The Stranger from Abilene

Chapter 12

Fate is not content to inflict one calamity on a man; it loves to pile them up.

Clayton had dismissed his run-in with Lee Southwell from his mind, but now it came back to him with a vengeance.

The woman stood on the boardwalk outside the hat shop, beating the small black girl he’d seen beside her in the buggy. Lee’s riding crop rose and fell, cracking across the girl’s back. The woman’s face was flushed with anger, her mouth pinched, white-rimmed with a cruelty bordering on sadism.

Clayton could not stand still and watch anyone, man, woman, or child—or animal for that matter—abused. The little girl was screaming, begging for mercy, but still the riding crop whop . . . whop . . . whopped on her back.

Clayton’s long stride thudded on the boardwalk.

As he got closer he heard Lee yell, “You yanked my hair in there, you stupid little—” She raised the crop again, but Clayton’s arm shot out and his strong hand closed on the woman’s wrist.

“Enough,” he said. “She’s had enough.”

Events were cartwheeling past Clayton at a dizzying speed, but his overloaded brain had time to register a strange fact—the street was crowded, but no one stopped. People quickly passed the scene on the boardwalk, their eyes averted.

Did Lee Southwell instill that much fear?

He had no time to seek an answer. Displaying amazing strength, the woman had already wrenched away from him.

A split second later, the crop slashed across his left cheek and Clayton felt blood splash hot on his skin.

“How dare you!” Lee shrieked. “You laid hands on me.”

“Leave the girl alone,” Clayton said.

“Why, you . . . you piece of trash!” The riding crop swung again, this time aimed at Clayton’s eyes.

He had never struck or abused a woman, but there’s a first time for everything. Avoiding the blow, he moved in quickly, effortlessly picked Lee up, and stepped off the boardwalk. Under the saloon hitch rail, there was a deep puddle of dung and horse piss. He carried the woman there and dumped her in the middle of it.

Lee slapped facedown into the pungent mess, tried to rise, slipped, and tumbled onto her back. Now the woman was beyond rage, beyond reason. Her hands dripping filth, she opened the small purse she carried and came up with a Remington derringer.

“You bastard!” she screamed, and fired.

The bullet missed.

Using both hands this time, Lee cocked the derringer, her killing eyes never leaving Clayton’s face.

She fired at the man from Abilene again.

Another miss.

Frustrated, the woman threw the gun at Clayton’s head. He dodged it easily.

“Lie in the piss, Mrs. Southwell,” he said. “Cool off for a spell.”

“My husband will kill you for this,” the woman said, no longer screaming, her voice flat, an ominous sound, like a copperhead rustling through dead grass.

“If he does, I’ll hang him for murder.”

Nook Kelly stood, stone-faced and terrible, his eyes moving from the woman to Clayton and back.

Kelly raised his gaze to the boardwalk. “Minnie, pick up those packages and help Mrs. Southwell get home.”

The black girl shook her head. “I sure won’t, Mr. Kelly,” she said. “She’s done beat me for the last time. I ain’t nobody’s slave.”

The marshal looked at Clayton, at the bleeding cut on his cheek.

He nodded to Lee. “She do that?”

“Cut myself shaving,” Clayton said.

“Uh-huh.” This time Kelly nodded to the woman sitting up in the piss puddle. “You do that?”

“She needed to cool off, was all,” Clayton said.

“I could lock you up for assault,” Kelly said. “And you, Mrs. Southwell, for attempted murder.”

Lee got to her feet. Her expensive silk morning dress dripped and she reeked of piss and dung.

“But you won’t,” she said to Kelly. “Unless you want this town burned down around your ears.”

“Your threats wouldn’t stop me, Mrs. Southwell,” he said. “But I think enough damage has been done for one day.” He looked at Clayton. “Do you wish to press charges?”

Clayton said he didn’t.

“And you, Mrs. Southwell?”

“My husband will press his own charges—at the point of a gun.” Her blazing eyes fixed on Clayton. “You’re already a dead man.”

Kelly smiled. “Good. Now that it’s all been settled amicably, I suggest you go home, Mrs. Southwell.”

“Minnie, get my boxes and come with me,” Lee said.

“No, Miz Southwell, I’m done with you.”

“You ungrateful wench, I could—”

“Home, Mrs. Southwell,” Kelly said. “I’ll send someone to the ranch with your purchases.”

“I don’t want them now,” Lee said. “Give them to charity or burn them. I don’t care.”

After Lee Southwell left, Minnie stepped beside Clayton. In Kelly’s hearing, she said, “Mister, thanks for what you done for me, but you had better get out of town. Shad Vestal will kill you for sure.”

Clayton smiled without humor. “You’re the second person to tell me that today.”

“Good advice is worth repeating,” Kelly said.

He wasn’t smiling.