The Killing Season (18 page)

“We'll put him on my bed,” said Myra.

“It's near time Pa was gettin' back,” Jamie said.

“I'm aware of that,” said Myra shortly. It wouldn't matter where they lay the wounded man, she thought. Jubal Wells wouldn't even want him in the house.

“Jamie,” Myra said, when they had Nathan stretched out on the bed, “those horses must be exhausted. Unsaddle them, rub them down, and water them. Then stall them with our horses in the barn. Ellie, I'll need you to help me. Stir up the fire in the stove and put on a kettle of water.”

Myra started to unbuckle Nathan's gun belt, only to have him seize both her hands. She found herself looking into cold blue eyes that sent chills up her spine. She spoke just as calmly as she could.

“I'm going to see to your wound, and the gun belt must be removed. I'll hang it on the bedpost where you can reach it.”

She thought the hard blue eyes softened just a little. They closed again and he let go of her wrists. She removed the gun belt, fastened the buckle, and looped it over the bedpost. She then loosened his belt and unbuttoned his trousers.

“You're taking them off?” Ellie asked.

“I am,” said Myra. “I'll manage. You don't have to watch.”

“I'll help,” Ellie said. “I'll take off his boots.”

Nathan offered no objection, and since he was a dead weight, he seemed to have again lapsed into unconsciousness. When they had wrestled him out of the trousers, Myra Wells was shocked at the condition of his wound.

“Lord, Ma,” said Ellie, “it looks awful.”

“Awful enough that he could lose that leg, if not his life,” Myra said. “I only hope Jubal hasn't drunk up all the whiskey on the place.”

“There's most of a jug,” said Ellie. “Last time he passed out, I hid it. When he come to his senses, he thought he'd drunk it all.”

“Get it,” Myra said. “This man may need it all.”

Myra bathed Nathan's wound with hot water. When Ellie brought the jug of whiskey, Myra soaked two thick cloth pads with it. One of the pads she placed over the wound where the slug had gone in, and the other over the ugly exit wound. These she bound in place, and then soaked them with more of the whiskey. Ellie had brought a tin cup from the kitchen, and filling it almost full, Myra patiently got Nathan to drink it a little at a time. Even in his condition, Nathan fought the vile brew.

“Either he ain't a drinking man, or he's used to better whiskey,” said Jamie from the curtained doorway. “The dog looked hungry, so I fed him the ham. It was cold, anyway.”

 

Myra Wells continued forcing the whiskey down Nathan, and for all that day and far into the night, the fever wouldn't let him go. His fight had become theirs, and none of them slept. Finally, two or three hours shy of first light on the second day, Nathan began to sweat. Ellie and Jamie gave up and slept, while Myra remained beside Nathan. She dozed and when a slight sound awakened her, the first gray light of dawn crept through the window. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and then she laughed, for Cotton Blossom peeked around the curtain, only his head visible.

“You can come in,” she said, as kindly as she could.

Cotton Blossom took a wary step or two, pushing the curtain aside. He sat down near the foot of the bed, looking first at Nathan and then back to Myra.

“You're a faithful one,” said Myra. “Make yourself at home.”

“Cotton Blossom,” Nathan said weakly.

“He's been concerned about you,” said Myra, “and well he should have been. I've been pouring whiskey down you since early yesterday morning.”

“I'm obliged, ma'am,” Nathan said. “Where am I?”

“In my damn bed,” said an angry voice from the doorway. “By God, somebody's got some talkin' to do.”

Jubal Wells had come home.

Cotton Blossom was the first to react to Jubal's hostility. He turned and was about to do some real damage if Nathan hadn't spoken to him. The dog retreated until he stood beside the bed.

“Sorry,” Nathan said. “He didn't like the sound of your voice.”

“And I don't like some damn drifter and his fool dog squattin' in my house, with my woman, when I ain't here.”

“Jubal,” said Myra quietly, “he's been hurt and would have died without attention.”

“Woman,” Jubal growled, “there's some settlin' to be done, but for now, there's a use for you. Ike and Levi are here, and we had no grub for two days. Git in the kitchen.”

He turned away, and Myra sat with her face in her hands.

“I'm sorry to be the cause of trouble, ma'am,” said Nathan. “You go ahead and do what you have to do. I'll get up and get out of here.”

“You'll stay where you are until you're able to be up and about,” Myra replied. “I've done no wrong.”

Myra left him there, and he could hear her in the kitchen. Soon there was the aroma of frying ham, and Nathan felt the pangs of hunger gnawing at him. For more than two days there had been nothing in his belly but bad whiskey. He wondered where Jubal had gone, guessing that he and his friends were unsaddling their horses. This woman who had rescued him had courage, and she proved it by bringing him a tin cup of hot coffee and a platter of fried ham and eggs. She had brought a bowl with an assortment of ham scraps for Cotton Blossom.

“You need food,” she said.

“I do,” Nathan agreed, “but this is a bad time for you, Mrs....”

“Wells,” she finished. “Myra Wells.”

“I'm Nathan Stone. Until I'm able to ride, I'll stay in the barn. I won't go on taking your and your husband's bed.”

“He's not my husband,” she replied, “and I'm through sharing this bed or any other with him. He took us in, me and my two children, when we were destitute.”

“You have no family, then?”

“My parents live in Ohio,” she said, “and I can't go back. I ran away when I was just fourteen, married my husband, and we came west.”

“Ma,” said a voice from the kitchen, “I'm fixing breakfast for Jamie and me before they come to the house.”

“Please do,” Myra replied. “That,” she said, speaking to Nathan, “is Ellie. She's barely fifteen, and Jamie's thirteen.”

“It's none of my business,” said Nathan, “but are you ranching or farming?”

“Neither,” Myra said. “Jubal, along with Ike Puckett and Levi Odell, claim to be buying and selling horses, I believe they're stealing and selling horses.”

“That's a serious charge,” said Nathan. “Folks have died for less.”

Before she could respond, Jamie and Ellie came in from the kitchen. Now that Nathan was conscious, they were shy.

“Jamie, Ellie,” Myra said, “this is Mr. Stone.”

“My pleasure, Jamie and Ellie. My friends call me Nathan. This is Cotton Blossom.”

“That's a funny name for a dog,” said Ellie.

“I inherited him,” Nathan said, “and by then he was used to it.”

“I have work to do in the kitchen,” said Myra.

“Ma,” said Ellie, “do you want me to help?”

“No,” Myra replied. “I want you and Jamie to stay here and talk to Mr. Stone until Jubal and his friends have had breakfast.”

Jubal Wells had his suspicions about the man in the house, and when he reached the barn, had a serious conversation with Ira Puckett and Levi Odell.

“Hell,” said Puckett, “it's your house and your woman. Throw the varmint out.”

“That didn't grab me as bein' such a good idea,” Jubal replied. “This hombre ain't just a down-at-the-heels drifter. There's a brace of Colts hangin' on the bedpost. I reckon he's been shot and is likely still weak, but when he looked at me, he was purely taking my measure. He could be some kind of lawman.”

“Let's have a look at his saddle and saddlebags,” Levi suggested.

The trio went to the barn and wasted no time in going through Nathan's saddlebags and his canvas-wrapped pack, still secured to the packsaddle. Finding the leather bags full of gold double eagles, they all but shouted.

“God Almighty,” Ike Puckett said, “there must be near four thousand here. While this pelican's laid up, we'd have time to get to Arizona, or even California.”

“Don't be a damn fool,” said Jubal. “We got a sweet setup right here, and I ain't one to outlaw myself for a handful of coin.”

“Haw, haw,” Levi Odell cackled, “you reckon horse stealin' won't outlaw you?”

“Maybe,” Jubal conceded, “but there's a matter of proof. Not so with this cold-eyed jasper with the brace of Colts. He's the kind who'd track you down, gun you down, and when he's takin' his gold off your cold carcass, consider it proof enough.”

“You're scairt of him,” Levi said.

“Hell,” said Ike, “so am I. Look at all this.”

From Nathan's pack he had taken copies of newspapers. Some of them had accounts of Nathan's days with the Kansas-Pacific and of the deadly showdown with EI Gato's renegades in Indian Territory. There were references to Byron Silver and the attorney general's office in Washington, and finally the death notice of Ranger Captain Sage Jennings. Then there were copies of various telegrams Nathan had received, several of them from Captain Ferguson, at Fort Worth.

“Exactly what I was afraid of, damn it,” Jubal Wells said. “Right here amongst us, we got some kind of special lawman. We can't just salt the bastard down and have him be forgot. Kill him, and he'll be missed. That's just what we need: some U.S. marshal from El Paso or Santa Fe, lookin' for him and lookin' at us.”

“So what are we goin' to do?” Ike asked. “Let him squat here until he heals and hope he rides on? What about your woman?”

“There'll be other women,” said Jubal callously, “unless I'm behind bars or at the business end of a rope. The less this legal coyote sees of us, the better. We'll eat and ride south. We'll hole up in Ciudad Juarez until we're ready to run a new herd of broomtails across the border.”

 

Left alone with the Wells children, Nathan found himself in the midst of an uneasy silence. Finally he spoke.

“Jamie, do you and Ellie like New Mexico?”

“I ain't liked nowhere we've been since my pa was killed,” Jamie said. “At first, I liked it here, 'cause there wasn't no school. But there's nothin' else here, either.”

“It wasn't so bad, even here,” said Ellie, “if it wasn't for ... him. When he's here, he's nearly always drunk. The worst times are when he has Ike and Levi with him, and all of them are drunk together.”

“If I had a gun,” Jamie said, “I'd wait till they're passed out and kill them all.”

“Whoa,” said Nathan. “Killing is serious business. I'd think on that some.”

“I reckon you don't carry them for show,” Jamie said, his eyes on Nathan's Colts.

“No,” said Nathan. “When you begin using a gun, you're forced to carry one to stay alive. I am forever defending myself against men who are determined to kill me.”

“Why do they want to kill you?”

“To prove they're faster on the draw than I am,” Nathan replied. “Or they want me dead because I've been forced to kill friends or kin of theirs.”

“That's how you got hurt, then,” said Ellie.

“Not this time,” Nathan said. “A friend of mine was shot in the back. I went after the outlaw who did it, and when it came to a showdown, he shot me before I shot him.”

“But you didn't shoot him in the leg,” said Jamie.

“No,” Nathan said.

The conversation ended abruptly when Jubal Wells and his companions entered the house. Their laughter was loud, and they were drunk or trying to appear so.

“Damnation, woman,” Jubal shouted, “where's our breakfast? We got ridin' to do.”

“He ain't all that drunk,” Jamie whispered, “and they never ride out again the same day they come in. They're up to somethin'.”

Nathan silently agreed. The trio had taken entirely too much time unsaddling, if that was what they had been doing. Facing Nathan, Wells had been predictably hostile. Now his attitude seemed to have changed abruptly, and the trio was anxious to be on their way.

“Jamie,” said Nathan quietly, “you and Ellie had best leave me alone. I must get up.”

“But Ma said you shouldn't,” Ellie protested. “Besides, she told us to stay here with you until they finish their breakfast, and they ain't finished.”

“Then close your eyes,” said Nathan, “because I'm getting out of this bed.”