In the Face of Danger (17 page)

Above the screaming of the children Megan shouted at Napes, “You dirty pig! You hurt her!”

“I told you all to stay out of my way!” Napes snapped. “Now you know I mean what I said. All of you—get down to the other end of the room!”

Nelda shepherded her children to a spot behind the kitchen table and started toward Emma.

“Stay where you are!” Napes demanded.

“She’s—she’s in the family way,” Megan stammered, so terrified of what Napes might do next that the back of her neck was cold with sweat. “She needs help.”

“What’s that to me?” He pointed the gun directly at Megan. “You heard what I said. Get over there.”

Megan could see into the barrel of the gun, and her knees wobbled with fright, but she took a long breath, trying to steady herself, and then another step toward Emma.

“You’re asking for trouble,” he growled.

Megan glanced at Emma, then back to Napes. “I know,” she said, desperation giving her courage. “I
am
trouble.” She turned her back on Napes and went to kneel beside Emma. Nelda came and crouched by her side.

“Don’t worry, Megan,” Emma murmured. “No bones broken.” Emma tried to smile, but Megan could see beads of sweat pop out on Emma’s forehead and knew she must be in great pain. With both of them supporting Emma, they managed to help her into a chair.

Napes tilted his chair back and grinned at them. “A lot of good that chair’s gonna do you,” he said to Emma.
“Hop up. Now. I want to see you two women get busy. Fix me something to eat.”

The twist of his mouth so vividly reminded Megan of the gypsy’s evil smile that she gasped. But she remembered what Emma had told her. “I believe in you,” Emma had said. And Megan knew this was her chance to find out which was stronger—the curse of bad luck or her own good sense.

She stepped forward. “No,” she said. “
I’m
the cook. I’ll take care of you, Mr. Napes. Mrs. Parson can care for the others.”

One of his bushy eyebrows lifted. “Oh, ho! You know my name.”

“Of course,” she said. She added some chips to the fire in the stove and slapped on the lid. In the large iron skillet she laid two thick slices of ham, and as the edges began to frizzle she cut some slices of cornmeal mush and fried them with the ham until they were crusty on the outside and hot on the inside. She slid the slices of mush and ham onto a plate, added a fork, and carried the plate and a small pitcher of cane syrup to Napes.

He laid the gun on his lap as he took them from her. He poured on syrup until his plate was swimming in it and handed back the empty pitcher.

“Bring me something to drink,” he growled.

“What do you want?” Megan asked. “Buttermilk or water?”

“There must be somethin’ better’n that around here.”

“That’s all we have. Take it or leave it.”

He peered up at her with a scowl. “You know my name,” he said. “Didn’t you get the rest of it? I’m a killer.”

Was he trying to frighten her—or just impress her? “That’s what I heard,” she answered.

“Nothin’s gonna stop me from killin’ again when it suits me.” Napes held the plate close to his face and shoveled the ham and fried mush into his mouth as fast as he could, grunting and belching and smacking his lips. While he ate, he kept his gaze on the people in the room.

I called him a pig. He’s worse than a pig
, Megan thought. She’d seen eyes like his before. Some of the bullies in their New York neighborhood had the same mean, narrowed eyes, which darted here and there as though looking for someone else to attack. Cully Napes was a bully.

Napes turned to hand Megan the empty plate, and their eyes met. “You’re not afraid of me?” he asked, and a warning buzzed in Megan’s mind. A bully who could twist a girl’s arm until she screamed with pain, or a bully with a gun—there was one thing they had in common. Megan knew what that was and how to protect herself from it.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “I’m afraid of you.”

He smiled, his pride intact, and she could see him relax just a little.

“You’re a dangerous man,” she continued, “and probably very smart, too.”

“That’s right,” he said. “I was smart enough to get away from that stupid marshal. They’ll be hunting for me clear down Texas way, and here I am, with a full belly, just bidin’ my time until I figure it’s safe to start out again.”

Megan could see Nelda wiping Emma’s face with a damp cloth. She had to keep Napes’s attention away from them and, at the same time, give herself a chance to think. The best thing to do right now, she decided, was to keep him talking.

“Tell me how you got away,” she asked, and he obliged,
bragging in detail about his accomplishments. It was all Megan could do to nod approvingly as he described robberies, beatings, and destruction that made her sick to think about.

The puppies, wanting to be free from their box, began to yip, and the children grew restless, Thea whimpering for her mother. As Napes scowled in their direction, Megan picked up the nearest book,
Aesop’s Fables
. “I’ll give this to the children to look at,” she said. Quickly she brought it to them, whispering, “Please, please be quiet!”

With wide eyes they stared at her, and Teddie reached for the book.

“Will you read to us about the fox?” he asked.

“In a little while,” Megan said. She walked back to Napes, excited by the idea that had come to her.

The story Teddie wanted was her own favorite, about the conceited crow and the flattering fox.

Well, Mr. Aesop
, Megan thought,
I know what to do with that story of yours. At least, I’m going to try. If I’m the fox, let’s see if Mr. Napes will oblige by being the crow
.

Megan sat on the floor, just out of reach of Cully Napes’s long legs and thick boots. “You must be very brave,” she told him.

“Of course I am,” he snarled.

“Tell me some of the things you’ve done.”

“Why not,” he said and preened just as the vain crow had done when the fox had tried to flatter her into dropping the piece of cheese he wanted.

He went on to brag about his exploits. Megan nodded and smiled, trying to look interested.

When he paused, she said, “I think you’re almost as daring as the mountain men and the scouts in the West. I’ve heard lots of stories about them.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. A lot of it’s made-up braggin’,” he snapped, and his eyes became narrow slits.

Why, he’s jealous of them
, Megan thought.
That’s all to the good
. “I don’t think it’s just bragging,” she said. “Why, I’ve heard that those men can aim their guns at the smallest of targets and hit them every time. I don’t believe that anyone could shoot as well as they do—not even you.”

Napes’s feet and the two front legs of the chair hit the floor with a bang. “You’re wrong about that! With this Remington .44 I can hit anything—or anyone—I want!”

Megan shrugged. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

She was terrified that she’d gone too far. Gulping through the tightness in her throat, she stammered, “I’d never call you that, Mr. Napes, but it’s only reasonable to want some proof.” He opened his mouth to speak, but Megan rattled on. “If you were to stand on the front step, I bet you couldn’t shoot well enough to hit the tips of the lower branches on the cottonwood tree near the road.”

Megan scrambled to get out of the way as Napes leapt to his feet. “I’ll show you I can!” He strode to the front door and threw it open.

Megan was right behind him, pointing to the tree. “That lower limb—can you hit it?”

Napes stood on the front step, readied his gun, raised it, and fired. The tip of the branch snapped off with a crack.

He chuckled and said, “I told you I was a good shot.”

“How about that higher branch?” Megan asked.

He loaded the gun with ball, powder, and cap from the pouch at his belt, and again hit his mark.

“But how about over there? And there?” Megan kept an eye on the pouch.

Each time Napes took off the tip of the branch he was aiming at, until finally Megan said, “I’ll admit, you’re very good, but I don’t think you can hit the top of the tree. Look—it’s moving in the breeze. Nobody could hit it.”

“Yeah? Just watch me.” He held open the empty pouch and swore under his breath. “I’m out of ammunition,” he said. “Stay right here. I’ll get some from my saddlebags.”

Megan waited until Napes had gone a few steps toward the barn. Then she snatched the Henry rifle from its place behind the coatrack and aimed it at him. “Stop,” she said, “and turn around.”

“What are you—” he barked, but his voice died away as he saw the gun.

“Don’t you dare to move,” she shouted. “You do what I tell you to do, or I’ll shoot you. I’m a good shot, too.”

“Listen, little girl,” he began in a wheedling tone, but Megan interrupted.

“Throw your gun over here,” she said. “Throw it inside the house.” As he hesitated she added, “I’ve already counted to two, and I’m not going to count past three.”

She stepped aside, and he slung his gun into the open doorway. She heard it slide and skitter across the wooden floor.

“Now,” she said, “turn your back to me and lie flat on your face on the ground.”

“I can’t do that! It’s too cold,” he whined.

“You won’t be there long,” she said. “Only till the marshal gets back. And remember, I’ll keep this gun on you the whole time. If you move even once, I’ll shoot you.” Her heart was beating so fast and loud she could hear it. “Be quick, now! Lie down on the ground as I told you to!”

Slowly he got to his knees, then lay down flat. She shivered, hoping she’d be able to keep her hold on the
heavy gun, wondering what she would do if Napes challenged her. She knew she couldn’t shoot him. She couldn’t shoot anyone. She just hoped he wouldn’t guess that.

“Megan.” Mrs. Parson spoke softly near her right ear, but Megan didn’t dare take her eyes off Napes. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t let you stay here alone, but Emma needs me. Megan, do you understand? Emma is in labor!”

Megan took a quick breath. “Go to Emma,” she whispered. “Trust me. I’ll keep this man from causing any more harm.”

“I’ll take Emma to the bedroom,” Mrs. Parson said, “and tell the children they must stay in the living room and play with the puppies. Oh, dear! If only—”

Megan’s hands trembled, and she took a firmer grip on the gun. “Will Emma be all right?” she asked. But Mrs. Parson had gone inside.

Megan’s hands were shaking so that she had a hard time keeping the rifle steady. Emma had to come through this with no harm! The baby, too! No matter what!

Cully Napes began to whimper. “You can’t let the marshal arrest me. This whole business—that trouble in the tavern—it wasn’t my fault.”

“Stop it!” Megan shouted at Napes, her fears for Emma, for all of them, exploding in a burst of fury. “Of course it was your fault! And all the trouble you’ve caused here—that’s your fault, too, and no one else’s!”

Shocked, Megan gasped at what she had just said. For once she had blamed someone other than the gypsy or herself.

Emma’s words came to mind: “Isn’t trusting in your own good mind better than hiding behind a gypsy woman’s silly superstition?”

“Hiding? From what?” Megan remembered how puzzled
she had been. But now, a flame of rage at Napes burning her chest, she began to understand.

Napes barely stirred, but Megan yelled at him. “Don’t you dare move! Unless you want to be shot!”

“I ain’t moving!” he complained and began to mutter, “You can’t shoot me. I didn’t do nothin’.”

“Oh, yes, you did!” Megan shot back, exulting in her anger. She carefully steadied the rifle. She had no time to think now about anything but Cully Napes. She could only stand there, keeping Napes at bay, ignoring his mumbled curses and threats, and praying that Ben would return soon.

B
Y THE TIME
the men returned, the sun was pale fire splattered across the western sky, and shadows had turned into dark fingers that crawled quickly across the land.

Megan turned the rifle over to Ben and sank to the step, her legs too weak to hold her up. The marshal took his prisoner into custody. He roped Napes’s arms to his sides and tied him to one of the supports in the barn for safekeeping until morning, when the two of them could set out for the jail in the county seat.

Finally Megan felt Ben’s strong arms lifting her to her feet. “Oh, Ben—Emma,” she said. “The baby’s on the way.”

“Nelda told me,” Ben said. “I hurried inside first thing, to make sure that no one had been injured.”

“Will she be all right?” Megan couldn’t seem to stop shivering.

“Yes, of course,” Ben answered, but his face was tight with worry.

Will clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Women take
charge of these things,” he said. “It’s up to us to stay out of their way and wait. Believe me, they know what they’re doing.”

They walked into the house, the marshal following, and Megan said, “Emma had started a pot of soup. It should be ready.”

“Good.” The marshal patted his stomach. “I could use a hot meal.”

Megan looked up at Ben timidly. “Please, could I talk to Emma first?”