“We’re not very far from Milberg. They got a doctor there,” Rance said.
“We got to make a drag. She can’t sit a horse,” B.W. said. He stood up and looked down the hill. She wasn’t moving. He hurried down the hill, Rance and Tommy following, and saw her lying on her back, her dress soaked in blood. Her eyes were open but there was no movement in them. B.W. kneeled down beside her. “Mrs. Brookings,” he said. Nothing. He held his fingers against her neck for a pulse and dropped his head. “She’s dead,“ he said. “She knew she was dying. Tried to make it easy on us.”
B.W. took off his hat and sat down beside Camille. Rance and Tommy took off their hats and sat down beside B.W.
B.W. closed her eyes and held her hands. “We took too long to find you. I’m so sorry. Knew you was out here, should have gone lookin’ for you sooner.”
“You didn’t know for sure. Could have been chasing a ghost,” Rance said.
“I knew. Just didn’t do what my gut told me,” B.W. said.
They wrapped her in a bed roll, tied it with a rope. B.W. dug a grave in the shade of the tree. They covered the grave with rocks and B.W. carved ‘Camille Brookings died 17 April 1865’ on the tree.
“Think we should say something over her?” Rance asked.
“Yeah, say she was unlucky enough to be born the wrong color,” B.W. said.
“Won’t do her any good but Lincoln changed that,” Rance said.
“Maybe. We’ll see.” B.W. mounted his horse and rode away.
Rance watched B.W. ride down the hill and wondered how much of the killing of those three was for him.”
They left the dead rebels where they fell. Threw dirt on the campfire, commandeered a horse for Tommy, let the others loose and headed for Milberg. Rance figured the rebels probably sold Tommy’s horse. He knew they made the mistake of their life by not killing them when they stole their horse.
“We should have buried them,” Rance said. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Well go back and do it,” B.W. said, “but I’m not.”
“You know damn well I can’t with one hand.”
“The buzzards will take care of ‘em,” B.W. said. “Didn’t deserve to be buried anyways.”
“Everyone deserves a proper burial,” Rance said.
“You gonna preach to me now?” B.W. asked.
“No. They needed to pay for what they did, the glove proved that. Just don’t want to be like them.”
“Don’t compare myself with other people, good or bad,” B.W. said.
“Maybe you should,” Rance said.
They heard a horse nicker and looked toward the sound. There stood the roan, the reins dragging the ground. He threw his head up and trotted over to Tommy.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Rance said. “He did wander off.”
“I’d rather ride him,” Tommy said.
“Take him then,” B.W. said, “and cut the other one loose.”
Tommy saddled the roan, pulled the bridle off the other horse and he took off.
“We goin’ back for the other saddle?” Tommy said.
“No,” B.W. said. “Let it be. How far to Milberg, major?”
“Bout another two or three hours,” Rance said. “Used to be a place called Jack’s Eatery and Boarding House in Milberg. If it’s still there we can get a good steak and a real bed.”
“Been a while since I slept in a bed,” B.W. said. “Last time was a disaster. Those two scandals Shanghai’d me.”
“Now whose fault was that?” Rance said.
“What happened?” Tommy asked.
“It’s a long story, tell you some other time,” B.W. said.
“He don’t want you to know,” Rance said and grinned.
“If it’s that big of a deal forget it,” Tommy said, spurred his horse into a gallop and rode ahead.
“You know he’s goin’ to ask you again,” Rance said.
“Yeah, thanks to you,” B.W. said.
“What you get for bein’ in a place you shouldn’t be.”
“Won’t let me forget it, will you?”
“Nope,” Rance said and took off after Tommy.
“Horse, we should have went our separate ways,” B.W. said and patted him on the neck.
8
As they rode into Milberg, the disappearing sun painted the edge of the western sky a bright orange. Mostly uniformed Union soldiers were going in and out of saloons along the street. Signs were posted on some of the business doors stating they were closed by military authority under martial law for unlawful practice.
They rode past the saloons and saw Jack’s Eatery and Boarding House was open.
“There’s a livery next door for the horses,” Rance said. “Get you a steak and a bed. I’ll be back in a while.”
“Be waitin’ on you,” B.W. said.
Rance nodded and rode away.
“Where’s he goin?’” Tommy asked.
“To visit his wife and daughter’s graves.”
By the time Rance got to the graveyard the sun was on its way to another day.
He rode up to the graves, dismounted and looked at the inscriptions on the tombstones in the twilight:
Paige Kendra Allison
May 5 1833 - July 12 1861
Melody Ann Allison
October 11 1854 - July 12 1861.
“Finally made it home, Paige.” He touched the tombstones and tears came to his eyes. “Missed you so. Don’t really know what to do with myself without you. We lost the war and somebody killed Lincoln, to make it worse. I lost a hand and part of my left arm. The war freed the slaves but it’s goin’ to take a long time for the south to accept the change. I met up with an Indian-black mix and a boy that’s kind of become my family now. We never made any promises to each other but I know I can count on ‘em. Want to take care of some unfinished business for the boy in Texas. He’s the rightful heir to a railroad company, but his papa disowned him and his mama was murdered. He’s a good kid - had some bad breaks, deserves better - a little older than Melody. Feels like the right thing to do. The stars are out, and there’s a full moon and a nice breeze. I remember how much you like to sit on the porch, sip your tea and admire a night like this.” He dropped his head and stood motionless for a minute or two then wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked back at the tombstones. “Guess that’s all I got for now. I will always love you both. You’ll never leave my memory.”
He leaned over, kissed the tombstones, rubbed his only hand across the top of the tombstones, pulled himself up on Buck and headed back to town. He turned in the saddle for one last look and rode on.
Back in town, Rance bedded Buck down, picked up his saddle bags, sat them on his shoulder, retrieved the Henry and walked in the eatery. There were five rough wood tables and chairs with red and white checkered curtains on the windows, double swinging doors to the kitchen and a little bar. He sat down at a table by a window and gazed out at the stars, thinking of his wife and daughter.
A pretty red-headed woman with big blue eyes, wearing an apron over a green dress, appeared through the kitchen doors and walked up to the back of his chair. When she saw who it was she sat down hard on a nearby chair gasping for air. ”Rance?” she said. ”I thought you was dead.”
“Hello, Julie. I almost was.” He stood up and removed his hat. She threw her arms around him and he hugged her with his good arm. “Sorry to startle you. You all right?”
She kissed him on the cheek. He returned the favor and they stepped back from each other.
“Is it really you?” she asked.
“What’s left of me, at least,” he said. “You workin’ here?”
“Own the place now. Jack was killed at Gettysburg. His wife sold out to me and headed for California.”
“Heard from your pa?” he asked.
“Lost my dad at Petersburg and my brother at Manses,” she said. “My mama died last spring from a broken heart. Wiped my whole family out.”
“Same for me. It’
s been a terrible time. Ever find you a husband?”
“Never got around to it. All the men went to war. Most didn’t come back. Not many of the home folks still here, either. The Yankees declared martial law, closed down some of the businesses for carpetbaggers, even hired them a Yankee marshal. The marshal said an actor named John Wilkes Booth killed Lincoln and they got the biggest manhunt in history goin’ on to find him.”
“I heard,” he said.
“Bet you’re hungry,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“You got a steak?” Rance said.
“I’ll fix you a steak with all the trimmings on the house as a homecoming,” she said.
“No need to do that.”
“Want to.” She walked over to the bar, picked up a glass and a bottle of whiskey and sat them on his table. “Nurse on this while I fix that steak,” she said and smiled. “You can take the bottle with you when you go.”
“You feed an Indian and a boy tonight?” Rance asked.
“Sure did. They rented a bed and went upstairs. Got you one there if you want it.”
“They’re friends of mine. We’re riding together.”
“The beds are ready. Take anyone you want. I’ll go fix your steak,” she said and walked through the swinging doors to the kitchen, stopped inside the door, leaned against the wall and began to sob.
She placed her apron over her mouth to muffle the sound and continued crying for several minutes. She wiped the tears away with her apron, took a deep breath. “Now what do I do?” she said to herself and picked up a large skillet and sat it on the stove. “Fix the steak and keep my mouth shut,” she said to the stove.
Rance was gazing out the window, sipping the whiskey when she brought the steak to him and laid a knife and fork on the table beside the plate, looked at his arm and picked the knife and fork up quicker then she laid them down.
“Sorry,” she said. “Should have cut the steak before I brought it out.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “Learning to do a lot of things different now. I can manage.”
“Not this time,” she said and started cutting the steak. She finished cutting the steak and laid the fork and knife back on the table.
“Thanks,” Rance said. “Does a train still come through here?”
“No. Yanks stopped everything from goin’ or comin’ from Milberg for the time being. Why?”
“Thinkin’ ‘bout ridin’ one to Texas.”
“Someone said they’re runnin’ further down the line, don’t know for sure. Why Texas?”
“Need to help the boy get to Texas, settle some things with his old man he can’t do by himself.”
She nodded. “If you need anything, yell. I have to go clean the kitchen. Enjoy your steak.”
Rance nodded and she disappeared through the kitchen doors and stopped to wipe more tears in the kitchen.
“I can’t,” she said to herself. “I just can’t tell him.”
Rance finished his steak, stuck the bottle of whiskey in his saddle bags and went upstairs. The door was open. It was a big room with four beds. A quilt was folded at the foot of each bed, a pitcher of water and a wash bowl were on a small table by each bed with a towel and a lit lamp. Tommy was already sound asleep.
A broad-shouldered man with big arms and no neck was sitting on a bed packing something in a sack. He got up, walked by Rance out the open door and closed it without saying a word.
B.W. was sitting on his bed cleaning the twelve-gauge, his tomahawk on the table, his boots by the bed. “Get to see your family’s graves?”
“Did. Was hard.” Rance sat his weapons and saddle bags on the floor and sat down on the bed. “Julie said she heard the man that killed Lincoln was an actor named John Wilkes Booth.”
”I’ll be damned! Heard of him, went to a play one time he was in called My American Cousin. Hope they kill that bastard.”
“I’m sure they will. Brought you something.” Rance handed B.W. the whiskey. “Julie gave it to me. I thought you might need a drink.”
“Thanks. That Miss Julie sure is a pretty thing,” B.W. said.
“Sure is,” Rance said.
“She got a husband?”
“No.”
“You know her long?”
“Since we were kids.”
“Might be a good idea to get reacquainted,” B.W. said.
“Crossed my mind.”
There was a knock on the door. B.W. got up and opened it. A pretty young black woman with sparkling brown eyes and skin as smooth as cream was standing there smiling.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “My name’s Fannie. Julie asked me to see if you needed anything ‘fore I turned in.”
“I’m good. The boy’s out cold. How ‘bout you, major?” B.W. asked, looking at Rance.
“I’m good too, thank you,” Rance said.
“Alright,” Fannie said. “Breakfast is at six, have a good night.”
“Thank you,” B.W. said. Fannie walked out and B.W. closed the door. “Another pretty woman. I’m beginnin’ to like it here.”
“Nothin’ like a woman to make a man feel good ‘bout himself,” Rance said.
“Yeah, but next time I’m going to sleep with this twelve-gauge, just in case.”
“May just need to be more careful where you sleep.”
“Yep, there you go again.,” B.W. said. “Thought anymore on Texas?”
“Maybe we should go, unless you got other plans. Might be able to do something useful.”
“That’s important to you, ain’t it?” B.W. said, took the cap off the whiskey bottle, took a big swig and put the cap back on.
“What, goin’ to Texas?” Rance asked.
“No, doin’ something useful,” B.W. said.
“Yes it is. You’re a lawyer. We can take his old man to court,” Rance said.
“Don’t know, think I might like killin’ him better.”
“Now that would solve everything. We wouldn’t care after they hang us.”
“I hear you, but if the court thing don’t work, then I’ll kill him.”
“I think you missed the part in school ‘bout upholding the law.”
“Didn’t miss it, just don’t always agree with it,” B.W. said, took the cap off the whiskey bottle and let a big, slow swallow roll down his throat and sighed. “Nectar of the gods.”
“Just make sure you don’t get scalped.” Rance pulled his boots off and laid down on the bed.
B.W. nodded in agreement, put the cap back on the bottle, sat it on the table and laid down on his bed.
“Good to know you’re in control instead of the whiskey,” Rance said and turned over.
B.W. laid the double-barrel beside him on the bed, wrapped a hand around the whiskey bottle on the table and sat it beside him in the bed, snuggling up to it and closing his eyes.
9
The three of them were the only ones in the eatery enjoying a big plate of biscuits, sorghum and sowbelly, B.W. sipping on his whiskey a little after six in the morning. Julie walked up to their table.
“How’s the biscuits?” she asked.
“Ma’am,” B.W. said. “These biscuits are so good, I would ask you to marry me if I was a marrying man.”
“Ask Fannie then, she made them,” Julie said.
“I’ll keep that in mind, might do that,” he said and smiled.
“Need any more coffee, Rance?” Julie asked.
“Think I’m done, might give B.W. another cup.”
“How bout you, Tommy? Want some more milk?” she asked.
“No ma’am,” he said.
“I’ll stop in before we leave town,” Rance said.
“You do that,” she said.
The door came open and a tall man with dark eyes and a bushy black mustache walked in. He was wearing a black Stetson, a marshal’s badge on his white shirt and a tied-down walnut-handled Colt .44 with the initials W.P. carved into the handle. He sat down at a table by the door.
“What�
��ll you have this morning, marshal?” Julie asked.
“Just coffee,” he said, took off his hat, laid it on the table, looked their way and nodded. They nodded back.
They picked up their gear, B.W. paid Julie and they walked out on the board sidewalk.
“That must be the Yankee marshal Julie was tellin’ me bout,” Rance said.
B.W. nodded.
The streets were empty and they could see people peeking out the windows of some of the stores.
“We do have our pants on, don’t we, B.W.?” Rance asked.
“Curious bunch, ain’t they?”
The marshal came out of the eatery behind them with his Colt drawn. “Don’t make any sudden moves, boys, or it’ll be your last. I’m Marshal Willie Preston and you’re under arrest.”
Three men stepped out of nearby stores with shotguns pointed at them.
“What’s going on, marshal?” Rance asked.
“Murder. Got a witness that says you two look like the hombres that murdered a man named Allen Dobbs in Whiskey Gulch. Now, if you’ll stand real still, I’ll have my boys relieve you of your weapons.”
“Who’s the witness?” Rance asked.
“Your roommate was in Whiskey Gulch when it happened, come and told me last night,” the marshal said. “I locked him up as a witness, figured it was better to do this in the daylight.”
“The big fellow with no neck?” Rance asked.
“Name’s Lester. He’s a miner in the Gulch.”
“Wondered why he didn’t come back to bed,” B.W. said.
Julie heard the commotion and came out on the sidewalk. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“We been arrested,” Rance said.
“For what?” she asked.
“Murder, but it was self defense.”
“You know these men, Miss Julie?” the marshal asked.
“Yes I do.”
“I’ll have some questions for you later,” the marshal said. “Would you look after the boy. Keep him in tow till I figure out what to do with him?”
“Sure,” She placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of him Rance.” Rance and B.W. nodded. “Come with me, Tommy,” she said.
The Last Good Day Page 5
