Redemption

7

They came in sight of the ranch, and Matt almost looked disappointed when it sat quietly on its site, with a big new corral filled with livestock, and Curly standing outside against the ranch-house porch railing, smoking a cigarette.

“Quiet sort’a raid, ain’t it?” Jason heard Rafe mutter.

“The kind ol’ Matt usually gets out here.”

“Now, just a minute, Fury!” Matt barked. “They might not be here yet, but they‘re coming! There were signs, I tell you, signs!”

“Think we oughta go down and look, just in case?” Rafe asked around the cigarette he was lighting. “Gotta start coolin’ these horses down, one way or the other.” He was right. The horses were lathered and blowing, a fact abetted by Matt’s having pushed them into an all-out gallop once they got clear of town.

“I suppose,” Jason admitted, and started his horse walking toward the ranch.

“Finally!” Matt muttered, just loudly enough that both Jason and Rafe heard him, and exchanged glances. Apparently, a walk was too slow for Matt, and he kicked his gelding into a canter.

Jason shrugged. He and Rafe held it down to a walk.

Matt reached the porch ahead of them, and immediately started hollering at Curly. He kept it up until Jason and Rafe were within three lengths of them, and then Rafe did the unthinkable.

Quicker than lightning, he pulled his sidearm and fired. It nearly scared Jason to death and he was about to draw on Rafe when he realized that nobody was dead or even injured.

Except for a fat, six-foot sidewinder, thrashing its last in the dust three feet from Matt’s right boot.

“Hate them damn things,” Rafe said by way of explanation. “Sorry if I scared anybody, but by the time I saw it comin’ into the lantern light . . .” He shrugged.

“Thanks, Rafe,” Jason said, and his words were echoed by Curly and a grudging Matt. The snake, in its death throes, lashed Matt’s leg, and he vaulted up on the porch.

While Jason stifled a grin, he heard Rafe say, “You gotta watch them suckers. They’ll keep thrashin’ around for a hour, sometimes, even if you shoot the head clean off.”

Jason leaned forward and squinted through the dim light at the snake. “Believe you shot the head clean off that one, Rafe. Good goin’.”

“Try to do what I can,” Rafe said, and swung down off his horse. Jason followed suit, and hid his chuckle behind his saddle.

“You got somebody to walk these horses out, Matt?” Jason asked. He’d be damned if he’d ridden clear out here on some fool’s errand only to end up with a colicky horse for his trouble. And come to think of it . . . “I think we could all use a drink, too.”

“Best idea I heard all night,” said Rafe. And after he roared, “Get a hot walker up here, now!” down toward the barn, he added, “Y’know, I believe I could use a couple’a whiskeys, too. I’m pretty dadgum parched! Chasin’ ghost Apache wears me out. Don’t it wear you right down to a nub, Matt?”

He handed his reins to Curly, climbed up on the porch, and put his hand on Matt’s arm, like Matt was his new best friend. “I heard rumors in town that you’re purty well-stocked out here, Matt. Hope they were right!” And he proceeded to lead a confused Matt inside the house.

Jason and Curly just looked at each other until Curly shrugged and took Jason’s reins from him. “Man wants a hot walker, he gets a hot walker. Steve!” he shouted toward the barn. “Come up here and get these horses!”

To Jason, he said, “Have one for me while you’re in there. Y’know, I don’t believe I’m ever gonna understand him so long as I live.”

Careful to avoid the dead snake, Jason stepped up on the porch. “You’re in good company, Curly,” he said, then turned and followed Rafe and Matthew into the house.

Two hours later, a drunken Rafe and an only slightly more sober Jason threw wide the door to Matt’s house, and stepped out on the porch (or, as Matthew liked to call it, his veranda) and took a couple of good, deep breaths of the night-chilled desert air. Jason came away from the experience still thinking that Matt was an asshole of the first order. He didn’t know what Rafe thought. He was one tough fellow to read.

Their horses had been properly walked out, then watered, and stood tied to the porch railing, dozing. Rafe said, “Let’s walk or jog ’em back, all right?”

“Good idea.”

They both checked their girth straps and their bridles, and mounted up, while Jason puzzled over what had just happened. And then, out of nowhere, Rafe said, “He’s sure one peckerwood box’a tricks, ain’t he?”

Jason laughed out loud. “That he is,” he said when he could. “That he is. Just never heard it put quite that way before. The only reason we didn’t get a bigger crowd at the house was that everybody else owes him money.”

“Oh, yeah. He owns the bank, don’t he?”

“Yup.”

“And his sister, Miss Megan?”

“She runs it for him. Does a damn good job of it, too!” Jason was proud of Megan, and sniffed at people who thought women should stay out of business. He knew that Matt sure couldn’t do the job!

Rafe nodded. “I think she told me that. Strange job for a female, but if you’re good at somethin’, you ought’a do it, I figure.” He rolled himself a cigarette as they rode along, which put Jason in the mood. He pulled out his fixings bag, too.

When they were both smoking, Jason asked, “Rafe, how’d you get started on your so-called life’a crime, anyhow?”

Rafe shrugged. “That thing with my daddy, I reckon. That was the first. And once there was paper out on me, it seemed like there was some dumb cluck hidin’ behind every tree tryin’ to kill me for the bounty. Didn’t seem fair, somehow.” And then he paused for a half second. “Shit. My smoke went out.”

As he dug into his pocket for a new match, he said, “After I killed a couple of bounty-happy kids in self-defense, I got to thinkin’ what I just told you. Y’know, if you’re good at somethin’, do it. So I hired myself out to a rancher who was havin’ troubles with cattle thieves.” He stopped again, to light his cigarette.

“What happened?” Jason asked him.

“The trouble with the rustlers stopped. They don’t get put on wanted posters, y’know, unless they’re on ’em already. I mean, unless they get tagged for doin’ some other crime. My boys were fairly new to the trade, I reckon. That, or fairly good at not gettin’ caught.”

“How many?”

“Three. Killed the bossman and his ramrod, sat down with the kid helpin’ ’em and threatened to castrate him if I ever caught him thievin’ cattle again.” Rafe smiled. “He agreed, and I let him go. You ain’t never seen such a quick exit in your life as that kid made!” He broke out into laughter again, just picturing it.

Jason smiled, his head shaking. If he’d been that kid, he would have beat it, too!

The rest of the ride into town proved uneventful, except that by the time they came in sight of Fury, they had both sobered up to a large extent. Several of the people who’d been at the house came up while Rafe was putting his gelding away, asking if there’d been any Apache, and all received the same answer.

When Rafe had seen to his horse, he walked along back to Jason’s house, where Jason put his palomino up alongside Jenny’s.

“Two palominos?” Rafe asked, surprised.

Jason shrugged. “Well, Jenny needed a horse, and she’d always admired Cleo, so . . . I thought I’d keep it in the family, y’know?”

“So, what Jenny wants, Jenny gets, right?”

Jason nodded and laughed. “That’s about right. Now, if we don’t get up there and demand dessert pretty damn fast, there’s gonna be hell to pay. At least for me. You get to run off and hole up down at the saloon, but I have to live here!”

They found the girls in the living room, playing checkers.

“Well, it’s about time!” Jenny said before Jason had time to open his mouth.

Megan looked up. “No Indians?”

Jason said, “Nope,” and she looked satisfied when he did. He continued, “Jenny, we’re here for some of your world-famous dessert!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t toss it out,” she said as she stood up.

“Miss Jenny,” Rafe interjected, “seems to me that you got a lot of attitude for somebody who made her brother ride out there on some fool’s errand. Jason, if I was you, I think a visit to the woodshed would be in order.”

Well, that shut Jenny up! Not only did she not utter a word while serving them dessert, but she gave them extra-large portions of what turned out to be apple crumb cake. Jason reminded himself to buy even more dried apples come fall. She worked magic with them!

However, Megan made up for Jenny’s silence by asking questions. She particularly enjoyed the part about Rafe shooting the snake and her brother vaulting the three steps up to the porch. In fact, she laughed until tears were rolling down her cheeks, and Jason, caught up in her infectious laughter, was roaring, too.

“Hell!” marveled Rafe. “Didn’t think it was that funny.”

“Oh, you would if you knew Matt,” Megan managed to blurt out.

She wiped at her eyes, then fell back into laughter.

Jenny spoke for the first time since Rafe had embarrassed her. “I think you’re all too hard on him,” she scolded. “He’s just trying to protect what’s his, that’s all. And you, Megan! You’re his sister! I’d be ashamed if I were you.”

Rafe’s mouth quirked up as he listened. He said, “I think it’s healthy for at least one person in a family to have a sense’a humor. That was sure a fine dessert, Miss Jenny. Hope you’ll invite me again sometime.” He wiped the last traces of apple crumb cake from his mouth, then smoothed his napkin out on the table.

He pushed back his chair, but before he could get all the way up, Jason said, “Coffee, Rafe?”

Jenny glared daggers at him.

But Rafe said, “I thank you for the offer, Jason, but I’d best be gettin’ back to my no-good ways, which means playin’ cards and drinkin’ up to the saloon.” Both men had taken off their hats when they entered the house, and now Rafe took his from the hat rack, swept the hand holding his hat wide and to the side, and said, “Ladies, Marshal, it’s been a pleasure.”

Jason called after him, “Best take the back way, Rafe. And tell Salmon that everything’s all right out at the Double M.”

Rafe’s reply was another bow, then a swing of his hat to the top of his head, with a tip of the brim to the ladies.

Jason closed the door behind him and went back to the kitchen. Slouching in his chair, he said, “What’s wrong with you tonight, Jen?”

“Me?! What’s wrong with me?” she fairly snarled at him.

He could only stare at her, blinking.

“You’re the one who wanted to kill him just a few days ago. You’re the one who was all het up just because Megan and I just talked to him at Abigail’s! You’re the one who—”

Jason held up his hands, palms toward her. “If you’re gonna get up a lynch mob, just do it and quit jabberin’ at me. I’m the marshal, you know, and I had a right to be concerned about that little meeting, not only as a lawman, but as your brother. And I didn’t want to kill him so much as I just wanted him out of my town. We still don’t know what element he’ll attract, though we’ve got one gunslinger after him already.”

Jenny just stood there with her arms folded, practically the definition, Jason thought, of the word “resolute.”

“It’s why I told him to take the back way to the saloon.”

Jenny still didn’t speak. He glanced at Megan, who was fiddling with her coffee cup (just to keep out of it, he figured) and didn’t look up.

Jason shoved back his chair and stood up. “I’ll take my leave of you ladies, then. Good night.” He turned on his heel and without another word, headed for his bedroom.

Solomon came up the stairs, having closed the store and locked the doors for the night. “Did you hear what Jason did, Rachael?” he asked when his head came level with the second floor. “Oy, this is rich!”

He heard her quietly say, “Hush, Solomon. You’ll wake the children.” His two oldest boys were still awake, noses buried in the dime novels he’d gotten for them yesterday. But the youngest boy and, of course, baby Sarah were sleeping soundly. And so, it seemed, was Sampson Davis. He half-sat, half-lay on Solomon’s favorite chair, his head on his barrel chest, black hair hanging in his eyes, roweled spurs digging angled holes into Solomon’s ottoman.

“This, I will not have!” Solomon said under his breath, and continued his climb up the staircase. But by the time he reached the landing, his hospitable sense was taking over. Perhaps this was how they behaved in Sampson’s family. Maybe they all went to sleep in chairs and put their boots up on the furniture, with their spurs on, no less!

He greeted Rachael and the boys before he did anything else. He dutifully admired Abraham’s school project—a catapult—and helped David with a mathematics problem. And then he turned toward Sampson.

And discovered that Sampson was not only awake, but on his feet and standing in the kitchen.

Solomon started. “My goodness, Sampson! You scared me to death!”

The faintest hint of a smile showed briefly on Sampson’s face, then vanished. “What’s the time?” he asked, although he was standing right next to the clock.

Solomon scowled, then said, “Eight-thirty. Why?”

The big man said, “I have an errand to run. Can I get a key to the store so’s I can let myself back in?”

The scowl was still on Solomon’s face. Who had errands to run at eight-thirty of an evening? And give him a key to the store? There were so many things wrong with that idea that Solomon couldn’t even begin to list them! But, despite a sidelong glance from Rachael, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the key. He handed it over, saying, “Be certain the door is locked after you go through it.” He forced a smile.

Sampson tossed the key into the air, then grabbed it again, sticking it into his breast pocket. “Will do,” he said.

And then, without further ado, he started down the same stairs that Solomon had just climbed up.

Solomon and Rachael just stood there, watching him disappear down the staircase. And when they finally heard the click of the door unlocking, the jingling of the bells, and then the thud and click again as the door was closed and relocked, “Get him out!” Rachael hissed. “Solomon, I am your wife! Does that mean nothing to you?”

“What? You’re not making sense!”

“When you are not here, he orders me around like I am his wife, or his maid. It’s always, ‘Make me a sandwich,’ or ‘Don’t you have any knishes?’ or ‘Give me the beef brisket.’ Do I look like a short-order cook to you, my husband? And when he is not eating, he is asking all sorts of funny questions about the town and the people. I am telling you, Solomon, this man has none of my trust!”

But Solomon was stuck back on her previous sentence. “What sort of questions?”

“I don’t know. Just odd questions. He asked where people in town rent rooms, and that one, I was glad to hear because I thought he was thinking about moving out. But then he asked about the saloons and where they were, and if I’d ever heard of somebody or other . . . Rafe something. I can’t remember. And then he wanted knishes and I said we didn’t have any right now, and he says, ‘What kind of household is this, anyway?’ and I said the kind that doesn’t make knishes at the drop of a hat. And he cleans his guns all the time. Around the children! This afternoon I caught him about to hand a loaded pistol to David!”

“Stop already,” Solomon said, holding up his hands. “I get the picture.” He did, too. He thought this was something he should talk to Jason about, and as soon as possible.

He glanced at the clock. Almost nine. Salmon Kendall had dropped by earlier and told him about Jason riding out to the MacDonald ranch. With somebody called Rafe Lynch. He had agreed with Salmon that there probably weren’t any Apache (other than those in Matthew’s mind), but when he’d asked who Rafe Lynch was—thinking Salmon would say he was just someone from the wagon train—Salmon surprised him. He said he was sworn to secrecy, and couldn’t say any more, but that Solomon could ask the marshal for himself.

And then he paid for his purchases and left. Rather hurriedly, as Solomon recalled.

He wondered if Jason was back yet. And then he wondered if it was too late to go knocking on the marshal’s door.

“Solomon?” Rachael was staring at him curiously, but with concern, too.

“Don’t worry, Rachael,” he soothed. “I need to go out, too, to go to Jason’s house. If Sampson gets back before me, do not tell him where I’ve gone, all right?”

She nodded.

“And I promise you, he’ll be gone very soon, our houseguest.”

He kissed her lips, and then trotted down the stairs to fetch his extra key from the cash register.

Jason had just blown out his lamp and was in the process of getting his pillow just right, when the knock came on the front door. He decided he’d made it up and punched his pillow again when a second knock sounded. Followed by, “Jason! Jason, are you still up? It’s important!”

He knew the voice right away and went to his window, which overlooked the front yard. “Sol? Solomon, that you?”

“Yes, it’s me, already, and I have something important to tell you!” There came the sound of feet scuffling through dusty grit and gravel, and then Solomon’s shape appeared. He didn’t waste any time. He came right to the window Jason was leaning out of and rapidly told Jason of his conversation with Rachael.

“I’m worried,” he said. “What sort of man have I given shelter in my home?”

“The worst kind,” Jason replied, mentally kicking himself for not having earlier asked the name of the Cohens’ houseguest. “You’d best get him out of there, first thing tomorrow. Send him down to the boardinghouse or somethin’.”

“But how—”

“Make up some excuse or other. Tell him Rachael or one of the kids is sick.”

“But—”

“And don’t give me any of that crud about lying being a sin. God’ll forgive you on this one, trust me. Did you say he went out tonight?”

“Yes, and he has a key to the store!”

“That’s the least of your troubles. Now go on home and act like everything’s normal, just fine. Okay? And for God’s sake, don’t mention the name ‘Rafe Lynch’ around him. He’s here to kill him.”

Solomon put his hands to his throat. “Mein Gött!”

“Yeah, what you just said. Now get going. I gotta put some clothes back on and get up to the office!”

Solomon backed away into the darkness and Jason plopped back onto the bed and rolled over until he was next to the lamp. He felt for—and found—a match, lit the lamp, then stood up and scrambled into some clothes.

He had to find Rafe before Sampson Davis did.