strictly personal. The man called Hawk was the first person she had ever truly, genuinely hated. Before her encounter with him, she had no use for any man—was contemptuous of most of them, including the men in her own family, but never let any of them get into her head the way this smug man with the feather had. He seemed to be the ultimate warrior, undefeatable, and she could not know peace until she stood over his bloody body. She could still see him, waiting in the fading light as she continued to peer up at the mountaintop. “Wait for me,” she whispered, then turned away.