The Cowboy and the Cossack (Nancy Pearl's Book Lust Rediscoveries) (18 page)

By the time it was finished, Dixie and the others now rode up and dismounted, so that the whole outfit was here. Slim, who may have had an idea what was coming, stepped to Shad and struck a match, jerking it hard and smooth across the tight hip pocket of his pants. “Light, boss?”

Shad sucked in on the smoke, and Slim blew the match out before dropping it and grinding it slowly into the ground with his foot.

Looking at Rostov, Shad finally said, “I was talkin’, before, about showdown.”

Rostov nodded. “That’s right.”

“Well, it’s a game. One that any fool can play. But what makes it interestin’ is that if a man’s got enough pure guts, he can sometimes manage t’ win even when by all the odds on God’s green earth he was just plain bound t’ lose.”

Rostov said quietly, “I, myself, am a chess player, which is also a game any fool can play—but he won’t win.”

“Then I strongly suggest we stick to showdown.”

Rostov’s eyes were serious, but he spoke dryly. “Are we to learn it in time for the battle tomorrow?”

“No.
Now.
”

Not only Rostov but some of the rest of us were a little startled at this.

But Shad was already going on. “If you and those goddamned cossacks a’ yours can drive off forty soldiers, think what could happen with these rough bastards a’ mine thrown in!”

Rostov was too thoughtful to be angered at Shad’s phrase “goddamned cossacks.” He said, “That’s still only about thirty men against well over one hundred.” He looked at Shad, his dark eyes searching. “You’ve been paid for these cattle. They are certainly no longer your responsibility.”

“The deal included deliverin’ them.”

“No man can hold you to a thing like that in times such as these.”

“One man can.”

Rostov knew Shad meant himself. He took another tack then. “Are your men ready to die, too?”

Dixie said hesitantly, “In a way he’s right, boss. Ain’t no way this is our fight.”

“That’s the reason I wanted every man here.” Shad dropped his second smoke and booted it into the ground. “No bullshit about votin’, or anything like that. I’m goin’ on with the herd.” He glanced off at the nearly setting sun. “It’s gettin’ late, so the rest of ya’ got about three minutes t’ decide which direction you’re goin’.”

And then he walked up the hill, away from us, to be by himself while we decided.

“Hell,” Dixie complained, “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, shut up!” Rufe growled, and Crab Smith muttered something angrily beneath his breath.

“This is not your problem,” Rostov said firmly. “You should all go while you can!”

“This is the way it seems t’ me it is.” Old Keats spoke quietly. “Sometimes Shad has a hard time sayin’ what’s on his mind, so right now I’ll try t’ say it for him. An’ you, Slim, or Levi, or anybody else, can correct me if I’m wrong. Shad’s goin’ on ahead, with or without any or all of the rest of us, for two reasons. One of ’em is his kind of half-ass, but still admirable, sense of stubborn honor. He said he’d deliver this herd, and he’ll do it, come hell or high water.”

“Or,” Mushy said grimly, “die tryin’.”

“The second reason he’s got,” Keats continued, “has t’ do with somethin’ most of ya’ don’t know about, yet.” He waved toward Rostov and his men, his bad hand raised about chest high. “These fellas here just lately turned out t’ be nothin’ but phony, goddamned rebel cossacks who bought and paid for this herd.”

And now, Old Keats sort of started to get poetic, though his voice was hard. “They don’t belong to the great and magnificent Tzar of All the Russias. They don’t belong to anyone on earth but to themselves—and to the people they love. And perhaps even more rare than that, their greatest allegiance of all is to an invisible and priceless spirit called—called freedom. Shad knows that in their own stupid, splendid way they’re ready to die tomorrow rather than change.”

Rostov and his cossacks were getting embarrassed as hell at this, but it was all new to most of the Slash-Diamond men.

“There happens to be a large group of the Tzar’s men in Khabarovsk right now, and there are bound to be tough times ahead. We can stick with these crazy, rebel cossacks, and maybe get ourselves killed. Or we can desert both them and the herd, and head back south as fast as we can go, and be safe.” He paused. “I know how Shad feels, and I hope I’ve sort of said it for him. And I damn well know my own decision.”

I think Old Keats might have gone on for hours, except that Shad was now heading back down toward us. Shad came to where we were and looked around at us. “Well?” he said. “Whoever wants t’ go back better move out.”

There was a long, silent moment, and then it was Dixie who said, “Looks like nobody’s goin’.”

Rostov said harshly, “I told them that they should all leave.”

Shad nodded. “I figured you would. But right now, Rostov, let’s talk about showdown.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
T WAS
early evening when the eight of us rode into the outskirts of Khabarovsk. Shad and Rostov were up front, with Lieutenant Bruk and Old Keats just behind them. Next came Sergeant Nick and Slim, with me and Igor trailing just behind.

We’d been slowed down just once in the dark outside of town. Two guards had ridden by, about a hundred feet away, and called out in Russian to find out who we were. Whatever Nick had answered, in that booming, deep voice of his, was enough to satisfy them, and they’d gone on their way with no further comment.

Even halfway into town there still wasn’t much light, and we were finally approaching the center of it before people first began to take notice of us. They didn’t seem to be so much scared as curious, whispering among themselves and sometimes hurrying into their small homes to peer out at us from their windows.

Compared to the dreary shacks of Vladivostok, some of these little houses were really nice, with hand-carved frames around the doors and fancy gingerbread woodwork on the roofs. There was just a natural feeling here that this town had been around a whole lot longer and was a whole lot more loved by its citizens than was Vladivostok.

And there seemed to be a large number of females of various ages, too, which was kind of pleasant. Every now and then, as we rode along, you’d hear some giggling, or some girl voices whispering off in the shadows.

But then, at last, that all tapered off, and the town suddenly got more serious. We were moving in close toward the main part, and there was a kind of a square that we were coming to. I could see that Igor wasn’t too happy, and his jaw was getting set up as tight as a sprung bear trap.

Already guessing the answer, I said, “We gettin’ there?”

He nodded, looking almost straight in front of us, and I followed his look. On one side of the square there was a long two-story building, with two armed and uniformed men in front of the main door. Above them, on top of the building, was a flagstaff with three flags fluttering on it, one over the other.

Those flags must have been what I hadn’t seen through the telescope earlier that day when Rostov had handed it to me. The highest and biggest flag had a bear on it. The two smaller ones beneath it were triangle-shaped, with different colors.

My immediate thought was that the top one stood for the Tzar and the others stood for the two companies of Imperial Cossacks, and it seemed to me that it was unfair for Rostov to have expected me to know all that. But there wasn’t much time for me to pursue that possible injustice any further because we now rode out onto the hard-packed dirt square. And for damn sure somebody had just gotten the word that some strangers were in town. As we moved straight ahead toward that building at an easy walk, Imperial Cossacks started showing up all around the square, some of them pulling on their jackets and others buckling on sabers or quietly checking their guns. As still others appeared, all of them just staying their distance and gradually surrounding us, it began to be one hell of a hairy situation
.

“Boy,” Slim muttered in a low voice, “right now a lot a’ fellas could get hurt real serious an’ sudden around here.”

We got to where the two guards were standing in front of the building, their rifles now held in readiness at angles across their chests. We dismounted and tied our horses at about the same time that the door behind the guards opened and a young officer came quickly out. After a brief, stunned glance at us, he stepped toward Rostov to speak. But before he could manage to say anything, it was Rostov, instead, who gave a short, sharp
order. I understood enough to know that Rostov had demanded to see the commanding officer.

And then a man spoke in reply to Rostov from the open main door. About forty, lean and tall, there was a cruel and somehow aristocratic arrogance about him, despite the fact that he was standing there casually in his shirt sleeves.

He and Rostov exchanged a few words, and then Rostov turned to us. “This is Colonel Verushki. He agrees to listen to what we have to say.”

“He damned well better agree,” Shad said to Rostov, “unless he wants his goddamn town torn down.”

Verushki gave Shad a quick, sharp glance, and right then I knew he could understand us. A second later it dawned on me that Shad now knew too, and that that was probably why he’d said what he said in the first place.

With the Tzar’s men on all sides and behind us, we went into the building and followed Colonel Verushki down a wide hallway. He even had men with ready rifles lined up on both sides of the hallway. I’d never seen so many soldiers holding so many guns in my life. “Jesus,” I murmured to Old Keats, “this looks more like a thousand men than a hundred.”

Keats said quietly, “He’s rousted out every man in his command.”

“Yeah. Like I said. All thousand of ’em.”

Farther down the hall we entered what looked like a big council room of some sort. Verushki sat facing us from a large desk up front, with nine or ten armed men lined up behind him. There were some benches where our men either sat or stood, as they felt. Then at least half of the Tzar’s thousand soldiers outside crowded into the rest of the room. And after about two minutes, I wasn’t sure whether their guns or their sweating was their most dangerous weapon.

Verushki said something to his men in Russian, and then he glanced at Shad and me. “You both recently became aware that I speak English, so there’s no need for linguistic games.”

Without seeming to, he’d noticed both of our reactions outside.

And now, almost as a compliment, Shad said quietly, “I’m pleased for all of us t’ see that you’re a smart sonofabitch.”

Verushki said two words in Russian and every rifle in the room was suddenly cocked, with deadly, dry metallic sounds.

Rostov said quickly, “The word ‘sonofabitch’ is colloquial, Colonel, and has nothing to do with one’s ancestry.”

“I’m aware of both that and the impertinence intended.” Verushki looked at Rostov and at the uniform he was wearing. “I agreed to listen to you. But I presume you understand that, as of now, you and your outlaw cossacks are under arrest.”

Rostov said, “And the firing squad is already waiting, undoubtedly.”

There was a tight, deadly moment, and then Shad stood up and began one of the great speeches ever made. “That kind a’ trouble is sort of what we’re here t’ talk about.” He walked over to the closest Imperial Cossack and put the tip of his finger lightly on the muzzle of the rifle being held by that suddenly astonished man. Then, with his finger still on the muzzle, he gently pushed the barrel slightly to one side. It was such an audacious move that the only reaction in the room was one of stunned silence. “You know, Colonel,” Shad said easily, “if he shoots right now, it’ll blow off about half of my finger—and I’ll kill this poor Imperial Cossack bastard dead before he even knows he’s made an unfortunate mistake.”

Verushki snapped an order in Russian, and the still astonished man slowly released the hammer on his rifle, uncocking it. Then, as Shad turned toward him, Verushki said, “Was there some sort of point to that idiotic flamboyancy?”

That was a six-bit word to use, but Shad came back with a pretty good one too. “It’s got t’ do with economics.” He let that word sink in, and then continued. “That finger a’ mine ain’t worth a whole lot because I’ve got nine more t’ go. But like I said, I’d have killed your man. And that would have led t’ all kinds of hell in this here immediate vicinity.”

Verushki was frowning, but he forced the frown into a small, thin smile. “Are you trying to tell me that
we
should be afraid of
you
?”

Shad’s voice took on a low, hard edge. “I’m not
tryin’
t’ tell you. I’m
tellin’
you. First off, Colonel, we’re all armed, and damned well armed, and we’ll stay armed because no man in his right mind will be about t’ try t’
disarm
us. Now second, consider my little finger against your life, Colonel. Much as I’m fond of that little finger, I seriously doubt you would agree that one’s worth the other. And if a fight starts here and now, I guarantee that you will not be one of the few people who gets out of this room alive.”

“And you and your men?” Verushki’s eyes were hard and thoughtful.

Shad shrugged a little. “We’d all wind up dead, and I’d be one a’ the first t’ go. But then, Colonel, after all the bloody carnage that’d take place in this room, another bad thing would happen t’night. With you an’ about half a’ your men dead or wounded, fifty of the toughest, meanest, best-armed men in the world would come into town, curious t’ find out what the hell happened to us.” He paused briefly. “I guess, while you’re at it, you could measure that little finger of mine against all of Khabarovsk.”

Verushki studied Shad thoughtfully, his hands folded together before him on the desk. “If you’re bluffing, it’s quite impressive.”

“Just try me, Colonel.”

“I presume there is some alternative to these disastrous events, and I further presume that alternative is the reason you’re here.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been talkin’ about. Economics. It’d be downright silly an’ unfeasible for you t’ be dead and dishonored and Khabarovsk burned down, all for one damned little finger.”