Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Terror gave Violet unexpected strength. She tore her mouth away from his, jerked her arm from his grip, and twisted her body away from his brutal embrace. Her hands came up and shoved hard against his chest, staggering him. She seized the opportunity to whirl around and run back toward the ridge and the safety of the soddy beyond.

  Cursing furiously, the cowboy started after her, but within a few feet, he was lurching in the soft, plowed earth. A horseman's boots were not made for running in such terrain, and he turned and hurried back to his horse.

  Violet was sprinting through the field, her skirts lifted, her thighs flashing as she ran. Vaguely, she heard the profanity that her assailant flung after her. She could still taste the hot foulness of his mouth. He had been drinking.

  Hearing hoofbeats, she threw a frantic glance over her shoulder and saw his angry leer as he rode after her. Panic forced her to run more desperately, but as she did so she realized despairingly that, while she might be able to reach the ridge before he caught up with her, she would never make it all the way to the soddy. She opened her mouth.

  "Tommmm!" she screamed.

  Tom and Joshua had been futilely hashing out the settlers' problems when Violet's frightened cry shattered their peaceful conversation. Tom's head snapped up, and he gasped, "Violet!" He lunged toward the doorway, not thinking in his haste to scoop up the rifle.

  Joshua was right behind him. He had recognized the pure terror in Violet's voice and knew she had to be in danger to sound like that.

  As the two men ran out of the soddy, they turned toward the ridge behind it. At that moment Violet appeared, running as hard as she could. As she topped the ridge, she seemed to stumble and suddenly fall, rolling over and over down the gentle slope.

  The two men watched helplessly as a rider lurched over the top of the ridge, obviously chasing Violet.

  An inarticulate cry burst from Tom's lips. He snatched up an ax that was leaning against the soddy wall, and holding the sharp-edged tool tightly in both hands, he started running toward Violet.

  Joshua hurried behind Tom, trying not to let the hotheaded young man get too far ahead of him. As he raced after the younger Powell, Joshua thought there was something familiar about the rider.

  Violet's tumbling body came to a stop at the bottom of the rise, about fifty yards from the soddy. Slowly, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, shaken by her fall but apparently not hurt too badly.

  The horseman, expertly working his mount down the slope, reined to a halt just as Tom reached Violet's side. Standing over her, Tom faced the horseman and raised the ax threateningly.

  Joshua was only a few steps behind him. Twilight shadows crept over the scene, but there was still enough light for Joshua to recognize the man on horseback. The rider was Billy Day, the son of rancher Houston Day and, according to Cully, probably the instigator of the raid on the wagon train east of Abilene. Joshua knew Billy to be an arrogant young man, the kind to seize any opportunity to make trouble. The kind who would probably enjoy gunning down a sodbuster—

  As he saw Billy's hand moving toward his holstered gun, Joshua flung himself at Tom, his hands grasping the ax handle and wrenching it from the young man's grip as his shoulder rammed into him, knocking him a few steps to the side.

  "Dammit!" Tom howled. "What—"

  Joshua turned and flung the ax, spinning it away across the field. He whirled around and shouted to Billy Day, "We're unarmed!"

  "Joshua, what are you doing?" Tom demanded.

  Ignoring Tom, Joshua stared warily at Billy, whose hand rested on the butt of the still-holstered gun. Slowly, Billy moved his hand away from the pistol, and a grin stole across his face. "Smart move, Preacher," he said. "You've just saved this trash sodbuster's life—for now."

  "I figured you couldn't claim self-defense if we were unarmed, Day," Joshua said coldly. "Now, why were you chasing this young lady?"

  Violet got to her feet and threw herself into Tom's arms. She buried her face against his chest and sobbed, "He tried...tried to...molest me!"

  "That's a damned lie!" Billy snapped. "When I rode up, this gal was trying to catch some old milk cow, and all I did was offer to help her. I was just trying to be friendly."

  "He got off his horse and grabbed me!" Violet twisted in Tom's embrace to glare at Billy. Tom was quivering with anger as he held her.

  "I think we know what really happened," Joshua said. "You'd better be moving along, Billy."

  Billy swung a leg around the saddle horn and sneered arrogantly, "I'm used to riding where I please, Preacher."

  "This is my land," Tom told him. "I want you off it."

  "Last I heard, this was Copeland's range. You sodbusters run him off or something?"

  "Never mind about Copeland," Joshua said. "Just leave, Billy, or I'll swear out a complaint against you."

  Billy laughed harshly. "Based on what? The word of some sodbuster whore?"

  Tom made a noise low in his throat and started to step forward, but Violet gripped him more tightly. "Don't do it, Tom," she pleaded. "He's got a gun."

  "And he'd love an excuse to use it," Joshua added.

  He held his breath, not sure what Tom was going to do.

  "All right," Tom said. "We'll go back to the soddy." Keeping Violet in the circle of his arms, he turned and started toward the cabin. Joshua stared at Billy Day until the young cowboy chuckled, shrugged his shoulders, and turned his horse around. Putting the spurs to the animal, Billy galloped off.

  With a sigh of relief, the minister turned and hurried after Tom and Violet. When he reached the two young people, Tom glared at him. "Why'd you do that, Joshua?" he demanded. "It wasn't any of your business."

  "I didn't want to see Billy Day gun you down," Joshua replied. "If you had come at him with that ax, he would have done it. He knows how to use that gun, and he enjoys doing it, too."

  "Well, he's not the only one who can tote a gun."

  Joshua grimaced. That was exactly the response he didn’t want to hear from Tom Powell.

  When the Methodist pastor reached the outskirts of Abilene, night had fallen. Worry over the incident at the Powells’ gnawed at him during the long ride, so rather than going directly home he decided to stop at the marshal's office. He was relieved when he saw a light burning in the building as he rode down Texas Street.

  When Joshua entered, he found Lucas Flint in the office and Cully sweeping out the empty cellblock. The deputy looked up at his brother with a sheepish grin and said, "Some job for a gunslingin' lawman, isn't it, Joshua?"

  "Somebody's got to do it," Flint commented. "Howdy, Joshua. Something we can do for you?"

  "I'm not sure," Joshua replied. "But I'm afraid there's going to be trouble."

  Quickly, he outlined what had happened at the Powell farm. Cully put his broom aside, his face hardening, as he heard what Billy Day had tried to do to Violet.

  When Joshua had finished his story, Flint nodded grimly. "I think you're right to worry, Joshua," he said. "Billy would like nothing better than to have an excuse to draw on Tom Powell."

  "I told Tom to stay out of town for a while," Joshua told the two lawmen. "But I'm not sure he'll do it."

  The marshal turned to Cully. "Keep your eyes open for Tom Powell," he instructed. "He's hotheaded enough to strap on a six-gun and find himself in more trouble than he can handle."

  After the brawls in the Alamo and Karatofsky's Great Western Store, the farmers had taken Flint's advice and come into town in smaller groups. They knew it would be foolish to come alone, so they usually traveled in groups of five or six when they needed supplies.

  On the Saturday following the encounter with Billy Day, Ira, Tom, and Violet broke that pattern, riding in by themselves. Tom walked his horse down Texas Street, his face an expressionless mask. Driving the wagon beside Tom, Ira was clearly nervous, darting worried glances at each saloon they passed. Violet sat huddled next to Ira on the wagon seat, staring at her hands, not daring to raise her eyes.
/>   Tom wore a shell belt around his waist, an old holster dangling from it. Stuffed into the worn leather sheath was a gun—an old Colt with walnut grips worn smooth with age and use. The butt plate was nicked from the times when it had doubled as a makeshift hammer. Clearly, the Colt had seen better days, but it was a gun, and it meant something when it was worn on a man's hip.

  Once the trio was stopped in front of Karatofsky's Store, Tom swung from the saddle and tied up both his mount and the team pulling the wagon. Ira stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the mercantile and helped Violet climb down.

  After he and Violet had walked to the store's front door, Ira turned to Tom and said, "Come on, son. Let's quickly get those things we need so we can get back and do a few more chores this afternoon."

  "You mean so we can turn tail and run back home as fast as we can," Tom replied. He leaned against the railing at the edge of the boardwalk. "You go ahead, Pa. I think I'll stay out here."

  "Now, Tom, it was your idea to come to town today," Ira pointed out. "The least you can do is help Violet and me."

  "You can handle the supplies, Pa." Tom's voice was cold and hard.

  "Tom..." Violet began.

  "Sorry, Violet." He shook his head, cutting her off. "I don't feel like shoppin’ today after all."

  Violet and Ira exchanged tense, worried looks. They both knew why Tom had insisted on coming to Abilene today and why he didn’t want to go into the store. He was waiting to see Billy Day.

  Even if Billy wasn’t in town today, there were plenty of cowboys around. Once they had seen Tom, some of them were bound to ride for Houston Day's Rafter D ranch to carry the word back to Billy. If the showdown didn’t come today, it would still be soon, and all three of the settlers from Georgia knew it.

  Ira sighed. "Come on, Violet," he said. "We might as well get what we came for." With his arm around the young woman's shoulders, Ira opened the door and went on into the store.

  Diagonally across the intersection from Karatofsky's Store was the Old Fruit Saloon. It was doing the usual brisk Saturday-afternoon business. Trying to cram a week's worth of pleasure into half a day and one night, cowboys from all the surrounding spreads packed the establishment. Tom noticed several punchers glance furtively at him, then hurry to the Old Fruit and disappear inside.

  He wasn’t surprised when, a few minutes later, a familiar figure pushed through the batwings of the saloon and strolled onto the boardwalk.

  Billy Day lounged against the saloon's wall for a moment, casually glancing up and down Texas Street. Then his gaze fell on Tom and stayed there. Even from across the street, the young farmer saw the eager grin on Billy's face.

  That act fools no one, Tom thought. As he straightened from his negligent pose, he watched Billy step into the street and begin to walk slowly across the intersection toward Karatofsky's.

  Tom stood on the boardwalk, letting Billy come to him. His heart began to pound harder as the cowboy approached, fear mixing with the anger that had driven him to come here today wearing a gun. But his anger and hatred of Billy Day still had the upper hand. As far as Tom was concerned, the cowboy's attack on Violet had changed a campaign of harassment into a personal battle.

  At the corner, Billy stepped onto the boardwalk about twenty feet from Tom. He halted there, still grinning, and said, "Well, howdy, sodbuster. Lose any more milk cows lately?"

  "No, but we had a hell of a time roundin' up the one we've got, thanks to you," Tom replied coolly.

  "Now, that wasn't my fault," Billy insisted. "I offered to help the gal get that beast back. She turned me down."

  Tom heard the door open behind him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Billy Day. He heard Violet gasp. Then Ira said sternly, "I want you to come in here, son."

  "I don't think so, Pa."

  Billy laughed and said, "There's the little lady now, sodbuster. Why don't you ask her again what happened? Of course, she may forget to mention anything about the way she kissed me."

  "That's a lie!" Violet cried.

  "Get back inside, Violet!" Ira snapped.

  Billy's gaze bore into Tom. "She's a right nice kisser, farm boy. But you'd know that. You and the old man both have probably been plowing that ground for a long time now."

  Tom's fingers trembled. He swallowed, all too aware of the crowd that was gathering. The bystanders stood out of the line of fire, but they were close enough to hear Billy's filthy comments. "I want you to leave us alone, Day. Us and all the other folks out at Copeland's."

  "Or what, sodbuster?" Billy asked mockingly.

  "I'll have to make you leave us alone."

  Billy laughed again. He pointed at the ancient Colt on Tom's hip. "With that? Why, I've never seen such a sorry-looking excuse for a gunfighter before. How about showing me how you handle that gun, boy?"

  Tom took a deep breath. The challenge was out in the open now. There was nothing left to do but answer it.

  Before he could even begin his draw, he saw a flicker of movement from Billy. With an awful certainty, Tom realized he couldn’t beat Billy to the draw. He was going to die here and now—

  "Go ahead, Billy," a voice cut through the afternoon air. "You go right ahead and finish what you're doing. Then you'll have to turn around and face me."

  Billy froze, his fingers still a couple of inches from the butt of his gun. Slowly, he turned his head until he could see the lean figure behind him. A cold smile was chiseled on Cully Markham's face as he waited, thumbs hooked casually in his gun belt.

  Noticing Cully, Tom called, "This isn't any of your business, Deputy."

  "Folks shooting each other in Abilene's streets is exactly my business," Cully replied. "Billy is going to kill you, Tom, and then I'm going to kill him. Right, Billy?"

  The young cowhand hesitated, still motionless. Abruptly he shook his head. "Not today," Billy said harshly. Sneering at Tom, he went on, "You're not worth wasting a bullet." He turned and strode across the intersection, pushing a couple of his cronies roughly aside as he entered the Old Fruit Saloon.

  The blood was hammering in Tom's head as Cully walked up to him. Although he knew how close he had come to dying, the young farmer was angry at Cully for interfering. "You didn't have to—" he began.

  "Yes, I did," Cully cut in. "It's my job to keep fools from getting themselves killed. Why don't you take that gun off, Tom? It's not going to do anybody any good."

  "We’ll see." Tom heard the quick footsteps behind him and turned to take Violet in his arms. The woman was pale with fright. He patted her on the back and tried to reassure her.

  Ira said, "Thank you, Deputy. You saved my son's life. But I'm afraid that young man won't forget this."

  Cully nodded in agreement. "Too many folks saw what happened. Billy backed down. They know it, and he knows it. That's just going to make him angrier at you people. Maybe some good will come of it, though."

  "I don't see how," Ira replied gloomily.

  "Look at it this way," Cully said. "Billy Day has a score to settle with me, now."

  9

  Rose Keller sat in an overstuffed armchair in Mrs. Carson Stapleton's parlor, sipping tea and nibbling on a small, tasteless sandwich. Around her the ladies of Abilene's leading social committee twittered and gossiped.

  During the first few minutes of the gathering, Rose had listened politely and tried to participate, but she had quickly realized how little she had in common with these women. She spent her days extracting bullets, setting broken bones, and tending to sick children, not worrying about the latest fashions from the East.

  However, Mrs. Stapleton and the other members of the social committee had asked her to join, and Rose had decided it would be wise to accept the invitation. The husbands of these ladies were the most powerful men in Abilene. Between the influence she could exert through this committee and her own position on the town council, Rose believed she could make a difference in the way the town was run. This was the 1870s, after all, not the Dark Ages, and it was time A
bilene grew up.

  Now, as she sat in the stuffy parlor, Rose wondered if she had made a mistake. This was the first committee meeting she had attended, and if they were all like this, she knew she couldn’t justify taking this precious time away from the other, more worthwhile things she could be doing.

  The grating sound of Mrs. Stapleton's voice jostled the doctor from her thoughts. "Don't you think so, dear?" she asked Rose with a smile on her heavily powdered face.

  Rose blinked. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Stapleton," she said as she focused her attention on the woman. "I'm afraid my mind was wandering."

  "I was just saying that the spring dance, which will be held the Saturday after next, is going to be wonderful this year," Mrs. Stapleton repeated a little stiffly.

  "I'm sure it will be," Rose agreed. Actually she had given little thought to the annual celebration. She knew that the committee usually invited the whole town and that the ranchers and farmers from the surrounding area also participated.

  Mrs. Stapleton turned away, sniffing. Rose thought she might have made a bad impression on the lady, but she refused to worry too much about it.

  A heavy knock on the front door surprised the ladies and silenced all conversation. With a frown, Mrs. Stapleton looked toward the door and said, "Now who could that be? Carson knows we're having our meeting tonight; he won't be back until he's sure it's over."

  Rose's lips twitched. She quickly lifted a hand to her face and brushed her nose lightly to conceal the broad smile that threatened to reveal itself. She had to give Carson Stapleton credit for some intelligence.

  The middle-aged, white-haired doyenne of Abilene's high society got up and went into the foyer. Mrs. Stapleton opened the door and stepped back to admit the visitor. "Why, Mr. Day!" she said. "How...how nice to see you." She was clearly baffled.

  A burly, barrel-chested man stepped into the foyer, clutching his hat in his hands. Dressed in plain, clean, range clothes, he had a thick shock of gray hair, and his leathery face was tanned and lined. No one would guess that Houston Day owned the largest ranch in this part of Kansas. He was wealthy enough to take it easy, but Rose knew that he spent nearly every day working on the range right beside his cowhands.