“Do what?”
“Eat biscuits and drink whiskey.”
“Won’t that make you sick?” Tommy asked.
“Naw, it’s good together,” B.W. said. “Want some?”
Tommy and Rance shook their head no.
“Remember your promise,” Rance said.
“I know,” B.W. said. “Tommy, put the bottle back in my saddle bags for me.”
“Gladly,” Tommy said. “You’re making me sick watchin’ you.”
“We can bed down here till daylight,” Rance said. “B.W., you take the first watch, I’ll relieve you. Tommy, loosen the girth on the horses, leave the saddles on. It will be your job to tighten them if we have to leave in a hurry. And Put Julie’s Colt in your saddle bags before you blow your pecker off.”
“He likes givin’ orders, don’t he, B.W.?” Tommy said.
“Yes he does. Makes him feel useful.”
“Quit talking and bed down,” Rance said. “We’re goin’ to be movin’ into your part of the country soon, B.W.”
“He’s giving orders again,” Tommy said.
“Comes natural,” B.W. said. “Don’t want to stay round here very long, could wind up getting scalped by my own people.”
“Be moving into Arkansas in a day or two,” Rance said. “They won’t like you either.”
“Kinda that way for the rest of the journey,” B.W. said. “But I think they’ll think I’m a confederate from my tribe’s actions. If you don’t tell them different.”
“We’re not goin’ to say anything,” Rance said. “Let’s get some rest.”
They were up at the crack of dawn, riding through a field with thick morning dew, the horse’s legs wet past their hocks. They spotted a log cabin in an open field with a corral and small barn nearby and rode in slow.
“Might see if we can get some food and water here,” Rance said.
“Don’t see any animals in the corral and no smoke from the chimney,” B.W. said.
They stopped their horses at a water trough by the corral to let them drink. Th windows were boarded up. Two arrows were stuck in the side of a well curb. B.W. rode by the well, reached down and broke an arrow off the well and looked at it.
“Creek, stay on your horses,” he said. “I’ll see if I can raise anyone. He dismounted, took the shotgun off the saddle and walked up on the porch and knocked on the door. “Hello in there,” he said. No answer. “Anybody in there?” He pounded on the door again. The door exploded, fragments flying everywhere, just missing his arm. He hit the ground and slid up against the cabin.
“Get,” Rance yelled at Tommy and they rode their horses to the side of the cabin and dismounted.
Tommy retrieved the Colt from his saddle bags and moved up beside Rance.
“Stay down,” Rance said. “B.W., you alright?”
“Yeah,” B.W. said. “Hey, in the cabin, I’m an Indian but we’re not here to hurt you.”
“Don’t come no closer,” they heard a female voice say from inside. “I’ll shoot you.”
“Ma’am, we mean you no harm. I’m not a hostile,” B.W. said.
“Go away,” she said.
“I’m goin’ to lay my guns down and walk out where you can see me. I’m an Indian but not one of them. Don’t shoot, we mean you no harm.”
B.W. laid the shotgun and Colt on the ground, stuck his tomahawk in the back of his belt and walked out in front of the door with his hands up.
Tommy whispered to Rance, “He gone loco?”
“That’s far enough. I can see you,” she said. “Now get ‘fore I turn this shotgun on you.”
B.W. glanced to the side of the cabin and Rance was making a circle motioning to indicate he was going to the back of the cabin.
“We just wanted to make sure everyone was okay ‘fore we moved on,” B.W. said.
“We’re fine. Now leave us alone.”
B.W. flashed two, then three fingers to indicate to Rance there was more than one in the cabin. Rance nodded and moved to the back of the cabin and snuck up to a boarded-up window and peeked through a gap at the bottom and saw a handsome woman with long blonde hair pinned back wearing a broad rim black felt hat, black pants and a lacy white shirt. She was holding a double-barrel shotgun with a girl about Tommy’s age clinging to her.
The woman glanced toward the window, saw Rance and turned the shotgun to the window. Rance hit the ground. She pulled both triggers, blowing the window out.
B.W. charged the door and knocked what was left of it down with his foot. The woman was trying to reload the shotgun. He swung his shotgun strap over his shoulder, grabbed her shotgun, twisted it from her, dropped it on the floor and put her in a bear hug. “I got her!” B.W. yelled.
“Run,” the woman said and the girl ran toward the door. Rance and Tommy were coming in the door.
Rance picked her off her feet with his good arm and carried her back in the cabin and sat her down.
“Calm down, please,” Rance said.
The woman was still struggling with B.W. “Okay, I’m going to turn you loose,” B.W. said and released her. “It’s okay.”
“Please don’t hurt my baby.” She began to cry.
“We’re not, I promise,” Rance said.
She drew the girl close to her and continued to sob.
“Ma’am, it’s okay. My name’s Rance, this is B.W. and the boy is Tommy. How come you’re out here alone?”
“My husband went to Bridgeport for supplies and was supposed to be back before dark yesterday but he didn’t come back. We hid in the floor cellar and they stole our livestock and everything else they could carry.”
“Did you shoot at them?” B.W. asked.
“No, we went to the cellar as soon as we saw them.”
“That saved your life.”
“What kind of Indian are you?,” she asked B.W.
“Cherokee, ma’am. They was Creek.”
“How far is Bridgeport?” Rance asked.
“Bout ten miles,” she said.
“We’ll escort you and your daughter to town.”
“I think I better stay here, wait for my husband.”
“Ma’am, they may have bushwhacked your husband and if so, he ain’t coming back,” Rance said. “You have to leave. What’s your name?”
“April Brown,” she said. “And this is my daughter May.”
Rance smiled. “Clever names,” he said. “We better get a move on ‘fore those Creeks come back.”
“I’ll get some riding pants for May and a change of clothes to take with us,” she said and went to get them. Rance ,B.W. and Tommy walked outside to wait and Tommy put the Colt back in his saddle bags.
“How did you know you weren’t going to get shot when you went through that door?” Rance asked.
“I didn’t,” B.W. said. “Figured one shooter with a double-barrel and they had to reload.”
“I knew that but you didn’t.”
“Listenin’ to my gut.”
“Your gut’s goin’ to get you killed one of these days.”
B.W. shrugged. “You know this is going to slow us down and give the marshal time to catch up.”
“We can’t leave them,” Rance said.
“Nope, guess we can’t,” B.W. said. “Lots of open hoof prints and some wagon tracks, they were probably hungry.”
“Hope we don’t run into any,” Rance said.
“This is Creek and Cherokee country,” B.W. said. “Never know what they’re going to do. Her husband may be tied to a tree somewhere with his eyes cut out to keep him from seein’ in the after world.”
“You’re full of good news,” Rance said.
“Way it is.”
April came out of the cabin carrying her shotgun and a small sack, May right behind her wearing pants. Rance forced the shotgun in the saddle boot with the Henry, tied April’s sack to the saddle horn and she climbed on Buck with Rance.
“Tommy, let May ride with you,” B.W. said and helped her on the horse.
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“Your name Tommy?” May asked.
“Yes,” Tommy said.
“My name’s May.”
“I heard.”
“I can read.”
“Well I can’t,” Tommy said.
“How come?”
“Cause I don’t know how. I’m not a girl.”
“What’s being a girl got to do with it?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to talk.”
“One of them men your papa?” she asked.
“No. I’m on my own.”
“You’re too little to be on your own.”
“Well, I am anyways, now hang on.” He kicked his horse and they galloped away.
B.W. rode out ahead and disappeared over a rise not too far away.
“Where’s he goin?’” April asked.
“To make sure we don’t get any surprises and to look for your husband along the way,” Rance said. “We have to keep moving to catch up.”
About a mile down the trail, B.W. was waiting for them.
“Haven’t seen any hostiles or white men,” he said. “Let’s keep movin’ till we get to Bridgeport. They might be comin’ back.”
They kept the Henrys lying across their saddles, cocked and ready as they rode along. B.W.’s shotgun still strapped to the side of his saddle.
They were tired and hungry when they got to Bridgeport, B.W. and Rance watching out for Paxton.
Bridgeport, Carolina was like a hundred other little towns. Saloons, livery, jail and a mercantile store, plus various kinds of services. The stores were busy and the saloons were full with drunks coming and going.
Rance rode up to a cowboy on the street. “You got a place to eat around here beside the saloons?”
“Ma’s Café,” the man said. “Down the street on the right.”
“Thanks,” Rance said and they rode on down the street.
A two-horse team pulling a wagon stopped at the Wilson Goods Store and a rugged-looking bearded man with a big brim hat wearing overalls jumped down and went into the store.
“That looks like our team,” April said.
“Where?” Rance asked.
“The one with the blazed face horse at the store, but that wasn’t my husband that went inside.”
“B.W.,” Rance called. “April thinks that’s her team at the Wilson store.”
B.W. wheeled his horse around. “Let’s have a look,” he said and they rode up to the store hitching post, dismounted and tied the horses beside the wagon.
“Tommy, you and May stay with the horses for now,” B.W. said.
“I want to know what’s going on, too,” Tommy said.
“Need you to keep an eye on May and the horses,” B.W. said. “I’ll let you know when you can come in.”
“Don’t leave us out here too long,” Tommy said.
B.W. nodded and they walked in the store. The man that got down from the wagon was talking to the store clerk.
“Need what’s on this list, Alfie,” he said and handed the clerk a piece of paper.
The clerk nodded. “Take a little bit, Norman.”
Norman nodded.
Rance walked up beside the man. “That your rig out front?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“None of your damn business,” Norman said.
“Might be,” Rance said. “This lady thinks it’s hers.”
“Well it ain’t.”
“Mister, we’re tryin’ to make this easy,” B.W. said. “But if you don’t tell us where you got that team we may have to do it the hard way.”
“Like what?”
B.W. grabbed Norman by his overalls shoulder strap, drew the Colt, cocked the hammer and placed it against the man’s head. “Now, where did you get the damn team?”
“I won it in a poker game, fair and square.”
“When?” Rance asked.
“Last night from a fellow named Cletus Brown.”
“That your husband, ma’am?” B.W. asked.
“Yes,” she said.
B.W. let go of Norman, let the hammer down slowly on the Colt and stuck it back in his holster.
“You know where Cletus is, mister?” Rance asked.
“No, we was at the Crow’s Nest last night. May still be there was cuddling with one of the whores.”
“If that’s what happened we won’t bother you again,” B.W. said. “If it’s not…we will.”
“Like I said, won it fair and square. He put it up for his hand. I had three aces, he had three jacks, everybody at the table saw it.”
“I don’t believe that,” April said. “He would never do that.”
“We’ll find out,” Rance said.
“You got no right poking a gun at me,” Norman said, shaking his fist at B.W.
“Maybe,” B.W. said. “If you want to keep that hand don’t shake your fist at me again.”
Norman glanced at his hand and dropped it by his side.
B.W. nodded approval and they walked out.
“What’s goin’ on?” Tommy asked.
“We’re not sure yet,” B.W. said.
“Ain’t doin’ no more babysittin,’” Tommy said.
“I ain’t no baby,” May said. “I’m ‘bout old as you are.”
“You’re a girl,” Tommy said.
“Bet I can whip you,” May said, staring at Tommy.
“I don’t fight girls.”
“May, mind your manners,” April said. “Hush.”
Tommy looked at May and smiled.
“Wonder where my husband is?” April said.
“He’s most likely still in town, ma’am,” Rance said. “If what the man said is true unless he walked out of town. What’s he look like?”
“Bout the same age and size as you,” she said, “a short black beard and blue eyes. Can’t believe he would gamble our team away.”
“If he was drunk, he might do anything. Right, B.W.?”
B.W. gave Rance a sideways look. “Right.”
“Ma’am, you and the kids go to the cafe and get something to eat,” Rance said. “We’ll see if we can find your husband.”
“Suits me,” Tommy said. “I’m hungry as a bear.”
“Take the horses with you, Tommy, we’ll walk,” B.W. said.
Rance and B.W. walked in the Crow’s Nest up to the bar. A large picture of a naked lady with a sheet covering her butt was hanging on the wall behind the bar. The bar was crowded with men still wearing their Union and Confederate uniforms. A piano player was playing what sounded like an Irish tune and a little whore was trying to give her best impression of an Irish jig.
The man behind the bar was average size, thinning gray hair, a droopy gray mustache and a gold watch chain looped in his vest pocket. A grin came on B.W.’s face as he stared at the bartender. For some reason it occurred to him that although the bartenders looked somewhat different from town to town, they were all the same with sleeve garters, aprons and a short fuse.
“Two whiskeys,” B.W. said.
“What you grinnin’ at?” the bartender asked. “Federals don’t like us servin’ Indians.”
B.W. laid his Colt on the bar. “Well, make an exception ‘fore I lose my sense of humor.”
The man looked at the Colt, wiped his brow and came back with a bottle and glasses and poured the drinks.
“Fifty cents a drink,” he said and held out his hand. B.W. reached in his pocket, took out a silver dollar.
“You know a man named Cletus Brown?” Rance asked.
“Tell you for another one of those silver dollars.”
B.W. pitched a dollar on the bar and the little man scooped it up. “Seen him here enough to know who he is. That’s ‘bout all.”
“Was he playin’ poker last night?”
“Yeah, was drunk, lost his wagon and horses to Norman Stiles.”
“You know where he is?” B.W. asked.
“Gave a whore his watch and went upstairs to sleep it off last nigh
t. Ain’t come down as far as I know.”
“What room?” Rance said.
“Room five. Why all the questions? You the law or something?”
“Mostly something,” Rance said.
B.W. picked up his whiskey glass, downed the whiskey, and Rance did the same. They went upstairs to room number five and walked up to the door.
“Don’t think he’s goin’ to be in any mood to greet a couple of strangers,” B.W. whispered.
Rance nodded and they drew their pistols. B.W. turned the door handle easy-like. It wasn’t locked. When he opened the door they saw a man that fit the description April gave them in his long-johns, his boots on, sprawled across the bed with a young naked woman next to him laying on her stomach, both sound asleep. Their clothes lay at the foot of the bed, a carbine propped up in a corner next to the door.
B.W. shook the bed. “You Cletus Brown?” he said and the man turned his head toward them, opened one eye.
“Go away,” he said and dropped his head back on the bed and closed his eyes.
B.W. and Rance looked at each other and Rance made a lifting motion and B.W. nodded. They put their guns away, grabbed the mattress, picked it up and flipped it over. The woman crawled out from under the bed, wrapped a sheet around her and ran out of the room without saying a word. Cletus crawled out on his hands and knees, picked up his pants, pulled himself up on a chair and sat down. He was trying to put his pants on over his boots.
“That would be easier if you take the boots off first,” Rance said.
“Who the hell are you?”
“We found your wife and daughter after an Indian attack. They managed to survive by hiding in the cellar. The Indians took your stock and most everything else.”
“Oh my god,” he said, dropped his pants on the floor, put his head in his hands. “You bring ‘em here?”
“Yes. Get dressed, they’re waitin’ for you at Ma’s Café,” Rance said.
“Not anymore,” a woman’s voice said from behind them. They turned to the door and April was standing there, holding the carbine. “It’s true. You did do it, and left me and May to die.”
“I was drunk. I don’t remember what I did.”
“So long, Cletus.” She aimed the carbine at him but B.W. pushed the barrel up just as she pulled the triggers and she shot a hole in the ceiling, debris falling on the bed. Cletus scampered under the bed, his boots sticking out.
The Last Good Day Page 7
