Neal Barrett Jr. (12 page)

The tone was convincing. Howie struggled to his feet, sliding his hands up the rough brick wall. The man was no fool. He stayed well away in case Howie had something more to give. Howie knew he didn’t. Nothing worth wasting on a man who had a gun aimed right between his eyes.

“You got a blade or anything on you, drop it on the ground right now,” the man said.

Howie laughed. It hurt like hell. “You should’ve thought of that when you had me on the ground. You ain’t thinkin’ too clear.”

The man didn’t care for that at all. His eyes turned hard.

Howie grinned. “Go ahead and shoot. Then you can look for that blade.”

The man’s anger began to fade. He studied Howie a long moment as if there was something he needed to find. “Don’t reckon you recall knowin’ me,” he said finally. “But I sure remember you, Ryder. I knew you right off. The minute I seen you back there.” The man’s eyes caught the light. “I remember when we all rode into the city, every one of us wearin’ new jackets with white wooden buttons, and fine feathers in our caps. Wasn’t a man there didn’t know we’d likely never ride out, but didn’t any of us care. I was right beside Colonel Jacob when we come into town. And I was there later on when they come and said that you’d been taken, that you were right there, too. Lord, you should have seen the colonel smile. It was something fine to see.”

“I reckon I seen it once or twice,” Howie said calmly. “The man just
thought
about hurtin’, he got to feeling good inside.”

“You goddam traitor!” The trooper’s gun hand trembled. Howie read the fury in his eyes and was sure he’d pull the trigger right then.

“Anything happened to you, Colonel Jacob had the right. I seen what you carved on his chest, Ryder. We all saw that. I seen his blind eyes and the ruin you left between his legs. The man had a
right!
”

“I reckon you’ll think what you want,” Howie said.

“Isn’t any thinking to it. God’s truth is what it is.” The man grinned at Howie with sudden pleasure. “I’m right glad the colonel didn’t have time to take out your other eye. I’ll consider it an honor to do it for him. But that isn’t right now. You’re goin’ to get it down
there
first off.” He waved the gun at Howie’s groin. “You’re going to get what you gave Colonel Jacob ’fore I—”

Howie went for him. The instant the gun barrel moved he threw himself hard at the trooper’s legs. The weapon exploded; Howie felt its heat sear the top of his head. Reaching out blindly, he grasped the trooper below the knees and sent him sprawling. The man yelled and fired wildly in the air, kicking out at Howie’s face. Howie took a blow to the shoulder, caught one boot and held on, twisting as hard as he could. Howie felt bone give way; the trooper screamed and jerked over on his belly. The pistol fell from the man’s hand; he came up on his good knee and tried to find it. Howie kicked him in the face and slid the gun aside. The trooper cursed and clasped his hands to his nose.

Howie searched about for his own pistol and spotted it against a dark wall. He picked it up and walked back to the trooper. The man wiped blood from his face. Howie saw the fright in his eyes.

“Listen, I ain’t goin’ to tell no one who you are,” the trooper said. “I swear. Goddam, just don’t kill me.

Howie looked at him. “I got your word on that?”

“Oh God, yes!” The man looked relieved. “I ain’t no fool.”

Howie shot him in the face. The trooper’s head snapped back and he lay down flat, as if he’d suddenly grown tired of the day.

Howie squatted down and went quickly through his pockets. A few coppers, nothing to show who he was. Not that it made a lot of difference. He’d either told his card-playing friends what he planned to do or he hadn’t. Howie figured the man had kept it to himself or the others would have been there too. That made sense.

Howie stood and took a breath. If no one else knew, it would work out fine. Only that wasn’t so. There were plenty of other soldiers in town. The same thing could happen again.

Howie gingerly touched the back of his head. His hand came away wet. Staying in Alabama Port was no good. The place was too big. There were too many people, too many troopers. He thought about the few belongings in his room. There was nothing there he needed, nothing he couldn’t do without.

And what would Lorene think? Would she understand what he had to do, would she go off with him, just like that? The kind of life she’d have to live wasn’t anything like what she had in California. Things would be hard, and a girl like that …

He swept his doubts aside. Hell, she’d go, all right. Lorene cared for him, needed him the same as he needed her. She’d do it. She
had
to.

With a last look at the dead trooper, Howie started walking quickly back east. It was late, and Lorene would be asleep. Still, she could—

Howie froze at the sudden sound of voices nearby. Around the corner, somewhere just ahead. He turned and ran back the way he’d come, saw the lanterns bobbing in the dark. A man shouted, pointed in his direction. Howie stopped, turned, and saw the others clearly now. A rifle shot whined above his head, then another. Angry voices split the dark. Ahead and behind. Howie looked desperately for a street, a door, anything at all, and suddenly there was no place else to go.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A
fter the terrible battles out West against the Rebels, many troopers had been sent back to rest up and lick their wounds.

“They’re hungry, and most of ’em hurt,” a visitor to the farm told Papa. “They got no will to fight Lathan anymore, but there’s plenty of mean in them still.”

And mean, he told Papa, meant brawling and burning, and a rape or two thrown in. It wasn’t so bad in the countryside yet—but it would be, as soon as the towns got too tough for the troopers.

If that wasn’t enough, news came soon about the War Tax. The Rebels had stripped the land out West, and there was nothing but stubble on the ground. Every farmer had to give the government a portion of his stock and his crops, whether he wanted to or not. Papa was fit to be tied about that.

“When you figure they’ll come?” Howie asked. “I’m thinking maybe tomorrow,” Papa said. “And Colonel Jacob? He’ll be with the soldiers?”

“Stands that he will, son.”

The soldiers didn’t come the next day. Or the day after that. When they finally arrived, Howie was on the porch, looking right at them. They rode silently over the far swell of land, moving down the furrowed hill against a gray smudge of dawn. Twelve mounted troopers and a wagon trailing behind. Closer, Howie could see these were nothing like the parade soldiers he’d seen at the Bluevale Fair, nearly four years before. They were gaunt, shadow men—hollow faces under grizzled beards. There was no fat about them, only hard planes pulling flesh at awkward angles.

Their clothes seemed all alike and had no color at all.

“Milo, it’s been a long time,” Colonel Jacob said.

“It has,” said Howie’s father, and there was something in his voice Howie hadn’t heard before. Colonel Jacob sensed it too, Howie knew. The colonel was darker and thinner than Howie remembered. His face was gone to leather, and his body was hard as stone. The eyes, though, the eyes were the same, and Howie hadn’t forgotten how Colonel Jacob had looked at his mother at the fair, and what the look had said. His mother had gone pale with sudden fear, as if the colonel’s look held her and she couldn’t get away. And even being twelve at the time and not knowing much at all, Howie had seen right then there was something real bad that had happened in the past. He had seen it in his mother at the time, and the bad thing was back there again, between Papa and Colonel Jacob.

“You got a right fine boy,” Colonel Jacob said, looking right at Howie. “And the girl, she doing all right?”

“Carolee’s gone,” Papa said. “They picked her at the Choosing. “

“Well, now that’s fine, Milo.”

“I guess it is,” Papa said.

Howie’s mother didn’t come downstairs until the troopers had taken the War Tax goods and gone. Howie wanted to cry, just looking at her. She seemed so frightened, as if all the life had gone out of her, just knowing Colonel Jacob had been there in the yard. Later, Howie heard her crying, and Papa’s deep voice trying to soothe her, tell her everything would be fine.

And some time after that, when Howie woke deep in the night, he went to the window and saw Papa outside, a dark figure listening to the silence, watching the hills where the troopers had disappeared.

H
owie didn’t even try to sleep. The cell had a plain dirt floor, packed hard as stone. Men had thrown up where they lay, sweated and relieved themselves against the walls, and some had likely died. The floor held every foul smell that had ever come along, and daily added each new odor to the overwhelming stench of the years.

There was one narrow window, barred, and too high to reach. Howie sat against a far wall and watched the square of darkness outside and waited for the night to go away. He felt somehow that the day would make things all right. And of course that was wrong as it could be, any damn fool could see that. In the morning, they’d come and get him out and take him up before a judge, and the judge would tell him when he had to hang. They wouldn’t waste a whole lot of time, Howie was sure of that.

“Don’t make no plans for after breakfast,” one of the jailers said with a grin, which told Howie more than he really cared to know.

He thought a lot about Lorene. He wondered why something like this had to be, and there wasn’t any answer to that. The window turned a dirty shade of gray, the color of army soup. What if it finally rained? Howie wondered. Would they hang somebody in the rain?

T
he street outside had scarcely begun to stir when he heard a door open down the hall, a heavy, solid sound that drew the air with it, and he recalled coming in that way, and the big door itself, solid oak half a foot thick and bound with iron.

Two men talked, and one seemed angry with the other. He didn’t know the angry voice, but the other seemed familiar, and when he looked up again, Ritcher Jones was standing there just outside his cell, a jailer at his side.

Howie had to smile. “You lookin’ for a funeral to preach, I reckon I can help.”

“Cory, shut up,” Jones said. He looked at the jailer. “Open the door. We’re wasting time.”

The jailer glanced nervously down the hall, fumbling with his keys. “Mister, I don’t like this business. Don’t like it none at all.”

“Brother, you don’t have to like it,” Jones said. “Just do it.”

The key clicked in the lock. The sound echoed down the hall and made the jailer cringe. Jones grabbed Howie’s arm and led him quickly down the darkened hall. Two drunks were in another cell. One looked up and muttered as Howie passed.

The jailer opened the heavy oak door; Howie started off to the right.

“No. This way.” Jones guided him to the left. Howie knew this wasn’t the way he’d come. The corridor was nearly dark. A single lantern hung from a nail on the wall. Howie realized then that the jailer had disappeared.

The hall smelled dusty and dry, as if no one came this way at all. Two shadows appeared, and Howie stopped. Jones muttered under his breath and pulled him quickly past. Howie looked at the two men standing in the dark. One was a local lawman he’d seen when they brought him in. The other was Captain Ricks, the officer who had purchased Jones’s horses. The lawman looked down at his feet. Captain Ricks looked straight at Howie.

Jones stooped before a door. The door didn’t fit like it should, and daylight filtered in from the street. Jones opened the door and peered cautiously outside, then ushered Howie out. Howie squinted against the bright morning. A closed carriage stood by the door. A driver was perched on top. A spotted horse was in the harness; the horse turned to look at Howie and Jones. The street was narrow, covered with back-alley debris.

“Boy, don’t stand there gawking,” Jones said. “Get

The preacher gave Howie a shove; Howie stumbled, grabbed for a hold, and pulled himself in. Jones climbed in behind and closed the door. The carriage jerked off to a start.

“If this ain’t something,” Howie said. “I never been in a carriage before. Only seen one twice.”

“Lord, thy servant is doing the best he can,” Jones said. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I pray you’ll free the day from any further tribulation.”

Howie couldn’t believe his luck. He was free—whatever Jones had done, he was free, and he wasn’t going to hang.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Howie said. “But I want you to know I’m sure grateful. I don’t guess I can say more than that.”

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Jones said. He didn’t look at Howie. “Exactly. All of it.”

Howie looked curiously at Jones. “You mad at me or something?”

“Cory.”

“Yeah, all right. Isn’t a whole lot to it. A feller tried to rob me’s what happened. Followed me from a place I ate supper. I saw him in there.”

“The law says different,” Jones said.

“Don’t give a damn what they said,” Howie protested. “The bastard tried to kill me. You think 1 just shot the man for nothing?”

“It is reported that you were going through his pockets.”

“I guess I was.”

“What for?”

“Well, hell. He was dead.”

“So you decided to rob
him
.”

“I
decided
to get my own money back. There isn’t nothing wrong with that.”

Jones looked thoughtfully at the top of the carriage. “You saw this man in a tavern. He followed you and drew a gun. Demanded your belongings.”

“That’s right. That’s the way it happened.”

“And you took his gun away. How did you manage that?”

“He was talkin’ when he should’ve been looking.”

“Talking about what?”

“How he was going to—shoot me in the gut. Make me die real slow.”