Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (24 page)

“Sack full of money?” Carlton said, as though amazed.

“Yeah. Yeah. Looked like some kinda bank bag, maybe. Bet she had ten thousand dollars in that poke, if'n she had a penny. Said if I couldn't see my way to doin' as you'd requested, she'd buy the horses. Pay fer 'em with cash money. Long as I could get 'em saddled and have the two of 'em on their way in ten minutes or less.”

Nate grinned. “You get the job done, Fletch?”

Turnbow dropped the bloody rag into his lap, then fingered at the gash over his ear. “Hell, yeah, I got 'er done. Not quite as quick as she wanted, but I got 'er done. Walking them animals to the door to get my money, when that boy popped up in front of me with a stick of wood in his hand. Swung at me and missed.”

“Missed?” Carlton said.

“Yeah. But then he chased me back yonder to the stall. Hemmed me up and whacked me on the noggin. Felt like my head split open all the way down to my ass crack.”

I shot a quick glance over at Carl and said, “Get our fan-tails out and ready to go. We need to be on their trail before they can manage to do any more damage to unsuspecting citizens they might happen upon along their path.”

Refocused my attention on Turnbow, as Carl and Nate raced to our mounts. “Thinking right yet?”

“Guess so. Kid made one helluva dent in my noggin though.”

“What's the quickest route to Morgan's Cut, Fletch?”

Still fiddling with the slash over his ear, when he pointed in no particular direction and mumbled, “Just head on back up Main to Weatherford. Turn due west. You'll hit the old Abilene stage road. Morgan's Cut's thirty-five, maybe forty miles out. Can't miss it, really. Spot where the Brazos crosses over the road. Wide, washed out spot there. Known to flood for no apparent reason there. Dangerous at times. That where you think they're goin'?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure. Put the spur to our animals, might even catch up with them before they can get there.”

“Well, they ain't got much of a head start on you. Might've even done you a favor that'll help.”

“How so?”

“Give that boy a big blaze-faced plug named Digger. Animal's right rear shoe's cracked and needs replacin'. Was gonna fix it today. Should be a snap to track 'im. Kid pushes Digger too hard, that shoe's gonna come a-flyin' off.”

Patted the old-timer on his shoulder. “That's good to hear, Fletch. I'll put Carl on their track. Lot better at reading sign than me. He'll run them down. Now, are you gonna be all right?”

Turnbow flashed a tight, snaggletoothed grin, then nodded. “Take more'n a kid with a stick of wood to keep me down, Marshal. Be goin' like a barn burnin' by tomorrow mornin'. Garn-teed.”

“Sure you don't want me to talk with Bob Evans and have the doctor come on down this way to check on you?”

“Oh, hell, no. Don't trust no sawbones any farther'n I could throw the two horses them kids made off with. I'll be fine. Just need to take a few minutes to collect myself's all.”

As I turned and started away, Turnbow added, “You catch that gal, Tilden, tell her she owes me a hunnert and six dollars for them horses, saddles, and such. Sure would like to have my money.”

 

 

Razor's edge of sunlight sliced across our backs as we stormed out of Fort Worth and hit the Abilene Road. Green, hilly landscape, typical of east Texas, falls away pretty quick once you get a few miles west of the area around Hell's Half Acre. Earth flattens out. Quickly becomes browner and more barren. Not much in the way of greenery except stunted bushes and the rare tree, here and there. Rode like red-eyed demons straight from the fiery pit, till the horses began to complain.

When the light got good enough, Carlton and Nate scoured the heavily traveled path looking for sign of our prey. Took near an hour of concentrated effort before they managed to pick Digger's trail out of the cobweb of tracks that confronted them in the baked soil.

Going along at a pretty good clip, an hour or so later, when Nate drew us to a stop atop a small rise in the road. Quarter of a mile away, only live oak more than ten feet tall grew within a few steps of the roadway. Appeared to me as how travelers often stopped there to seek respite from a sun that seemed to have the power to auger right through a man's Stetson and on into his skull.

Nate pulled his long glass. Snapped the five-segment scope out to its entire length, scanned the area in every direction. Handed the fully extended glass to me and said, “Look yonder, Hayden. Base of the tree.”

“What is it?” Carl said.

Put the glass up to my eye. “Appears there's somebody sitting on the ground with his back to the tree, Carl. Horse not far away. Animal's standing hipshot. Got its right rear hoof up. Damn. Think that might well be Matt Cassidy down there, boys.” Handed the glass back to Nate. “Whoever it is, Cassidy or not, he sure as hell ain't moving around much. Best kick on down and check it out.”

“We goin' in hot?” Carl said, then pulled and cocked a pistol.

“Sure as shootin'. Shotguns and rifles probably best,” I said and freed my sawed-off Greener from its bindings. “In the immortal words of Billy Bird, it's always better to be safe than sorry.”

Guess we hadn't advanced much more than a hundred yards when Nate reined us to a halt again. Said, “Well, he still ain't movin'. And I don't see anyone else around. Either of you?”

Me and Carl agreed as how we didn't. So, we kicked hard and thundered up on the scene like a heavily armed twister. Didn't take long to see why the boy hadn't moved around any.

Stepped off Gunpowder's back with my shotgun in hand. Three of us spread out and crept up on Matt Cassidy at the same time. Maybe ten paces away when Nate stopped dead in his tracks, gagged, and almost lost everything he'd had to eat for breakfast and the tubful of victuals he'd scarfed down the day before.

Pool of sticky, blackened blood saturated the ground for two feet around the Cassidy boy's narrow behind. Someone had sliced the kid's stomach open from one side to the other. Pile of innards lay in a greasy heap between his outstretched legs.

Carlton kicked at the dirt and looked away. “Jesus,” he said. “Ain't this a god-awful mess.”

Eased up as close to the kid as I cared to get. Hit one knee and damn near fell over backward when he looked up at me. Face drained of color and twisted in pain, tiny rivers of tears streaked their way down his filth-encrusted cheeks.

Most pitiful thing I'd ever heard when he pawed at that mound of guts with useless hands and gasped, “Tr-Tr-Tried to fix 'em. Tried to pull 'em b-b-back. Cain't get 'em back inside where they belong.”

Behind me, heard Carlton say, “Sweet Lord Almighty.”

Waved at the kid with one hand. Said, “Don't, Matt. Don't do that. You're just making a bad situation a lot worse.”

He held up a mess of his own entrails, shot a desperate, fleeting look my direction. “Can you p-p- put 'em back? Please. Oh, p-p-please, God. Can you p-p-put 'em back, Marshal?”

In spite of myself, shook my head and looked away for a second. “No. No, Matt. Think you're beyond human help. Not sure anyone could put you back together, son. Not now.”

An agonized, wrenching groan oozed up from somewhere in the boy's thin, empty chest. “She's crazy. Nuttier'n a bag . . . of roasted peanuts. Said sh-sh-she didn't have n-n-no more use for me and opened my stomach up like she was guttin' a calf.”

Nate eased up next to me. Dropped a canteen on the ground near the butt of my Greener. “Not sure we should give him water in such a condition, but I brought it anyway.” He squatted next to me and looked at everything he could see, except the butchered remnants of Matt Cassidy.

Opened the canteen and handed it to the boy. “He's way past helping, Nate. Don't think a little water will hurt anything.”

Cassidy kid took several long gulps. Still going at it when I took the water away from him.

“Daisy? Your sister?” I said. “She did this? She's the crazy one?”

He wiped bloody lips on a nasty shirt-sleeve. “Yeah. She d-d-done for me all right. Sure ‘nuff. But sh-sh-she ain't my sister. I ain't Matt Cassidy. Ain't . . . nobody named Matt Cassidy. Name's Jacky White. Lived on the farm next to the Cassidy place.”

Didn't see him but felt Carl behind me when he said, “You there when the Coltrane boys kilt the Cassidy family, son?”

No answer for a time. Thought maybe the boy had passed over. Of a sudden, he sucked in a long ragged breath. Said, “Coltrane boys didn't k-k-kill the Cassidys. D-D-Daisy done it. Well, actually, Daisy . . . and me. We done the sorry deed.”

Carlton grunted like he'd been slapped across the face.

Nate shook his head and stared at the ground.

“Daisy? You're sure?” I said.

“We were together in one of her pa's fields when the Coltranes came. Doin' . . . well, sure you can guess at what we 'uz doin'. Spent most of our time together doin' each other.” He groaned, closed his eyes, groaned again. Called on a god that evidently had other things to take care of.

“You were out in the fields, doing whatever you were doing, when the Coltrane boys came by the house?” I asked.

He grunted, nodded, then said, “Got back 'bout a minute . . . after they left. Daisy had some kinda fit . . . found out her pa'd run 'em off. Gal's m-m-murderous addled in her thinker box. Has a th-th-thing for that Jesse. Called me Jesse . . . in my ear . . . when we was a-doin' the big . . . wiggle, you know.”

“God above. No. We didn't know that. Any of it,” Carlton mumbled. “You're sayin' the gal's insane?”

“Hell . . . yeah. She grabbed . . . an ax. Went in the house . . . kilt her ma and baby brother. Come outside dripping blood. Scared me . . . sl-sl-slap to death. Handed me a p-p-pistol. Said I should k-k-kill her pa. He was out in his sorghum patch. God help me, I tr-tr-tried to get out of it. Daisy wouldn't listen. Made me do it.”

Sounded unconvinced when Carl said, “She killed her mother and brother, then you shot Matthew Cassidy?”

“Had to. She said . . . we'd never again do any of what we'd been doing . . . if'n I didn't kill her pa the way she wanted. So, I took the pistol. Walked down to the field. Sh-sh-shot him in the head. Looked . . . right surprised a-layin' there . . .”

Nate sounded more than a bit angry when he snapped, “Why are you here, boy? We thought the Coltrane brothers did the killings sure as Hell's hot.”

“ 'S what Daisy wanted people to think. She's chasin' Jesse. Cain't think of nothin' else. Bird-doggin' his trail. . . . Daisy says he's a-waitin' for her . . . at Morgan's Cut. Said they had previous made plans. If'n he come by and m-m-missed her, she was to head for Morgan's Cut, out west of Fort Worth. Even give her a map. So . . . we k-k-kilt her family . . . took all the money hid under the floor of the house . . . and headed out.”

“She told quite a tale so you two could stay in Fort Worth, didn't she?” I said.

“Yeah. Quite a tale 'bout how she'd b-b-been mistreated. She actually believed Jesse would come. Not sure why . . . b-b-but she believed it. Believed it till you marshals . . . showed up. Then, she went m-m-murderous crazy again. Jesus . . . I'm cold.”

Gutted boy's eyes rolled to the back of his head. A pinkish, gray froth poured from both corners of his mouth. Went to flopping around like a beached fish. Seizure proved so violent, we had to jump back and move away to keep from getting sprayed with all the flying viscera. Guess he flailed around for near a minute before finally getting still again.

Think it was Nate who said, “Figure he's gone, Hayden?”

Took some doing, but I managed to get around to the White kid's side without stepping in his guts. Felt for a pulse by placing my finger under his jaw. Couldn't find one. Said, “Yeah, he's gone, boys. He's gone.”

We didn't bother to dig a hole. Scrounged up every rock we could find and just piled them on top of the body. Took some doing and wasted nigh on two more hours of our time. Just couldn't bring myself to leave the boy laying out there in the big cold and lonely all gutted out like that and at the mercy of passing animals.

At first blush, I couldn't figure any way to grease the path to whatever God had in mind for Jacky White. Stood next to that pile of rocks, hat in hand, but just couldn't think of a single good thing to say for him. Then, I remembered a passage my mother had me try to commit to memory. Piece by an English feller named Donne, I think. Not sure I said it right, but I tried.

Stared at that pile of rocks and said, “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; . . . any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” Picked up a handful of dirt and scattered it atop that poor boy's pitiful grave. “In the midst of all life we are in death. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life. May God have mercy on his soul.”

Carlton placed a hand on my shoulder. “Time to go, Hayden. You did the best you could by 'im. Nothin' else for us to do here. Got bloody business, on down the trail.”

Slipped my hat on. Stared at that pile of rocks. Said, “Think he told us the truth, Carl?”

“Why would he lie?” Nate offered. “Boy was standin' on death's threshold when we got here. He had to have known what was in store for him.”

“Have to say I'm with Nate on this one, Hayden. Feel like an old dog that's been chasing his tail for years and finally realized that what he's been chasing is attached. Wild-eyed gal's sure as hell done gone and pulled the curtain on all of us.”