The Gun Fight

Chapter Twenty

Julia was just putting the rack of loaves into the hot oven when the hound began barking outside the kitchen door at the muffled drumming of hoofbeats. Pushing up the oven door, she moved quickly across the floor toward the window and looked out.

A sudden weakness dragged at her and she caught at the windowsill, her heart suddenly pumping in slow, heavy beats as she saw who it was.

The chestnut gelding was reined up to a careful stop before the house and stood there fidgeting while the hound cringed nearby, ears back, head snapping with each hoarse, excited bark it gave.

“Benton!” Julia heard Matthew Coles call out and her stomach muscles shuddered at the sound.

“No,” she murmured without realizing it, gasping to draw breath into her lungs.

“Benton!” Coles shouted again, his voice sharp and demanding. Julia stared out at him, hoping desperately that he would think no one was home and ride away.

Then Matthew Coles started to dismount and she pushed from the window and opened the door with a spasmodic pull.

Matthew Coles twitched back, face whitening.

“I am unarm—!” he started to cry out, then broke off with a tightening of his mouth when he saw it was her.

“Where is your husband, Mrs. Benton?” he asked quickly, trying to cover up his momentary panic. The hound dog backed toward Julia as she stood in the doorway.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked, weakly.

“Mrs. Benton, I expect an answer.”

She drew in a shaking breath. “He’s not here,” she said.

“Where is he?”

She swallowed quickly and stared at him, feeling sick and dizzy.

“Mrs. Benton, I demand an—”

“Why do you want to know?”

“That is not your concern, ma’m,” said Matthew Coles.

“It’s about Louisa Harper, isn’t it?” she asked suddenly.

His face hardened. “Where is your husband, ma’m?” he asked.

“Mister Coles, it isn’t true! My husband had nothing to do with that girl!”

“I’m afraid the facts speak differently, ma’m,” Matthew Coles said with imperious calm. “Now, where is he?”

“Mister Coles, I beg of you—listen to me! My husband had nothing to do with Louisa Harper, I sw—”

“Where is your husband, Mrs. Benton?”

“I swear to you, Mister—”

“Where is he, Mrs. Benton?” Matthew Coles asked, his voice rising.

“Why won’t you listen to me? Don’t you think I’d know?”

“Mrs. Benton, I demand an answer!”

“What are you trying to do—kill your son?!”

The hint of a smile played at Matthew Coles’ lips. “I don’t believe it’s my son you’re concerned for,” he said.

“Who else would I be concerned for?” she answered heatedly. “You don’t think he’d have a chance against my husband, do you? For the love of God, stop this terrible thing before—”

Matthew Coles turned on his heel and lifted his boot toe into the stirrup.

“Mister Coles!” Her cry followed him as she took a quick step into the morning sunlight, face pale and tense.

He said nothing but swung up into the saddle and pulled his horse around.

“You’ve got to believe me!” she cried. “My husband didn’t—”

The rest of her words were drowned out by the quickening thud of the gelding’s hooves across the yard.

“No!” She screamed it after him.

Then she stood there in the hot blaze of sunlight, shivering uncontrollably, watching him ride away while the hound dog stood beside her, whining.

Suddenly she started running for the barn on trembling legs, breath falling from her lips in gasping bursts. Then, equally as sudden, she stopped, realizing that she didn’t know how to hitch up the buckboard for herself. She stood indecisively, halfway between the barn and the house, her chest jerking with frustrated, frightened sobs.