Matagorda (1967) (12 page)

"Thank you, Mr. Huddy."

He bowed and stepped aside, and she walked on. He had seemed embarrassed, almost frightened by her, and her curiosity was aroused. She remembered hearing the waitress mention Jackson Huddy as a man who was a leader among the Munsons.

Jackson Huddy and Ev Munson were in Indianola, and the herd was due to arrive tonight, she was thinking. Tappan Duvarney might be coming up that road at any time.

She walked on to the end of the street, then crossed over, holding her skirts up a little to keep them from the dust. Far down the street she could see Jackson Huddy, and she was about to start back when she heard the muffled footfalls of a horse walking in the dust.

She stood very still listening. There was more than one horse, and they were coming up an alleyway between the buildings.

When they appeared at the edge of the line of buildings they drew rein, and she could see their heads thrust out to peer down the street.

Then one of them spoke. "Too quiet. I don't like it, Major."

"Where's the hotel where Brunswick will be staying?" It was Tappan's voice.

She stepped forward and said quietly, just loud enough for them to hear, "He is at my hotel, Tappan."

The heads jerked around, and Tap Duvarney said, "Jessica! Is that you, or am I going crazy?"

She walked toward them. "Yes, Tappan, I am here. ... Be careful, Tappan. Huddy and Ev Munson are still in town, and they know you're bringing in some cattle."

"Now, how the dev-?" Tap began, then went on, "How did you know that?"

"I met Mady Coppinger,
and she
told me. I think she also told them. She was on the street, standing very close to Ev Munson, and I think she was whispering to him."

"How long have you been in town, Jessica?"

"Several hours," she said.

"And you know all that? And you know who Ev Munson is?"

She smiled brightly. "I also know who Jackson Huddy is, and if I don't keep moving he will be up here to see what's wrong. He told me that if anybody bothered me, to mention that he was near."

"Jackson Huddy?" Tap was incredulous.

"He's like that about womenfolks," Spicer said. "He's almighty respectful to them, and I think a mite scared of them."

"Do you want to see Mr. Brunswick?" Jessica asked. "I heard him named at the hotel, and if you want me to, I could speak to him and arrange it. When I came out he was reading a newspaper in the lobby."

"Could you do that? We'll be at the corral. No," Duvarney said, changing his mind.

"Ask him to go to his room. I'll see him there. Welt, you and Bean stay off the streets."

"We'll wait in the barn, yonder. You watch your step, Major. That Jackson Huddy is pure poison, and Ev Munson is hell on wheels with a six-gun. He's killed eight or nine men I know of."

"Jessica," Tap warned, "you be careful."

"You too. I can't wait to have a talk with you. Later, at the hotel?"

"If I can. This is touch and go."

She walked away, taking her time, and when she passed Jackson Huddy he looked at her, then looked away quickly.

"Good night, Mr. Huddy," she said. "And thank you."

"Yes-yes, ma'am." He spoke so quickly he almost stuttered.

When Jessica got back to the hotel, Bob Brunswick was no longer in the lobby. She stopped at the desk to get her key, and as the clerk was not around, she glanced at the register. Brunswick was only three rooms down the hall from her own. She went up the stairs, opened the door of her room, and put down her key. Then she walked down the hall and tapped lightly on Brunswick's door. He opened it slightly, then wider.

He was a large, portly man with a black walrus mustache. He was in his shirtsleeves; a heavy gold watchchain with an elk's tooth was draped across his stomach. His expression now was startled.

"Mr. Brunswick? I am Jessica Trescott, and I would like to speak to you." She smiled slightly. "I am a lady, Mr. Brunswick."

He flushed. "I can see that, ma'am. The lobby, then?"

"No, it must be here . . . now . . . and quickly."

He stepped back, and when she had entered he closed the door. Taking his coat from the back of a chair, he put it on. "Sorry, ma'am, for the cigar smoke. I wasn't expecting a lady."

"Mr. Brunswick, you are a cattle buyer. My fiance, Mr. Tappan Duvarney, is right down the street. He is bringing in a herd, and they will arrive very soon, I believe.

Jackson Huddy and Ev Munson are on the street too, and Tappan does not want trouble.

He wanted me to ask you to stay in your room and wait for him."

"Whose cattle are they?"

"He is in partnership with Tom Kittery, who is, I believe, holding another herd somewhere south of here."

"All right, I'll wait." He took up his cigar, started to smoke, then rubbed it out.

"Ma'am . . . Miss Trescott, if I were you and I loved that man I'd get him out of here-fast."

She smiled. "Mr. Brunswick, you would do no such a thing . . . not if you were me.

Tappan is a man, doing a man's work. It is the work he chose to do, and I would never interfere. As for danger, I suspect there are many men in danger right now, in a lot of ways. I might tell you something about Tappan, Mr. Brunswick.

"He is not a man I could persuade to leave here; and if I could, I wouldn't want him. Nor is he a man to be intimidated. Major Tappan Duvarney," she said, lifting her chin a little, "is a veteran soldier, sir. He has been in campaigns against the Kiowas, the Apaches, the Sioux, the Cheyennes and the Modocs. Also, there was a western town, Mr. Brunswick, with a very bad reputation, which was near Tappan's post, and he was deputized to clean it up. He did so, Mr. Brunswick, in just three days. I believe there were several altercations."

Brunswick smiled warmly. "Ma'am, whoever he is, he must be quite a man to deserve you. I'll wait for him, right here." He opened the door. "And you know something?

I'm not going to worry about him-not a bit."

Jessica went back to her room and removed her hat. She sat down in the rocker, but she could not remain still. Tappan was out there in the night . . . and he was in danger.

She should, she decided, be frightened. Yet she was not. Always when traveling with her father she had a feeling of being a bystander, of observing the courts in action, of witnessing violence after the fact. She had always
had
more confidence than other girls, always was more assured. Now, instead of being depressed by the impending danger, she felt exhilarated. She was frightened, yes, and she was worried. Part of her mind admitted this, but the other part was enjoying the sense of being part of things.

She knew exactly why she had come to Texas. She had faced her father with it several times in the weeks before she left. Tappan Duvarney was, she said, the only man she had ever wanted to marry; but Tappan was fiercely proud, fiercely independent. It would be just like him not to come back if things did not go well for him, and she had no idea of taking that risk.

"I'm going after him, Father, I'm going to Texas," she had said.

Some fathers would have been furious, some would have refused to permit any such thing. Hers was amused, and interested.

Judge Trescott had enjoyed the company of his daughter for longer than he had expected, and he had watched her grow and develop in personality and character. She was much like her mother, even more like himself, and she was somewhat like her grandmother on his side. But most of all, she was somebody new; she was herself.

He had not done as much for her as he would have liked, but he had tried to offer a guiding hand, and friendly advice. Youngsters invariably began by thinking their parents were "old-fashioned," "out of date," or "back numbers," and they usually ended by admitting how right the parents had been, in most cases.

Jessica had traveled with him, had taken care of him, scolded him, admired him, and had been not only his daughter but his friend. But until Major Tappan Duvarney came along he had seen no one he thought worthy of her. He had admitted none of this to her, merely watching from the sidelines.

He knew that a lot of the old ladies, both male and female, had deplored his taking his growing daughter around the country with him, and had been shocked at his permitting her to sit in the courtroom while he tried his cases. Many of these were civil cases, but many were criminal, so that Jessica at nineteen had few illusions about the kind of people there were in the world, and about the situations with which she might be faced.

He had listened to her talk of Tappan Duvarney and he was pleased with his daughter.

He agreed that Tap was just the sort to remain away if he did not at first succeed.

"All right," he said, "if you love Tap, go get him." He smiled at her.

Then, just as she was packing he had come into her room carrying a pistol. It was a Colt five-shot, .41 caliber House Pistol. "Put this in your things," he said, and with it he gave her a small sack. "There are fifty rounds there. If you need more," he said with a smile, "you'd better get a bigger gun."

Her eyes met his. "Do you think I'll need that, Father?"

"I doubt it, but let's say it is insurance. Texas is a country where they respect women, but I can't promise that you'll always find it so."

She went to her carpetbag now and removed the pistol, which was loaded. The barrel was short; the pistol would fit into her handbag. Heavy, yes, but reassuring in its weight.

The dining room was open until ten o'clock. In a few minutes she would go down, eat a leisurely supper, and listen to what was happening. She tried to read . . . but a part of her mind was alert to the outside sounds. She knew what she listened for, what she expected and feared-pistol shots.

Tappan Duvarney stood at the opening between the buildings and surveyed the street.

Far down, he could see the tall, dark figure of a man. Other men were walking along the street, and occasionally one disappeared into or emerged from a saloon. There were lights along the street; a few horses were tied to the hitching rails, with here and there a buckboard. At this hour no wagons were in sight.

Tap stepped out and walked down to the hotel and entered.

The clerk looked up and Duvarney asked for Brunswick's room, and disappeared up the steps. The clerk looked up after him, then glanced nervously at the door. He did not know Tappan Duvarney by sight, but he had heard him described, and this stranger looked like the description.

Tap knocked lightly on the door, and Brunswick opened it, glanced at him, and stepped back. "Come in," he said. "You have cattle to sell? How many?"

"At a rough count, I'd say eight hundred and thirty head."

"What kind of shape are they in?"

"You've seen island cattle. This is a mixed lot, mostly big stuff, and they're in good shape. I'd say about half of them are steers upwards of five years old."

Brunswick chewed his cigar. "Those cattle on the island are usually in good shape-lots of feed, and they don't have to go far to water; but beef prices
aren't at
their best now."

"I want a fast deal," Tap said quietly, "and I've heard you're a fair man."

Brunswick rolled his cigar in his lips. "I've got to ship to New Orleans. There'll be some loss at sea." He took a good look at Tap, and said, "I'll give you twelve dollars a head, right across the board."

"Twelve dollars? Brunswick, there's some steers in that lot who'll weigh fifteen hundred pounds."

"Sure there are. And there's probably forty, fifty head in there won't weigh more than a hundred pounds. That's mixed stuff."

"Make it sixteen?"

Bob Brunswick shrugged. "Fourteen; and I'll be lucky not to take a loss."

"All right, I'll go along. You make the check for eight hundred head. If there's less, I'll make it up, and if there's more-and there is-you can have them."

Brunswick sat down at the table and wrote the check and handed it to Duvarney. "There you are, Tap, and my regards to the little lady. She's got sand, that girl."

"Thanks." Duvarney hesitated. "Brunswick, you've been fair, so I'll give you a piece of advice. Either get those cattle loaded and out to sea, or drive them inland-ten miles inland."

Brunswick took the cigar from his mouth. "What are you telling me?"

"That's hurricane weather out there. I can smell it."

"All right." He paused. "Duvarney, your boys are moving those cattle. What do you say if you keep right on moving them? Start them toward Victoria, and hold them somewhere along Placedo Creek."

Tap considered. He had hoped to get his men right out of town to avoid trouble, yet he could scarcely leave Brunswick in the lurch, and finding cowhands at this hour of the night, or even tomorrow, would be difficult. Yet this might be the very best way ... or it might be the worst.

"I could hold them here," Brunswick said. "If I get them penned up they can't stampede."

"Have you ever seen a hurricane, Brunswick? I was a seaman in the West Indies and along the Atlantic coast for several years. This storm started some place far south of Cuba, maybe off the coast of Brazil, and she's been moving north. Those winds will be blowing hard enough to flatten anything around here, but the whole storm won't move more than fifteen miles an hour."